And as quietly and peacefully his own end came--as he had desired it, with no dimming of the faculties even to the very close, nor suffering, nor confronting death. This was Saturday night, July 22, 1916. On Monday afternoon and evening his body lay in state under the dome of Indiana's capitol, while the people filed by, thousands upon thousands. Business men were there, and schoolgirls, matrons carrying market baskets, mothers with little children, here and there a swarthy foreigner, old folks, too, and well-dressed youths, here a farmer and his wife, and there a workman in a blue jumper with his hat in his band, silent, inarticulate, yet bidding his good-by, too. On the following day, with only his nearest and dearest about him, all that was mortal of the people's poet was quietly and simply laid to rest. The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley A BACKWARD LOOK As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, And lazily leaning back in my chair, Enjoying myself in a general way-- Allowing my thoughts a holiday From weariness, toil and care,-- My fancies--doubtless, for ventilation-- Left ajar the gates of my mind,-- And Memory, seeing the situation, Slipped out in the street of "Auld Lang Syne."-- Wandering ever with tireless feet Through scenes of silence, and jubilee Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet Were thronging the shadowy side of the street As far as the eye could see; Dreaming again, in anticipation, The same old dreams of our boyhood's days That never come true, from the vague sensation Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. Away to the house where I was born! And there was the selfsame clock that ticked From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn And helped when the apples were picked. And the "chany dog" on the mantel-shelf, With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself Sound asleep with the dear surprise. And down to the swing in the locust-tree, Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three Or four such other boys used to be "Doin' sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round": And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! And again I gazed from the old schoolroom With a wistful look, of a long June day, When on my cheek was the hectic bloom Caught of Mischief, as I presume-- He had such a "partial" way, It seemed, toward me.--And again I thought Of a probable likelihood to be Kept in after school--for a girl was caught Catching a note from me.