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The Rams' Horn editors were excited about the 1897 inauguration of William McKinley. They published this emotional account of the event in the March 11, 1897 edition (pp. 4-7):

The Man of March Fourth

How A wonderful Stranger Participated In The Inauguration

His Meeting with the President

When the gray dawn of March 4th stole softly in the wake of the humid darkness of the previous night it ushered in a day pregnant with history of importance to the world, to 70,000,000 Americans in particular, and to two families and two men individually. The nation looked upon March 4th as the natal day of prosperity, which is to follow the long night of panic and woe which for three years has hung like a pall over this fair continent.

The two people who were the chief actors in the day's drama were the man who gave over the scepter of power, and the new ruler who received it. One passed from the summit of ambition and henceforth will go down life's rocky slope, the other approached it, gained it, and for four years at least, life permitting, he will stand poised on the highest eminence of human distinction. As the late President awoke on this eventful morning, which closed his public career, he may have looked out of the low window of his chamber and his eye may have traveled far across the wide meadows and rested upon the turgid waters of the Potomac, whose current was swollen by winter's snow and rain. As he lay in silent reverie and watched the river surging forward to the ocean he saw quickly ho lent career. In fancy he followed the course of the stream backward, and far back where, as a tiny spring or noisy brook in the Pennsylvania mountains, it picked its devious way. This was the river's childhood, and it reminded him of his own, for like the path of a small brook, which now lies open to the son and again passes under cover of stones or thickets and is obscure even from a small distance, so the period of childhood reveals to later years only patches of white where some event more striking than ordinary stands forth clearly. For the rest it is mostly in shadow. But soon this waking roan traced his life history in the current as it grew deeper and of broader volume. It now ran fresh and strong and yet he could count the stories in the bottom-it was so clear. This recalled his early youth, when his mother's influence and his mother's prayers were the safe embankment which fortified his course and kept his heart and mind pure. He recalled the evening prayer, the family altar, and the small Bible, which, in later time, he carried in memory of his mother and which twice he kissed when he took each time the oath of supreme office in the Republic. But youth's days passed too soon. The stream had not tarried long in the mountains and it soon swept through the lowlands. It now approached a city, where it passed under viaducts and huge walls of masonry and constricted passages and a part of it was even diverted into a mill race and was forced through slotted water gates child then crowded into precipitous vaults, where, falling by its own gravity, it was caught in the maelstrom of turbines and was churned and lashed into foam. Ah, faithful simile of human experience. Sooner or later one must enter real life, quite likely the city. At any rate, every real life has its mill­race; that is duty. Then on to the water wheel which drives industry; that is experience. It grinds and churns and beats into foam, but the result is character. The waters of the main stream flow on leisurely and without care; that is the great gay or indolent world. The main stream and the mill­race soon re­unite. They are one, as humanity is one, and yet composed of integers, endowed with will and accountability. Every particle of the river is propelled in the same direction, but those parts which lately moved the wheels of commerce would, if they were sensate, have the sweet joy of knowing that they had done their work and that a "well done" awaits them. It may be that these reflections were shared by the man in the White House chamber as he still lay and watched the moving river. He observes that as it leaves the city with factories and mills on either side, discharging pollution, its current is far less clear. And as it travels southward it receives the tribute of other streams and some of them are fouler than itself, and the man who is reading his own history in this vision, blanches slightly as he recalls the sins of his early manhood and counts the influences of a bad environment and the tributes of flattery, which were once sweet in his ears, and the discharge of the city into the limpid stream he likens to the cursed distillations of appetite, passion and lust, which are poured into every life whose walls of virtue are not banked high on either side. The face of the watcher betrays regret, but not remorse, for remorse is never the fruit of repentance, and Mr. Cleveland, I believe, has repented the sins of earlier years. He knows that if given a fair chance under the sun and fresh winds of heaven, swift­moving streams will soon clarify and every trace of pollution will vanish, and lives which were once soiled may, thanks to God, forsake their sin, and, through industry, free will, and by the aid of God's moral sunlight and the breath of His spirit, resume the purity of their first estate. It was this thought that brought calmness to the face of the watcher and as he traced the Potomac's course in the other direction and saw it leave the Capitol city and fade away into the distant expanse of a limitless ocean, he read his own destiny. He accepted it cheerfully and instantly arose. This morning he dressed and took his mother's little Bible from the shelf and read:

"The grass withereth, the flower fadeth.

but the word of our God shall stand forever." Isaiah xl:8.

He stood, and for a moment looked out again upon the broad Potomac, then closed his eyes in prayer.

On1y a few blocks distant the other chief actor of this great day was also waking from sleep. The curtain was raised and the first distant object to meet his sight was the tall monument of Washington, which rises far above any other object within miles and miles. As Mr. McKinley's eyes rested upon this towering monolith he studied its plain smooth surface, which, on four sides, bears scarcely any carving or decoration, and, there he a man more conscious and less modest, he would have, read his own plain, unadorned symmetrical and successful career in that memorable shaft. As it was, his eye traveled slowly from the base to its lofty apex and this dizzy height reminded him that today he was to reach the summit of his human ambition. Not thoroughly awake he easily fell back on his pillow in dreamy reverie and soon fancied, as one will in a waking dream, that he was climbing the spiral stairway of this monument and at last stood at the top, unsupported and alone. The morning was clear and fine and the view was thrilling. Suddenly a current of wind came from the Blue Mountain range. It was too strong and unexpected. He clutched at the railing, but was carried over and downward, down, down that five hundred and eighty awful feet, almost to the ground below. "Almost," for merciful nature always permits one to awake from such a dream as this, just an instant before we are dashed to frightful, though imaginary, death. Of course, it was only a dream, but it brought the man to a waking state in a perspiration of temporary fear, and a serious frame of mind. He is too practical to be superstitious, but it would be a dull mind and callous heart which would not have stopped for an instant to read the possible meaning of this vision. Could it be that this man of destiny was to reach today the summit of his ambition, the very apex of honor and greatness, as men count greatness; then, after, standing for a period on this dizzy height and being caught by sudden assault, inspired by his own rash folly, would he be carried downward, down, to real, and not imaginary, ruin? The simile was too strong even for his practical mind to ignore. His face blanched for an instant and his brows knit hard. "I see," he cried. "In my dream I stood unsupported and alone." He arose and dressed. After breakfast he descended to the lobby of the Ebbitt House and soon forgot his disagreeable vision in the surging crowd of friends and admirers and petitioners who besieged him. There was sincere respect and unselfish regard written in the faces of some, but the majority was made up of that class of men who prowl in the wake of a, new administration, greedy for office and insistent upon being heard and rewarded. The most conspicuous exception to this number, made so by manner and appearance, was a man who stood leaning gently against the mail box in the lobby. He followed Mr. McKinley constantly with a close, but tender scrutiny, half questioning, half admiring. Once or twice the new President saw him and started to speak and then caught him self, half doubtful. At last, drawn by an uncontrollable fascination, he passed quickly across the marble floor and stood before the stranger, who stood up and looked considerate and gentle, but not deferential. It was the sight of two noble-looking men and the stranger did not suffer in the comparison. He was slightly taller and more lithe than McKinley and his face and dress brawled analysis, so that it could not be said whether he was a states man, a scholar, or a man of affairs. Perhaps he was all three, for he was in strong contrast with the multitude of politicians and idlers who made up the great bulk of the inauguration multitude. Mr. McKinley passed his hand quickly over his eyes and brow, as if seeking to summon from the archives of memory a long­forgotten vision. At last he said: "I think I know you. I know I have seen you." The stranger smiled and looked firmly and kindly into the eyes of his companion. He held his hand long and warmly while he talked in a manner low and earnest, but calm and self­possessed. At last their hands parted, find Mr. McKinley held in his a small white card. He did not stop to read it. He excused himself and went quickly to his chambers.

The two central figures in the inaugural event rode together from the White Houses to the Capitol in President Cleveland's carriage. It was drawn by four magnificent horses, whose glossy coats and large, lambent eyes of brown revealed high breeding and a quick intelligence. They seemed to participate in the spirit of the great occasion. They arched their necks proudly and moved their limbs at the knee and in unison as though keeping time with a quickstep march. As the carriage swept out of the White House grounds and down through the exit at the gate the steeds turned in the direction they usually take when they carry the President on his daily drive. The cruel coachman gave the leaders a savage wrench of the Bit and it brought the front "off horse" to his haunches, and the smooth asphalt pavement being slippery, he fell helpless on his side and the weight and momentum of the heavy carriage on the down­grade brought the wheel horses upon him and one of them spiked the fallen yoke­mate deeply in the hip. It was about the only accident of the inauguration which related directly to the chief participants. The driver looked vexed and many have swore. He tried to urge the bruised and fallen beast to rise, but it evidently could not. Many in the gathering crowds would have given it a kick or a curse, but only cone leaped forth and seeing that it leas nearly strangled by a tight throat-band, unloosed it, and stroking its noble face, gently spoke kind word and helped it rise. The driver repaid the assistance with an oath. The crowd, though ashamed of its own unfeeling sense, cheered the lordly act and praised the doer. "Who is he?" queried a hundred.

The carriage rolled by and the President-elect recognized his friend of the morning.

At the inaugural exercises vast crowds assembled in the spacious plaza in front of the Capitol building. The number was estimated at 50,000. Long before noon the dense mass had gathered and packed closer and closer in against the temporary stand where the oath was to be administered. Anybody who never computed the weight of 50,000 people, cannot realize what danger lies in such a multitude when its vast bulk begins to surge with the unrest of impatience, or when moved by excitement, or fear. Fifty thousand people, averaging one hundred and forty pounds in weight, would tip the scale at seven million pounds. Start this ponderous mass in one direction and it will be seen what terrible deaths would come to any animate beings that got in its way. Exactly such an accident as this happened in the plains out side Moscow at the late crowning of the czar. And just such an accident might have happened a dozen times at the Worlds Fair had not the far­seeing and experienced officials forestalled such by placing men as lookouts on the great buildings and when the crowds became dense and when that swaying motion set in, which is so ominous and leads to such fatal consequences at a second's warning, the lookouts gave the signal and attractions were set going in other parts of the grounds so that the mass was depleted of its numbers and. the congestion relieved. This day, the 4th of March, and one of the gladdest days in American history, might have been draped at its close in sable mourning had not the motion of the crowd been arrested instantly by a striking sight. Long waiting was proving irksome and the impatience of many tribe as near as possible to the seat of interest, made the crush fit the center almost unendurable. When the experienced eyes of those on the raised platform saw the impending calamity, the danger was ill creased by the breaking of a box in the densest part of the mob. Curiosity, impatience and fear were now setting to work and the ponderous mass began to heave and surge and settle toward the platform like a slow tidal weave. At this instant I saw a ragged little colored boy thrown over the heads of some rough men and their curses followed him as they told him to make room for his betters. I saw him caught in the arms of a man, and he staid there, wrapt tenderly about with strong protection. The look of terror fled from his face as he heard a whispered assurance from his guardsman. The crowd began to mutter and protest, for in Washington the negro knows his place, as was demonstrated by the heavy band of black faces which on all sides hemmed the borders of the throng. The negro knew he did not belong near the center. How this wretched, homely, ragged little fellow got there I do not know, but when the anger of the mob seemed likely to vent itself, not on him but upon his savior, and when the same tremendous surge began to drift again in that direction end each second seemed to mark the last point of tension in the awful strain, then the colored urchin weal held aloft far over the heads of all and the strong, clear voice of his protector rung out over the multitude.

Except he become as this little child he cannot enter into the kingoom of God." Watt. xviii:3.

It was either a miracle or a stroke of genius. The solemn, truthful warning spoken with the tone as of one having authority was the only thing to arrest the ready human current that might have turned the happiest of recent events into gloom and death. Though everybody asked who this strange mien might be, it seemed that no one knew him. I recognized, however, the same face as that which I saw in the morning, and my suspicions were confirmed, for at this very moment the presidential party appeared on the stand and Mr. McKinley saw the act of courage at a glance. Wishing to reward such bravery and as he thought, quick wit, to avert a panic, he sent to have the hero brought to the stand and given a seat. He came, but he brought the negro child with him. The President elect changed color as he recognized in the brave man, his stranger friend of the morning. He took the latter by the land and led him to the highest seat of honor, higher than that of Chief Justice or Prime Minister or President. He gave him the seat which he himself had just left--between his wife and mother.

The inauguration is more than a political event. One would say so if he were to see the deep religious sense which spreads over the broad assemblage when the Bible is held aloft by an official of the Supreme Court and when the oath has been administered the President kisses its sacred page. The lines which Mr. McKinley's lips touched were these, from the First Chronicles: "Give me wisdom and knowledge that I may go out and come in before this people, for who can judge this, the people, that is so great." I saw the eye of the stranger kindle with light as he saw this act, and I saw him revoke to earnest expectancy and interest as the President took a deep breath before beginning his inaugural speech. The voice of the speaker trembled width emotion as he repeated these words: "I assume the arduous and responsible duties of President, relying on the support of my countrymen, and invoking the guidance of A1mighty God. Our faith teaches that there is no safer reliance than upon the God of our fathers, who has so singularly favored the American people in every national trust, all who will not forsake us so long as we obey his commandments, and walk humbly in his foot­steps." The eyes of the stranger gleamed with a holy Joy; the eyes of the old mother flooded with tears. She bowed her head in her wrinkled hands and I think she prayed. She shivered in the chilly wind as it swept around the Capitol. The stranger drew his fine soft coat from his shoulders and threw it around hers. She looked into his eyes. THEY SEEMED THOSE OF AN OLD FRIEND. It was no time for words. The company was silent till the President had finished. Then congratulations were poured in upon him from every side. His wife shared them with him. There two were the center of interest. For the moment every one seemed to forget the aged mother. But she was not alone. He was with her, and though He was unknown by name, his manner was so knightly and unaffected that no one could dispute his right to stand in that privileged circle. Yet he said but a few words more. But they seemed to make the aged woman very happy. Her face bore the marks, not of pride in the triumph of her distinguished son, but the marks of peaceful assurance that the strong and noble man at her side was in some way her friend and the friend of her son. She asked his name send he gate her a small white card. She put it on the inside of her buttoned glove.

That evening the family of the new President sat late at the library fire. Those who had gone to the inaugural banquet had returned. The day's events were of course the topic of conversation. Notes and impressions were compared, and strange to say they all centered, not in the grand pageant, nor the grand inaugural assemblage, nor in the grand review, but in the grand deeds done by a noble stranger. The President related the misfortune to the horse at the mansion gate, another described more particularly the occurrence on the plaza, when a stampede was threatened. A younger member of the family had seen Him give his point of vantage in the line of watchers to a crippled veteran of the Republic, who wanted to see his battered regiment go by, though he was too feeble to march with them. Another saw Him hold the champing horse of brave old General Howard while he mounted, for he has only one arm, and had to hold the bridle reins fin hits teeth when he took off his hot to the President before the reviewing stand. Another, a young woman of the household, had seen a waiter at the inaugural ball fall heavily with a tray of dishes on the marble floor and as he threw out his hand to ease his fall he placed it over a broken glass and cut himself most piteously. The caterer came up and cursed the man for his stupid carelessness and wended him that he must pay For the broken dishes. The wonderful stranger was at his elbow at once; he Yachted for money, paid liberally for the loss and was heard to say,

"What mean he that he beat my people to piece and grind the faces of the poor?" Isaiah iii:15.

He afterward left the banquet hall by the servant's door, and the crippled waiter was on his arm.

This coincidence of self­sacrifice, menial service and ?Tonal bravery enacted in one day at one place and by one man was nothing short of miraculous, if not divine. "Who is this man? What is his name? Where his residence? No place within the gift of the administration is too eminent for him. If he is too modest, as seems likely, to claim his just rewards the whole detective force of the government must be put to work to establish his identity." Thus spoke the President. But the grandmother thought she might find a quicker ?unit cheaper method. She whispered to a servant and the latter soon brought a small white card, which hitherto had been overlooked. The old lady of 87 years adjusted her gold­bowed spectacles very slowly and read these lines:

?E'en Down to old age all me people shall prove the sovereign, eternal, uncbangeab1e love; hno then when grad bairs shall their temples adorn

Like lambs they shall still in my bosom be borne.

She passed this in silent interrogation to her son. He read the lines with surprise and interest, then reached in his vest pocket for a card. It was of the same shape and size as the first. In the same unconventional text it read:

"Me shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways; the shall bear thee up in their bands lest thou dash thy foot against a stone." Psalms xci:11.

He had read these lines in the morning and he recalled again his dream and saw the application of the verse. He turned the card over and read these words, which had until now escaped him:

"In all thy ways acknowledge God and be shall Direct thy path." rov. iii: 6.

The President remembered the first paragraph of his inaugural address and was thankful that he had not listened to the counsel of godless men and omitted those words. But the question remained, "Who was the stranger?" The President held up both small cards between his eyes and the red coals of the fire and as his family hung over his shoulder they all saw the water mark in the paper gradually appear and it was a naked hand marked only by a scar.

"Was It the master?" some one inquired.

Leslie Fredericks.


In accomplishing day's work you I have simply to take one step at a time. To take that step wisely is all that you need think about. If I am climbing a mountain to look down may make me dizzy; to look too far up may make me tired and discouraged. Take no anxious thought for the morrow. Sufficient far the day-yes, and for each hour in the day-is the toil or the tria1 thereof. There is not a child of God in this world who is strong enough to stand the strain of today's duties and all the load of tomorrow's anxieties piled upon the top of them. Paul himself would have broken down if he had attempted the experiment. We have a perfect right to ask our heavenly Father for strength equal to the day; but we have no right to ask him for of extra ounce of strength for anything beyond it. When the morrow comes, grace will come with it, sufficient for its tasks or for its troubles.-Sel.


Wait not the morrow, but forgive me now;

Who knows what fate to­morrow's dawn may bring?

Let us not part with shadow on thy brow,

With my heart hungering.

Perhaps some day I may redeem the wrong,

Repair the fault-I know not when or how.

Oh, dearest, do not wait-it may be long-

Only forgive me now.

-The Academy.


It is said that John Wesley was once walking with a brother, who belated to him his troubles, saying he did not know what he should do. They were at that moment passing a stone fence to a meadow, over which a cow was looking.

"Do you know," asked Wesley, "why the cow looks over that wall?"

"No," replied the one in trouble.

"I will tell you," said Wesley; "because she cannot look through it And that is what you must do with your troubles-look over and above them."


He was a thin, fragile young preacher, but not half so helpless as he looked. He could see and hear what was during the last prayer. Just before the very closing service he said calmly, but with a good deal of impressiveness to the square inch, "Those of the congregation who did not get their things all on during the prayer, can do so while I pronounce the benediction."

During which, however, the audience could hear each other's watches tick.


Girard, the infidel millionaire of Philadelphia, one Saturday ordered all his clerks to come on the morrow to his wharf and help unload a newly arrived ship. One young man replied quietly:

"Mr. Girard, I can't work on Sundays."

"You know our rules."

"Yes, I know. I have a mother to support, but I can't work on Sundays."

"Well, step up to the desk and the cashier will settle with you."

For three weeks the young man could find no work, but one day a banker came to Girard to ask if he could recommend a man for cashier in a new bank. This discharged young man was at once named as a suitable person.

"But," said the banker, "you dismissed him."

"Yes, because he would not work on Sundays.

A man who Would lose his place for concience's sake would make a trust-worthy casher." And he was appointed.


"I remember at one of The meetings at Nashville, during the war, says D. L. Moody, a young man came to me, trembling from head to foot.

"'What is the trouble?' I asked.

"'There is a letter I got from my sister, and she tells me every night as the sun goes down she goes down on her knees and prays for me.'

"This man was brave-had been in a number of battles; he could stand before the cannon's mouth, but yet this letter completely upset him.

"'I have been trembling ever since I received it.'

"Six hundred miles away the faith of this girl went to work; and its influence was felt by the brother. He did not believe in prayer; he did not believe in Christianity; he did not believe in his mother's Bible. This mother vitas a praying woman, and when she died she left on earth a praying daughter. And when God saw her faith and heard that prayer, He answered her. How many sons and daughters could be saved if their mothers and fathers had but faith?"


Not long ago, in a New England town, a new minister had been called and settled. In that town was a forsaken old reprobate whom nobody respected or spokes to who could avoid it. He had never been known to go inside a church. He only worked when driven by necessity to do so, and loafed about the town, a common nuisance.

A few days after the new minister came to the town he met the old sinner on the village street, and bowing, spoke a pleasant "Good morning," and passed on his way. The old man turned and looked after him, and made inquiry of some as to who it might be who showed him such an unaccustomed attention. The same thing happened a day or two afterward, and again during the space of a week or two. Some one told the minister that he had made a friend of old ---, and laughingly told him that he was wasting his politeness on that old reprobate, whose acquaintance what not desirable.

"You don't know him," said this person, "or you wouldn't speak to him at all."

"Never mind," said the minister, "it does not east much to be polite, and no more to an old reprobate than to the 'squire' of the town."

It was not long till old --- was noticed creeping into the corner of the church farthest from the pulpit and nearest to the door. He had come in late and was the first to leave the church. He came again and again, and was finally brought to Christ, and during the rest of his life he lived consistent and earnest Christian life. He said the minister's bow was what had started him on the upward path.-Christian Work.

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