ives on February 27, 1903.

For the third time the Congress of the United States are assembled to
commemorate the life and the death of a president slain by the hand of
an assassin. The attention of the future historian will be attracted to
the features which reappear with startling sameness in all three of
these awful crimes: the uselessness, the utter lack of consequence of
the act; the obscurity, the insignificance of the criminal; the
blamelessness--so far as in our sphere of existence the best of men may
be held blameless--of the victim. Not one of our murdered presidents had
an enemy in the world; they were all of such preeminent purity of life
that no pretext could be given for the attack of passional crime; they
were all men of democratic instincts, who could never have offended the
most jealous advocates of equity; they were of kindly and generous
nature, to whom wrong or injustice was impossible; of moderate fortune,
whose slender means nobody could envy. They were men of austere virtue,
of tender heart, of eminent abilities, which they had devoted with
single minds to the good of the Republic. If ever men walked before God
and man without blame, it was these three rulers of our people. The only
temptation to attack their lives offered was their gentle radiance--to
eyes hating the light, that was offense enough.

The stupid uselessness of such an infamy affronts the common sense of
the world. One can conceive how the death of a dictator may change the
political conditions of an empire; how the extinction of a narrowing
line of kings may bring in an alien dynasty. But in a well-ordered
Republic like ours the ruler may fall, but the State feels no tremor.
Our beloved and revered leader is gone--but the natural process of our
laws provides us a successor, identical in purpose and ideals, nourished
by the same teachings, inspired by the same principles, pledged by
tender affection as well as by high loyalty to carry to completion the
immense task committed to his hands, and to smite with iron severity
every manifestation of that hideous crime which his mild predecessor,
with his dying breath, forgave. The sayings of celestial wisdom have no
date; the words that reach us, over two thousand years, out of the
darkest hour of gloom the world has ever known, are true to life to-day:
"They know not what they do." The blow struck at our dear friend and
ruler was as deadly as blind hate could make it; but the blow struck