preme Sovereign. To him religion was a life; it was the power of God within; it was a heavenly impulse and aspiration. Born among "the people called Methodists," he early sought a conscious experience of the love and favor of God through faith in Jesus Christ. The Bible became "a lamp to his feet and a light to his path." To him, what the Bible said God said. Interested as he always was in every phase of thought, in literature, politics, economics, and education, when he attended church he was eager to hear the word; no other theme was a substitute for the Gospel to his heart. The sermons most highly commended by him, whoever may have preached them, were spiritual, heart-feeding sermons on Christian experience, the love of God and man, the Holy Spirit, peace, brotherhood, Providence, the beauty of holiness, and the sublime self-sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

He was a member and trustee of the Methodist Episcopal Church of Canton, Ohio, which he always spoke of as his religious home, a place very dear to his heart. When he experienced religion and joined the church he entered upon the active duties of the Christian life, becoming a Sunday school teacher and superintendent. Then he became identified with the temperance movement in Canton, and with the work of the Young Men's Christian Association, of which he was president. To the last he took a deep interest in this association. Indeed, the interest never died which in early manhood he had taken in every phase of Christian work. During his Presidency he not only willingly but eagerly gave audience to the representatives of the great religious movements of the country, kept himself thoroughly well posted on the details of benevolent and religious conventions, missionary enterprises, Sunday school and educational work, and never hestitated to avow his faith and interest in everything charitable, humane, and religious. The Sabbath day always found him in the house of God, and always promptly on time. No worshiper ever seemed more sincerely to say, as he sat in his pew, "I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord." He loved preachers,

and just missed becoming a preacher himself. His mother often expressed the wish that Will should be a Methodist preacher. In fact, she hoped he might become a Methodist bishop, and thought that would be a prouder distinction than to be President of the United States. It had often been reported that he was at one time a local preacher, but he said, "No; I have been everything else in the Church but a preacher." He insisted that the army needed first-class men for chaplains; men who would succeed anywhere; educated, evangelistic, spiritual, Holy Ghost preachers. On one occasion it was suggested that a certain preacher had been recommended for a chaplaincy by his senator, a prominent politician, when Mr. McKinley said: "I am not sure that Senator knows as much about the qualifications of a chaplain as this brother's fellow-preachers and his bishops know about him. What do they say?"

He was very anxious to have the Philippine Islands evangelized. His first thought was that the United States would possess Luzon alone. "That island," said he, "civilized, and lighted up with the Gospel, will give the light of Christianity to the entire archipelago." He hoped the churches would send able, thoroughly consecrated missionaries to the newly opened field. He was a firm believer in and a liberal supporter of missions, never failing to make a large annual contribution to the cause. It is pleasant now to remember Mr. McKinley's loyalty to religion. No official business quenched his spiritual fervor. In that memorable journey across the continent he saw and acknowledged the leadings of the "Kindly Light." He was deeply touched by the hospitality and generous welcome of the South. It was a revelation to him, and he rejoiced at the signs of growing reconciliation between the so-called sections. The wonderful reception of California took him by surprise. "It was simply magnificent," he said. And the tender solicitude and care of the people during those anxious days when the life of his precious wife was hanging in the balance filled his heart with a gratitude which he carried to the grave-yes, to the skies.

But in describing that anxious homeward journey he revealed his unwavering faith. During the days of the Spanish-American war the concern of this Christian, praying, God-trusting President was, not to know what mere politicians thought, but to know what God and the people thought. He believed God was with the people. If he waited, it was only to be sure of the providential indications. When he believed that he knew the will of God he never hesitated. If he was slow to resort to the sword it was because he loved peace; but when war was inevitable he was swift as an eagle.

Not alone in state papers, proclamations, and public addresses, but much more in private conversation, did he show that he possessed the magnificent faith of our fathers. He not only dared to follow where Providence seemed to lead, but, having followed, he dared humbly, and yet bravely, to throw the responsibility upon Providence, and then give God the glory for all our victories and successes. Speaking of his frequent references to Providence in his speeches and proclamations, and of the criticisms which his political opponents jestingly made upon them, he said, "They may sneer at the idea of Providence if they will, but no man who doubts there is a Providence controlling the events of history will ever sit here," and he tapped the table to indicate that such a man would never be trusted by the people or elected to the Presidency.

In the last moments of his life, and in the triumphs of that calm and peaceful death, this faith in Providence rose to the sublime: "It is God's way. His will be done, not ours." From that deathbed there has radiated a new inspiration to Christian faith. Nothing more profoundly impressed, more exultingly thrilled Christendom than the calm serenity, the perfect submission to God's will, the fearlessness and peace of this man who met death with a song. The glory of that translation thrilled the Christian world and gave to every praying man a new reason for the hope that is in him. When he bade the world farewell in those calm

and kindly words, "Good-bye, all, good-bye," all pure, highminded men took those words to their own hearts. They were heard in every home, in every schoolhouse, in every mill and workshop. And there welled up from the heart of every wife and mother and holy woman, every toiler and swarthy mechanic, every soldier and sailor, every teacher and minister of God, every patriot of every party and every creed, a choking, sobbing, but loving, "Good-bye, true man, faithful servant, noble President, great American; good-bye."

Good-bye-but not to be forgotten! On granite shaft and marble arch posterity will trace the legend of his virtues. In laws that "make the bounds of freedom wider yet;" in the characters and lives of peoples new-born to liberty and light by his wise power; in songs that future generations learn to sing; in histories that shall trace events to their philosophy; in the unfolding mission of greater America; in the widening sway of Anglo-Saxon civilization; in the coming empire of universal brotherhood and peace, will be preserved forever the name and memory of William McKinley.

FM Bristol

ART. II.-REALMS OF POWER FOR MIND AND

HEART.

If it were asked what is the chief characteristic of our world the responses might be as various as the respondents. The artist, seeing the myriads of flowers, each atmosphered afar off with fragrance; the gorgeous colors of bird life, the waving grace of grass and trees, the momentary and illusive play of color and form in sea and sky, the fresh creations of morning and evening splendors, might say the chief characteristic was beauty. The utilitarian, seeing how everything lives for service, the bee for honey, the sheep for wool, the ox for work and meat, the earth for vegetables and grain, the clouds for rain, the sun for giving life, might say the chief end of the universe was utility. He who hears "the multitudinous laughter of old ocean's waves," or this morning's five o'clock ceaseless thrill of bird song, watches the exquisite mazes of insect dance in air at noon, or at the drawing on of evening time, who knows that all animal life is one long joy from the insect of a day to that leviathan of the deep that God made to play therein, might say it was joy. The meditative philosopher who sees the adaptation of means to ends-birds to air, fish to sea, the almostmight he not say quite ?-thoughtful selection of material by plants for growth and use, the harp of a thousand strings in man's body, every one attuned to use, the journeying wind, the flowing stream, the life-bringing sea, the marvelous balance of the ponderous orbs of the sky, so that the greater centrifugal force of the sun at a world's perihelion, or the less at aphelion, is exactly balanced by varying speed, and age-long movements that portend disaster correct themselves at length by innate forces and laws-he who sees this department might say the chief characteristic was wisdom. But suppose there was a nature large enough to see all these departments, and realize that all beauty, utility, joy, and wisdom had to rest on some primary cause and be kept in