What more? Shall we on with his ashes? Yet stay! He hath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day; At his word, like a monarch’s, went treasure and land, The bright gold of thousands has passed through his hand. Is there nothing to show of his flittering hoard? No jewels to deck the rude hilt of his sword— No trappings—no horses? what had he? But now, On, on with his ashes! he left but his plough! Brave old Cincinnatus! unwind ye his sheet: Let him sleep as he lived—with his purse at his feet. Follow now as ye list: the first mourner to-day Is the nation—whose father is taken away. Wife, children and neighbor may moan at his knell— He was “lover and friend” to his country as well! For the stars on our banner grown suddenly dim Let us weep, in our darkness—but weep not for him. Not for him, who, departing, leaves millions in tears; Not for him, who has died full of honor and years; From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky— It is blessed to go when so ready to die! The members of President Harrison’s family immediately vacated the Executive Mansion, and the grief-stricken widow ceased the preparations for her prolonged absence from home. What a shock this death must have been to her! For many months an interested spectator, if not an actor, in the stirring events of the canvass and election, afterward a sharer in the triumphs of her husband, and for weeks anticipating the happy reunion in the mansion of the Presidents, to be rudely torn by fate from his presence for ever, and to see every hope lying crushed around her, would have harrowed a nature of coarsest mould. She was summoned from the busy care of forwarding some matter of interest to be told that he was dead. Dead! she could scarcely believe the evidences of her senses. Dead! or was she mistaken in what was said to her? His last letter was before her, and she had scarcely ceased reading the accounts in the papers of the magnificence of the inaugural ball. Howsoever cruel the blow, it was borne meekly and humbly by the Christian wife and mother, and she aroused herself from the stupor in which the announcement had thrown her. In July, the remains of the sincerely regretted President and deeply mourned husband and father were removed to their present resting-place at North Bend. Had her husband lived, Mrs. Harrison would have gone to Washington and discharged faithfully and conscientiously the duties of her position. But her residence there would not have been in accordance with her wishes or her taste. She continued to reside at her old home, where the happiest years of her life had been spent, until the autumn of 1855, when she removed from the old homestead to the residence of her only surviving son, Hon. J. Scott Harrison, five miles below North Bend, on the Ohio river. She remained an inmate of his family until her death.