The speaker’s stand was at the principal street intersection of the village. It was gaily decorated with flags and bunting, and lighted by flaring gas jets. The piercing mountain wind swooped down on it like a wolf on the fold. Up on this eminence the worn and wearied campaigner, half dead from want of sleep and his constant exertions, was hurried. Shrill volleys of cheers and yells rose to the heavens. There was a moment’s silence. Then, on the cold air, there fell the deep, melodious, serene voice of the orator, in words of earnest protest and warning, in a magnificent plea for the Republic. For ten or twelve minutes we, who were his traveling companions, remained; and though our eyes were heavy and our senses dulled, though we shivered from the cold even as we trembled with exhaustion, the splendid enthusiasm of that hardy little band of frontiersmen warmed our hearts, and we cheered with them. But, in a few minutes, tired nature called loud to us, and we plodded to the hotel, a block and a half away. We sat for a half hour about the blazing fire, absorbing the grateful warmth. Through the closed doors and windows there came to us, ever and anon, the rich and powerful voice of the orator down the street, punctuated by the wild yells of applause that came from the delighted men of the sand-hills. Again we retreated,—this time to our bed chambers. My teeth chattered like castanets as I disrobed. And now I could plainly hear the orator’s voice,—sometimes his very words,—words that thrilled and pulsated with the life of an animate thing. I pulled the blankets and comforters close about me, and fell into the sleep of utter exhaustion. The next morning we learned that, for just one hour and three quarters Mr. Bryan had stood in that bitter, piercing wind, under the inscrutable stars of midnight on the prairie, and preached the gospel of democracy. Do you gather, now, what I mean in saying that Mr. Bryan’s intensity is something most difficult to describe? It is something that knows not fear, nor hunger, nor exhaustion; that keeps him moving on,—ever and steadily on toward the goal, unswerved and unhindered by those hardships, trials, and obstacles that check the course of other men, or cause them to turn into broader and easier paths. It is this intensity of character and purpose that makes heroes and martyrs. It also makes fanatics. But Mr. Bryan is no fanatic; his stubborn determination and unyielding purpose is tempered with mental equipoise, good judgment, and common sense.