rnished by the power-house at Niagara's thundering cataract, looked
like palaces of gold. The flood of light was a brilliant yellow. The
main avenue was broad and attractive. The tower, with the fountains
and cascade, appealed wonderfully to the imagination. Machinery,
Agricultural, and the Electrical buildings, had an air of grandeur.
Music Hall, where the members of Weber's Orchestra from Cincinnati
were giving a concert before an audience of three hundred persons, had
a melancholy interest for me. It was here, only a short time before,
that President McKinley, at a public reception, was stricken down by
the hand of an assassin; and the exact spot was pointed out to me by a
policeman. In that late hour of the evening, as I stood there rapt in
contemplation over the tragic scene which deprived a nation of one of
the wisest and best of rulers, I seemed to hear his voice uplifted
as in the moment when he was smitten, pleading earnestly with the
horrified citizens and officers around him, to have mercy on his
murderer,--"Let no one do him harm!" It was Christian, like the
Protomartyr; it was the spirit of the Divine Master, Who teaches us to
pray for our persecutors and enemies! Happy the nation with such an
example before it!

In travelling westward one meets now and then with original and
striking characters. They are interesting, too, and you can learn
lessons of practical wisdom from them if you will. They will be
friendly and communicative if you encourage them. Answering this
description was a Mr. H.W. Coffman, a dealer in Short Horn cattle, who
was travelling from Buffalo on the Erie road to Chicago. He lives at
Willow Grove Stock Farm, a hundred miles west of Chicago on the Great
Western Railway, one mile South of German Valley. Naturally we
talked about cows, and we discussed the different breeds of cattle,
especially the Buffalo cows of the present-day Egypt, and the Apis of
four thousand years ago, which according to the representations, on
the monuments, was more like the Devon breed than the Buffalo. The
names which he gave to his cows were somewhat poetic. One, for
example, was named "Gold Bud;" and another, called "Sweet Violet,"
owing to her fine build, was sold for $3,705. As the conversation
drifted, sometimes into things serious, and then into a lighter vein,
Mr. Coffman told a story about a man who had three fine calves. One of
them died, and, when his foreman told him, he said he was sorry, but
no do