was a grand man. I watched his career for twenty years, and always had the profoundest esteem for him. He was a tender and devoted husband, a man of finest character, and his death is the saddest blow I have ever known."

He concluded abruptly, sank into his chair, and pressed a handkerchief to his eyes. It was the strangest plea for a murderer ever heard. Judge Titus then arose.

"The remarks of my associate," he said, "so completely cover the ground that it is not necessary for me to add anything."

SENTENCED TO DEATH.

This sudden action on the face of the expectation of expert testimony on insanity was a great surprise, and a buzz of talk followed. Silence fell again when District Attorney Penney arose for the last speech. It was brief, but full of feeling. He dwelt upon the entire certainty of the people's case and the utter absence of defense and urged that just as a defendant must be presumed innocent until proved guilty, so he must be presumed sane until proved otherwise.

Apart from that argument the Prosecutor spoke of the horror of the crime and the eminent virtues of the martyr in such a strain of simple eloquence that men and women wept alike. Czolgosz never moved a muscle.

It was 3.25 o'clock when Judge White charged the jury. He, too, paid tender tribute to the memory of the dead man and then instructed the jury in the legal requirements of the city.

They retired at 3.51, and thirty-five minutes later brought in a verdiet of murder in the first degree.

On September 26th, Leon Czolgosz was sentenced to die during the week beginning October 28th. The sentence was pronounced by Justice White before whom the murderer was tried. The assassin showed signs of fear as the voice of the Judge pronounced his doom. During the night following, guarded by nearly a score of deputy sheriffs, he was removed to Auburn Penitentiary. He collapsed on arriving at the prison, said he was sorry for his deed and expressed sympathy for Mrs. McKinley.

CHAPTER XXV.

Our New President-Hon. Theodore Roosevelt Hurries to Buffalo on Receiving News of Mr. McKinley's DeathSworn in as President with Impressive CeremonyPathetic Scene-His First Official Act.

WHEN

HEN our martyred President breathed his last, Vice-President Roosevelt was far up in the Adirondack Mounains of northern New York. A few hours later his private secretary gave out the following statement:

"The Vice-President wishes it understood that when he left the Tahawus Club house yesterday morning, (September 13th) to go on his hunting trip into the mountains, he had just received a dispatch from Buffalo stating that President McKinley was in splendid condition and was not in the slightest danger."

Having been summoned to return instantly to Buffalo, Mr. Roosevelt was wildly careering over the mountain passes of the Adirondacks in a swinging, bouncing buckboard when President McKinley expired, and he became in fact the President of the United States. He thought he was racing with death, but death had already won. He was on the last relay before reaching Aden Alair, and Orrin Kellogg, one of the surest drivers in the North Woods, was urging his two bronchos to do their best up the winding inclines and down again.

It was at Aden Alair that "Mike" Cronin took the impatient Vice-President in charge and at the same time earned for himself eternal fame as the most level headed and uncommunicative person the world ever saw. In his pocket there reposed a telegram, conveyed by telephone and written down, addressed to Mr. Roosevelt. He knew it contained the fateful news from Buffalo.

He noted Mr. Roosevelt's increasing nervousness and thought it the part of discretion and wisdom to deliver the telegram at the

other end of the twenty mile route. Mr. Roosevelt was in absolute ignorance of the termination of the fatal tragedy at Buffalo, and the astute driver thought it best not to increase his impatience or further try his nerves. So, for a score of long, tortuous miles he grimly sat alongside his lone, but distinguished passenger, keeping as tight a grip on his secret as he did on his reins.

This is Secretary Hay's official notification to Mr. Roosevelt, sent before daylight in the morning, and which "Mike" Cronin, the driver, did not deliver until the perilous ride over the Adirondacks was over :

"Hon. Theodore Roosevelt, North Creek, N. Y.

"The President died at 2:15 this morning.

'JOHN HAY, Secretary of State."

DASH DOWN THE MOUNTAIN ROADS.

But the story of the dash down the rocky mountain roads is best told by "Mike" Cronin himself. First, he must be described. He is the landlord of the Aden Lair Lodge. In the sturdy manhood of the thirties, he is the perfect type of the hardy mountaineer, rugged and strong, with the eagle's eye and the bulldog's nerve and tenacity. He is just the man to guide the chariot of the hills, the vehicle that flies, the buckboard. When the VicePresident jumped out of the Kellogg buckboard, Cronin was ready. Two horses, just as impatient as the man they were to haul, had long been hitched and standing alongside the road. A lantern was suspended over the dashboard. Its flickering light only made the driving reins more clearly visible. The black night it made blacker.

But this is the way the Spyhnx of the Mountains tells it:

"I received notice at noon, over the telephone, to have everything ready for quick work, and that is just exactly what I did, and I was soon ready to start at any moment Mr. Roosevelt might reach Aden Lair. I had a span of blacks-fast steppers-hooked up, and, what was still better than their speed, they knew the road as well as I did myself, having made the trip from three to

six times a week all summer. I had expected Mr. Roosevelt along several hours sooner-as he might have been had it not been for the careless bungling in getting word to him. He ought to have been hustled along faster, too.

"My! I made the last sixteen miles in one hour and fortythree minutes. It was the darkest night I ever saw. I could not even see my horses, except the spots where the flickering lantern. light fell on them. This time beat the best record ever made before by a quarter of an hour, and that record I had made myself, with a two-seater, in daylight.

"While I was watching for Mr. Roosevelt I was fooled several times. There was a dance at a road house, three miles from my place, and after midnight the crowd was driving home-a regular stream coming, with lights in their wagons-and I kept thinking each one was Mr. Roosevelt. There was a rainy mist, or a misty rain, and this made the night, already very dark, perfectly black.

ROOSEVELT'S REMARKABLE NERVE.

"Mr. Roosevelt is the nerviest man I ever saw, and I ain't easily scared myself. At one place, while we were going down a slippery hill, one of the horses stumbled. It was a ticklish bit of road, and I was beginning to get somewhat uneasy and began holding the team back, but Mr. Roosevelt said: 'Oh, that don't matter. Push ahead!'

"At another place we were going around a curve on a dugout -which, you know, is a piece of road cut in a steep hillside. It was a dangerous place, for if we had been upset we would have been pitched headlong down seventy-five or a hundred feet. I told Mr. Roosevelt the danger as we drew near this risky spot, and suggested that I should slow up until we struck a better road. He replied: Not at all; push ahead. If you are not afraid I am not. Push ahead!' And so we did. Luckily we had a clear road, and did not meet a single team through the whole drive.

"Did the President talk much? Very little about the situation. Most of the time he seemed to be in deep thought and very sad. About all the words he spoke were 'Keep up the pace.' He

held his watch in his hand all the while, and kept continually asking how far we had come or how far we still had to go. Until he got to Aden Lair he had carried a lantern in his hand, and he offered to do the same with me, but I told him it would be only a bother. I tell you, Mr. Roosevelt is a nervy man. I shall never drive over that dark road again without seeming to hear him say, 'Push along! Hurry up! Go faster!'" That is the simple tale

of a ride that is destined to be historic.

ANXIOUSLY AWAITING HIS ARRIVAL.

During the time that "Mike" Cronin was swinging through mountain defiles the little group of watchers at the North Creek station grew more anxious, as further news from the on-flying President was now shut off. Eagerly they watched the waves of light creep up the eastern sky, and guesses were made as to the probable hour of arrival, but they all proved at least an hour too late, for "Mike" Cronin is a veritable Jehu, and the President's eager anxiety caused a quick and tireless response. Some of the villagers began to stir about, and each one of those who had kept vigil through the night stood with eyes strained upon the turn in the road where the President was soon to appear.

At length, with a simultaneous cry of "There he comes!" the blacks swept in sight and fairly flew to the platform steps. With one bound Mr. Roosevelt was on the ground. With another he was on the platform receiving the greetings of his private secretary, Loeb, who, in low and hurried tones gave him his first news of President McKinley's death. The anxious face at once grew grave and sad. Then he gave the correspondent in waiting a cordial hand grasp. Another handshake with Station Agent Campbell and he rushed into his private car.

Superintendent Hammond waved his hand for the start and followed his distinguished guest. Secretary Loeb and the conductor also stepped aboard. Nobody else was allowed on the train. The veteran engine driver pulled the throttle, and the party vanished in the mist rising from the Hudson, here a mere ribbon of silver shining in the growing light.