In London, in Berlin, in St. Petersburg, in Rome; in churches throughout Europe, in Asia and in the Philippines; the services were devoted to memorials of the assassinated President of the United States. Such a tribute from the religious bodies of the world is an honor more to be desired than a monument. No less significant is the passionate voice of the churches against anarchy and on behalf of law and order. Never has the pulpit of this country voiced the emotions and convictions of the whole nation more completely or more worthily than it did regarding the assassination of the President and the vital questions connected therewith. The whole episode is a reassuring answer to any who may have entertained doubts as to whether the United States was at heart a religious nation.

We need but refer to what took place in a few of our larger cities to understand the feeling throughout the country.

In Washington, D. C., twenty years after the death of Garfield, the nation's capital was again in mourning. The wheels of government were locked, and the voices of the people were uplifted in prayer for the soul of William McKinley while his body was being committed to the tomb in his Ohio home.

There was no need of a proclamation to insure a proper observation of the sad event there. Everywhere were to be seen badges of mourning, and on every flag staff the national ensign was at half-mast. Private and public business was absolutely suspended, and every face showed signs of sadness. The city gave evidence in most impressive manner that its heart was at Canton in the solemn hour of President McKinley's funeral. At exactly 3.30 o'clock (2.30 o'clock in Canton) the city ceased from labor, practically from locomotion, for five minutes.

There was no official proclamation requiring such observance of the funeral hour, and there had not been any general agreement for such observance, but when the hour arrived, as if by common. instinct men, women, and children, white and black, came to a sudden halt in the tasks in which they were engaged, and sat or stood

still as statues wheresoever they chanced to be. Men on foot and on bicycles, the drivers of carriages and draught wagons, chauffeurs and trainmen stood in mute supplication for the dead. Streetcars throughout the city were at a standstill, and generally the car operatives and their passengers united in a silent service, which caused spectators to look on as if it were "the hush of being newly born." Telegraph instruments, typewriting machines, elevators, indeed, all the appurtenances of business throughout the capital, were for the time motionless, and the great city was as quiet as a prairie at midnight.

It was a beautiful contribution to the nation's prayer, and it is safe to say that Washington never before in its history beheld so unique and striking, so spontaneous and unconventional, a token of respect and love for any man.

To the people of Washington the late President McKinley was more than an official, he was their kindly guardian, and they rendered their tributes of respect with their whole hearts. The people, in accordance with President Roosevelt's proclamation, repaired to their churches to attend the memorial services, and rarely have the places of worship been so crowded. All denominations-Protestant, Catholic and Jew--united in these. The Metropolitan Methodist Episcopal Church, where Mr. McKinley worshipped, was the centre of interest, and here the services were more impressive than elsewhere. The President's pew was draped in black and left vacant. It was originally set apart for President Grant, and has ever since borne the inscription, "Our President." The crowd could not be accommodated in the main body of the church, and a second service was held simultaneously in the lecture hall. Bishop Warren and Dr. Crawford spoke in each place.

NEW YORK CITY

New York never saw a day such as the one on which the PresiIdent was laid to rest. It had witnessed solemn funeral processions, like that of General Grant; it had taken part in splendid parades

of triumph, like that in honor of Admiral Dewey; it had been aroused to patriotic enthusiasm, as on the day the Seventh Regiment marched to the front at the outbreak of the Civil War; it had experienced days of terror, as in the time of the draft riots; but this day was different from any of these, yet as deep in feeling and as significant in meaning. It was Thursday in a great commercial metropolis, with a population representing every race and language on the globe; yet a solemn hush, deeper than that of any Sunday, fell on the entire city. All work ceased. All play was stopped. The theatres were closed. The games were postponed. Even many of the saloons shut their doors. Only for the crowds in the streets, one might have thought some awful calamity, like a plague or famine, had visited the city. Never before was there so complete a suspension of all the usual activities of a busy people. And for what? No hero had arrived, who was to be welcomed.

No funeral procession was to pass. No army was to parade. But many miles away the nation's martyred President was being borne to his last resting place, and this city of 3,500,000 gave up one whole day to tearful meditation on the life and death of the nation's honored dead. Immense crowds thronged the principal squares and avenues and viewed the draperies of mourning. The churches the only buildings wide open-were filled with worshippers during the memorial services held in response to President Roosevelt's proclamation. As the time approached when it was known that the procession would start in Canton, the silence of the city grew more intense, and a solemnity of feeling pervaded all, as if the people were in the very presence of death itself. And when the hands on the clocks pointed to half-past 3, an extraordinary scene was enacted. Every street car stopped suddenly, as if by magic, and the people stood with tense faces, indicative of the sorrow they felt.

The only sound to be heard was the tolling of the bells, and as these clanged out their dirgeful melody men reverently uncovered Der heads Six thousand people stood in front of the Herald Belding, with heads uncovered, while the great bells on the roof

were tolled.

Those who witnessed the spectacle will never forget it. This was a day memorable in the history of New York.

IN PHILADELPHIA

Philadelphia paid full measure to the world-wide tribute of sympathy, grief and respect that centered at Canton, Ohio. The community, without distinction of race or creed, united in memorial services that filled churches of every denomination. Nearly all branches of business were absolutely suspended during the whole day, and there were very few establishments, large or small, that did not close for the afternoon, or, at least, during the time announced for the funeral of the late President.

A memorably impressive incident of the day was the stopping of the trolley cars all over the city for ten minutes in the afternoon, suggesting the almost complete pause that was occurring in the ordinary affairs of the country, and concentrating public attention upon the sad final scene at the home of the late President. It was a reminder of the railroad trains that, at the same time, had been halted in their rushing; of the motionless machinery in establishments where usually myriads of hands were busy, and of the innumerable avenues of ordinary trade and business that had been closed in one great expression of sympathy and sorrow. It was at half-past 3 o'clock that the trolley cars were brought to a standstill on every line; on some of them motormen and conductors briefly uncovered their heads, in mute token of their realization of the solemn meaning of it all-an example that was followed by many passengers and observers. Here, as in the case of the Postal Telegraph Co., below mentioned, the power was cut off at the dynamos and the stop was everywhere simultaneous.

GATHERED ABOUT INDEPENDENCE HALL

In the vicinity of the old State House, where so many memorable scenes have transpired, and where the remains of the martyred Lincoln had lain in state, there was assembled a crowd

of about 2,000 people at this time, and here numbers of men remained, with heads bared and bowed, as a knell sounded over the solemn scene. It was a minute or two after the half hour when' a silence that seemed strange in this ordinarily busy centre was broken by the plaintive tones of the muffled bell in Independence Hall tower, and which continued to toll at half minute intervals. until 4 P. M. At the first stroke hundreds of men removed their hats, and remained uncovered for several minutes, and many a head was bowed in reverent sympathy, uniting in spirit with those who, in distant Canton, were paying the last earthly honors to the remains of the nation's dead. With half-masted flags gently fluttering overhead, emblems of mourning wherever the eye rested, and traffic of every kind in suspense, the decorous multitude at once evidenced and realized that sympathy which extended not only over all the country, but embraced countries beyond in its gracious bond.

CHICAGO, THE WESTERN METROPOLIS

The noises of the great city of Chicago were hushed and its commerce suspended for a few moments on this the day of grief, while mourning thousands paid their last tribute to the memory of William McKinley. The silence was broken only by muffled bells, tolling off the fifty-eight years of the dead President's life.

In the forenoon services were held in nearly all churches and the virtues of William McKinley as a President were sung. A big memorial meeting was held at the Auditorium in the evening.

Between twenty and twenty-five thousand men marched in the funeral procession which followed a draped carriage. Its empty seats were more eloquent than words of the nation's loss. In this carriage two years ago the President rode through long aisles of applauding people. Unfurled near the carriage was a flag which had flown over the President on occasions of rejoicing in Chicago, in Canton and in Washington. In common with other cities, all business, not already suspended, stopped at 2.30 P.M. for five