phant on our hands. I fear there will be some disappointment about the offices," was a comment not overlooked by Nast.

The long and last illness of General Grant claimed the chief interest of the nation during the summer of 1885. The old soldier battling with a deadly disease, yet bravely completing a task which he believed was to be his widow's only means of supporthis book of memoirs-was a figure at once so pathetic and so noble that no breath of animosity remained to utter a single word that was not kind. The serene old warrior had lived to see his bitterest foes become his staunchest friends, to see those to whom the news of his death would once have been welcome now praying that he might be spared to complete his task.

And he did so triumph in this his final battle. He wrote as he had fought, simply, nobly and convincingly, and he persisted to the end. The story was finished, and at Mount McGregor, New York, July 23, 1885, the task of living was likewise made complete.

And all the nations mourned. Old errors were forgotten, old asperities put away. Only the great calm soldier was remembered and honored and lamented by all who knew his name. On August 8, public business throughout the nation was suspended, and he was laid to rest in a humble tomb on Riverside Drive, New York City, now replaced by an imposing structure where with him his wife sleeps, the two laid side by side.

No man felt the loss of Grant more keenly than Thomas Nast. The Soldier President was the last of his great heroes. Garibaldi, Lincoln and Grant-they were all gone-for him the world would never know their like again. Though younger than they, he had striven in the same sacred cause of right and liberty, and the old order of conditions, so nearly vanished away, had made them all. He wanted to keep in the march and battle on, but he felt lonely and left behind.

On August 1, he contributed to the Weekly a final tribute,

"The Hero of Our Age-Dead," a fine emblematic double page. Some months later there came a response as from beyond the grave. One day the expressman delivered into his hands a package containing the Grant Memoirs, a finely bound edition. He had already subscribed for the book, but this was an especially handsome copy-one of twenty-five prepared for the author's nearest friends. Upon the fly-leaf was the inscription:

"Sent to Mr. Thomas Nast by direction of the author, and with the compliments of his family."

National politics were kept well in hand by the firm and dig

nified administration of President Cleveland, and disgruntled office seekers were in no position to disgrace the nation with factional feuds and party dissensions. They complained as individuals rather than as organized bodies, with the possible exception of the Tribe of Tammany, which Nast depicted as a lean tiger wailing at the White House door.

But while Nast and Curtis supported Cleveland and his policy they

failed to support Mr. Hill's candidacy for the Governorship of New York. Hill was elected, however, by a large majority, and the old-line Democracy in New York rejoiced, for it believed that a pressure might now be brought to bear which would force the Tiger's entrance through the the White House door. Cleveland, grimly regarding the spoilsmen appears in several of the pictures. Then suddenly there is a "Slam-bang!" and the poor starved Tiger, his head caught and held fast in the door, symbolizes the statement-"It looks as if Mr. Cleveland meant business when he ordered the doors closed permanently against office seekers."

AFTER THE NEW YORK ELECTION
It will take more pressure now to keep him out

A number of happy Christmas pictures closed the year. It had not been distinguished by important work, nor personal doing-a visit with Mrs. Nast to the New Orleans Exposition being the chief domestic incident. The trip was made by way of Cincinnati and Mobile in a private boudoir car, in which Nast had invested money. It proved the only dividend he ever received from that source.

CHAPTER LX

THE FINAL YEAR

THE SPIRIT OF TWEED IS MIGHTY STILL "And even yet you don't know what you are going to do about it "

With January 1, 1886, began the final year of the combined labors of Thomas Nast and the old journal which, in the words of Roscoe Conkling, he had "made famous," and wherein he had made his fame. In the two dozen years which had elapsed, the nation had passed through its most crucial period, and in its turbulent history he had played a conspicuous part. Now the fierce and bitter issues

were passed. The day of the crusader was over-the time for the light jester and the facile harlequin had come.

There were still abuses to be assailed. "Tweed Again" appears in the person of various city officials and contractors who for a measure of ill-gotten return, were willing to risk exposure and disgrace. The heavy personality of the old "Boss," in stripes, was now used as the generic symbol of fraud, and Nast drew sportive groups of Tweeds somewhat as Mr. Opper to-day presents us with his family of merry trusts.

The secret sessions, or Star Chamber proceedings of the Senate, were freely criticised in the cartoons of 1886. That the Senate and the President should be at loggerheads was not conducive to progress, and there is little to be recorded to the credit of those spoilsmen of both parties who made it hard for Cleveland to carry out his purpose of reform. In an editorial (March 13) Curtis says:

"The Democratic party during the first year of its administration has done little to win popular confidence, not because its President has done ill, but because his views and purposes have received no hearty support."

The indiscrimin

ate granting of pension bills was one of the abuses which Mr. Cleveland proceeded to correct. Thousands of palpable frauds had been perpetrated upon the Government. Men, some of them worth fortunes, who had never been near the field of battle, had obtained pensions through disreputable agents, who had been allowed to practice every sort of subterfuge to gain their ends.

BOTH