Probably there has been no death for year that shocked and grieved entire Napoleon to such a degree as when it was announced Saturday afternoon that Harry McCann was of the living no more. He had been a guest for several months with Dr. and Mrs. Harrison, of whom he was a nephew and, although he was known to be an invalid and under the care of the doctor, it was not known that a fearful struggle with that inexorable foe, Bright's disease, had been going on for months. His case was studied and treated with the most consummate skill, but Friday the realization forced itself on the grieved member of the household that he was beyond the aid of human endeavor. Confined to the bed he grew rapidly worse and Saturday afternoon at 4 p. m., the old, old fashion, Death, that fashion which came in with our first garments and will go out with our last, even until the end of time, claimed its prey, and a mother was left childless relative robbed of a dear one, and his large circle of friends made to bear the ineffable affliction of his departure on the solitary journey to that land of which we know so much and yet so little.

Harry O. McCann was in his 24th year. He was the only son of Rebecca Steadman McCann, at one time a teacher in our schools, now an elocutionist. When apprised of her son's precarious condition, she hastened with all a mother's love to reach the bedside of her dying boy. During the last few hours of his existence he prayed devoutly that he might be permitted to see her 'ere he died, but Providence, who sees all things in their true light, did not grant the request. The 3:45 train was swiftly bearing the anxious mother towards the fastly sinking loved one, but as the shrill whistle announced her arrival at the depot, the life, the spirit took its departure leaving naught but the inanimate clay to seer the eyes of the grief stricken mother. The last sad rites were held at the residence on Washington street Monday at 2 o'clock, p. m., Rev. Donahey in charge. The remains were interred in Forest Hill cemetery.