The masses were swept from their moorings, and reason destroyed. All historic perspective was lost. Our first assassination, there was no precedent for comparison. It had been over two hundred years in the world's history since the last murder of a great ruler, when William of Orange fell.
On the day set for the public funeral, twenty million people bowed at the same hour.
When the procession reached New York, the streets were lined with a million people. Not a sound could be heard save the tramp of soldiers' feet and the muffled cry of the dirge. Though on every foot of earth stood a human being, the silence of the desert and of Death! The Nation's living heroes rode in that procession, and passed without a sign from the people.
Four years ago he drove down Broadway as President-elect, unnoticed and with soldiers in disguise attending him lest the mob should stone him.
To-day, at the mention of his name in the churches, the preachers' voices in prayer wavered and broke into silence, while strong men among the crowd burst into sobs. Flags flew at half-mast from their steeples, and their bells tolled in grief.
Every house that flew but yesterday its banner of victory was shrouded in mourning. The flags and pennants of a thousand ships in the harbour drooped at half-mast, and from every staff in the city streamed across the sky the black mists of crepe like strange meteors in the troubled heavens.
