There had been a strange prophecy put forth by some one, and it had made its way into the daily journals, and had been laughingly or seriously commented upon, according to the political tone of the paper, or the passing humor of the writer, that the 4th of March, 1897, would never dawn upon the American people. There was something very curious and uncanny about the prediction, and what actually happened was not qualified to loosen the fearful tension of public anxiety, for the day literally and truly never dawned upon the City of Washington, and well deserves its historical name, the “Dawnless Day.” At six o’clock, the hour of daybreak, such an impenetrable pall of clouds overhung the city that there came no signs of day. The gathering crowds could plainly hear the plaintive cries and lamentations put up in the negro quarters of the city. Not until nearly nine o’clock did the light cease to “shine in darkness” and the darkness begin to comprehend it. But although it was a cheerless gray day, even at high noon, its heaviness set no weight upon the spirits of the jubilant tens of thousands which completely filled the city and its public parks, and ran over into camps and hastily improvised shelters outside the city limits. Not until the day previous had the President announced the names of those selected for his Cabinet. The South and Far West were fairly beside themselves with joy, for there had been from their standpoint ugly rumors abroad for several days. It had even been hinted that Bryan had surrendered to the “money-changers,” and that the selection of his constitutional advisers would prove him recreant to the glorious cause of popular government, and that the Reign of the Common People would remain but a dream of the “struggling masses.” But these apprehensions were short lived. The young President stood firm and fast on the platform of the parties which had raised him to his proud eminence. And what better proof of his thorough belief in himself and in his mission could he have given than the following: Secretary of State—William M. Stewart, of Nevada. Secretary of Treasury—Richard P. Bland, of Missouri. Secretary of War—John P. Altgeld, of Illinois. Attorney General—Roger Q. Mills, of Texas. Postmaster General—Henry George, of New York. Secretary Navy—John Gary Evans, of South Carolina. Secretary Interior—William A. Peffer, of Kansas. Secretary Agriculture—Lafe Pence, of Colorado. The first thing that flashed across the minds of many upon glancing over this list of names was the omission therefrom of Tillman’s. What did it mean? Could the young President have quarreled with his best friend, his most powerful coadjutor? But the wiser ones only shook their heads and made answer that it was Tillman’s hand that filled the blank for Secretary of the Navy, left there by the new ruler after the people’s own heart. Evans was but a creation of this great Commoner of the South, an image graven with his hands.