CHAPTER XXX.

THE FUNERAL SERVICE AT BUFFALO.

The first funeral service over the remains of President McKinley was nel at the Milburn house in Buffalo, Sunday, September 15, at 11 o'clock.

At the house only the President's wife, his relatives, his personal friends, and his official family were gathered for their last farewell. It was simply the funeral of William McKinley, the man.

Grief is too weak a word for what Mrs. McKinley suffered. It was not merely the loss of one dear to her. It was the loss of all there was in the world, the one strong arm on which for years she has leaned for support, almost as a child leans upon its mother.

There is a story of unwavering patience and devotion in that part of the late President's life which only has been touched upon, much as has been said about it, and which even those who knew most of its details can hardly grasp, in the all but unparalleled depth of love that it involves.

Even in their own sorrow the thoughts of all who were gathered about the dead President's bier in the room below were going out in pity to her whose desolation was so utter, so far beyond all hope.

The extremity of pathos was reached when, before the ceremony, Mrs. McKinley, the poor, grief-crushed widow, had been led into the chamber by her physician, Dr. Rixey, and had sat awhile alone with him who had supported and comforted her through all their years of wedded life.

Her support was gone, but she had not broken down. Dry-eyed, she gazed upon him. She fondled his face. She did not seem to realize he was dead.

Then she was led away to the head of the stairs, where she could hear the services.

The extremity of impressiveness followed when the new President stood beside the casket steeling himself for a look into the face of the dead.

The tension in the room was great. Every one seemed to be waiting. The minister of the gospel stood with the holy book in his hand ready to begin.

Perhaps it might have been sixty seconds. It seemed longer. Then

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the President turned and advanced one step. He bowed his head and looked. Long he gazed, standing immovable, save for a twitching of the muscles of the chin. At last he stepped back. Tears were in President Roosevelt's eyes as he went to the chair reserved for him.

Another dramatic scene came when the service was over and the Rev. Mr. Locke had pronounced the benediction. Before any one had moved, and while there was the same perfect stillness, Senator Hanna, who had not before found courage to look upon the dead face of his friend, stepped out from where he had been standing behind Governor Odell. It was his last chance to see the features of President McKinley. There was a look on his face that told more than sobs would have done. It was the look of a man whose grief was pent up within him.

The Senator had quite a few steps to take to get to the head of the casket. When he got to the head of the bier, by President Roosevelt, he stood with his head resting on his breast and his hands clasped behind his back, looking down on the face of his friend. He stood there possibly a minute, but to every one it seemed more like five. No one stirred while he stood. The scene was beyond expression.

As the Senator turned his head around those in the room saw his face, and there were tears trickling down it. One of the Cabinet members put out his arm and the Senator instinctively seemed to follow it. He went between Senator Long and Attorney-General Knox and sat down in a chair near the wall; then he bowed his head.

To most of those present at the services at the Milburn house, the dead President had been friend and comrade, a relationship beside which that of President seemed for the moment to sink into insignificance. It was as his friends that they heard the two hymns sung and the passage from the Bible read.

It was so impressive that the people who were there stood silent, with something tugging at their throats and making sobs impossible. There were no sobs heard, and yet there were those there who had known the dead President all his life. Many eyes were filled with tears, but they were shed softly. While the services proceeded there was no audible sound of grief.

But in the faces of every one, from President and the Cabinet Ministers down to soldier and servant, grief of the deepest kind was written too plainly to be mistaken, and the tears stole silently down the furrows in the faces of gray-haired friends who had known intimately the man whose funeral it was.

The sovice at the Milburn house began a few minutes after II o'clock and it was ver in about fifteen minutes.

The ent e military and naval force formed in company front near the house and tre awaited the time for the services to begin.

Meantime he members of the Cabinet, officials high in the government service, and near friends of the martyred President began to fill the walks leading up to the entrance of the Milburn residence. They came separately and in groups, some walking, while those in carriages were admitted within the roped enclosure up to the curb.

Two and two, a long line of men of dignified bearing marched up to see the house the foreign commissioners sent to the exposition, and after them the State commissioners. With the foreigners was a colonel of the Mexican army in his full uniform of black with scarlet stripes and peaked gold braided cap. The other members of the Cabinet in the city, Secretary Long, Attorney-General Knox, Postmaster General Smith, the close confidants and friends of the late chief, Senator Hanna, Judge Day, Governors Odell, Yates, and Gregory, Representatives Alexander and Ryan, MajorGeneral Brooke, E. H. Butler, H. H. Kohlsaat, and many others were present.

It was just eight minutes before the opening of the service when a covered barouche drove up to the house, bringing President Roosevelt and Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, at whose home he is a guest. The President looked grave as he alighted and turned to assist Mrs. Wilcox from the carriage. His face did not relax into a smile to the salutation of those nearest the carriage, but he acknowledged the greetings silently and with an inclination of the head. Word passed up the well filled walk that the President had arrived, and those waiting to gain entrance fell back, making a narrow lane, through which Mr. Roosevelt passed along to the house.

Outside the house there was a half hour of silence and waiting. Within the house of death was woe unspeakable.

In the drawing-room, to the right of the hall, as President Roosevelt entered, the dead chieftain was stretched upon his bier. His head was to the rising sun. On his face was written the story of the Christian forbearance with which he had met his martyrdom. Only the thinness of his face bore mute testimony to the patient suffering he had endured.

The dead President was dressed as he always was in life. The black frock coat was buttoned across the breast where the first bullet of the assassin had struck. The black string tie below the standing collar showed

the little triangle of white shirt front. The right hand lay at his side. The left was across his body. He looked as millions of his countrymen have seen him.

The body lay in a black casket on a black bearskin rug. Over the lower limbs was hung the starry banner he had loved so well. The flowers were few, as befitted the simple nature of the man. A spray of white chrysanthemums, a flaming bunch of blood red American Beauty roses, and a magnificent bunch of violets were on the casket. That was all. Behind the head, against a pier mirror, between the two curtained windows, rested two superb wreaths of white asters and roses. These were the only flowers in the

room.

Two sentries, one from the sea and one from the land, guarded the remains. They stood in the window embrasures behind the head of the casket. The one on the north was a sergeant of infantry. In the other window was the sailor, garbed in the loose blue blouse of the navy.

The family had taken leave of their loved one before the others arrived. Mrs. Hobart, widow of the Vice-President during Mr. McKinley's first term; Mrs. Lafayette McWilliams of Chicago, Miss Barber, Miss Mary Barber, and Dr. Rixey remained with Mrs. McKinley during the services.

The other members of the family-Mr. and Mrs. Abner McKinley, Miss Helen McKinley, Mrs. Duncan, Miss Duncan, Mr. and Mrs. Barber, and Dr. and Mrs. Baer-had withdrawn into the library to the north of the drawing-room, in which the casket lay, and here also gathered other friends when the service was held.

The friends and public associates of the dead President all had opportunity to view the remains before the service began. The members of the Cabinet had taken their leave before the others arrived. They remained seated beside their dead chief while the sad procession viewed the body. They were on the north side of it. A place directly at the head had been reserved for President Roosevelt. Secretary Root sat alongside this empty chair. Then came Attorney-General Knox, Secretary Long, Secretary Hitchcock, Secretary Wilson, and Postmaster-General Smith, in the order named.

Senator Hanna entered the room at this time, but did not approach the casket. His face was set like an iron-willed man who would not let down the barriers of his grief. The Senator spoke to no one. His eyes were vacant. He passed through the throng and seated himself behind Governor

Odell, sinking far down into his chair and resting his head upon his hand. During all the service that followed he did not stir.

Just before 11 o'clock President Roosevelt entered, coming into the room from the rear through the library. After passing into the hall he had made his way around through the sitting-room behind into the library. There was an instantaneous movement in the room as the President appeared. The procession was still passing from the south side, around the head of the casket and back between it and the members of the Cabinet seated at its side.

Every one rose and all eyes were turned toward the President. He moved forward again with the tide of the procession to his place at the head of the line of Cabinet officers. He held himself erect, his left hand carrying his silk hat. Those who were coming toward him fell back on either side to let him pass. He paused once or twice to shake hands silently, but there was no smile to accompany his greetings. He, too, like the man deep down in his seat against the wall, who had forgotten to rise when the President of the United States entered, seemed to be restraining a great grief.

When President Roosevelt reached the head of the line of Cabinet officers he kept his face away from the casket. The infantryman guarding the dead stood before him rigid as a statue. Although the Commander-in-Chief approached until he could have touched him, the soldier did not salute. The President spoke to Secretary Root, or perhaps it would be more precise to say that the latter spoke to him.

Colonel Bingham, the aid to the President, standing ten feet below the foot of the casket at the side of the loyal Cortelyou, glanced in the direction of the Rev. Charles Edward Locke of the Delaware Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church, who was to conduct the service.

The pastor was at the door leading into the hall, a station whence his words could be heard at the head of the stairs. The signal was given and there welled out from the hall the beautiful words of "Lead, Kindly Light," sung by a quartet. It was one of President McKinley's favorite hymns. Every one within sound of the music knew it and half of those in the room put their faces in their hands to hide their tears. Controller Dawes leaned against a bookcase and wept. President Roosevelt seemed to be swaying to and fro as if his footing were insecure.

When the singing ended the clergyman read from the fifteenth chapter of the First Corinthians. All had risen as he began and remained standing through the remainder of the service. Again the voices rose with the words.