I wonder what grade of intelligence
Mr. C. L. James imagiues [sic] he is addressing, and whether it
is the highest he is capable of manifesting, when he advances the
proposition that the five Anarchists judicially murdered in Chicago
in 1887 have been avenged in the subsequent removal of “five crowned
heads, or statesmen with powers similar to those of kings.” Is vicarious
sacrifice and atonement, then, recognized by Mr. James as a law
of Auarchy [sic]? Is he going to dispute for the possession of President
McKinley as a sacrifice with the other faddists who profess to know
the cause to which the President’s death stands in the relation
of effect? He is of course familiar with the claim that McKinley’s
removal was an act of God, and that the reason God removed him was
because: (1) He tolerated the army canteen (consult Dr. Silas C.
Swallow); (2) He betrayed the principle of republicanism by declaring
war (attest many Spauish [sic] republicans); (3) He pursued an imperialist
policy (vide scores of sermons by anti-imperialist ministers); He
omitted to recognize Jesus Christ in his proclamations (cf. Christian
Statesman), and he allowed vice to be licensed in the Philippines
(see the New Voice). Besides, there is a local preacher in Delaware
who knew that in the Providence of God a death would avenge the
ostentatious display made by the President and his cabinet when
they swung round the circle last summer, but thought the one taken
would be Mrs. McKinley! If Mr. James expects to make good his theory
that the President suffered for the act of Judge Gary, who sentenced
the Chicago Anarchists, he must show that the claims of all the
foregoing are more absurd than his own; and that, I fancy, he will
find it hard to do.
The President’s assassin was buried
in the cemetery attached to the Auburn prison, the grave being half-filled
with quicklime, by which the body will in a short time be entirely
consumed. A similar burial has been described in verse by Wilde:
For where a grave had opened wide,
There was no grave at all;
Only a stretch of mud and sand
By the hideous prison wall,
And a little heap of burning lime,
That the man should have his pall.
For he has a pall, this wretched man,
Such as few men can claim!
Deep down below a prison yard,
Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
Wrapt in a sheet of flame.
And all the while the burning lime
Eats flesh and bone away,
It eats the brittle bone by might [sic],
And the soft flesh by day.
It eats the flesh and bone by turns,
But it eats the heart alway.