This news only helped to direct attention from the dying President to the cell which held his assassin.

That these preparations were quite necessary became apparent by 8:30 o'clock Friday night, when the people had assembled in the vicinity of police headquarters in such numbers that the streets were blocked and impassable.

The police roped off all the streets at a distance of three hundred to four hundred feet from the nearest of the buildings and refused to admit any one within that limit. One hundred patrolmen guarded the ropes and fought back the crowds, while ten mounted men galloped to and fro, holding the crowds in repression.

New details of police from the outside stations came in from time to time, and Superintendent Bull kept in constant touch on the telephone with Colonel Welch, who was at the Sixty-fifth armory, less than a mile away.

In order to divert the attention of the excited crowds, the false report that Czolgosz had been spirited away was sent out. While the source cannot be traced, it is believed the report emanated from the police headquarters. The mob was also informed, whenever possible, that there was no reason to believe that there would be a miscarriage of justice, whether through the pretext that the assassin was insanely irresponsible for his act or through the possibility that he might die before justice could be meted out to him.

It was learned indirectly that Superintendent Bull had asked the insanity experts, who have had Czolgosz under their observation for a week, and Police Surgeon Dr. Fowler, who has had charge of the prisoner's physical health, to prepare a statement of the exact truth about the prisoner's health of mind and body.

The President's clothes, which were removed at the Exposition Hospital, were later sent to the Milburn residence, where the pockets were emptied. The attendant told what he found.

In his right-hand trousers pocket was some $1.80 in currency. With these coins was a small silver nugget, well worn, as if the President had carried it as a pocket piece for a long time.

Three small penknives, pearl-handled, were in the pockets of his trousers. Evidently they were gifts that he prized and was in the habit of carrying all of them. Another battered coin, presumably a pocket piece, was in the lefthand pocket.

The President's wallet was well worn and of black leather, about four inches by five. It was marked with his name. In it was $45 in bills. A

number of cards, which evidently had rested in the wallet for some time, were in one of the compartments.

In a vest pocket was a silver-shell lead pencil. Three cigars were found. They were not the black perfectos which the President likes, but were short ones which had been given to him at Niagara Falls that day. On two of them he had chewed, much as General Grant used to bite a cigar.

The President's watch was an open-faced gold case American-made timekeeper. Attached to it was the gold chain which the President always wore. No letters, telegrams or papers were found. There was not on the President's person a single clew to his identity, unless it was to be found in the cards in his wallet, which were not examined.

One of the most striking features of the fateful week at Buffalo was the exclusive use of automobiles by the public officials, friends, relatives and physicians on their trips to and from the Milburn residence. Heretofore the modern vehicles were used chiefly for pleasure and many doubted their utility, but on the well-paved streets of Buffalo they were found to have many advantages over carriages drawn by horses. Lines of the motor cabs were stationed a short distance from the house and whenever a call for one was sent out it approached speedily but noiselessly. No sound as loud as a horse's hoof on the pavement was made by the vehicles.

The wounded President was transferred from the Emergency Hospital on the Exposition grounds to the Milburn residence in an automobile, and the horseless carriages were sent to the railroad stations to meet officials and relatives coming to the bedside of the stricken man.

When the startling report of the assassination first sped along the wires, causing grief and consternation everywhere, Senator Hanna was at his home in Cleveland. Hanna was undoubtedly McKinley's most intimate friend in public life, as well as the President's adviser. Hanna was intensely excited by the news and at once began to make plans for reaching Buffalo as soon as possible. A special train could have been made up, but the time to reach the station would have been considerable.

Some one suggested that the Lake Shore Limited, which is the fastest train between Chicago and New York, be flagged near Hanna's home, and this was at once done. The railway officials gave their consent by telephone, and when the train approached near the house-the railroad is but a few rods from the Hanna residence-it slacked up and the Senator boarded it. Steam was put on and the delay made up in a few hours. The train reached Buffalo on time.

Senator Hanna took a hopeful view of the situation, and assured everyone with whom he conversed of the ultimate recovery of the President. He remained at Buffalo until Tuesday, and then returned to Cleveland, where the G. A. R. Encampment was being held. When he parted from the President he stated that in his opinion, for which he relied chiefly on the physicians, McKinley would be well in a month. Hanna spent Wednesday and Thursday in Cleveland, leaving for Buffalo on a special train when notified of the relapse of the patient. The death of McKinley touched Hanna deeply. He had to be led from the bedside on the occasion of the last interview between the two men. He was almost a total collapse, his face was drawn and his entire form trembled.

On Sunday night, September 8th, two days after the President had been shot, and at a time when it was believed he would recover, Senator Hanna had a remarkable dream, prophetic of the fatal end.

On Monday a newspaper correspondent asked him if he had any fears of a relapse, when he replied:

"That reminds me of a dream I had last night. You know dreams go by contraries. Well, sir, in this dream I was up at the Milburn house waiting to hear how the President was getting along, and everybody was feeling very good. We thought the danger was all past. I was sitting there talking with General Brooke and Mr. Cortelyou, and we were felicitating ourselves on how well the physicians had been carrying the case.

"Suddenly, in my dream, Dr. McBurney entered the room through the door leading to the sick room with a look of the utmost horror and distress on his face. I rushed up to him, and putting a hand on either shoulder, said: 'What is it, Doctor? what is it? let us know the worst.'

"Dr. McBurney replied: 'My dear Senator, it is absolutely the worst that could happen. The President has had a tremendous change for the worse; his temperature is now 440 degrees.' I fell back in my chair in utter collapse, and then I awoke. But, do you know, I could not rest easy until I saw the early bulletins this morning?"

Everyone thought of Mrs. McKinley and the hearts of all went out to her in sympathy when it was known that the end was near. They had tried all day to keep the fatal news from her, but it is probable that when she saw the President she divined something of his serious condition. Mrs. McWilliams, Mrs. Barber, Miss Mary McKinley, and Mrs. Duncan were with her and gave her the most tender and loving ministration. The crowds eagerly scanning the bulletin boards feared for her. It was a matter of current belief that the