I was not even a delegate to the Convention, but I was present and kept in close touch by contact with my friends with every phase of the convention fight. Colonel Harvey was again on the scene as the generalissimo of the Wilson forces, quietly and stealthily moving about, lining up his forces for the memorable battle of the morrow. There was bitter but unorganized opposition to the favourite son of the state machine, Woodrow Wilson. The Convention itself presented an unusual situation and demonstrated more than anything I ever saw the power of the "Old Gang" to do the thing its masters had in mind. As I look back upon the great event of this convention, the nomination of Woodrow Wilson for the governorship of New Jersey, I feel that destiny was inscrutably engaged there, working in mysterious ways its wonders to perform, working perhaps through strange, incongruous instrumentalities to bring the man of destiny into action, led by those who were opposed to everything Woodrow Wilson stood for, opposed by those who were yearning for and striving for just the dawn of political liberalism that his advent in politics heralded. The conflict of the Trenton Convention about to be enacted was an illustration of the poet's line, "Where ignorant armies clash by night." The successful side of the Convention was fighting for what they least wanted; the defeated against what they most wanted. Here in this convention, in truth, were in aggressive action the incongruities of politics and in full display were witnessed the sardonic contrasts between the visible and the invisible situations in politics. All the Old Guard moving with Prussian precision to the nomination of the man who was to destroy for a time the machine rule in New Jersey and inaugurate a new national era in political liberalism while all the liberal elements of the state, including fine old Judge Westcott of Camden and young men like myself were sullen, helpless. Every progressive Democrat in the Convention was opposed to the nomination of the Princetonian, and every standpatter and Old Guardsman was in favour of Woodrow Wilson. On the convention floor, dominating the whole affair, stood ex-Senator James Smith, Jr., of New Jersey, the spokesman of the "highbrow" candidate for governor, controlling the delegates from south and west Jersey. Handsome, cool, dignified, he rose from the floor of the convention hall, and in rich, low tones, seconded the nomination of the man "he had never met," the man he would not "presume" to claim acquaintance with, the man whose life had lain in other fields than his. Very close to him, "taking his orders," and acting upon every suggestion that came to him, sat Jim Nugent, grim, big-jawed, the giant full-back of Smith's invincible team, the rising star of machine politics in New Jersey. Down the aisle sat the "Little Napoleon" of Hudson County, Bob Davis, wearing a sardonic smile on his usually placid face, with his big