[To M. I. M., in London]

(Writing of President McKinley’s Death)

Peace Dale, September 18, 1901

MY DEAR MINNIE:  .  .  .  The grief here is touching in many ways, for it is really grief. Horror at the crime is prominent; exasperation at the criminal is very inconspicuous, which is as it should be; but the universal feeling is undeniably one of personal grief at the loss of such a man in such a way, for, first and foremost, McKinley was a man whose sympathies extended to all about him. The knowledge of this fact is spread over a greater territory than one would believe. We get authentic accounts of the respect shown the funeral train as it passed through the villages and fields of New York and Pennsylvania. Groups of men at work stopped their labor as the train came in sight, and stood with bared heads so long as they could see it. The exhibition of the portrait of McKinley, edged with crepe, in the homes of the very poor, is extremely common in all the cities. Many such tokens of grief are hung out of upper windows, where no one can see them—evidently as a relief to the feeling of some who could hardly be expected to afford any such signs of grief. To-morrow we have here a memorial service, at which laymen and clergy will speak, and they insist upon it that I shall be there to say a few words at least, and of course I am willing, although feeling very unfit for the occasion.