The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-12-02
THE FINAL SEPULTURE.
THE MARCH TO THE GRAVE.

From the Church to the Tomb-Final Scenes
at Crown Hill.
At just 12:4S the casket containing the body of
the Vice president was taken from the church
and placed in the hearse. and the admirably
handled funeral train was in motion immedi
ately the relatives and friends were
assisted into their carriages. The second divis-
ion was in motion by 1856. and the journey to
the cemetery began. the first division having
formed further down the street.
And now the funeral trains slow march is set
in motion, the various military divisions falling
in with measured step, and the carriages of
the many attending dignitaries quietly and
quickly assuming their appointed places in
tho long line slowly uncoiling from
the side streets on which the several divisions
had formed The early winter sky is gray and
portentous Of rain, and, as if nature were in
sympathy with saddened humanity, few drops
fell upon the pail, happy augury, in conso-
nance with the poetic tradition, Happy the
dead that the rain raineth on" But while the
sky is leaden and the air is chilly and damp the
| world of humanity crowded to pay homage to
| the memory Of the dead is alive with expect
| ancy, tempered with reverence for the occasion
gun in so stately manner
| Down streets long familiar with his face the
funeral train advances. Yonder, but peb-
| ble's throw distant is the desolate home
| stead, the freside grown cherries by the
absence of him who made it so companion
able and happy. He will go in at its threshold
10 more forever. A little further is the State
house. on the site of many of his early
triumphs in oratory, that made him famous and
paved the way to the greatness he had achieved
when death overlook him. The new and stately
pile will never answer back the sound of his
voice. And now all the hotels, thronged with a
thousand guests and here the shops and stores,
alive with busy humanity, the tide of whose
traffic is stopped for the great dead is riding by
| in state. The buyer has closed his
purse, and the seller leaves off
| praising his goods and wares; the doors are
| closed and locked, and the windows darkened.
| A thousand streamers black and white, sway in
| the sobered winter air, and the very walls are
somber with the drapings of typifed sympathy
| and grief.
|. Yonder, to the left is the PARK where gathered
| so many public meetings, and where SO often he
had addressed his fellow-citizens. He is done
with all that now. To the right, in that side
street, is the unpretentious Office from which
this kindly man was called to the high station
made vacant by his death. His friends and
neighbors will miss his genial presence there
To the right, as the head of the long
column turns to the northward, is the
pretentious and beautiful courthouse, where
the remains lay in state AMI viewed by SO
may thousands. To the right .cgain the cortege
turns and the banners futter AM the bands
play as he passes In high state the .s'aces of
publications politically hostile to him for yes-s
They are disarmed now, and emblems of mourn
ing upon them mutey call truce Their utter
ances are of the kindest; the differences of the
past are ignored. tho bitterness forgotten. An
honest man and neighbor has gone to his long
homo. and the words that follow him are of the
kindcst and tenderest that manly sym