other can hope to escape sorrow and anxiety, and there are
dreadful moments when death comes very near those we love, even if for
the time being it passes by. But life is a great adventure, and the
worst of all fears is the fear of living. There are many forms of
success, many forms of triumph. But there is no other success that in
any shape or way approaches that which is open to most of the many, many
men and women who have the right ideals. These are the men and the women
who see that it is the intimate and homely things that count most. They
are the men and women who have the courage to strive for the happiness
which comes only with labor and effort and self-sacrifice, and only to
those whose joy in life springs in part from power of work and sense of
duty.

CHAPTER X

THE PRESIDENCY; MAKING AN OLD PARTY PROGRESSIVE

On September 6, 1901, President McKinley was shot by an Anarchist in the
city of Buffalo. I went to Buffalo at once. The President's condition
seemed to be improving, and after a day or two we were told that he
was practically out of danger. I then joined my family, who were in the
Adirondacks, near the foot of Mount Tahawus. A day or two afterwards
we took a long tramp through the forest, and in the afternoon I climbed
Mount Tahawus. After reaching the top I had descended a few hundred feet
to a shelf of land where there was a little lake, when I saw a guide
coming out of the woods on our trail from below. I felt at once that he
had bad news, and, sure enough, he handed me a telegram saying that the
President's condition was much worse and that I must come to Buffalo
immediately. It was late in the afternoon, and darkness had fallen by
the time I reached the clubhouse where we were staying. It was some time
afterwards before I could get a wagon to drive me out to the nearest
railway station, North Creek, some forty or fifty miles distant. The
roads were the ordinary wilderness roads and the night was dark. But we
changed horses two or three times--when I say "we" I mean the driver
and I, as there was no one else with us--and reached the station just at
dawn, to learn from Mr. Loeb, who had a special train waiting, that the
President was dead. That evening I took the oath of office, in the house
of Ansley Wilcox, at Buffalo.

On three previous occasions the Vice-President had succeeded to the
Presidency on the death of the President. In each case there had been
a reversal of party policy, and a