Fakirs Marred the Funeral Day

These Mercenaries Held Nothing Sacred and Cried Their Wares
Near House of Death.

     Canton, O., Sept. 19.—Cold, damp and gray, the funeral day dawned at Canton. Lowering clouds overcast the heavens and a chilling mist, falling on the restless, turbulent, surging thousands which filled the streets, penetrated through the clothing and added to the depression which affected those who had come to perform the last offices for the martyred dead.
     This little town was today the centre of interest for all the world. The President, the Cabinet and diplomats were here, and so were thousands unknown to fame. The trains lined up on the tracks miles each side of the depot.
     Every road ran special trains, and every train was packed to suffocation. The streets were almost impassable, and it is only by the most superhuman efforts that one could work his way through the dense throngs.
     Over the heads of the multitude came the cries of fakirs. Thousands of them drifted to Canton. They erected their stands during the night, and at the first sign of daylight began to shout their wares, cheap button pictures, mourning ribbons, photos of the dead President and his stricken wife, and red carnations.
     Not even in the vicinity of the dead President’s home was sacred to these vandals, and those in the very death chamber could hear the discordant howls of the mercenary pirates.