MCKINLEY TWICE SHOT BY ASSASSIN

 

Cortland Evening Standard, Saturday, Sept. 7, 1901.

MCKINLEY TWICE SHOT BY ASSASSIN.

Dastardly Attempt on Life the President at Buffalo.

CONDITION IS SERIOUS.

Efforts Were Made to Lynch Would-Be Assassin But Police Held Crowd Back.

Would-be Assassin Approached President to Shake Hands, Having Weapon Concealed Under Bandage — Fired Point Blank Against His Body One Bullet Taking Effect In Breast and Other In Stomach—President Remained Standing and Asked That His Assailant Not Be Hurt. One Bullet Removed—Police Had Great Difficulty In Getting Prisoner Beyond Reach of the Crowd—Terrible Scenes Witnessed When People Realized What Had Been Done—Details of the Story.

   BUFFALO, Sept. 7.—The latest bulletin is that President McKinley is resting easily, though his condition is still serious.

   BUFFALO, Sept. 7.—Five alleged anarchists have been arrested here and are now locked up at police headquarters.

   BUFFALO, Sept. 7.—It is announced that the assassin has confessed. He says his name is Leon Czolgosz and that he comes from Cleveland. He admits that he is an anarchist. It is alleged he is a member of a gang of conspirators which has its headquarters in Chicago. It is said that five men have been arrested in Chicago charged with complicity in the crime. Details of the confession will not be given out at this time.

   BUFFALO, Sept. 7.—President McKinley was shot and seriously wounded by a would-be assassin while holding a public reception in the Temple of Music at the Pan-American a few minutes after 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon.

   One shot look effect in the right breast, the other in the abdomen. The first is not of a serious nature and the bullet has been extracted. The latter pierced the abdominal wall and has not yet been located.

   It was just after the daily organ recitals in the splendid Temple of Music that the dastardly attempt was made. Planned with all the diabolical ingenuity and finesse of which anarchism or nihilism are capable, the would-be assassin carried out the work without a hitch and should his designs fail and the president survive only to Divine Providence can be attributed that beneficent result.

   Yesterday the newspapers of the city blazoned forth in all the pomp of headline type "The Proudest Day In Buffalo's history." Today in sackcloth and ashes, in sombre type, surrounded by gruesome borders of black the same newspapers are telling in funereal tones to a horrified populace the deplorable details of "The Blackest Day In the History of Buffalo."

   President McKinley, the idol of the American people, the nation's chief executive and the city's honored guest, lies prostrate, suffering the pangs inflicted by the bullets of a cowardly assassin, while his life hangs in the balance.

   Out on Delaware avenue at the home of John G. Milburn, president of the Pan-American exposition, with tearful face and heart torn by conflicting hopes and fears, sits the faithful wife whose devotion is known to all the nation.

   It was a few minutes after 4 p. m., while President McKinley was holding a public reception in the great Temple of Music on the Pan-American grounds that the cowardly attack was made, with what success time alone can tell.

   Standing in the midst of crowds numbering thousands, surrounded by evidence of good will, pressed by a motley throng of polyglot peoples, showered with expressions of love and loyalty, besieged by multitudes, all eager to clasp his hand—amidst these surroundings and with the ever-recurring plaudits of an admiring army of sightseers ringing in his ears the blow of the assassin fell and in an instant pleasure gave way to pain, admiration to agony, folly turned to fury and pandemonium followed.

   Last night a surging, swaying, eager multitude thronged the city's main thoroughfares, choking the streets in front of the principal newspapers, scanning the bulletins with anxious eyes and groaning or cheering in turn each succeeding announcement as the nature of the message sank or buoyed their hopes.

Was Fully Exposed.

   The president, though well guarded by United States secret service detectives, was fully exposed to such an attack as occurred. He stood at the edge of the raised dais upon which stands the great pipe organ at the east side of the magnificent structure. Throngs of people, crowded in at the various entrances to gaze upon their well-beloved executive, perchance to clasp his hand, and then fight their way out in the good-natured mob that every minute swelled and multiplied at the points of ingress and egress to the building.

   It was shortly after 4 p. m. when one of the throng which surrounded the presidential party a medium-sized man of ordinary appearance and plainly dressed in black, approached as if to greet the president. His right hand was bandaged in a white handkerchief, as if the hand was sore. He was patient in line and presented no appearance out of the ordinary. He stepped briskly up to the president when it came his turn, grasped the extended hand in his left hand and pressed the bandaged hand against the president's body. There were two quick, slightly muffled reports and a wisp of smoke rose from the bandaged hand. The bandage was merely the covering of a revolver, with which the dastardly crime was committed.

   For a moment there was silence—the silence that ensues the discharge of a bombshell. The president stood stockstill, a look of hesitancy, almost of bewilderment on his face. Then he retreated a step while pallor began to steal over his features. The multitude, only partially aware that something serous had happened, paused in the silence of surprise, while necks were craned and all eyes turned as one toward the rostrum where a great tragedy was being enacted.

Assassin Quickly Captured.

   Then came a commotion. With the leap of a tiger three men threw themselves forward as with one impulse and sprang toward the would-be assassin. Two of them were United States secret service men who were on the lookout and whose duty it was to guard against just such a calamity as had here befallen the president and the nation. The third was a bystander, a negro, who had only an instant previously grasped in his dusky palm the hand of the president.

   As one man the trio hurled themselves upon the president's assailant. In a twinkling he was borne to the ground, his weapon was wrested from his grasp and strong arms pinioned his arms.

   A murmur arose, spread and swelled to a hum of confusion, then grew to a babel of sounds and later to a pandemonium of noises. The crowds that a moment before had stood mute and motionless in bewildered ignorance of the enormity of the thing now with a single impulse surged forward toward the stage of the horrified drama, while a hoarse cry welled up from a thousand throats and a thousand men charged forward to lay hands upon the perpetrator of the dastardly crime.

   The assailant was quickly seized by secret service men and policemen. He was knocked down and kicked about the head and body several times, but was finally rushed to a carriage, while officers with drawn revolvers rode with him.

   The carriage was driven at a gallop to the gates. Several attempts were made to upset it, but it got safely outside and the prisoner was landed at police headquarters. He refused to say anything further than that his name was Fred Nieman. He said that he came from Detroit.

   On the slightly raised dais was enacted within those few feverish moments a tragedy so dramatic in character, so thrilling in intensity that few who looked on will ever be able to give a succinct account of what really did transpire. Even the actors who were playing the principal roles came out of it with blanched faces, trembling limbs and beating hearts, while their brains throbbed with a tumult of conflicting emotions which left behind only a chaotic jumble of impressions which could not be clarified into a lucid narrative of the events as they really transpired.

   But of the multitude which witnessed or bore a part in the scene of turmoil and turbulence there was but one mind which seemed to retain its equilibrium, one hand which remained steady, one eye which gazed with unflinching calmness and one voice which retained its even tenor and faltered not at the most critical juncture. They were the mind and the hand and the eye and the voice of President McKinley.

   After the first shock of the assassin's shots, he retreated a step, then, as the detective leaped upon his assailant he turned, walked steadily to a chair and seated himself, at the same time removing his hat and bowing his head in his hands.

Everyone Was Excited.

   The president was carried first one way, and then a step in the other. The excitement was so sudden and intense that for a minute no one knew what to do. Finally some one said to carry him inside the purple edge of the aisle, and seat him on one of the chairs. The bunting was in a solid piece, no one had time to produce a knife, had they been able to think of such a thing. A couple of men tore the benches aside and trampled the bunting down while Mr. Milburn and Secretary Cortelyou half carried the president over the line and into the passageway leading to the stage, which had not been used. The president was able to walk a little, but was leaning heavily on his escorts. In passing over the bunting his foot caught and for a moment he stumbled. The president was curried to a seat where half a dozen men stood by, and fanned him vigorously. Quick calls were sent in for doctors and the Emergency hospital ambulance.

   The stretcher was placed on the floor and the wounded president was lifted by Mr. Milburn, Mr. Cortelyou and the experienced ambulance corps, and laid gently on the pillows. The president groaned slightly, as though in great pain, but recovered, pressed his lips firmly, and resigned himself to the care of the now grief-stricken men about him.

   At least 20 men carried the stretcher out, up the three or four steps to the door, the southwest door, and as it opened and the great crowd caught a glimpse of the prostrate and wounded chieftain upon the stretcher, a groan of grief, so sympathetic and so earnestly from the great heart of the American people, went up to the heavens as a token of the sorrow overshadowing them. The people were unprepared, the awfulness of the occasion was so far beyond their comprehension that the only expressions they could utter were gasps of sentences, the [sum] of which was their inability to believe this tragic truth.

Moan of Grief.

   Men [dropped] their heads, their tongues swelled in their throats, they looked at each other in the most sympathetic way, as though each wished to claim the other for his common brother that they might have the strength to stand under the crushing blow.

   Here in this vast sorrow-stricken assemblage, which reached from the great Electric Tower to the north, to the Triumphal Causeway to the south and even beyond that, was truly exemplified the bond of sympathy which linked all mankind. No man was weak who wept; it was the time for weeping. There was not then the slightest cry of vengeance—that came as an afterthought. At this time, when the bullet-pierced body of their ruler was being carried out to them, and through their midst, it was one of genuine sympathy that came only from the heart. Women were no more affected than men. They clung close to each other; it was a moment when everyone felt that he needed help—help of any kind, only a word, a look, that was all.

   With that powerful military and police escort, all on the double quick, the president was hurried away to the emergency hospital, where a room had been prepared for him.

   Messages had been quickly sent to different parts of the city for the most eminent physicians and surgeons, and the first call was for Dr. Rixey, the family physician, who had left the grounds with Mrs. McKinley for the Milburn home. He was quick to arrive in a steam automobile, with two trained nurses, and they tore through the grounds at a terrific pace until the hospital was reached.

   Nieman was detained in a side room in the Temple of Music while the president was removed to the hospital. Then, under escort of police, with a guard of soldiers to fight back the enraged throng in the Esplanade, Nieman was placed in a carriage and driven at a gallop down Delaware avenue, past the home where the invalid wife of the president was waiting for her husband, to police headquarters, where he was locked up. The thousands who waited about the Temple of Music surged forward when he appeared, tearing down the barrier ropes, fighting with the officers and the soldiers and shouting: "Lynch him—lynch him— hang him—kill him." Some clutched at the horses, others at the wheels of the carriage. The police and soldiers fought back the crowd and the carriage galloped away.

   The escape of the would-be assassin from the hands of the infuriated people was in accord with the wishes of the president. As the president sank back in the arms of Detective Gary and [Exposition] President Milburn, after the shooting, he gasped the name of his secretary, Cortelyou. The secretary bent over him.

"Be Careful About My Wife."

   "Be careful about my wife," gasped the president. "Do not tell her." Then, writhing in the agony of his wounds, the president turned and saw his attempted murderer helpless on the floor beneath the blows of soldiers and detectives. He raised his right hand, stained with the blood of his wound, and drawing down the head of his secretary, he whispered: "Let no one hurt him."

   Then he sank back, deathly white, but clearly conscious, while they dragged his assailant from his sight. He sat patiently waiting without a moan or sign of suffering beyond the ashy pallor of his face, while they sent for the ambulance, and waited for its coming. He sank obediently on the stretcher and was carried out. Nine minutes after the shots were fired he was lying in the Emergency hospital. Great surgeons had been summoned by telephone and immediately set to work to save his life.

   The news of the shooting spread like wildfire around the exposition. Crowds were thunderstruck. Then silence fell upon the Rainbow City. The Midway attractions closed their doors. All the state and foreign buildings, headed by the Cubans, closed their doors. Many of the flags on these buildings were lowered. People moved about dismayed, with troubled faces, speaking in hushed voices. Women went to and fro weeping. Strong men with white, set faces and clenched hands made their way to the Esplanade and stood waiting by the Temple of Music. The light of death gleamed in their eyes and the doom of a murderer hovered over the multitude. Fortunately, the great bulk of them arrived too late. The red-handed anarchist had been removed beyond their reach. When some heard that he had been taken away they asked where he had gone and they turned their faces thither.

   The young man who shot the president had practically no difficulty in getting to the side of the chief executive. The nature of the reception made it possible for everyone to get into the big temple and to pass close enough to the president to shake his hand. No one was suspicious of the would-be assassin. He looked like an ordinary young mechanic with a sore hand for, as has been told, his hand was covered with a handkerchief or bandage.

In Midst of Protectors.

   The president stood in the center of the big auditorium, smiling and grasping cordially the hand of every man and woman who approached him. Gathered about him were a cordon of United States marines, several detectives, among them Geary, Solomon and Henafelt of the Buffalo police. The detectives were within three feet of Mr. McKinley, watching closely every man who approached. They were not expecting an attack on his life; it is customary for detectives to guard him thus whenever he appears in public.

   The young man moved slowly along the narrow aisle which stretched through the crowd, waiting his turn leisurely. He held his handkerchief-covered hand with the greatest care. The detectives saw him and supposed his hand pained him. They had not the faintest suspicion that it clenched a weapon which was to strike perhaps a death blow to the man whose life they were guarding. The president shook hands with a lady. The young man moved up close to him, eager apparently to grasp his hand.

   Just as the president finished greeting the woman who was ahead of the young man, the would-be assassin sidled up to Mr. McKinley, put his supposedly sore hand to the chief executive's body and shut his eyes.

   Two muffled sounds and a wisp of smoke rose from the bandaged hand. The young man stepped back, not as if to escape, but as if terrified at his own handiwork. The president stood like a statue with his unmoved eyes glaring at his attempted murderer.

   He had not winced.

   A wave of intense excitement rippled through the vast throng. Few had heard the shots, but the sudden quiet told everyone that something awful had happened. It was that fearful hush which settles over a crowd which is affrighted at something it doesn't know the nature of.

   The instant the dull reports sounded and the would-be assassin stepped back a guard reached forward and seized him, at the same instant dealing a blow to insure submission.

"I Wonder If I'm Hit."

   Detective Sergeant Geary, who was not three feet from the president, put his arms around the latter and supported him although the president was not really in need of support.

   "I wonder if I'm hit," the president said to Detective Geary.

   "I think you are," replied the detective.

   The president thereupon lifted the bottom of his vest and revealed a spot of blood.

   The man who seized the would-be assassin fared nearly as badly for a few moments as did the man he had arrested. Mistaking the officer for the assassin a brawny marine leaped upon him, and bore him to the floor, placing his hands at his throat in a manner to preclude resistance. The assassin attempted, in the moment of diverted excitement, to get up, but a burly negro seized him with an iron grasp and the would-be murderer was relieved of any ambition he may have had to escape.

Official Statement of Injuries.

   Secretary Cortelyou last night gave out the following official statement:

   "The president was shot about 4 o'clock. One bullet struck him on the upper portion of the breast bone glancing and not penetrating; the second bullet penetrated the abdomen five inches below the left nipple and one and a half inches to the left of the median line. The abdomen was opened through the line of the bullet wound. It was found that the bullet had penetrated the stomach. The opening in the front wall of the stomach was carefully closed with silk sutures after which a search was made for a hole in the back wall of the stomach. This was found and also closed in the same way. The further course of the bullet could not be discovered, although careful search was made. The abdominal wound was closed without drainage. No injury to the intestines or other abdominal organ was discovered.

   "The patient stood the operation well, pulse of good quality, rate of 130, condition at the conclusion of operation was gratifying. The result cannot be foretold. His condition at present justifies hope of recovery."

 

NINE ANARCHISTS ARRESTED.

Charged With Conspiracy to Assassinate the President.

They Lived in Chicago and One of Them is the Editor of an Anarchist Paper—Some of the Others are Members of His Family.

   CHICAGO, Sept. 7.—Warrants have been issued against the nine anarchists arrested in this city last night, charging them with conspiracy to assassinate the President.

   CHICAGO, Sept. 7.—Though the name or identity of Leon Czolgosz has not been discovered in Chicago, the police of the city believe they are on the point of unearthing the nest of anarchists which hatched the assassination plot against the president.

   At 11 o'clock last night Abraham Isaak, editor of the Free Society, a rabid anarchist paper, which was formerly published under the name of the Feur Brandt, was arrested. With Isaak five other men were arrested and the six were taken in a patrol wagon to central station. Later Isaak's wife, daughter and a woman guest were arrested.

   The men arrested with Isaak were his son Abraham Isaak, Jr., Hippolite Havel, Henry Tiezelegio, Clarence Pseutzner and Alfred Schneider.

   Among the anarchistic papers taken to the station were a number of copies of Free Society. Though it opens with "A Sonnet of Revolt," it is not so radical as the police expected to find. The only reference to the President is under the heading, "By the Wayside," in which a slurring reference to Mr. McKinley is made as the man who said all Americans were struck with grief when the two Victorias died, but said nothing when Oom Paul's wife stepped into eternity. Among the papers, too, were handbills announcing anarchist meetings.

   Anarchists are said to have met in a hall at 517 Carroll-ave. and Isaak is understood by the police to have been a leading member of the meeting. The president's assailant is supposed to have attended the meetings and there to have imbibed the ideas which led to the assault of the president at Buffalo.

   The prisoners were kept incommunicado until 9 o'clock this morning when representatives of the press were permitted to question them.

   Isaak and his followers will be held until such time as they shall have proven to the satisfaction of the police that they are innocent of any connection with the attempted assassination.

 

THE ASSASSIN HIMSELF

Likes to Sit by Himself and Mope, Says His Mother.

   CLEVELAND, O., Sept. 7.—Leon Czolgosz, the assassin of President McKinley, lives at 306 Fleet-st. His father is Paul Czolgosz. His mother is dead, but he has a step-mother. Until two weeks ago the family lived on a farm at Stop 14 on the Chagrin Falls electric line. Czolgosz is 25 years old. He has nine brothers, four of whom live in Cleveland.

   "Leon has been sick for three years," said Mrs. Czolgosz, today. "Before then he worked in the wire fence department of the Cleveland Boiling mill. Two weeks ago he wrote us from a town in Indiana that he was going far away and we would never see him again.

   "He was always a timid, sickly boy. He can read and write fairly well. He never had any associates here. He liked to sit by himself and mope."

   His brother Michael is a soldier in the Philippines. Another, Vachslav, lives on the farm near Chagrin Falls.

 

Death Would Cause Business Depression.

   NEW YORK, Sept. 7.—Former Secretary of the Treasury Carlisle when told of the shooting of President McKinley said: "It is an outrage that such a thing should have been perpetrated in a free country like ours. If Mr. McKinley should die a terrible business depression would certainly follow. His death would make the third presidential assassination. This is getting to be a serious matter."

 

PAGE FOUR—EDITORIAL.

The President Shot.

   At the close of the great rebellion the commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States, the wise, strong, kind and patient statesman who had borne the nation's burdens and made sure that government of the people, by the people and for the people should stand firm, was shot down by a sympathizer with rebellion, a creature who typified the brutal spirit of that system of human slavery which Abraham Lincoln had forever swept away and who exemplified the barbarity which made possible such prison pens as Andersonville and Libby. With words of forgiveness on his lips, Lincoln was made the victim of malignant hate.

   In the midst of the most bitter factional contest which the politics of this country had ever known, James A. Garfield fell under the bullet of a half- crazed assassin, who made the issues and the bitterness of that contest the apology for his act. In both of these assassinations the deed was seen to have a cause and an explanation.

   The shooting of William McKinley at Buffalo yesterday was without any apparent cause or motive whatsoever. The assassin is said to be an anarchist, but that fact, explanatory as it has been of many bloody, brutal and inexcusable deeds of violence in the Old World, should be no reason why a chief magistrate, coming from the people, having served them modestly, bravely and ably in war and in peace, elevated to his high office by the ballots of a majority of his follow citizens, should be marked as the victim of a cowardly assassin. And to shoot him down under the pretence of approaching him to grasp the hand which he was extending in courtesy and good will to even the humblest of the people whose faithful and patriotic servant he has always been, made the deed dastardly beyond comparison. It is enough to cause one to blush for human nature that a being equal to such an act exists.

   If, as stated, the assassin is a Pole, though that historic land has felt the sting of tyranny and the crushing heel of despotic power, he ought all the more to have appreciated the blessings and protection afforded by a land where every citizen is a sovereign and every avenue to advancement open to all; and he ought to have been one of the last to wound a nation which had given him freedom and opportunity. To repay the benefits he had received, by attempting to assassinate the man who represents officially all that the United States offers to the oppressed of other lauds, is to add the rankest ingratitude to brutal crime.

   Never have we had a president, not even excepting Lincoln, who has sought more earnestly and constantly to know and to carry out the will of the people. He has exemplified, also, as no other president has had an opportunity of doing, those virtues of the home and family which the American people respect and admire. Other presidents have led a private life as spotless as his and led it as modestly and as unostentatiously, but to no other has it fallen to cherish and guard through years of weakness the health and happiness of an invalid wife, and to do it with a loyalty and love, a constancy and tenderness, which have commanded the respect and affection of even his political foes. And if his thoughts could be known today, it would be unlike the man if they were not found to be solicitous for the welfare of the stricken wife rather than for himself.

   Filling the highest place on earth, he has remained modest and simple. With the victories and the vast acquisitions of a successful war to the credit of his administration, he has not become puffed up or self-satisfied. With the country enjoying the most marvelous prosperity in all its history as a result of his presidency and of the public policies for which it stands, his only feelings have seemed to be joy at the public welfare and gratitude that in any measure he had been able to contribute thereto.

   The people have come to respect him, to trust him and to love him, and the assassin's bullets which struck him down have carried far more pain to millions of his countrymen than they did to the calm and self-controlled president. The prayers that will go up both for him and his invalid wife will be confined neither to the members of churches nor of parties, but will spring spontaneously from every true American heart.

 

THE NEWS IN CORTLAND.

Extra Standards Sold Like Wild Fire on the Streets.

   The news of the shooting of President McKinley was almost the only topic of conversation in Cortland last night. Groups of people on every corner were talking about it.

   The first news to reach the public came at about 5 o'clock in a special dispatch to The STANDARD from the Publishers' Press. The regular edition of the paper had just been run off and the last of the carrier boys had departed with his papers. A special edition was at once prepared and extra boys were found and shortly before 6 o'clock were offering the papers for sale upon the street. They went like wild fire. Everybody wanted the details. Hundreds of papers were sold. Every one was eager to buy. It was sorrowful news which The STANDARD carried, but it was news which the public wanted to know all about. Till late at night the bulletin board in front of the Western Union office was surrounded by a crowd of people hoping that still another bulletin of a yet more favorable character might be received.

 

J. G. JARVIS WAS THERE.

Saw the Anarchist Thrown into the Patrol Wagon without Ceremony.

   Mr. J. G. Jarvis of the Traction company's office returned from Buffalo this morning. He had just entered Music hall at the doors nearest the president when he heard the sharp crack of the revolver. A struggle was evident about thirty feet away from him at the point where the shot was fired. Then came the rush of people to get in and others to get out of the building. The word was passed that the president had been shot. Mr. Jarvis could not see what was going on there at first for the jam. The building was soon after cleared by the police and by the soldiers who were encamped upon the grounds. Several detachments of marines, of artillery and of infantry were all there to make memorable the president's visit to the exposition. These were called into service at once to aid the police. Twenty minutes later a police patrol wagon came right up to the place where Mr. Jarvis was standing. He saw the would-be assassin Czolgosz thrown into the patrol wagon. The officers used no ceremony about it either. He did not look at the time as though there was a bit of life in his body. He had been jumped on and pummeled by the detectives who arrested him and his face was covered with blood. He fell into a corner of the patrol wagon and never offered to stir. His eyes were half closed at the time. The patrol wagon moved off, but the troops were needed to protect it. Three times it had to alter in direction before getting to the West Amherst gate. There were no loud shouts from the crowd, but the undercurrent of low tones of the angry multitude was terrific. Had it not been for the troops the man would probably have been taken possession of. Several times the soldiers had to charge the crowd to get the wagon through.

   The buildings were soon after closed up, and the electric lights were not turned on it all last night. The result was that the grounds were deserted by 9 o'clock.

 

BREVITIES.

   —McDermott's orchestra furnished music at a private dancing party in DeRuyter last evening.

   —New display advertisements today are—F. E. Brogden, Sunday papers, page 6; Opera House, "Cashel Byron," page 5.

   —A regular meeting of the Y. M. C. A. auxiliary will be held in the association parlors on Tuesday afternoon, Sept. 10, at 3 o'clock.

   —There will be a regular meeting of the board of directors of the Y. M. C. A. at the association parlors Monday evening at 8 o'clock.

   —Health Officer Carpenter now has a supply of garbage license blanks and those having applied for them may get them by calling at his office.

   —A teachers' Institute of both the districts of Cortland county will be held at Marathon on the week of Oct. 21. Irving B. Smith, A. M., of Warsaw will be the conductor.

   —The first carload of brick for the new Lackawanna freight house arrived in Cortland and is being unloaded. The work of laying the brick will begin Monday morning. The brick comes from Horseheads, N. Y.

   —Rev. U. S. Milburn preaches in the Unitarian church of Ithaca tomorrow and the Rev. W. A. Smith of Groton will supply the pulpit of the Universalist church in the absence of Mr. Milburn, tomorrow morning.

   —At the First M. E. church tomorrow morning the pastor, Dr. Houghton, will preach on "Heaven and Heavenly Recognitions," and the chorus choir will render an anthem composed by the choirmaster, Mr. George Oscar Bowen.

   —The first regular meeting of Tioughnioga chapter of the Daughter of the American Revolution after the summer vacation will be held at the home of Mrs. C. P. Walrad, 13 Lincoln-ave., on Monday at 3:30 P. M. Quotations on "Home" will be given.