One Consolation

     In opening his noble address at the Exposition on last Thursday morning, President McKinley said: “I am glad to be again in the city of Buffalo and exchange greetings with her people, to whose generous hospitality I am not a stranger and with whose good will I have been repeatedly and signally honored.”
     No Buffalonian who heard that ringing voice, and who was within sight of the illustrious speaker can ever forget the cordial tone of these words and the smile of perfect sincerity that lighted up the kindly face, as he bowed in acknowledging the responsive acclamations of the multitude. He was speaking as our guest, the guest of all the people of Buffalo, who were proud and happy to do him honor. It was a most inspiring moment.
     And yet, somewhere in that cheering, enthusiastic crowd, the black-hearted anarchist also lurked, even then seeking a chance to do his bloody work. There is at least one consolation in the fact that the wretch who committed the murderous deed does not belong to Buffalo, and never made his home here. There is sorrow enough, but thank Heaven we are not called upon to endure the additional bitterness of realizing that the blow was struck by one who was ever in any sense a Buffalonian. The man is a stranger here.