MOURNING ULYSSES S. GRANT'S DEATH. PREPARING TO BRING HIS BODY TO THE METROPOLIS. MRS. GRANT'S GREAT GRIEF. THE GENERAL'S DEATH DESCRIBED BY HIS NURSE.

Directions have been made today to remove General Grant's body from the mountain one week from today. The seclusion of Mrs. Grant in her room, which is till kept up, has been made the basis of exaggerated reports, with a sensational tendency, about her condition. She is grief-stricken, of course, and the sense of her loss is keen and ever present. But gossip has made it appear that she is seriously ill and might not long survive the General. It has been said that Dr. Douglas had advised her not to go to New York with the body of her husband. All stories beyond the point of describing her grief as pitiable are utterly untrue. She is not, nor has she been, sick. Dr. Douglas has not attended her. She expects to go to new York and is preparing for the journey.

Henry, the white nurse, who has been with the General during his illness, came over from the cottage, where he has not been far from the body almost constantly since the General died. "I shall stay by him," he said, "until he is taken away. I hardly know what to do now that it is no longer necessary for me to attend him. I feel as though I ought to be up at night with him as I was during all these months, and now that it is over, my nights are as badly broken as they were during his sickness. He was one of those patients to whom a nurse becomes attached. He was always kind and always appreciative of what as done for him. I never knew a patient quite like him. in will and strength he was man-like, in gentleness and kindness he was like a woman.

He was a help in all he tried to do for him, for as soon as he knew what we wanted, he joined us in the desire to have it done properly. I had to wake him four and sometimes five times a night to take nourishment. At those hours I wake now. It was hard for him to get to sleep. Yet he always awoke pleasant, gentle, and willing. During his last days he could hardly sit upright even when among his pillows. He had a way of stooping his head, bending away froward and his body following it as a result of his lack of strength. He did not mean to bend forward, but had hardly the strength to sit up. It was important that he should lie back, and sometimes I would have to help him. I needed only to place a hand on his shoulders when he would come back as gently and as easily as could be. He was responsive to the last to everything we tried to do for him.

I think he began to sink the Saturday before he died. I could see it then and I think he felt it. He said to me that morning: 'I am very weak, Henry. I can scarcely breathe.' On Monday he felt well enough to go to the Eastern Outlook. But I believed that on Saturday the end was shortly coming. After Monday he began to sink for the last time. I think I never saw his face look so well as during the last few hours before his death. When the sun rose that morning his face was pink, and his lips were as soft and rosy as a child's. When day came there was no sign that the end was near until seven or eight minutes before it came. Mrs. Jesse Grant was sitting at the foot of the bed. Mrs. Ulysses Grant was on the lounge. I was at the head of the bed fanning him. Suddenly as we sat there, I saw the death veil creeping into his face and drawing about the eyes. I went over to Ulysses. 'You had better sit next to your father.' I said.

Then I went to the door. I raised my finger and they came into the room. Then I sent Harrison for the family. I went into the old sick room to call for the Colonel. he had laid down on the lounge a few minutes before, but could not sleep. He was not there. Then I sent Harrison upstairs and he found the Colonel in his own room. The Colonel came down and the family were all there. I never saw a death more peaceful. None of the limbs contracted. He lay perfectly quiet. There was no sign of pain, but all was calm and beautiful. he simply closed his eyes and it was over. Good care kept him alive so long. Those about him were always watchful of his wants. He had only to make a movement when he wanted something, someone was always on hand to supply it. He had really closer care than he needed. But for such care he would have gone three months ago, but he deserved it all. it was a pleasant duty to serve such a patient."

The Rev. Dr. Newman has begun to prepare the funeral address, which will be delivered on Tuesday. It will deal only with the General's character. "Few knew the General," said the Pastor, "except his family. That family has been a republic in itself. Traits of his character which no one else saw were constantly revealed to them. They have been helping me in what I should prepare. Mrs. Grant has consented to let me use part of the letter which the General left for her. It is a wonderful letter, disclosing his kind and tender nature. She will not let it go from her possession for any other purpose. It is too sacred to use except in the limited way that will be justified on such an occasion as next Tuesday will be."

Mrs. Grant has not yet left her room. She is bearing her trial as well as can be expected. She knows that the body will be in the coffin after tomorrow and is nerving herself to look upon it. Much of her time is spent in Bible reading and prayer. Devotions are her chief consolation. In the hopes of easing her grief by giving it outlet, some of the family have read to her from the newspapers about the sorrow of the country and the world for her loss. She is touched by these expressions of universal sympathy and have lately made expressions of her gratitude for it.