It is this inspiring belief, planted on a foundation so deep and so secure that no storm can shake it, that leaves Mr. Bryan as hopeful, confident, and serene in the darkest hour of defeat as his opponent can possibly be with the paeans of victory ringing in his ears. It is a rare trait, this superb optimism. It wins, instinctively, the hearts and affections of men, only to inspire them to heroic effort under the most adverse surroundings. But its strongest feature is its effect on the possessor. For when that discouragement which comes from failure, and the inertia which discouragement brings in its train, is eliminated from a strong man’s composition he becomes a god, with the power and greatness of the immortals. The scope of his vision is broadened, his mental horizon enlarges, fear and weakness are banished from his heart, and his might becomes irresistible as he battles for the right as he sees the right. So Mr. Bryan’s optimism has made him a strong, self-poised, cheerful, happy man, whose confidence and good spirits are contagious and whose following increases as his reverses multiply. His second marked characteristic, his intensity, is one even rarer than the first. The extent to which it is his it is most difficult to make clear. It may, perhaps, be best done by illustration drawn from the writer’s personal experience. One Saturday, toward the end of the 1899 campaign, Mr. Bryan was speeding across southern Nebraska from east to west on a special train. Every half or quarter hour stops were made at stations along the route, and Mr. Bryan would hastily emerge from his car, make his way, generally unassisted, to a nearby platform, and speak for from ten minutes to an hour to the crowds assembled to hear him. It was most fatiguing work and done by a thoroughly worn-out man. For Mr. Bryan had for two weeks been constantly traveling by train and carriage, speaking from two to a dozen times daily, eating at irregular intervals, and sleeping not more than four or five hours out of each twenty-four. As a natural result his face was drawn and haggard, his muscles frequently twitching, and under his eyes were great black hollows. Yet at every stopping point, when he rose to face his fellow Nebraskans, the worn look would give way, the deep-set eyes would lighten with the fires of a holy zeal, and, in a voice that rang out clear and strong and passionate he pleaded for the preservation of the Republic and its ideals, inviolate and intact. The train was running on schedule time, of course, and at each stopping point it was necessary for the engineer to toot his whistle and ring his bell, not once, but continuously, in order to tear Mr. Bryan away from his audience when the alloted time had expired. Then the indefatigable campaigner, shaking scores of outstretched hands as he ran, would hasten to his car, and the train would speed along to the next stopping place. Mr. Bryan would no sooner enter his car than he dropped his head on a