To most in Ottawa the end had come with dramatic suddenness because his distinguished figure, striking face and debonair smile were familiar to all residents. Never for a moment did he relinquish his keen interest in life, in people, and in all the various events which make up the life of the Capital, and so he was to be seen regularly at meetings of the Canadian Club and gatherings of various associations which made Ottawa their headquarters. In public he displayed no sign that time had yet weakened his physical edifice, and public men to-day say that in private conversation up to near the end he displayed the same acumen, charm and ready wit which had always distinguished him. Very near friends, however, say that he realized the end could not be delayed many years, chiefly because of the growing weakness and lassitude which he felt on rising in the mornings. During the day it always wore off, and he fought courageously against the weakness, rising always at his regular hour, day after day getting the better of his weakness, and never under any circumstance showing anything but a cheerful countenance. On Sunday morning when he had his first fainting attack of some minutes’ duration he himself felt it to be the realization of the premonition which he had experienced and occasionally mentioned to close friends. For the moment, entirely oblivious to all but the attack, he said quietly to Lady Laurier: “It is the end.” Later, however, when he had partially recovered and was able to talk he did not speak as though he expected the end so soon. He seemed to think that, after all, he had weathered the attack, for when the gong rang for luncheon he rose with the intention of appearing at the table. His courageous habit of always combatting weakness, in this case was his undoing, as it brought on a second stroke, or the first one, if the fainting fit in the morning is not regarded as the result of a slight stroke. * * * * * “Every farm house and every village within twenty miles is empty to-day,” said one who knows Ottawa well, on the morning of the funeral of Sir Wilfrid Laurier. Although the dead Leader was buried with all the civil pomp of a State funeral and all the high ceremonial of an ancient Church, the plain people also bore their part. If you are a day laborer, there were just such workmen as you showing their respect and mourning; if you are a farmer, there were just such farmers as you standing with uncovered heads when the hearse went by. No matter who you are or what your station in life—high or lowly, rich or poor, proud or humble—you were truly represented at the funeral of this man who, because he was so chivalrous and so human, belonged to all classes and to all the people.