ON POST: THURS Capital Silhouettes Being Some Sketches in Outline of the Present, With a Glance or Two at the Past. By GEORGE ROTHWELL BROWN. Two Pictures in contrast of Woodrow and Washington And in between, trag­edy. Of all the scenes in the life of the War President here are two, I think, which will forever, reinain in the mem­ories of those who witnessed them. A vast throng of reverent people stand for hours in Massachusetts avenue between Mr. Wilson's artistic home in S street and the beautiful Cathedral now rearing its slender spires to the sky. With bowed heads and in silence, heed­less of the cold and rain and the flurries of intermittent snow. No sound disturbs this solemn scene, a funeral' ceremony for one of the nation's .most distin­guished sons without a parallel in our annals, in which simplicity s'ounds a loftier note than all the pageantry of woe in the accoutrements of war, with thundering guns and muffled drum. Beholding Woodrow Wilson's mortal clay borne thus with quiet dignity to its last bed, between long lines of silent folk with heads bowed low in anguish, one's thoughts fly back across that brief span of years which lies between his triumph and his tomb. It is Saturday morning in Paris, the 14th of December, 1918. For the first time in history an American President is on the soil of France. He has arrived at Brest, is on his way to the Capital. He has sounded in his first address at the quaint Breton seaport town a note which has struck a chill at the heart of a victorious nation at the successful close of its most terrible war. There is fore­boding in every French bosom, for the leader from the West has touched the chord of pacifism! He has not come as a conqueror, but as a healer-and France is in no mood to demand less than the pound of flesh from her prostrate enemy. Nevertheless troubled Paris puts on a smiling face and pours out into her boulevards to welcome the man whose name had become a synonym for the loftiest aspirations of mankind. Washington has seen many conquer­ing heroes come and „ go. Its mighty crowds, drawn from every part of the Union, have overflowed her streets, fill­ing the grand Avenue of the Republic, to acclaim the nation's great or its dead, The coming -of Woodrow Wilson to Paris was to transcend anything French history had known. The panorama of his arrival in the magnificent Place de .Ja Concorde can never be effaced from the memories of Americans who beheld .He was rapturously .acclaimed by sin" allied soldiers swarming' in fromfe? front, as might have greeted Caesar, but which have paid homage to no modern leader of men. His journey from the Gare du Bois-de Boulogne to the beauti­ful Murat mansion in the Rue de Monceau was a triumphal progress, as. all Paris, en fete, in an ecstasy of abandon­ment, put aside every -other duty for that of welcoming the President of the sister republic across the seas which had sent 2,000,000 fighting men to the west­ern front to save France! It was 10 o'clock in the morning when the first gun of a salute of 21 boomed forth from the batteries at Mont Valerien, announcing the arrival o the President and Mrs. Wilson in their train draped with the Stars and Stripes; Met by the President and Mme. Poincare and by Clemenceau, Mr. Wilson be­gan that journey through the streets' of the French capital the picture of which' must have remained with him to the mo­ment of his death. The two Presidents of the two great­est republics on earth then entered the first carriage, an open victoria, followed by a squad of American military police, with Mr§. Wilson, Mme. Poincare, Miss Margaret Wilson and Mme. Jusserand in the second. Under the Arc de Triomphe, along the Avenue des Cliamps-Elysees, Into the magnificent Place de la Con­corde, by way of the -Concorde bridge, the American executive passed along to he music of wild acclaim and the thun­dering, of cannon. The whole way was ined with battered German , and Aus­trian artillery captured in battle. The mildings were gay with flags and bunt- nag. . That vast and beautiful square which les between the Chamber of Deputies : nd the Rue Royale, Cleopatra's needle ankeel with trophies of war, its splen- iid statues, including those of the two estored provinces, was packed with such multitude as none had ever witnessed sere before. It was my good fortune to e one of them, perched upon the wall f the Jardin de Tuiieries, and to be a itness, close at hand, of the wonderful elcome accorded tMe American 'Chief Magistrate we now have laid away in his larble sepulchre. I have seen the lit­erals of McKinley and of Harding and W of Wilson, apd witnessed many in­augurations, but in my newspaper expe­llee nothing, comparable.to that re- iption in Paris one December day five aars ago. -The world will never see its e again, for it is unlikely those condi- ons will ever be duplicated. As for the French, they hailed him in apsodic strain: "Wilson, you have preserved us from he wicked. Through you evil is pun­ched! ! "Wilson, glory be to you who have aid, like Jeshs: 'Peace on earth, good will toward men,'"