"Gentlemen of the convention, your present temper may not mark the healthful pulse of our people. When our enthusiasm has passed, when the emotions of this hour have subsided, we shall find that calm level of public opinion, below the storm, from which the thoughts of a mighty people are to be measured, and by which their final action will be determined. Not here in this brilliant circle, where fifteen thousand men and women are assembled, is the destiny of the Republican party to be decreed. Not here, where I see the enthusiastic faces of seven hundred and fifty-six delegates, waiting to cast their votes into the urn and determine the choice of the republic, but by four million Republican firesides, where the thoughtful voters, with wives and children about them, with the calm thoughts inspired by love of home and country, with the history of the past, the hopes of the future, and reverence for the great men who have adorned and blessed our nation in days gone by burning in their hearts,--_there_ God prepares the verdict which will determine the wisdom of our work to-night. Not in Chicago, in the heat of June, but at the ballot-boxes of the republic, in the quiet of November, after the silence of deliberate judgment, will this question be settled." The thousands were at fever-heat hour after hour, in their intense excitement. After thirty-four ineffectual ballots, on the thirty-fifth, fifty votes were given for Garfield. The tide had turned at last. The delegates of State after State gathered around the man from Ohio, holding their flags over him, while the bands played, "Rally round the flag, boys," and fifteen thousand people shouted their thanksgiving for the happy choice. Outside the great hall, cannons were fired, and the crowded streets sent up their cheers. From that moment Garfield belonged to the nation, and was its idol. On March 4, 1881, in the presence of a hundred thousand people, the boy born in the Orange wilderness was inaugurated President of the United States. None of us who were present will ever forget the beauty of his address from the steps of the national Capitol, or the kiss given to white-haired mother and devoted wife at the close. Afterward, the great procession, three hours in passing a given point, was reviewed by President Garfield from a stand erected in front of the White House. Four months after this scene, on July 2, 1881, the nation was thrilled with sorrow. As General Garfield and his Secretary of State, James G. Blaine, arm in arm, were entering the Baltimore & Potomac Railroad depot, two pistol shots were fired; one passing through Garfield's coat-sleeve, the other into his body. He fell heavily to the floor, and was borne to the White House. The assassin was Charles Guiteau, a half-crazed aspirant for office, entirely unknown to the President. The man was hanged.