Mr. Murat Halstead, author of this book, was a personal friend of William McKinley from his first term in Congress; a war correspondent in the war of our States, and in the Franco-German war. He has been an industrious writer for gewspapers and of books for fifty-two years.

from all the enlightened nations-one whose rare, high fortune it was to see the principles of public policy he had advocated as a young member of Congress made the law of the land under his leadership—vindicated by the unparalleled prosperity of the people, was the shining mark of organized murder. His steadfast sagacity, armed with the constitutional authority of the presidency of expanding America, including positions to command the greatest of the oceans of the globe-victorious in a wonderful war which was hastened to an early close by an unbroken succession of the triumphs of arms and of diplomacy-made the peace splendid as it was speedy-the humane war was crowded with conquest and covered with glory, but he incurred the hatefulness of the petty and the morose.

This man, re-elected President of the United States honorably, with great majorities in the electoral college and the votes of the people-the event significant of peacefulness and of plenty in the land and the victories of peace not less renowned than those of war beyond the seas— this man who made the workingmen of America conquerors in their own right in the markets of the world—this man of the people, armed with all the graces of candor, confiding in the people as they in him, improved the first chance of leisure in an Administration as strenuous as successful. He crossed the continent from our ocean boundary on the east to the one on the west, going from Washington through the Southern cities to San Francisco, his movement a triumphal procession that will be memorable for the reciprocity of good wishes and the happiness of better acquaintance. This was an obvious and admirable demonstration of peace and prosperity and power in its plenitude. Though half of the programme was omitted because the President's wife became ill, yet the journey was strikingly successful, for the pageantry so simple was yet effective in its simplicity. It was through the heart of the South and touched the shore of the Pacific, the ocean of our archipelagoes in the greatest body of water the earth affords—including as our possessions groups of islands from Siberia to the tropics and the Hawaiian paradise and citadel of the South Sea. Through this thoughtful progress, one of music and waving banners, he was greeted by shouting millions from Old Virginia to the Golden Gate. There was silence and restraint returning, that the President's wife might be wafted to her home in quiet and make him happy by her recovery. This seemed to leave something undone by the President that he had promised the people-and as his

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immense labors in good works were so far advanced, the country so brimming with the bounties of the American soil and American skilled labor-the wheatfields golden, the shops rich in orders-even a great strike going on in bitter earnest yet in peace and order, a combat of principle and enlightenment as to the rules and regulations, the lines and precepts of the division of the shares of labor and capital-the President and his wife, away from the affairs of state, rested in their old home in Canton, Ohio, spending there months in a delightful vacation. This grateful repose was in the very house in which William McKinley, the young attorney, and his bride lived in the days of their youth, and there in the summer time they lived over the days of long ago. There Mrs. McKinley almost realized the fondest dream of her latest years, as she often expressed it to those near and dear to her-that of her husband living in their own precious home for her-the cares of great office put aside; she tenderly would have them put far away forever. She wanted the time to come when her husband should belong to her, and not to the world. The dream had been of the time when the President, the Governor of Ohio, the Congressman, should be a private citizen, and she and he be as they were when young and lived in Canton.

She did not imagine her delicate form, her weakness that was so strong in love, could outlast or leave the strong man, ever so loyally, so helpfully by her side. The house in Canton was doubly dear because, as the President took pleasure in saying, it was a present from his wife's father and that endeared it to them. Not only was there for them no place like home, but no home like that. It was from this charmed spot that at what seemed a call of duty they made the journey to Buffalo, which was to prove so memorable and so sorrowful.

It is said that Abraham Lincoln on the night the assassin killed him, chatted with his wife in the box at the theater where they sat together hardly conscious of the passing play, and discussed plans, for the country was to have peace, and they were interested with each other for they had not been able to think of their own future. The promise of peace to them was especially blessed, and the talk of Lincoln then and there was of going to Jerusalem. It is pathetic, that this seems to have been the last thought in the long burdened brain before the murderer's pistol was fired; his head fell on his bosom and there was for him "Jerusalem, the Golden."

On the next to the last night that Garfield spent in the White House

before the murderer fired into his back and he was tortured to his death, he was asked by a friend how he was in health, for he had not been well for some weeks and there were considerable anxieties in that respect about him. He answered cheerfully, with that grand boyish sense of enjoyment that distinguished him in a pleasing mood, that he was much better, indeed quite well. He had been ill, he said, and the unpleasant controversy that had clung to him, was fatiguing, and he was weary, when suddenly came Mrs. Garfield's illness, and his mind, instead of being engaged with his own affairs that were difficult enough to command consideration, was absorbed with his wife's illness, that was grave enough to give cause for deep concern, and in doing so forgot himself. He said that he ceased to think of the back of his head or the top of it or the action of the heart and the worries over the ceaseless clamors about the appointments; all this was ended, like a storm blown over, and when Mrs. Garfield grew better and could go to the seaside to await his leisure for a trip to New England he found that he was quite well, and said that when ill it was the best medicine to be called away from thinking of one's self.

It will be remembered that on the 2nd of July he was shot in the morning as he was starting to go to Williams College, Western Massachusetts, and the conversation we quote was on the last night of June, and ended a few minutes before midnight.

At that time President Garfield was buoyant and invited a friend to go with him to his old college scenes. He said, "Come, go; it is the sweetest place in the world."

When the fatal shot was fired he was on the way to take the special train prepared for him and his Cabinet and was to meet his wife in her charm of convalescence at Elberon and go on to dine that night with Cyrus Field at his home on the Hudson; and he was to proceed next day to the College. At that hour Garfield felt himself as never before, truly the President of the United States, and the grandeur of his duty gave him for the first and last time a sense of elation.

He regarded his greater trials as over. He was ready to meet opponents as friends. Having declared independence he was solicitous for conciliation. He felt he had the power to make peace with honor; that he was going to see his old friends at a College Commencement that would be to him one of the most enjoyable reunions of his life. While the ghastly little fiend about to murder him was crouching behind the