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beauty, and was suddenly smitten by the hand that brought death with it. None of us can tell what a day may bring forth. Let us, therefore, remember that 'No man liveth to himself and none of us dieth to himself.' May each day's close see each day's duty done.

"Another great lesson that we should heed is the vanity of mere earthly greatness. In the presence of the dread messenger, how small are all the trappings of wealth and distinctions of rank and power. I beseech you, seek Him who said: “I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.'

“There is but one Savior for the sin-sick and the weary. I entreat you, find him, as our brother found him.

“But our last words must be spoken. Little more than four years ago we bade him good-bye as he went to assume the great responsibilities to which the nation had called him. His last words as he left us were: 'Nothing could give me greater pleasure than this farewell greeting—this evidence of your friendship and sympathy, your good will, and, I am sure, the prayers of all the people with whom I have lived so long and whose confidence and esteem are dearer to me than any other earthly honors. To all of us the future is as a sealed book, but if I can, by official act or administration or utterance, in any degree add to the prosperity and unity of our beloved country and the advancement and well-being of our splendid citizenship, I will devote the best and most unselfish efforts of my life to that end. With this thought uppermost in my mind, I reluctantly take leave of my friends and neighbors, cherishing in my heart the sweetest memories and thoughts of my old home—my home now—and, trust, my home hereafter, so long as I live."

“We hoped with him that when his work was done, freed from the burdens of his great office, crowned with the affections of a happy people, he might be permitted to close his earthly life in the home he had loved.

SADNESS OF THE HOME-COMING. "He has, indeed, returned to us, but how? Borne to the strains of 'Nearer, My God, to Thee,' and placed where he first began life's struggle, that the people might look and weep over so sad a home-coming.

“But it was a triumphal march. How vast the procession! The nation rose and stood with uncovered head. The people of the land are chief mourners. The nations of the earth weep with them. But, Oh, what a victory! I do not ask you in the heat of public address, but in the calm moments of mature reflection, what other man ever had such high honors bestowed upon him, and by so many people? What pageant has equaled this that we look upon tonight? We gave him to the nation only a little more than four years ago. He went out with the light of the morning upon his brow, but with task set, and the purpose to complete it. We take him back a mighty conqueror.

“ 'The church yard where his children rest,
'The quiet spot that suits liim best;

There shall his grave be made,
And there his bones be laid.
And there his countrymen shall come,
With memory proud, with pity dumb.
And strangers far and near,
For many and many a year;
For many a year and many an age,
While history on her simple page
The virtues shall enroll
Of that paternal soul.'”

As Dr. Manchester concluded, “We seem to hear the faintly murmured words, 'Good-bye. It is God's way; His will, not ours, be done.'” Without the church soldiers were standing straight as statues. Thousands of men stood in the line of procession waiting. It was this same idea which held them.

At the request of Mrs. McKinley the Rev. Father Vattman, chaplain at Fort Sheridan, Chicago, made the closing prayer, which was both beautiful and touching.

Then came the last stage of the journey—to the City of the Dead. Members of the United States senate, those who sit in the house of representatives, officials and citizens from every state in the union, soldiers, military organizations--a column of more than six thousand men followed the funeral car on its last journey..

The skies were hidden by clouds of gray, but not a drop of rain fell. The path of flagging leading to the iron-gated vault was buried beneath flowers. The men of the war of forty years before passed up this road before the funeral car approached, catching up the flowers as they passed. Just ahead of the hearse came the handful of survivors from the President's owu regiment, blind with tears. They, too, gathered up the flowers as they passed by.

Just without the entrance of the vault stood the new President of the United States. The casket rested on supports close to him. The members of the cabinet formed an open line with him and members of the family--all save the stricken woman, who was in the home under Dr. Rixey's close care.

As the casket was borne to the entrance of the vault there was not a member of the cabinet who was not visibly affected, while several were in tears, with their handkerchiefs to their eyes. . Secretary Root, though controliing himself to some degree of outward calm, was deeply moved, and President Roosevelt repeatedly wiped away the tears.

Ainong the bystanders very few made any effort to conceal their emotion. It was a scene, under the cheerless gray skies and the bleak wind, as cold as the November days, that even all the glory of the flowers could not relieve—the picture of all of sorrow and desolation that death leaves in its wake. As the one on whom the terrible blow fell hardest was not there, the last agony was spared her.

From the lips of the venerable Bishop Joyce came the benediction“Dust to dust, earth to earth, ashes to ashes."

The roar of the cannon echoed from the hilltop just above. It came as a mighty amen.

Again the white-haired minister spoke. Once again came the cannon crash, its reverberations beating against the hills about the city, while the troops stood with gleaming bayonets at salute to the dead.

Then came "taps”—the saddest call the bugle knows, sounded by eight silver bugles. The last notes were held until the breath of the wind seemed to rob them of life.

Away down the street, two miles away, the marching columns were still coming. Tlie music of the bands, muted, it seemed, by some giant hand, came floating to the group about the vault—“Nearer, My God, to Thee."

Once again came the thunder from the guns above.

Then the casket was carried into the vault. Five infantrymen marched behind it. A moment passed, then the outer doors were closed.

The last ceremony was over; the third martyred President of the United States had been committed to God and eternity.

Slowly the marching column came about the crescent road to the left of the temporary tomb. Then darkness threw its veil over all, the silent guards took their stations, and the cemetery gates were closed.

During the five minutes between two-thirty and two thirty-five, while the body of the chief was being borne from the church to the hearse, traffic was stopped all over the United States. Not a wheel was turned upon the great railroad systems, not a wire flashed a message, not a telephone bell rang. Surely no greater tribute than this was ever paid to man. There was no sound, save when, from full hearts, came the soft whisper, broken by sobs: “Nearer, My God, to Thee."

Out under the whispering oak trees of Westlawn Cemetery, in a vine-covered vault which is almost buried in a sloping hillside, guarded, day and night, by soldiers of the republic, the body of the martyred chief lies at rest.

But if, out of the common sorrow, may come a greater ove of country, and if the red peril can be wiped from the face of the earth, William McKinley will rot have lived—nor died—in vain.

THE PRESIDENT'S SURGEONS. The highest medical authorities concur in the opinion that all that surgery could do for the distinguished sufferer was done by his medical attendants. The New York Medical Journal says:

"It is a melancholy consolation to know that the fatal termination of President McKinley's case was not in the slightest degree due to any omission to give him the full benefit of all the present resources of our art, and there is nothing humiliating in the fact that the favorable prognosis which for five or six days seemed justified should have finally proven fallacious. * * * It is perfectly certain that there was 110 technical fault in the operation, and it may be said with equal positiveness that it would have verged on madness to prolong the search for the bullet after it had been ascertained that it had not inflicted any very grave injury beyond that of the stomach—ascertained, that is to say, within the limitations of warrantable efforts.”

Sir James Crichton Browne, the eminent English surgeon, said at a gathering of prominent medical men in London, September 28, he was confident he was expressing the unanimous opinion of the British medical profession when he declared that the surgeons who attended the late President of the United States showed the utmost skill at every stage. A power more than human would have been required to save the life oi the nation's wounded chief.

CHAPTER III.

Expressive Tributes From Foreign Lands.

Morning had scarcely dawned for the night watchers keeping the last vigil beside the coffin of the murdered President, 4,000 miles away, when Londoners were already assembled by the thousands around Westminster Abbey to attend the memorial services of America's dead President.

The venerable palace of the dead was all too small to contain half of those seeking admission. Every ticket printed had been bespoken a dozen times over. At the American embassy over night, up to an hour before noon, applicants still clamored for the coveted pasteboards, many striving even to accompany the officials from the embassy toward the abbey in hope of being admitted among the crowd.

Around the doors, where tickets were not needed, a throng gathered two hours before the doors opened sufficient to fill the entire abbey. All were in deep mourning. Indeed the outburst of black clothing surpassed anything seen here excepting only on the death of Queen Victoria.

CHURCH FILLS RAPIDLY. The solemn passing bell of Westminster tower still had half an hour to toll before the service began, when the stream of notable persons who were admitted through the dean's yard slowly filed to their places in the choir. One of the first to arrive was former Vice President Levi P. Morton, accompanied by his wife and family. They were quickly followed by Lord Pauncefote and his family.

Sir William Colville, royal master of ceremonies, found the chancel half filled before he could take up the duties he voluntarily assumed of marshaling people into their places. Mr. Synge, C. M. G. B., assistant marshal of ceremonies, who also volunteered to assist the embassy officials, acted for the nonce as usher in conducting distinguished arrivals to their places.

The lord steward of the household, Lord Pembroke, represented the king. Next to him sat the United States ambassador, Mr. Choate; Secretary White and other members of the embassy. Colonel Alfred M. Egerton, equerry of the Duke of Connaut, represented the Duke and Duchess of Connaut; Major James E. Martin, equerry of Prince Christian, represented the Prince and Princess Christian of Schleswig-Hol

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