For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the World, and all the wonders that would be; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew From the Nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue. Washington, since we had seen it, had grown in grace and beauty beyond belief; it was now a noble city with broad avenues, spacious parks, magnificent public buildings, and palatial dwellings. In this, the second year of President Taft’s administration, the capital seemed gayer than ever before. The entertainments were far more formal and elaborate than in the sixties, when my mother visited Mrs. Eames of the famous salon. One dined out every night as a matter of course, just as in London during the season. I found a few of the old friends, Mrs. Bayard, Senator and Mrs. Cabot Lodge, Justice and Mrs. Wendell Holmes, and Uncle Joe Cannon. Some of these regretted with me the changes in the social life since the simpler days I remembered of Miss Loring’s Sunday evenings and Mrs. Bancroft’s afternoons. The changes were inevitable, of course, and only reflected those in the life of the nation. In our great cities to-day, plain living and high thinking are rare as snow in August; this does not imply that they do not exist; only one must light a candle and look for them! The growth of wealth and luxury seems even to have affected the national physique. There were fewer of the spare American type than when I first remember Washington, and more fat men among our legislators. Marking this, I became reconciled to the monstrous growth of public interest in athletics and sports. Uncle Sam, realizing the dangers of too good living, has gone into training as a matter of self-preservation! On this visit I first realized that to-day the world is run by committees. I spent much time at the Capitol, where the best speaking was heard in the different committee rooms, rather than in the Senate or the House. The Pinchot-Ballinger controversy on the preservation of the forests and other natural resources was the issue of the hour; my journal records that I was present at many of the hearings. More than once we were included in the group that gathered every day for luncheon at the table of Henry Adams. He lived in a large house built for him by his friend, Richardson the architect. The dwelling was characteristic of both men; it had a rare flavor, expressive of its owner’s taste and character--all for use and comfort, nothing for show--and the ample spaciousness the colossal architect put into everything he built.