William McKinley, Sr., was a whig, and one of the thousands who marched from that old party into the ranks of the Republicans. Young William had read a great deal. His youthful fancy had been stirred with the stories of California gold, and the Overland Trail. His home was fairly supplied with such reading as is good for a boy, and a part of it dealt with the adventures and the activities of Colonel John C. Fremont. That “Pathfinder,” as his friends called him, was a hero to young William. More impressive far than the stories of wealth in the mines were the reports of Fremont’s expeditions. More attractive than the magnet which drew adventurers to the new Eldorado was the unspoken yearning to become a member of one of Colonel Fremont’s bands of explorers. And so it is small wonder that his heart glowed with enthusiasm when Fremont was made the nominee of the young Republican party in 1856. He was thirteen years old then, and a stout, healthy boy, with a healthy American boy’s appetite for politics. So he shouted the campaign cries of the party, and sang the songs which lauded Fremont to the skies—as well as those less amiable songs which had for their motive the prophesying of defeat for Buchanan. The result of the election in 1856 was never much in doubt, except to the sanguine youths who mistook their own earnestness for “indications.” But the defeat of his champion did not weigh heavily on the lad’s heart; and before the next national election came around he was almost man grown, with something of education, with four more years of activity and helpfulness for his family. But it would be impossible for a lad to enter with more earnestness into a cause than he gave to the hosts who were rallying to the support of Lincoln in 1860. Young William had already taken an active interest in politics. He had “supported” Fremont because that explorer, traveler and soldier had won his honest admiration through many deeds of heroism. But he gave his allegiance to Lincoln because he had read, and because he understood the issues of the day, and believed the “Railsplitter of Illinois” was right. He could not vote for Lincoln that first time, but he could give the aid which politicians know is of value in campaigns. And so he was a member of the circles that marched and sang for the candidate—for freedom’s champion. And he was given to debating, even in those early days. He was naturally a public speaker. He could arrange his argument, marshal his points and present them; and he could thrill his hearers with the genuine eloquence which is not learned, but comes spontaneous from the lips that have been touched with the wand of genius.