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when Mrs. Hanna thought best. Mr. Hanna never saw the reply — which ran as follows: —

"Feb. 6, 1904. "dear Senator:

"Indeed it is your letter from your sick bed which is touching, not my visit. May you soon be with us again, old fellow, as strong in body and as vigorous in your leadership as ever.

"Faithfully yours,

"theodore Roosevelt."

About the middle of the preceding week, during which Mr. Hanna had been both in and out of bed, he had been carefully examined by Dr. William Osler; and as soon as his illness was known to be typhoid, Mrs. Hanna wanted particularly to obtain the best counsel and assistance. On Saturday Dr. Brewer saw Dr. Osler, who agreed to take the case, but inasmuch as neither he nor Dr. Brewer could be in constant attendance, he advised sending for still another physician, whom Mr. Hanna liked, and who could be present all the time. They telegraphed to Cleveland, consequently, for Dr. Edward Perkins Carter, who arrived on Monday, February 8, and who with Dr. Rbrie and Dr. Osler constituted the physicians in charge. In the meantime Howard Melville Hanna had also been summoned, and came at once. The physicians continued to hope that they could save him, until Thursday of the same week. Dr. Osler had been with him the whole of the previous night, and in the morning was disturbed by his apathetic condition. The patient himself began to lose courage and wanted to have them telegraph for his lawyers. During the afternoon, while Mrs. Hanna was sitting by his bedside, he seized her hand after a long period of immobility, and said, "Old lady, you and I are on the home-stretch." She answered reassuringly, but he persisted in saying that he, at least, was on the home-stretch. The next day, Friday, he was even more discouraged, and complained that nothing did him any good. His brother Melville was called in to assure him that he could do more for himself than any one else and that he must fight on and win.

On Saturday he had his first bad sinking spell, but rallied well in the evening, and excited the admiration of the doctors by the stiff fight which he was making. On Sunday, while Mrs. Hanna was in the room, he seemed to be hunting for something in his pocket. She asked if he wanted a handkerchief. "Yes," he answered, "I would like one, but I suppose I cannot have it. My wife takes them all." Mrs. Hanna frequently used his handkerchiefs, and it was one of his jokes to accuse her of it and ask her why she did not buy some of her own. He distinguished all that day the people who were with him, but on Monday he was almost unconscious. He died on Monday evening, February 15, at forty minutes past six.

I have given in detail an account of Mr. Hanna's last few weeks partly because the story itself reveals more vividly than could any attempt at characterization his personal attitude towards his own way of living. Had he been willing to take ordinary precautions, he might have survived many years; but (be it added) if he had been willing to take ordinary precautions, he would not have been Mark Hanna. He could not allow scruples to interfere between himself and anything which he wanted to do and considered worth the doing. His interest and will were absolutely possessed by his various external occupations. He was incapable of pausing and inquiring how far prudence would forbid him to continue his exhausting career. His career was himself, and if he had hesitated or checked his pace, he would have, to his own mind, been playing the "quitter." The quality of his will, which was responsible for his peculiar achievements, which impelled and enabled him to nominate men for the Presidency, and to rise to one opportunity after another of useful service — that same quality kept him going until his death. The body of the man and the accidents of his life were carried along on a flood of a powerful impulse, which did originate within the field of consciousness, and which could not be checked or guided by conscious motives. He was bound to run until he dropped.

Mr. Hanna's family wished to keep his funeral as quiet and unostentatious as they could, but the sense of public loss was so acute and widespread that the ceremonies necessarily became a state affair. His associates in the Senate and his friends and neighbors in Cleveland both demanded and had a right to give public and formal expression to their affection for Mr. Hanna and their grief at his death. The body was not, however, allowed to lie in state in Washington. On Wednesday, Feb. 17th, a memorial service was held in the Senate Chamber, which was attended by the President, the Cabinet, Congress and the whole official life of Washington, and which consisted chiefly of an eloquent and impressive address of the Chaplain, the Rev. Edward Everett Hale. At six o'clock on the same day the funeral party left for Cleveland. At noon on Thursday the body was carried into the auditorium of the Chamber of Commerce in that city by Governor Herrick, Samuel Mather, W. B. Sanders, J. B. Zerbe, Andrew Squire, C. A. Grasselli, A. B. Hough and W. J. McKinnie, and the same group of friends served as pall-bearers at the funeral on the following day. The body lay in state for twenty-four hours, during which more than 30,000 people visited the bier. Friday was a cold, bleak, windy and snowy day. The funeral services were held at one o'clock, at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, and were attended not merely by his close connections, but by an extraordinary number of distinguished men from all over the East and Middle West. Bishop Leonard delivered the eulogy. Mark Hanna's sepulchre is admirably situated on the brow of a high hill in Lakeview Cemetery in Cleveland, and consists of a severely simple Greek temple, designed by Mr. Henry Bacon, which makes an impression on its visitor both of beauty and solemnity.

There was nothing perfunctory in the grief inspired by Mark Hanna's death. Every one who knew him felt his loss as a deep personal sorrow. No man in the country had so many friends, whom he had attached to himself by services and kindnesses small and great; and even those who felt no grief themselves could not fail to be affected by the sincerity with which his associates mourned his death. "The most sorrowful scene," says Senator Spooner, "which I ever saw was in the Senate when we sat and waited for the news of Mr. Hanna's death. There was a feeling in every heart of personal bereavement, and this feeling was, if possible, more pronounced on the Democratic side than on the Republican. But it was personal everywhere and made the moments we waited for the sad news, which we knew would come, the most impressive in my life." In his eulogy of Mr. Hanna, delivered in the Senate, Mr. Platt of Connecticut said: "When Marcus A. Hanna died all the people mourned him with a grief that was deep and unfeigned. Something in his life and character endeared him to all classes. To but few men in this world is it given to inspire such respect and affection as did our deceased comrade and brother. His death saddened all. The sun of life was clouded and the whole air chill and dreary. It seemed as if the tie which bound his heart to every heart had been rudely sundered. While all shared the common grief, nowhere outside the circle of his domestic life was the mourning so deep as among his Senatorial associates. We had learned to admire him for his ability, to respect him for his strength, to wonder at his great influence, but more than that, each had come to love him as a friend."

The foregoing tribute to Mr. Hanna was delivered by Mr. Platt in the Senate Chamber on April 7, 1904. Some sixteen Senators spoke on that occasion, including Foraker, Scott, Platt, Dolliver, Beveridge, Blackburn and Daniel. Several of the speakers, particularly the Democrats, frankly admitted that in their attitude towards Mr. Hanna they had passed through much the same different phases of opinion as had the general public. They had begun by suspecting him. Little by little respect took the place of suspicion. Confidence was added to respect, and affection to confidence. The very men who could watch his public behavior most closely were most completely convinced of his good faith and loyalty, and they were most completely captivated by his warmth of feeling and his essential humanity. Thus it came to pass that they watched his growing personal influence with wonder, but without envy and without protest. The Senate is notoriously jealous of its independence, but never was there a suggestion that his power was being dictatorially used or was anything but the natural and desirable fruit of his personal worth and actual services.

In spite of all that Mr. Hanna's friends could say in his praise on that day in April, it remained for a man who was no longer his friend to pronounce the most discriminating appreciation of his career and personality. Beginning in 1884, the whole of Mr. Hanna's public life had been profoundly influenced, first by his intimacy with Senator Foraker and then by their mutual alienation. In every crisis of Mr. Hanna's career the threatening figure of Mr. Foraker can be distinguished in the foreground or the background, ready, wherever possible, to make trouble. On the other hand, if any single man, Mr. Foraker himself excepted, was responsible for the abortive ending of what promised in the middle eighties to be an exceptionally brilliant political career, that man was Mark Hanna. It is the more to Mr. Foraker's credit when, as senior Senator from Ohio, he was called upon to pronounce in the Senate the first of a series of tributes to Mr. Hanna's memory, that he could without any pretence of kindly feeling, sum up so honestly and fairly certain salient aspects of Mr. Hanna's achievements and disposition. The men who did injustice to Mr. Hanna after his death were not his personal opponents. They were, rather, certain political opponents whose formulas were so narrow and whose prejudices were so dense that their vision of the essential value of the man was obscured by their disapproval of certain aspects of his work and doctrine. His personality inspired sympathy and respect among all who became acquainted with him; and under favorable conditions the sympathy usually became affection and the respect admiration. His devotion to his friends aroused a corresponding warmth of feeling in them. In a very real sense he lived for and among other people.

He was not merely fond of companionship; he was quite dependent on it — particularly the companionship of men. Throughout his life he always liked to live, play and eat in the midst of company. Mrs. Hanna never knew how many guests he would bring home to dinner; but there would almost always be somebody — even when he was an obscure Cleveland business man. After his public career began, this tireless sociability increased rather than diminished. Just as during his early life he did his best to bring to his house all the interesting visitors to Cleveland, particularly the actors, so after he went to Washington, he remained as curious about people as ever, and as much interested in them.

During most of his career as Senator he and Mrs. Hanna

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