When Mr. MacVeagh told him I was Mother’s daughter, he almost hugged me; he seemed to feel the magic of her name more than any of them. “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!” he quoted. Mr. Wilson looks much older than the others. He seems a man of real weight, with an impressive personality. He is tall, grave, and cavern-eyed. How he must have suffered from the battering of the Ballinger-Pinchot controversy! I showed him a photograph of Mama. “I never saw her,” he said; “but she looks just as I thought she would.” “I brought this for our Unitarian President,” I confessed, “but I did not have the courage to give it him.” “Let me have the honor,” Mr. MacVeagh volunteered. The Cabinet was now assembled, it was time to leave. “Thank you all for letting us have a peep at the centre of the big beehive,” I said. “You are right,” Mr. Nagle exclaimed, “we are all busy as bees.” I told Mr. MacVeagh I felt ashamed to have taken up even a few minutes of their time. “Not at all,” he answered gallantly. “We are all glad to see you. You did not want anything; if everybody would only let us off so easily!” This was as he was putting us in the carriage. We drove to the White House to leave our cards, then to Mr. Adams’ for lunch. I told him how all the Cabinet impressed me as being men too heavily weighted down, but very gallant in their bearing. “They are,” he said. “We kill all our Presidents. There is never more than one ex-President alive. By killing, I don’t mean murdering them like Lincoln and McKinley; we work them all to death.” The fact is, we have outgrown ourselves! The evolution of the machinery of government has not kept pace with our amazing development as a nation. I imagine in the future we shall be forced to subdivide the country into departments, like the Ancient Romans, grouping the States into South, North, Middle West and North West, all united under the central Federal Government, as were Hispania, Britain, and Gaul, at the height of Rome’s power.