present, with a cordial pressure of the hand and words of cheer. He was so much like himself, genial, calm, and hopeful, that both friends and physicians thought it was the harbinger of recovery.

Sunday, July 3, was a day of anxiety and tears to the American people. The churches were filled with mourning thousands, and the burden of sermons and prayers was the great sorrow that had fallen upon the nation. July 4 was such an Independence as the country never saw. No one had a heart to engage in the festivities of the day. Many well-arranged celebrations were abandoned.

But the assassin—how about him? His name was Charles J. Guiteau, an eccentric, pettifogging lawyer, about forty years of age, of a weak, disordered mind, who had tried in vain to get an appointment to a foreign consulate. In his chagrin, poverty, and disappointment, as some suppose, reason was partially dethroned, and he committed the crime in his desperation. Others suppose that, since he sympathized with Mr. Conkling and Vice-President Arthur, in their opposition to the Garfield administration, relating to the New York appointment, he made himself believe that, President Garfield out of the way, and Mr. Arthur in his place, the appointment could readily be secured. Be that as it may, he coolly perpetrated the deed, and within an hour was safely lodged in the District jail.

The profound sympathy and sorrow of the people of this and other countries was manifested by telegrams from every quarter, letters of condolence, and resolutions of public bodies and organizations, conveying to the President expressions of grief and prayer for his recovery. The Queen of England, King of Spain, King of Belgium, Emperors of Russia, Japan, China, and Germany, and other foreign rulers, sent despatches full of sorrow and expressions of good-will.

But another and still more serious relapse awaited him on the twenty-sixth day of August, destroying the hopes of the physicians and attending friends. The bullet-wound was doing well, discharging healthy pus freely; but an ugly abscess, occasioned by pus poisoning, appeared upon the neck, and the stomach ceased to assimilate or retain food. At four o’clock p.m., on the twenty-sixth day of August, he appeared to be rapidly sinking. He was unconscious, and breathed heavily, like one suffering in the last stages of apoplexy. A consultation of the doctors resulted in the decision that the last ray of hope had vanished, and a few hours more would put the seal of death upon all that was mortal of the illustrious President.

On Saturday the churches of Washington consulted together, through representatives, and it was decided to observe the following day as one of fasting and prayer in behalf of the President, who still lived. Telegrams were flashed over the country, inviting Christians of every name to spend Sunday, August 28, in supplication for the recovery of the President.

While the Christian men and women of the country were yet upon their knees, the President rallied from the extreme prostration of Friday and Saturday; his stomach resumed its functions, his pulse fell, and he said in a stronger voice than he had used for a week, “I am better; I shall live.” His strength was apparently renewed, and the change was so decided that the hopes of the nation were once more revived.

The physicians became satisfied that the malarial air of Washington was very unfavourable to the recovery of the President. From the time he was striken down, the public were extremely anxious about this danger. It was not until Tuesday, the fifth day of September, however, that he was removed to Long Branch, New Jersey. Preparations were made to remove him upon his bed, with the least possible excitement and motion; and at six o’clock on the morning of that day, he was taken from the White House to the special train in waiting, accompanied by his devoted wife and loving daughter, together with his medical attendants and other friends. He was comfortably lodged in Francklyn Cottage.

The change appeared to benefit the patient at once, and he enjoyed the sea air with a keen relish. On the fourth day after his arrival, Dr. Hamilton said to Mrs. Garfield, “I am afraid to tell you how confident I feel of your husband’s recovery.” The public participated in this confident hope, and there was renewed talk of a national thanksgiving.