When the last Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II, was dragged out of bed at night and deported without the firing of a shot, in the “Peaceful Revolution” of November 15, 1889, Deodoro da Fonseca was made President by the lovers of liberty and equality, which purely imaginary conditions of life never will be found in any country. Before his weakness had become apparent he was made Constitutional President and Floriano Peixotto was elected Vice-President. Deodoro had neither the firmness nor the initiative that the situation demanded. His policy was weak and vacillating and his popularity waned rapidly. The revolution which was in the process of formation when I arrived on the scene was, I discovered, being quietly fomented by Floriano, the Vice-President. He soon had the army at his back and, as the people were beginning to clamor for him, it was an easy matter to gain the support of Admiral Mello, the ranking officer of the Brazilian Navy, and Admiral Soldanha da Gama, commandant of the naval academy. They brought matters to a head on the morning of November 23, 1891. Mello took up a position at the foot of the main street of Rio in the cruiser “Riachuelo,” the finest ship in the navy, trained his guns on the palace of Itumary, and sent word to Deodoro that he would open fire on him in two hours if he did not abdicate in favor of Floriano. Deodoro abdicated in two minutes, and dropped dead soon afterward from heart disease, and Floriano was proclaimed President. Before he had time to get his new chair well warmed he had a row with Mello, and as soon as I heard of it I foresaw another revolution, which pleasing prospect prompted me to remain in Brazil, for I did not believe it could possibly prove as uninteresting as those that had preceded it. Mello regarded himself as the President-maker and considered that he was rightfully entitled to be the power behind the throne. However, Floriano was not at all constituted for the role of a mere figurehead and he made it plain to Mello that while he might make courteous suggestions and even give friendly advice, he could not go an inch beyond that. Floriano was really a remarkable man. He was perhaps one-half Indian and the rest corrupted Portuguese; sixty years old, with clear, brown eyes and iron gray hair and whiskers. A strong, fine character he was; perfectly fearless, absolutely honest and devoted to his country, whose interests he greatly advanced. He was proud of his Indian blood, which he made a synonyme for courage and fairness, and often referred to it. He was the best President I have ever known, not excepting even the great Guzman.