moral support, of the enthusiasm of masses. But buried in the
Conference, stifled in the hot and poisoned atmosphere of Paris, no echo
reached him from the outer world, and no throb of passion, sympathy, or
encouragement from his silent constituents in all countries. He felt
that the blaze of popularity which had greeted his arrival in Europe
was already dimmed; the Paris Press jeered at him openly; his political
opponents at home were taking advantage of his absence to create an
atmosphere against him; England was cold, critical, and unresponsive. He
had so formed his _entourage_ that he did not receive through private
channels the current of faith and enthusiasm of which the public sources
seemed dammed up. He needed, but lacked, the added strength of
collective faith. The German terror still overhung us, and even the
sympathetic public was very cautious; the enemy must not be encouraged,
our friends must be supported, this was not the time for discord or
agitations, the President must be trusted to do his best. And in this
drought the flower of the President's faith withered and dried up.

Thus it came to pass that the President countermanded the _George
Washington_, which, in a moment of well-founded rage, he had ordered to
be in readiness to carry him from the treacherous halls of Paris back to
the seat of his authority, where he could have felt himself again. But
as soon, alas, as be had taken the road of compromise, the defects,
already indicated, of his temperament and of his equipment, were fatally
apparent. He could take the high line; he could practise obstinacy; he
could write Notes from Sinai or Olympus; he could remain unapproachable
in the White House or even in the Council of Ten and be safe. But if he
once stepped down to the intimate equality of the Four, the game was
evidently up.

Now it was that what I have called his theological or Presbyterian