New York in August seemed oppressively hot to him. In the old days there had been little open garden patches in mid-Manhattan, but now the skyscrapers shut out the harbor breeze. The old "governor" was 70; finally he went to the hospital, for a "rest." But autumn came and he did not go home. Suddenly he was gravely ill. He prayed in his conscious moments, and one night the Most Rev. J. Francis A. Mclntyre, auxiliary bishop of New York, administered the last sacrament. He rallied; but four days later, Death, as it must...
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