The Life and Public Services of James A. Garfield / Twentieth President of the United States, Including Full and Accurate Details of His Eventful Administration, Assassination, Last Hours, Death, Etc., Together with Notable Extracts from His Speeches and Letters

by E. E. Brown

FOOTNOTES:

[C] See page 480.

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CHAPTER XXVIII.

The President Plans a Ten-Days' Pleasure-Trip.—Morning of the Fateful Day.—Secretary Blaine Accompanies him to the Station.—A Mysterious-looking Character.—Sudden Report of a Pistol.—The President Turns and Receives the Fatal Shot.—Arrest of the Assassin.—The President Recovers Consciousness and is Taken Back to the White House.

"A wasp flew out upon our fairest son,
And stung him to the quick with poisoned shaft,
The while he chatted carelessly and laughed,
And knew not of the fateful mischief done.
And so this life, amid our lore begun,
Envenomed by the insect's hellish craft,
Was drunk by Death in one long, feverish draught,
And he was lost—our precious, priceless one!
Oh, mystery of blind, remorseless fate!
Oh, cruel end of a most causeless hate!
That life so mean should murder life so great!"

J. G. Holland.

The anniversary of our National Independence was now close at hand. In spite of the shameful and distressing party factions of the previous weeks, the country had never seemed in a more prosperous condition. The electric state of the political atmosphere had proved itself an element of purification, not of destruction, and the outlook for the future grew brighter every day.

On the morning of July second, the President arose at an early hour. Worn out with the harassing disturbances of the past weeks, he felt the urgent need of a few days' rest and recreation. Mrs. Garfield, who had been spending a little time at Long Branch, was to join him in New York; and together with a few members of the Cabinet and their families, the President had planned a ten-days' trip through New England.

It was a lovely summer's morning. The dew sparkled on the beautiful lawn and gay parterres in front of the White House, the cool trickle of the fountain mingled with the twittering of the sparrows as they flitted in and out of their nests under the great front porch.

All nature seemed in sympathy with the joyous mood of the President, as he gaily tried an athletic feat with one of his boys, laughed, jested, and talked about the commencement exercises at Williams College, which he hoped to attend in a few days.

Not one breath of impending danger, not one note of warning was there in the clear, sunny atmosphere of that bright July morning!

Shortly after breakfast, Secretary Blaine drove up to the White House and accompanied the President to the station of the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad, where the express train to New York leaves at 9.30.

Finding they were ten minutes before time, the President and his Secretary remained in the carriage, earnestly talking, until the depot official reminded them that the train was about to start.

Arm in arm they passed through the broad entrance-door into the ladies' waiting-room, which gave them the readiest access to the train beyond.

The room was almost empty, as most of the passengers had already taken their seats in the cars, but pacing nervously up and down the adjoining rooms, was a thin, wiry-looking man, whose peculiar appearance had once or twice been commented upon by some of the railroad officials. Still, there was really nothing about him to excite suspicion. He might have simply missed the train; and, as he seemed inclined to mind his own business, no further notice had been taken of him.

As the President passed through the room, this ill-favored looking man suddenly sprang up behind him, and, taking a heavy revolver from his pocket, deliberately aimed it at the noble, commanding figure.

At the sharp report the President turned his head with a troubled look of surprise, and Secretary Blaine sprang quickly to one side. The wretch immediately re-cocked his pistol, set his teeth, and fired again.

This time the President fell senseless to the floor, and a dazed crowd surrounded him while Secretary Blaine sprang after the assassin. The cowardly knave was easily secured, and then all thoughts centred upon the suffering victim. Mrs. White, who had charge of the ladies' waiting-room, was the first to see the President fall, and, running to his assistance, she knelt down and supported him in her arms. The dreadful tidings flew hither and thither on eagle-wings. Postmaster-General James, Secretary Windom, Secretary Hunt, and others of the party who were to accompany the President on his trip, were soon at his side, and messengers were sent in all directions.

A physician was soon on the spot; the wounded man was tenderly placed upon a mattress, and carried without delay to the White House.

Yet, before he was taken from the station, he suddenly aroused from his half-unconscious state, and turning to one of his friends he said, with his old, self-forgetting thoughtfulness,—

"Rockwell, I want you to send a message to my wife. Tell her I am seriously hurt; how seriously I cannot yet say. I am myself, and hope she will come to me soon. I send my love to her."

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CHAPTER XXIX.

At the White House.—The Anxious Throngs.—Examination of the Wounds.—The President's Questions.—His Willingness to Die.—Waiting for his Wife.—Sudden Relapse.—A Glimmer of Hope.—A Sunday of Doubt.—Independence Day.—Remarks of George William Curtis.

The members of the Cabinet and a number of the President's personal friends were at the White House, when the ambulance containing the wounded man drove slowly up the avenue.

When he saw them on the porch, he raised his right hand, and with one of his old, bright smiles, gave the military salute. But for the extreme pallor of his face, no one would have guessed the intense pain he was suffering, as he was borne upstairs to his own room in the southeast corner.

An excited crowd had already gathered about the White House, but troops had been ordered from the Washington Arsenal, and armed sentinels kept a vigilant guard about the executive Mansion.

When Dr. Bliss and the other physicians in attendance examined the wounds, they found the first shot had passed through the arm just below the shoulder, without breaking any bones. The other ball had entered the back just over the hips, but what direction it had taken, of where it had lodged, could not be determined with any degree of certainty. The physicians held a short consultation, and agreed to search for the ball as soon as the President's condition would permit.

The wounded man first complained of pain in his feet and legs, and for a long time the "tiger clawing," as he called it, seemed harder to bear than anything else. It is easy to understand now, how seriously the spinal cord and the whole nervous system must have been affected by that first fearful fracture of the vertebrae.

As the shock began to pass off, the President turned to Secretary Blaine, who was sitting beside him, and said,—

"What motive do you think that man could have had in trying to assassinate me?"

"Indeed, I cannot tell. He says he had no motive."

"Perhaps," said Garfield, with a smile, "he thought it would be a glorious thing to be a pirate king."

Turning to Dr. Bliss, he said,—

"I want to know my true condition. Do not conceal anything from me; remember, I am not afraid to die."

The President's condition was extremely critical at that time, as there were indications of internal hemorrhage, and the doctor frankly told him that he feared he could live but a few hours.

"God's will be done," he replied; "I am ready to go if my time has come."

As the little group stood in silence about his bed, they recalled his words to Colonel Knox only a few days before, when warned of the danger that might be lurking in hidden corners.

"I must come and go as usual," he said; "I cannot surround myself with a body-guard. If the good of this country, the interests of pure government and of the people against one-man power, demand the sacrifice of my life, I think I am ready."

The arrival of Mrs. Garfield from Long Branch was anxiously awaited all through that long, weary afternoon. An accident to the engine delayed the train upon which she had started, and it was evening before she reached the White House.

The President's quick ears heard the carriage-wheels as they rolled over the gravel driveway, and with a bright smile, he exclaimed,—

"That's my wife! God bless the little woman!" Then the strong-will power that had kept him up to this moment, seemed suddenly to give way. His attendants thought he was dying, and for hours his life hung upon the merest thread.

Slowly, but surely, the tide began to turn. At midnight he was still conscious—the doctors thought there was "one chance" that he might recover—the President had bravely taken that one chance; and with lightning speed the good news was telegraphed all over the country.

Sunday morning the President was so much better that he wanted to know what had been said about the assassination—and what was the general feeling throughout the country.

"The country," replied Colonel Rockwell, "is full of sympathy for you. We will save all the papers so that you can see them when you get well; but you must not talk now."

The President smiled, and in the broken slumber that followed he murmured to himself,—

"The great heart of the people will not let the old soldier die!"

The next night was one of fearful suspense, and the dawn of Independence Day was ushered in with mingled feelings of hope and fear.

A few days later, George William Curtis wrote as follows:—

"No Fourth of July in our history was ever so mournful as that which has just passed. In 1826 John Adams and Thomas Jefferson died on Independence Day. But the singular and beautiful coincidence was not known for some time, and then it was felt to be a fitting and memorable end of the life of venerable patriots long withdrawn from public affairs. Nearly forty years later, 1863, there was intense and universal anxiety when the great day dawned. Mr. Greeley, in his history, calls the ten days preceding the Fourth of July in that year the very darkest days the republic ever saw. But that was during the angry fury of civil war, when passions and emotions of every kind were inflamed to the utmost. There was fiery party rancor in the feeling of that time, and the whole year was full of similar excitement.

"But the emotion and the spectacle of this year are without parallel. In every household there was a hushed and tender silence, as if one dearly loved lay dying. In every great city and retired village the public festivities were stayed, and the assembly of joy and pride and congratulation was solemnized into a reverent congregation of heads bowed in prayer. In foreign countries American gayety was suspended. In the British Parliament, Whig and Tory and Radical listened to catch from the lips of the Prime Minister the latest tidings from one sufferer. From the French republic, from the old empire of Japan, and the new kingdom of Bulgaria, from Parnell, the Irish agitator, and from the Lord Mayor of Dublin, came messages of sympathy and sorrow. Sovereigns and princes, the people and the nobles, joined in earnest hope for the life of the Republican President. The press of all Christendom told the mournful story, and moralized as it told. In this country the popular grief was absolutely unanimous. One tender, overpowering thought called a truce even to party contention. Old and young, men and women of all nationalities and of all preferences, their differences forgotten, waited all day for news, watched the flags and every sign that might be significant, and lay down, praying, to sleep, thanking God that as yet the worst had not come.

"It was a marvellous tribute. In Europe, it was respect for a powerful State; in America, it was affection for a simple and manly character. It is plain that the tale of General Garfield's hardy and heroic life, the sure and steady rise of this poor American boy, taking every degree of honor in the great university of experience, equal to every occasion, to peace and war, to good fortune and ill fortune, had profoundly touched the heart of his countrymen. A year ago, every word and incident of that life was told by party passion—on one side eulogized and extolled; on the other, distorted and vilified. Out of the fiery ordeal he emerged with a general kindly regard and high expectation. Mild and conciliatory in character, of long and various political experience, a natural statesman with an able mind amply stored and especially trained for public duty, simply dignified in manner, a powerful man, singularly blameless, he entered upon the presidency with every happy augury. The country was at peace within and without, and hummed with universal prosperity. The first measures of his administration were both wise and fortunate, and the only trouble sprang from a source which is rapidly becoming the fatal bane of the country—the patronage of office. This breeds faction and makes faction fanatical and furious. If indignation with fancied slights and supposed breaches of faith regarding patronage, could so overmaster a conspicuous and experienced public man like Mr. Conkling as to drive him suddenly to resign the highest political trust which his State could bestow, to imperil his public career, to astound his friends, and to abandon the control of the Senate to his political opponents, it is not surprising that fancied neglect of political merit and service should bewilder the light brain of an unbalanced and obscure camp-follower like Guiteau, until, brooding with diseased mind upon his 'wrongs,' he should resolve to do 'justice' upon the supposed wrong-doer.

"So, in the most peaceful and prosperous moment that this country has known for a half-century, the shot of the assassin is fired at a man absolutely without personal enemies, and a President whom even his political opponents respect. Then to the impression of brave and generous and sagacious manhood, already produced by his career, was added his sweet and tranquil bearing under the murderous blow. The unselfish thought of others, the cheerful steadiness and even gayety of temper, the lofty and manly resignation, with entire freedom from ostentation of piety, the strong love of the strong man for those dearest to him, and the noble response of his wife's calm and perfect womanhood to this supreme and courageous manhood, filled the hearts of his countrymen with sympathy and love and sorrow, and whether he lived or died, his place in the affection of Americans was as secure as Lincoln's.

"Such feeling of millions of hearts for one man is profoundly touching. It gives him a great distinction among all mankind. But it is also a benediction for a people to be lifted by such an emotion. It is impossible that party passion should not be somewhat subdued by it, and that a wholesome sense of shame should not chasten factions and disputes. If such are the men with whom bitter quarrels are waged, and upon whom unstinted contumely and contempt are poured out, shall we not all, upon every side, pause and reflect that to blow mere party fires to fury, and to trample personal character in the mire of angry political dispute, is to disgrace ourselves and the cause that we would serve, and the country whose good name depends upon us? That is the reflection which this last solemn Fourth of July undoubtedly suggested. It recalled the country to emotions higher than those of the shop and the caucus. It is character that makes a country. It is manhood like that of Garfield and Lincoln which made the past of America, and which makes its future possible. Commercial prosperity and politics and all national interests rest at last upon the honesty and courage and intelligence of the people, not upon mines and material resources, nor upon great railroads or tariffs or free trade."

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CHAPTER XXX.

The Assassin.—What were his Motives.—His own Confessions.—Statement of District-Attorney Corkhill.—Sketch of Guiteau's Early Life.

Together with the overwhelming sense of grief and consternation that had spread throughout the country, was the eager desire to know what motives had actuated the assassin in his terrible deed.

When questioned by the detective who took him to jail, Guiteau declared, "I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts; I did it to save the Republican party."

"Is there anybody else with you in this matter?"

"Not a living soul," he replied. "I have contemplated the thing for the last six weeks and would have shot the President when he went away with Mrs. Garfield, but I looked at her, and she looked so sick, I changed my mind."

After a careful investigation of the facts, District-Attorney Corkhill published the following statement:—

"The interest felt by the public in the details of the assassination, and the many stories published, justify me in stating that the following is a correct and accurate statement concerning the points to which reference is made: The assassin, Charles Guiteau, came to Washington city on Sunday evening, March 6th, 1881, and stopped at the Ebbitt House, remaining only one day. He then secured a room in another part of the city, and had boarded and roomed at various places, the full details of which I have. On Wednesday, May 18th, 1881, the assassin determined to murder the President. He had neither money nor pistol at the time. About the last of May he went into O'Meara's store, corner of Fifteenth and F Streets, this city, and examined some pistols, asking for the largest calibre. He was shown two similar in calibre, and only different in the price. On Wednesday, June 8th, he purchased a pistol, for which he paid $10, he having, in the mean time, borrowed $15 of a gentleman in this city, on the plea that he wanted to pay his board bill. On the same evening, about seven o'clock, he took the pistol and went to the foot of Seventeenth Street, and practised firing at a board, firing ten shots. He then returned to his boarding-place and wiped the pistol dry, and wrapped it in his coat, and waited his opportunity. On Sunday morning, June 15th, he was sitting in Lafayette Park, and saw the President leave for the Christian Church on Vermont Avenue, and he at once returned to his room, obtained his pistol, put it in his pocket, and followed the President to church. He entered the church, but found he could not kill him there without danger of killing some one else. He noticed that the President sat near a window. After church he made an examination of the window, and found he could reach it without any trouble, and that from this point he could shoot the President through the head without killing any one else. The following Wednesday he went to the church, examined the location and the window, and became satisfied he could accomplish his purpose. He determined to make the attempt at the church the following Sunday. Learning from the papers that the President would leave the city on Saturday, the 18th of June, with Mrs. Garfield, for Long Branch, he therefore decided to meet him at the depot. He left his boarding-place about 5 o'clock Saturday morning, June 18th, and went down to the river at the foot of Seventeenth Street, and fired five shots to practise his aim, and be certain his pistol was in good order. He then went to the depot, and was in the ladies' waiting-room of the depot, with his pistol ready, when the presidential party entered. He says Mrs. Garfield looked so weak and frail that he had not the heart to shoot the President in her presence, and, as he knew he would have another opportunity, he left the depot. He had previously engaged a carriage to take him to the jail. On Wednesday evening, the President and his son, and, I think, United States Marshal Henry, went out for a ride. The assassin took his pistol and followed them, and watched them for some time, in hopes the carriage would stop, but no opportunity was given. On Friday evening, July 1, he was sitting on the seat in the park opposite the White House, when he saw the President come out alone. He followed him down the avenue to Fifteenth Street, and then kept on the opposite side of the street upon Fifteenth, until the President entered the residence of Secretary Blaine. He waited at the corner of Fifteenth and H Streets for some time, and then, as he was afraid he would attract attention, he went into the alley in the rear of Mr. Morton's residence, examined his pistol, and waited. The President and Secretary Blaine came out together, and he followed over to the gate of the White House, but could get no opportunity to use his weapon. On the morning of Saturday, July 2d, he breakfasted at the Riggs House about 7 o'clock. He then walked up into the park, and sat there for an hour. He then took a horse-car and rode to Sixth Street, got out and went into the depot and loitered around there; had his shoes blacked; engaged a hackman for two dollars to take him to the jail; went into a private room and took his pistol out of his pocket, unwrapped the paper from around it, which he had put there to prevent the dampening of the powder; examined his pistol; carefully tried the trigger, and then returned and took a seat in the ladies' waiting-room, and, as soon as the President entered, advanced behind him and fired two shots.

"These facts, I think, can be relied upon as accurate, and I give them to the public to contradict certain false rumors in connection with the most atrocious of atrocious crimes."

Can such a deliberate preparation as this be deemed an act of insanity?

A gentleman who knew Guiteau as a boy, says that he is of French descent, and that his father, J. W. Guiteau, was "an old resident and respected citizen of Freeport, Ill. He married a very beautiful woman, and with her and the younger children, he joined the Oneida Community. He afterwards returned to Freeport, where he served as cashier of the Second National Bank until his death. At one time he became deranged on the subject of 'Perfection,' and lectured extensively through the North and West on that subject. There were three children. An elder brother, Wilkes Guiteau, for a long time practised law at Davenport, Iowa. A younger sister, Flora, was a very promising girl. When the family left Oneida Community, Charles, then fifteen or sixteen years old, was left behind. He afterwards went to Chicago, where he studied law, being cared for and supplied with money by his father. After completing his studies, he went to Europe, where he travelled several years, imbibing Socialistic and other eccentric doctrines. A few years ago he returned to this country, and lectured on the second advent of Christ. He published a pamphlet on the subject, in which the egotism of the man was plainly shown. From what I knew of the boy, his education in the Oneida Community, and his utterances on religion, I was not at all surprised at his committing the act. I understand from people employed at the White House that Guiteau had forced himself upon the President several times. He was an applicant for the consulship at Marseilles; and one day obtained access to the President, and acted so rudely that the President had him removed. I have no doubt that, feeling offended by this act, he determined on the course which culminated in the terrible tragedy of July the second."

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CHAPTER XXXI.

Night of the Fourth.—Extreme Solicitude at the White House.—Description of an Eye-witness.—Attorney McVeagh's Remark.—Sudden Change for the Better.—Steady Improvement.—The Medical Attendance.

The night of the Fourth was a time of extreme solicitude at the White House. Said one who was present:—

"I sat in the great East Room with the Attorney-General.—

"'Ah,' he exclaimed, 'our Garfield was never a better President than he was at the moment when Guiteau's bullet struck him down. He never saw more clearly, and he never had a firmer or better purpose. He was going to be all that the best thought of the country ever expected of him. He was going to be a great President.'

"The last time I had been in this East Room was at Mr. Hayes' last diplomatic reception, when thousands of elegantly dressed people thronged it, and music and lights made it, for that evening at least, the handsomest room in the country. There were no lights now. The great spaces were gloomy with what seemed to be the gloom of coming death. Through the open windows on the south side the summer air stole lazily, and the shadows of the draperies seemed to add to the darkness. There was no music now—only the sound of whispered conversation as people went up or down the stairs. The result of the early evening consultation was unfavorable. Tympanites had again appeared, and apparently in a more threatening form than before. Grave men shook their heads. Even the brave Mrs. Garfield lost somewhat of the splendid courage that had sustained her throughout her trying ordeal. For the first time after his recovery from the shock of the bullet, the President seemed to lose hope himself.

"Suddenly there was a change for the better. Toward midnight, the troubled slumbers of the President became peaceful, and he soon sank into the best sleep he had enjoyed since the shooting on Saturday morning. His pulse and temperature became better; there were signs of an improved vitality; the breathing was easier; the pains ceased; there was no longer any appearance of dangerous inflammation or of peritonitis. Hope began to dawn where despondency had been; the faces that had been full of gloom began to look hopeful; there was yet some encouragement. Recovery flung out her signals in the steady breathings and the peaceful slumber of the President. The improvement continued, and again it could be said that there was hope of final recovery. It seemed as though the strong will and constitution of the man had made one more effort for life."

The cheering bulletins on the following morning kindled fresh hope in the hearts of the people. The general feeling was expressed that the worst was over, and the nation began to take courage. By the ninth of July the President was so much better, that his children were allowed to come into the room. On the 13th, it was reported that his appetite was improving, that he had asked for a steak, and sandwiches of bread and scraped raw beef had been given him. This increase in the variety of his food seemed to give him additional strength, and the condition of the wound was so favorable that it was thought the ball had become encysted.

The first physician who reached the President when he lay wounded at the depot, was Dr. Smith Townshend, Health Officer of the District of Columbia. As soon as he examined the wound, he pronounced it necessarily fatal. Immediately after the shooting, the Secretary of War, according to the President's wishes, had summoned Dr. Bliss, who with other physicians reached the depot soon after Dr. Townshend.

"On the following Sunday morning," says Dr. Bliss, "when the President had fully reacted, had had several hours of rest, was cheerful and competent to attend to any ordinary business, I presented the matter of his professional attendance to him, Mrs. Garfield being present. I then explained to him fully, the valuable professional assistance the large number of medical gentlemen had rendered up to that time, representing, as they did, the best medical talent in the city. His reply was,—

"'Of course, doctor, it will not do to continue the large number of medical gentlemen in attendance; such a number of surgeons would be cumbersome and unwieldy.'

"I said then: 'Mr. President, it is your duty to select your medical attendants now.'

"He replied: 'I desire you to take charge of my case. I know of your experience and skill, and have full confidence in your judgment, and wish you to thank the doctors individually for their kind attendance.' I thanked him, and replied that it would be necessary to select three or four medical assistants as counsel in the case. He replied,—

"'I shall leave that entirely with you; you know what talent you require, and your judgment is best upon that point.' I then selected in order the gentlemen who were immediately associated in the case, Surgeon-General J. K. Barnes, of the army; and Doctors J. J. Woodward and Robert Reyburn, stating in each instance the reason for so doing. He said that was eminently satisfactory to him. I then turned to Mrs. Garfield and said,—

"'If you desire to add one or more to the number selected, I shall be happy to unite them to our counsel.' Her reply was,—'I would not add one to the number you have selected, and I want to say to you, doctor, that you shall not be embarrassed in any way in your future treatment of this case.' Neither the President nor Mrs. Garfield, nor any member of the household from that time forward, suggested the name of any other physician except the eminent counsel called from Philadelphia and New York, Doctors Agnew and Hamilton." The last-mentioned physicians arrived on Monday morning, and in the consultation that followed they expressed their hearty approval of the treatment adopted. While so much uncertainty remained as to the exact location of the ball, it was folly to risk the President's life in an attempt to remove it.

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CHAPTER XXXII.

A relapse.—Cooling Apparatus at the White House—The President writes a Letter to his Mother.—Evidences of Blood-Poisoning.—Symptoms of Malaria.—Removal to Long Branch.—Preparation for the Journey.—Incidents by the way.

On the morning of the twenty-third of July there came a relapse. While the physicians were examining and dressing his wounds, the President experienced a slight rigor, followed by an increase of febrile symptoms. This was evidently owing to an interruption of the flow of pus, and, on the twenty-fourth, an operation was performed upon the cavity, by which the patient was relieved.

The intense heat of those July days was very debilitating, and a variety of ingenious plans were tried to lower the temperature in the sufferer's room. The most successful experiment was that of Mr. Dorsay's, which was based on the system used in cooling the air in mines. It required considerable machinery, but by its means the temperature of the room was reduced to seventy-five degrees. The system is as follows: A stationary engine is first employed to compress the air which, when crowded into less space, gives out a large amount of heat. This is carried away by running water, and as soon as the air is again set free, it becomes as cool by expansion as it had before been heated by compression.

On the 27th of July, a piece of the fractured rib was removed; the President was again able to take nourishing food, the fever subsided, and all the bulletins began to assume a cheerful tone.

And so the long, long days passed by, with frequent alternations of hope and fear. On the 11th of August the President asked for pen and paper that he might write a letter.

"Through all those weary weeks of pain,
With death's dark angel nigh,
But once to grasp the accustomed pen
The trembling fingers try.

"Those brave words from the strong man bowed,
Courageously death meeting,
To whom amid the courtly crowd
Of great ones sending greeting?

"The mother-bosom beat afar—
To her that tender letter;
To her—through life his guiding star—
He writes he's 'getting better.'"

By the middle of August it was evident that the President was suffering from pyæmia, or blood-poisoning. The swollen parotid gland occasioned fresh solicitude, and the stomach refused to perform its ordinary functions. Nourishing enemeta were then administered with excellent results, and the lancing of the parotid-swelling afforded temporary relief.

The sufferer longed for a change of air; the malarial atmosphere surrounding the White House was a constant drawback to his recovery, and early in September the physicians decided to remove him to Long Branch. The sixth day of the month was appointed for the removal, and every possible precaution was taken to make the journey as easy as possible. The bed, and the train in general, were inspected the day before by Surgeon-General Barnes and Drs. Bliss and Agnew. The train was run out to Benning's Bridge, five miles from Washington, and the surgeons thoroughly tested the couch. They said that it was perfect, and that no better arrangement could have been made for the President's journey. In the test of speed the doctors were surprised to find that there was notably less motion and jar at forty miles than at thirty.

The express wagon which was to convey the President to the depot, was in waiting at the front entrance to the Executive Mansion all night. It was a new vehicle, and the springs being well oiled, could not impart much jarring to the bed on which the President would lie.

When the track was being laid through Elberon, on which he was to be taken to the Francklyn cottage as a last hope, the surveyor apologized to a lady whose garden it laid waste.

"Your flowers have required the labor of many summers, madam, and we shall ruin them," he said.

"O sir!" she cried, "I am willing you should ruin my house—all I have, if it would help to save him!"

There was to be a double departure from the White House. The President's sons, Harry and James, were to start for Williams College, and shortly before ten o'clock on the evening of the fifth, they bade their father good-by, and took leave of their mother who was hopeful and courageous, believing the journey to Long Branch would save her husband's life. Their countenances were grave, and the passers-by, as they respectfully made way for them, could not but feel that the two young men were just about to start upon a career as, possibly, their distinguished father was about to end one.

Private Secretary Brown gives the following account of the trip to Long Branch: "Upon leaving the Executive Mansion the President appeared to enjoy the scenery and looked around inquiringly. All the way from the White House to the depot the President was very anxious to observe everything, and in this he was not prevented. He experienced little or no disturbance in being transferred from the vehicle to the car, and his pulse, although slightly accelerated, reaching about 115, fell to about 106 before the train started, and shortly afterward fell to 104 and again to 102. The first stop of the train was made at Patapsco, at which point the parotid gland was dressed. At half-past nine o'clock the President's pulse was 108 and of good character. At that hour three ounces of beef extract were administered. Between Philadelphia and Monmouth Junction, the special train made several miles at the rate of seventy miles per hour. Bay View, this side of Baltimore, was reached at 8.05, and a brief stop was made to enable the surgeons to make the morning dressing of the wound. The wound was found to have suffered no derangement by the travel. The dressing was soon accomplished, and the train, after leaving Bay View, was run at the rate of about fifty miles per hour. The track in this locality is very straight, and in excellent condition, and though the speed was at times greater than fifty miles per hour, the vibration of the President's bed, it is said, was no more than had the train been moving twenty-five miles per hour. The attending surgeons feel very much gratified with the manner in which the removal was conducted, and are generally of the opinion that, with the exception of being slightly fatigued, the President bore the journey exceedingly well."

"This is a great journey, Crete," he said to his wife, as the train rushed on at lightning speed. "Let her go! The faster the better," he added, when the doctors expressed their fears that the rapid motion of the engine would tire him.

"Don't put down the curtain! I want to see the people! Let them look in!" he exclaimed, as he caught a glimpse of the eager, anxious crowds at the different stations.

One of the Boston dailies wrote as follows—

"In the preparations for the trip the great popular solicitude for the well-being of the President infected even soulless railroad corporations, as they are sometimes called, so that the management of the lines over which he had to pass could not do too much to reduce the fatigue or other injurious effect of the jaunt. It is a credit to our common humanity, that everybody in any way connected with this transfer of the President, from the mechanic to the railroad director, required no spur but his own feelings to exert himself to the utmost for the safety and comfort of him who had suffered so terribly, and evinced such grand qualities under the most adverse circumstances. No railroad train was ever the burden of so much anxious, prayerful solicitation as that conveying the President to his destination. To change and apply one of General Garfield's own expressions, the great heart of the nation must have nobly sustained the presidential patient as he sped on his way to a locality where, it is hoped, the recuperating processes of nature will place him on the high road to convalescence.

"Our despatches note the arrival of the presidential train at different points, and the manner in which the patient bore the ride. As may well be imagined, the people who gathered in Washington to see him on board the train could not help remarking his generally emaciated appearance, but he was sufficiently strong to turn upon his side and wave his adieus to the crowd. The fortitude and will of the President are as surprising as the many unusual episodes of his life."

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CHAPTER. XXXIII.

Description of the Francklyn Cottage.—The Arrival at Long Branch.—The President is Drawn up to the Open Window.—Enjoys the Sea View and the Sea Breezes.—The Surgical Force Reduced.—Incident on the Day of Prayer.

"The Francklyn cottage at Long Branch, to which the President was taken, is about fifty yards southeast of the hotel. Its front is within one hundred feet of the edge of the bluff, from which a pebble can be dropped into the surf. The building contains twenty rooms. It is a long, rambling structure, two and one-half stories high, having seven gables and being in fashion a mixture of the Queen Anne and Swiss chalet style. The lower stories are painted a sienna color, and gables and roof a dark slate.

"A perfectly smooth lawn of well-kept turf surrounds it upon every side. Its interior apartments are perfect; the kitchen is separated from the main part of the building by a covered driveway, and none of the culinary odors can reach the dwelling portion. Two spacious parlors and an immense dining-hall faces the ocean, and a broad double window opens upon a large uncovered veranda about six feet above the ground, surrounded by a high railing.

"The west or rear part of the dining-hall opens upon the main hall, a roomy thoroughfare, from which by the landings a broad flight of stairs ascend to the second floor. The stairs are of ample width, and allowed the President's bed to be carried up them without difficulty. The chamber occupied by the President is in the northeast corner of the building. It is about twenty feet square. There is one broad window facing the ocean on the east, and the windows facing the ocean on the south. By leaving the door of the chamber open a breeze can be obtained from every point of the compass except the north. The windows are protected from the sun by awnings and blinds."

The appointments of the chamber are perfect in every respect, being left just as Mr. Francklyn's family occupied it. About one hundred yards south of the Francklyn cottage is the cottage belonging to the hotel assigned to Mrs. Garfield and her family.

It was about a quarter past one when the President's train was observed slowly making its way over the new track at Long Branch. There was no whistling, no bell-ringing, no noisy puffing of the engine, no shouts nor cheers. A powerful locomotive slowly, and almost silently, pushed before it the cars of the train, the centre one being the President's.

The train stopped opposite the Elberon, and immediately many flocked about it to learn the particulars of the journey. All were told that the trip had been successful, and the President was quite as well as when he started. The delay was but for a moment. The forward car was uncoupled from the train and a large force of men, held in readiness, gently pushed it around the quarter circle and past the entrance to the cottage. It was occupied by a few ladies and gentlemen of the President's household, who at once left it and were escorted into the house.

Another gang of men pushed on the President's car close after it. It was stopped at the proper place, and immediately a soldier mounted by ladder to the roof and the sailcloth awning was raised. It did not, however, completely conceal the passage on the side where the people were gathered. The planks were put in position, and in a moment two or more soldiers were seen to pass bearing a low bedstead. Many thought that the President was resting on it, but this was a mistake.

Three or four minutes later a mattrass on which was plainly discernible under snowy coverings the form of a human body, was steadily and gently, almost solemnly, borne from the car to the house, while two or three hundred spectators, too far away and on too low a level to catch sight of the face, held their breath in sympathy, their eyes meantime moist with tears they cared not to conceal, and many doubtless praying with deep earnestness that this heroic effort to save a precious life would avail. There was not a cheer, not an audible sound uttered by any one. Few scenes could be more impressive in their silence and their sympathy.

"Please move me up where I can see the water," said the President, soon after being placed in bed. His couch was immediately pushed up to the wide open window; he was slightly raised upon it, and lay there for some minutes looking out upon the sea. Although he was greatly fatigued by the journey and his pulse was high, he slept better that night than he had done for weeks.

"Don't you think I look better!" he said next morning to one of the attendants; "I feel better," he added. "This is good air."

Previous to leaving Washington, after it had been determined to remove the President to Long Branch, it appears the President asked his wife if all the attending surgeons were going along. Mrs. Garfield replied that she presumed they were. The President then expressed an opinion, the effect of which was that he did not see why that was necessary. Further discussion on the subject brought out the President's wishes, and the withdrawal of Drs. Reyburn, Barnes, and Woodward was the result. Dr. Bliss stated that there was no cause for the withdrawal or retirement of the surgeons beyond the fact that it was the desire or whim of a very sick man, and, as the President had entertained the idea that a fewer number of physicians could manage his case as well as the number heretofore engaged upon it, it was desired by Mrs. Garfield that his wishes be complied with. The doctor stated further that the best of feeling prevailed among the entire corps of surgeons, and that the retirement of Messrs. Reyburn, Barnes and Woodward would not in any manner affect the intimacy which had grown up between them since the President was shot. After the wish of the President was made known to one of the attending surgeons in Washington by Mrs. Garfield, a consultation on the subject took place, resulting in its reference to Dr. Agnew, with a view to obtaining his opinion as to the best mode of procedure. Dr. Agnew recommended that the President be requested to name the surgeons he was desirous of retaining in charge of his case, which was done. Dr. Bliss, it appears, objected to assuming the entire responsibility of removing the President to Long Branch, and insisted that the entire number of surgeons should accompany the patient thither. A compromise was then effected, which was that all the surgeons should come to Long Branch with the President, but upon arrival, or as soon thereafter as possible, the three mentioned should retire.

The following day, September 8th, as the President sat in his reclining chair by the open window he heard the stroke of bells from the little church across the way.

"Crete," he said to his wife, "what are they ringing that bell for?"

"Why," said Mrs. Garfield, who had been waiting for the surprise, "the people are all going there to pray for you to get well; and I am going to pray too, James," she added, "that it may be soon, for I know already that the other prayer has been heard."

From where he lay, Garfield could see the carriages draw up and group after group go in. He could even hear the subdued refrain of "Jesus, lover of my soul," as it was borne by on its heavenward way.

Thrilled with emotion, a tear trickled down the President's face. After a while, a sweet woman's voice arose, singing from one of Sir Michael Costa's noblest oratorios.

"Turn thou unto me and have mercy upon me," sang the voice, "for I am desolate; I am desolate and afflicted; the troubles of my heart are enlarged. Oh, bring thou me out of my distresses, out of my distresses, my God."

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CHAPTER XXXIV

Hopeful Symptoms.—Official Bulletin.—Telegram to Minister Lowell.—Incidents at Long Branch.—Sudden Change for the Worse.—Touching Scene with his Daughter.—Another Gleam of Hope.—Death ends the Brave Heroic Struggle.—The Closing Scene.

On the evening of September 12th, the following official bulletin was published:—

Long Branch, Sept. 12—6 P. M.

The President has experienced since the issue of the morning bulletin further amelioration of symptoms. He has been able to take an ample amount of food without discomfort and has had several refreshing naps. At the noon examination the temperature was 99.2, pulse 106, respiration 20. At 5.30 P. M. the temperature was 98.6, pulse 100, respiration 18.

D. W. Bliss.
D. Hayes Agnew.

The Attorney-General telegraphed:—

To Lowell, Minister, London—10 P. M.—In the absence of Mr. Blaine, the attending physicians have requested me to inform you of the President's condition. He has during the day eaten sufficient food with relish, and has enjoyed at intervals refreshing sleep. His wound and the incisions made by the surgeons all look better; the parotid gland has ceased suppuration, and may be considered as substantially well. He has exhibited more than his usual cheerfulness of spirits, his temperature and respiration are now normal, and his pulse is less frequent and firmer than at the same hour last evening. Notwithstanding these favorable symptoms, the condition of the lower part of the right lung will continue to be a source of anxiety for some days to come.

MacVeagh.

The day before the President had been raised on his air pillows, so that he lay looking out on the lawn beneath his window, and beyond that to the sea. A soldier on duty as a guard was patrolling his beat at the edge of the bluff. The soldier chanced to look toward the window of the sick chamber, and the suffering President feebly raised his hand to give the old soldier a salute. The President of the United States never received a more heartfelt salute than the old soldier gave in return for this gracious salutation, and about the camp all day the soldier, with tears in his eyes, told how the great sufferer had honored him. But the incident was of more than sentimental value, in that it showed that the President took an interest in his surroundings, and had vitality enough to tender a salute. There were hours at Elberon, when the listless eyes would have looked out upon the sea and not have recognized the soldier.

When Secretary Hunt called on the President, he informed him that there was no business in his department requiring his (the President's) attention. It had been the custom of the President to refer to the secretary in various nautical terms, and after shaking the hand of the President the secretary, pointing toward the ocean, remarked, "Well, Mr. President, I see you have had to resort to my domain." "Yes," said the President, "there it is, and isn't it beautiful?"

Everything seemed to indicate certain, though it might be slow, recovery. The people read the bulletins, and went about their work with renewed hope and courage. On the 17th of September, however, Dr. Hamilton stated that "the conditions, altogether, were more hazardous than at any time since the patient had been at Long Branch." Severe rigors had been followed by increased pulse, and there was constant danger of his sinking into a comatose state.

On the morning of the 19th Dr. Agnew remarked,—

"The vitality of our patient is something more remarkable than I have ever met with in all my practice."

The President awoke from a light slumber, and said to Dr. Bliss,—

"Doctor, I feel very comfortable, but I also feel dreadfully weak. I wish you would give me the hand-glass and let me look at myself."

General Swaim said: "Oh, no, don't do that, general. See if you cannot get some sleep."

In reclining chair, at Long Branch.

"I want to see myself," the President replied.

Mrs. Garfield then gave him the hand-glass. He held it in a position which enabled him to see his face. Mrs. Garfield, Dr. Bliss, Dr. Agnew, General Swaim, and Dr. Boynton, stood around the bed, saying not a word, but looking at the President. He studied the reflection of his own features. At length he wearily let the glass fall upon the counterpane, and, with a sigh, said to Mrs. Garfield,—

"Crete, I do not see how it is that a man who looks as well as I do should be so dreadfully weak."

In a moment or two he asked for his daughter Mollie. They told him that she would see him later in the day. He said, however, that he wanted to see her at once.

When the child went into the room she kissed her father, and told him that she was glad to see that he was looking so much better.

He said: "You think I do look better, Mollie?"

She said: "I do papa," and then she took a chair and sat near the foot of the bed.

A moment or two after, Dr. Boynton noticed that she was swaying in the chair. He stepped up to her, but, before he could reach her, she had fallen over in a faint. They carried her out where she could get the fresh breeze from the ocean, and, after restoratives were applied, she speedily recovered. The room was close, the windows were closed, and, as Miss Mollie had not been very well, all these causes, combined with anxiety, induced the fainting-fit.

The President, they thought, had not noticed what had happened to his petted child, for he seemed to have sunk into the stupor which had characterized his condition much of the time. But, when Dr. Boynton came back into the room, he was astonished to hear the President say,—

"Poor little Mollie. She fell over like a log. What was the matter?"

They assured the President that the fainting-fit was caused by the closeness of the room, and that she was quite restored. He again sank into a stupor or sleep, which lasted until the noon examination.

Hope returned during the afternoon, as there was no recurrence of the rigors, and the evening bulletin was more encouraging than the one issued at noon. There seemed to be every indication that the President would pass a comfortable night.

"Dr. Bliss," said the Attorney-General, "at 9.30, went to the cottage to make his final examination before he retired for the night. He found that the pulse, temperature, and respiration were exactly as they were when the evening bulletin was issued. There had been no change of any kind. There was every promise of a quiet night. All of the doctors retired at once for the night, as did all of the attendants, except General Swaim and Colonel Rockwell. They remained, and nothing transpired until about 10.20; then the President said, 'I am suffering great pain. I fear the end is near.' The attendant sent for Dr. Bliss, who had retired to Private Secretary Brown's cottage. Dr. Bliss came very rapidly. When he entered the room he found that the President was in an unconscious state, and that the action of the heart had almost ceased. Dr. Bliss said at once that the President was dying, and directed the attendants to send for Mrs. Garfield and Drs. Agnew and Hamilton."

A Herald postscript had the following from Long Branch: "The death-bed scene of the President was a peculiarly sad and impressive one. As soon as the doctors felt that there was no hope, the members of the family assembled. The lights in the sick-room were turned down. Dr. Bliss stood at the head of the bed with his hand on the pulse of the patient, and consulted in low whispers with Dr. Agnew. The private secretary stood on the opposite side of the bed, with Mrs. Garfield. Miss Lulu Rockwell and Miss Mollie Garfield came into the room at the time the President lost consciousness. Those about the bed occasionally went into the corners of the room and spoke to each other. The solemnity of the occasion fully impressed itself upon them. There was no sound heard except the gasping for breath of the sufferer, whose changing color gave indication of the near approach of the end. After he had repeated 'It hurts,' he passed into a state of unconsciousness, breathing heavily at times and then giving a slight indication that the breath of life was still in his body. The only treatment that was given was hypodermic injections of brandy by Dr. Agnew, assisted by Dr. Boynton. Occasionally they spoke with Dr. Bliss in quiet whispers. The President suffered no pain after the time he placed his hand upon his heart. He passed away almost quietly. The line between life and death was marked by no physical exhibition, nor any word. There was absolutely no scene. The intervals between gaspings became longer and presently there was no sound. Every one present knew that death had come quickly without pain. When it became evident that he was dead, Mrs. Rockwell placed her arm around Mrs. Garfield and led her quietly from the room. She uttered no word. One by one the spectators left the scene, the doctors only remaining in the room, and windows were closed. Directly afterward Private Secretary Brown telegraphed the boys, James and Harry, at Williams College, Mass., and Mrs. Eliza Garfield. Those were the first despatches sent after the death."

The following and last "official bulletin" was issued at Elberon:—

September 19th, at half-past eleven, P. M.

"The President died at 10.35 P. M. After the bulletin was issued at 5.30 this evening, the President continued in much the same condition as during the afternoon, the pulse varying from 102 to 106, with rather increased force and volume. After taking nourishment he fell into a quiet sleep about thirty-five minutes before his death, and while asleep his pulse rose to 120, and was somewhat more feeble. At ten minutes after ten o'clock he awoke, complaining of severe pain over the region of the heart, and almost immediately became unconscious, and ceased to breathe at 10.35."

(Signed) D. W. Bliss.
Frank H. Hamilton.
D. Hayes Agnew.

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CHAPTER XXXV.

The Midnight Bells.—Universal Sorrow.—Queen Victoria's Messages.—Extract from a London Letter.—The Whitby Fishermen.—The Yorkshire Peasant.—World-wide Demonstrations of Grief.

"There passed a sound at midnight through the land,
A solemn sound of sorrow and of fear;
A sound that fell on every wakening ear
Bearing a message all could understand."

The tolling of the bells in every city, town, and village throughout the country announced the sad tidings of the President's death. The whole world stopped to shed a sympathizing tear, and among the first expressions of condolence received by Mrs. Garfield was the following telegram from Queen Victoria:—

"Balmoral.

"Words cannot express the deep sympathy I feel with you. May God support and comfort you as He alone can.

(Signed) The Queen."

To Minister Lowell the Queen telegraphed as follows:—

"With deep grief I and my children learn the sad but not unexpected news of the fatal termination of the sufferings of the President. His loss is a great misfortune. I have learned with deep sorrow that the President has passed away."

Smalley, the correspondent of the New York Tribune writing from London said,—

"It was about four o'clock in the morning of Tuesday, by English time, that President Garfield died. An hour later the news was here, and some of the morning papers published it in a few late copies of their morning edition. It was known in the provinces at the same moment, and published in the same way. Before I say anything about the feeling it evoked in high places and with the general public, I should like to mention what occurred in the town where I was staying; Whitby, a fishing town and small seaport which is also a watering-place on the northeast coast of Yorkshire. At this season Whitby is the rendezvous for herring-fishers, and its little harbor is crowded with boats hailing from ports all the way from Pentland Firth to Penzance; Penzance itself sending a large contingent. The fishermen are a simple folk, leading a hard life, untaught, and as free from any concern on shore in the general affairs of the world as any body of men that could be got together. But when they heard that President Garfield was dead they one and all hoisted their bits of flag at half-mast, and so kept them during the day. They held no meeting, passed no resolutions. I suppose not a man among them could have made a speech or drawn up a formal declaration of sorrow. They acted with no concert of any kind. Their way of life makes them all rivals and often enemies. Hartlepool has nothing to say to Lowestoft, Sunderland quarrels with Arbroath, and Whitby itself keeps but ill terms with any of its many guests. But somehow they agreed for this once. The boats that lay in the river above the bridge, next the railway station, were the first to hang out their signal of grief. Those in the port below soon followed. Not long after, without anybody being able to say how the news spread, the fleet at anchor outside the harbor one by one ran up their ensigns, hauled them half down, and there made them fast for the day.

"Amid the innumerable demonstrations of sorrow to be seen and heard these last two days all over England, I know of none which more truly indicates the essentially popular character of the regret which the President's death has excited.... An English friend who was shooting ten days ago over a Yorkshire moor told me that, as the scattered line of sportsmen were pushing through the heather in silence, the gamekeeper met him some yards away, turned and asked: 'Can you tell me, sir, how President Garfield is?' There on that lonely hillside, three thousand miles and more distant from the sufferer, in the early morning, beneath a sun which was not yet shining upon the President, breathing an air he never breathed, this Yorkshire peasant, who had spent his life without so much as hearing the President's name till a few weeks before; who knew not the letters of which it was formed; who knew about grouse and guns and dogs and the weather, and nothing else whatever; whose interest in life never went beyond the stone hut in which he slept and ate, and the stretch of furz-clad upland which lifted itself against the western sky,—he, like the fishermen, had come to think or to feel that, somehow or other, the life or death of that far-away martyr concerned him too. It is easy to say that beneath the shooting-jacket and the jersey beats the same human heart. No doubt it does. But what was it that set it beating in unison with so many millions of others like it with sympathy for the President? Lord Palmerston said he never knew what fame was till he heard of the Tartar mothers on the steppes of Russia in Asia frightening their children into quiet with some queer travesty of his dreaded name. Yorkshire is not so remote as Russian Asia, indeed, but the friendly concern of the gamekeeper was surely a truer measure of real fame than the ignorant terror of the Muscovite mother. I know I thought when I heard it that the President who lay dying would have valued such a proof of the universality of the interest in him not less than those expressions of it—certainly not less genuine—which came from much higher quarters."

Francklyn Cottage, where the President died.

Said another writer:—

"The American people cannot fail to be deeply impressed by the multitudinous expressions of sympathy which have come from foreign lands. It was to be expected that there would be the usual and formal messages from the various rulers, but it is something of quite a different sort, and something altogether beyond precedent which we are witnessing. From all the governments of Europe, and from those of the Orient as well, and from our nearer neighbors, Canada and Mexico, words of sympathy and condolence have come. But beyond all this, and more precious, are the manifestations of popular feeling in countries other than our own, and especially in Great Britain and Canada. We hear of public and private buildings draped in mourning, of mourning-flags upon English Cathedrals, of the tolling of bells in English and Canadian churches, of English and French journals with mourning borders. The Queen sends a warm, womanly message of sympathy to the widow; and the English Court puts on mourning for a week. And all these world-wide demonstrations of grief, sincere, spontaneous and universal, are called out by the death of this uncrowned republican of our Western world, a man born of the people, schooled in hardship, but strong and noble in all that pertains to true manhood. Such a spectacle as this, such tributes as these from foreign potentates and peoples whose ideas and methods of government vary so widely from ours, should not pass without being heeded, and the lesson which they convey should be laid to heart. It is true, as one of the leading English journals has well expressed it, that a common sorrow unites the ocean-sundered members of the English race to-day more closely than it has ever been since 1776, and that there is scarcely an Englishman in a thousand who did not read of President Garfield's death, with a regret as real and as deep as if he had been a ruler of their own."

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CHAPTER XXXVI.

The Services at Elberon.—Journey to Washington.—Lying in State.—Queen Victoria's Offering.—Impressive Ceremonies in the Capitol Rotunda.

On the morning of September twenty-first, the black-cloth casket, containing all that was mortal of President Garfield, was placed in the parlor of the Francklyn Cottage, at Long Branch; and for one brief hour, a motley throng of city people and country folk were permitted to look upon the wasted form of one they had learned to regard as a personal friend.

Brief religious services were read by Rev. C. J. Young of the Dutch Reformed Church at Long Branch, and then Mrs. Garfield and her daughter, followed by the members of the Cabinet, entered the waiting train; the casket was placed in the funeral car, and slowly, sadly, amidst the solemn tolling of the bells, the heavily draped train left the Elberon station. At Princeton Junction, three hundred students with uncovered heads stood on either side the track, and scattered choice flowers beside the train for more than a hundred yards. Bells were tolled in all the towns and villages through which the funeral party passed, and a reverent stillness pervaded the waiting throngs at the various stations on the way.

At four, P. M., the train reached Washington, and the casket was borne at once to the Capitol.

All night long, the remains of the martyred President remained exposed to view, and without cessation the stream of visitors passed through the rotunda. At an early hour in the morning the throng at the east front of the Capitol began to increase, and at eight o'clock fully five thousand people were patiently and quietly waiting in two lines. From that hour the crowd constantly increased, and at eleven o'clock there was a dense mass of people in front of the main steps on the east front, extending for two squares up East Capitol Street. People from the outlying country flocked to the city, while every incoming train upon the several railroads was heavily freighted with those who had come to testify their profound sorrow at the nation's bereavement.

Queen Victoria had telegraphed to the British minister to have a floral tribute prepared and presented in her name. It was placed at the bier of the President. It was very large, and was an exquisite specimen of the florist's art, composed of white roses, smilax and stephanotis. It was accompanied by a mourning card bearing the following inscription:—

"Queen Victoria to the memory of the late President Garfield. An expression of her sorrow and sympathy with Mrs. Garfield and the American nation.

"Sept. 22, 1881,"

By half-past one, P. M., on Friday, the 23d, arrangements for the funeral ceremonies in the rotunda were all completed and the chairs and sofas labelled to designate for whom they were reserved. The positions of the floral offerings were changed, and now nothing remained upon the casket save a few branches of palm. At the head of the catafalque stood a broken column of white and purple flowers, surmounted by a white dove. On either side of this were tastefully arranged a crown and a pyramid of roses. At the foot, and resting against the black drapery, was the wreath which by order of the queen was the day before placed upon the casket. Arranged on each side of this offering from the queen were handsome crosses, while at their base was placed a magnificent floral pillow on which was inscribed in violets "Our Martyr President." Next to this was placed "The Gates Ajar," which also attracted much admiration. The Knights of Malta contributed a large Maltese cross, and the Union Veteran corps of which General Garfield was a member, a pillow of white flowers bearing in violet letters the inscription, "U. V. C., to their comrade." The whole appearance of the catafalque was tasteful and elegant. In front of the chairs which were placed on the south side of the casket were arranged sofas for the accommodation of Mrs. Garfield and the family of the late President. Directly opposite and on the north side of the catafalque seats were reserved for the members of the cabinet and distinguished guests. The front row of chairs in the northwestern section of the rotunda were placed at the disposal of the justices of the Supreme Court, while in the rear of these several rows were selected for the accommodation of senators. The representatives occupied seats on the southeastern and southwestern sections. Behind these a row of chairs were reserved for the representatives of the press, and the remainder of the seats in that section were given to the public generally.

At exactly quarter to two o'clock the doors of the rotunda were opened. The first society to arrive was the Knights Templars, Beausant Commandery of Baltimore. They entered in full regalia, but did not remain in the hall, simply passing around the catafalque in double file. Four of their number—Sir Knights Stevens, Lawton, Butler and Jennings—bore a floral offering in the shape of an immense Maltese cross, which was reverently placed at the head of the dais. At ten minutes past two the army of the Cumberland filed in by the door leading from the senate chamber, and took the seats reserved for them. Immediately after the doors were thrown open to all holders of tickets.

In ten minutes the chairs set apart for the general public were completely filled. Soon the members of the diplomatic corps arrived, and were ushered to the seats reserved for them.

Services were opened by Rev. Dr. Powers promptly at three o'clock. He ascended the dais and briefly announced the opening hymn, "Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep," which was rendered by a choir of fifty voices.

Rev. Dr. Rankin then ascended the raised platform at the head of the catafalque, and read in a clear, distinct voice the scriptural selections. Rev. Dr. Isaac Errett then offered prayer.

Immediately after the close of the services the floral decorations were all removed (Mrs. Garfield having requested that they be sent to her home at Mentor) except the beautiful wreath, the gift of Queen Victoria, which had been placed upon the head of the coffin when the lid was closed, and which remained there when the coffin was borne to the hearse, and will be upon it till the remains are buried. This touching tribute of Queen Victoria greatly moved Mrs. Garfield, as only a woman can feel a woman's sympathy at the time of her greatest earthly sorrow.

The coffin having been placed in the hearse, a single gun was fired from Hanneman's battery, the Second Artillery Band struck up a funeral march, and the procession moved around the south front of the Capitol to the avenue. At least 40,000 people were gathered about the Capitol to witness the start of the procession, while along the line of march to Sixth Street the crowd was even greater than on the 4th of March. Everywhere it was most orderly and quiet; and as the hearse containing the remains moved along the avenue, from the very door of the Capitol to the entrance of the depot, all heads were uncovered.

On reaching the depot the military were drawn up in line upon the opposite side of the street, facing the Sixth Street entrance. The remains were borne from the hearse upon the shoulders of six soldiers of the Second Artillery and placed in the funeral car. The ten officers from the army and navy, selected as the guard of honor, stood with uncovered heads as the remains were taken from the hearse, and then escorted them to the car. The diplomatic corps and others who were not going upon either of the trains did not alight from their carriages. President Arthur entered the depot with Secretary Blaine, and a few minutes after entered the Secretary's carriage, and with Ex-President Grant was driven up the avenue to his temporary home at the residence of Senator Jones of Nevada. To avoid the crowd about the depot, Mrs. Garfield was taken to the corner of Maine Avenue and Sixth Street, and an engine and two cars, including the one intended for her use, were run down the track, and she was taken on board the train without attracting any attention. The funeral train was the same used on the trip from Long Branch, with two additional cars.

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CHAPTER XXXVII.

Journey to Cleveland.—Lying in State in the Catafalque in the Park.—Immense Concourse.—Funeral Ceremonies.—Favorite Hymn.—At the Cemetery.

The sad journey to Cleveland was marked at every station by touching tributes of affection.

After lying in state Saturday and Sunday in the catafalque in the park at Cleveland, the remains of President Garfield were solemnly committed to the tomb at Lake View Cemetery with solemn and impressive rites, the occasion fittingly reflecting the great sorrow under which the nation lies.

The heat of Sunday and Monday was intense, but until the closing of the park gates in the forenoon previous to the beginning of the funeral service, the stream of people passing through the catafalque, to view the casket enclosing the remains, was continuous, and the number who so paid their last respects must have aggregated at least 150,000.

Promptly at half-past ten o'clock the ceremonies at the pavilion began. The immediate members of the family, and near relatives and friends, took seats about the casket, and at each corner was stationed a member of the Cleveland Grays. Dr. J. P. Robinson, president of the ceremonies, announced that the exercises would be opened by the singing, by the Cleveland Vocal Society, of the "Funeral Hymn," by Beethoven, whereupon the hymn was sung as follows:—

"Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
Since God is thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide,
The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee,
And Death has no sting since the sinless hath died."

The scripture selections were then read by Right Rev. Bishop Bedell of the Episcopal Diocese of Ohio.

Rev. Ross C. Houghton, pastor of the First Methodist-Episcopal Church, then offered prayer. After which the Vocal Society sang as follows:—

"To thee, O Lord I yield my spirit,
Who breaks in love this mortal chain;
My life I but from thee inherit,
And death becomes my chiefest gain.
In thee I live, in thee I die,
Content, for thou art ever nigh."

Rev. Isaac Errett of Cincinnati then delivered an eloquent address, taking for his text the following: "And the archers shot King Josiah, and the king said to his servants, 'Have me away, for I am sore wounded.' His servants therefore took him out of that chariot and put him in the second chariot that he had, and they brought him to Jerusalem, and he died and was buried in one of the sepulchres of his fathers, and all Judah and Jerusalem mourned for Josiah, and Jeremiah lamented for Josiah, and all the singing men and singing women spoke of Josiah in their lamentation to this day, and made them an ordinance in Israel, and behold they are written in the Lamentations. Now the rest of the acts of Josiah and his goodness, according to that which was written in the law of the Lord, and his deeds, first and last, behold, they are written in the book of the Kings of Israel and Judah. For behold the Lord, the Lord of Hosts, doth take away from Jerusalem and from Judah the stay and the staff, the whole stay of bread and the whole stay of water. The mighty man, and the man of war, and the prophet, and the prudent, and the ancient, the captain of fifty, and the honorable man, and the counsellor, and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent orator. The voice said 'Cry,' and he said 'What shall I cry?' All flesh is grass, and all the godliness thereof is as the flower of the field. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, because the spirit of the Lord boweth upon it. Surely the people is grass; the grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand forever."

Dr. Errett was listened to with close and earnest attention. He spoke for forty minutes, and when he closed a hush for a moment hung over the vast audience.

Rev. Jabez Hall then read President Garfield's favorite hymn,—

"Ho' reapers of life's harvest
Why stand with rusted blade
Until the night draws round ye,
And day begins to fade?
Why stand ye idle waiting
For reapers more to come?
The golden morn is passing:
Why sit ye idle, dumb?

Thrust in your sharpened sickle,
And gather in the grain:
The night is fast approaching,
And soon will come again,
The master calls for reapers;
And shall he call in vain?
Shall sheaves lie there ungathered,
And waste upon the plain?

Mount up the heights of wisdom,
And crush each error low;
Keep back no words of knowledge
That human hearts should know.
Be faithful to thy mission,
In service of thy Lord,
And then a golden chaplet
Shall be thy just reward."

At 11.45, Rev. Dr. James S. Pomeroy delivered the final prayer, and pronounced the closing benediction.

A few minutes after the benediction had been pronounced, the casket was lifted reverently from its resting-place, and borne on the shoulders of the United States artillery sergeants who had acted as its special bearers from Long Branch to the funeral car. The funeral procession moved from Monumental Park at 11.55. The military presented a magnificent appearance. The column was headed by that veteran volunteer association, the Boston Fusileers, who had travelled from Massachusetts in order to pay a last tribute to their deceased comrade by participating in the obsequies. They were followed by two companies of the Seventy-Fourth New York, the Buffalo Cadets and the Buffalo City Guards; next came the United States barracks band of Columbus, followed by the Governor's Guard, the Toledo Cadets, the District Infantry, the Washington Infantry of Pittsburg, the Gatling Gun and Cleveland Light Artillery; then followed all the civic and military organizations, in the order of march already arranged, excepting that the Columbia Commandery of Knights Templars of Washington marched with the guard of honor and pall-bearers in the division having charge of the funeral car.

Euclid avenue, for its six miles of length, seemed literally shrouded with mourning emblems, and an immense concourse numbering hundreds of thousands watched the slow progress of the procession.

At 3.30 o'clock the procession entered the gate-way, which was arched over with black, with appropriate inscriptions. In the key-stone were the words, "Come to rest." On one side were the words, "Lay him to rest whom we have learned to love." On the other, "Lay him to rest whom we have learned to trust." A massive cross of evergreen swung from the centre of the arch. The United States Marine Band, continuing the sweet, mournful strain it had kept up during the entire march, entered first. Then came the Forest City Troop, of Cleveland, which was the escort of the President to his inauguration. Behind it came the funeral car, with its escort of twelve United States artillerymen, followed by a battalion of Knights Templars and the Cleveland Grays. The mourners' carriages and those containing the guard of honor, comprised all of the procession that entered the grounds. The cavalry halted at the vault and drew up in line facing it, with sabres presented. The car drew up in front, with the mourners' carriages and those of the cabinet behind. The band played "Nearer, my God, to Thee," as the military escort lifted the coffin from the car and carried it into the vault, the local committee of reception, Secretary Blaine, Marshal Henry, and one or two personal friends, standing at either side of the entrance.

None of the President's family except two of the boys, left the carriages during the exercises, which occupied less than half an hour.

Dr. J. P. Robinson, as president of the day, opened the exercises by introducing Rev. J. H. Jones, Chaplain of the Forty-Second Ohio Regiment, which General Garfield commanded, who made a short address.

After an ode by Horace, sung in Latin by the German Singing Society, Mr. Robinson announced the late President's favorite hymn, "Ho! Reapers of Life's Harvest," which the German vocal societies of Cleveland sang with marked effect. The exercises closed with the benediction by President Hinsdale, of Hiram College.

Re-entering their carriages the mourners drove hurriedly back to the city, to avoid another shower which was threatened. The Military and Masonic escort left the cemetery in the same order in which they entered, and kept in line until the catafalque was reached, where they were dismissed.

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CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Lakeview Cemetery.—Talk with Garfield's Mother.—First Church where he Preached.—His Religious Experience.—Garfield as a Preacher.

The lot in Lakeview Cemetery that was selected for the burial-place is on the brow of a high ridge commanding an extensive view of Lake Erie. It was the President's desire that his last resting-place might be in this beautiful spot, and his mother, speaking of it, said,—

"It is proper that he should be buried in Cleveland. It is the capital of the county in which he was born, and of the section where he grew into prominence. Mentor had been his home but a short time, although he had intended to spend the balance of his life there. Most of his years have been spent in Solon and Orange, and it seems best that his final resting-place should be near the places that he loved the best."

The brave old lady trembled with emotion while talking of her son.

"It is wonderful," she said, "how I live upon the thoughts of him. I ride a little every day to get the fresh air, and look at the fields and woods he loved so well."

Mrs. Garfield was with her daughter, Mrs. Larrabee, in Solon, Ohio, when the last sad tidings came. For days she had been greatly depressed—her hopes of his recovery growing fainter with every telegram received.

"Oh! it is too dreadful! it cannot be true!" she exclaimed, when the sad news was gently broken to her. It was some time before she could control her feelings. At last she murmured through her tears: "God knew best, but it is very hard to bear!"

A few days later, when a friend called to see her, she said,—

"He was the best son a mother ever had—so good, kind, generous and brave. Did you ever see such an uprising? That ought to break the fall for me, but it doesn't seem to. I want my boy."

This little home at Solon is not far from the spot where the old log cabin stood, and the first frame house was built.

"I am glad you have been over to the old homestead," added the old lady to her visitor. "My son loved every foot of it. He and his brother built the frame house for me, near the well where the pole has been erected. It was rude carpentry, but they both took their first lessons on it, and I always loved the old home. It was burned down just after we left it."

The humble Church of the Disciples, where Garfield first preached, is close by. Once, when addressing some young people, he spoke as follows of his first religious experience,—

"Make the most of the present moment! No occasion is unworthy of your best efforts. God in his providence often uses humble occasions and little things to shape the whole course of a man's life. I might say that the wearing of a certain pair of stockings led to a complete change in my own career. I had made one trip as a boy on a canal-boat, and was expecting to leave home for another trip. But I accidentally injured my foot in chopping wood. The blue dye in the yarn of my home-made socks poisoned the wound, and I was kept at home. Then a revival of religion broke out in the neighborhood. I was thus kept within its influence, and was converted. New desires and purposes then took possession of me, and I determined to seek an education that I might live more usefully for Christ. You can never know when these providential turning-points in your life are at hand; so seek to improve each passing day." With this we may connect the account of his conversion given by his friend, Rev. Isaac Errett, D. D., of Cincinnati. "The lad," he says, "attended these meetings for several nights, and after listening night after night to the sermon, he went one day to the minister, and said to him: 'Sir, I have been listening to your preaching night after night, and I am fully persuaded that if these things you say are true, it is the duty and the highest interest of every man, and especially of every young man, to accept that religion and seek to be a man; but really I do not know whether this thing is true or not. If I were sure it were true, I would most gladly give it my heart and my life.' So, after a long talk, the minister preached that night on the text, 'What is truth?' and proceeded to show that, notwithstanding all the various and conflicting theories and opinions of men, there was one assured and eternal alliance for every human soul in Christ Jesus as the Way and the Truth and the Life; that every soul would be safe with him; that he never would mislead; and that any young man giving him his hand and heart would not go astray. After due reflection, young Garfield seized upon this. He came forward and gave his hand to the minister in pledge of the acceptance of the guidance of Christ for his life, and turned his back upon the sins of the world forever."

"He was never formally ordained," says one of his old pupils at Hiram Institute, "hence some have inferred that his preaching was confined to occasional and unofficial discourses. But while he was a student in Williams College he supplied in vacations and at other times the pulpit of the Disciples' church at Poestenkill, a few miles from Williamstown. For this he received some compensation which assisted him in his course. He had the ministry in view. Becoming Principal at Hiram, he also accepted the position of regular pastor of the church of Disciples in that town. This office he filled during a large part of his Principalship, bearing its responsibilities and receiving what compensation attached to it. It was a large village church, and the only one in the place, except a small Methodist church. He was called from year to year." The people loved him as their pastor, and the house was crowded to hear him preach. He officiated at their funerals, and administered the ordinances of baptism (which was always immersion) and the Lord's Supper. The fact that he had not been ordained in due form was not objectionable to the Disciples, and a matter of greater indifference even among them at that time than it would be perhaps to-day. Doubtless his appointment as Principal of their Institute was regarded as equivalent to a sanction of his full ministry. He preached Sunday morning and afternoon, and administered the communion every Sunday. In the evening there was a prayer-meeting. The students were required to be present at church at least twice in the day. He always preached without notes, with great simplicity and practicalness, interesting persons of mature years, and at the same time taking special pains to reach the young. There was a bright little boy with whom he was accustomed to talk after preaching, to make sure that he had been understood. In prayer he impressed his congregation as a man who was really speaking with God. On Saturday afternoons he visited socially among the people.

In 1857 his preaching was accompanied by a revival of religion. Meetings were held nearly every night, and fifty-two united at one time with the church. These Mr. Garfield baptized in the open air. Many of the converts were students, and when he gave them the hand of fellowship at the communion table he presented each one of them with a copy of the Word of God. This was not the only time he led candidates into baptismal waters. There were frequent occasions of this kind. One is remembered which took place in the evening in the fall of the year, when the moonlight was bright enough for the singers to read the music and the hymns. He entered into the spirit of such scenes with great devotion and zeal.

Garfield always held to that side which emphasized man's need of the Holy Spirit, and the necessity of believing in Christ from the heart. This he always enforced in his preaching, and as urgently declared that this faith must be followed by obedience. His public prayers were often addressed to Christ. Our informant feels sure that he was far from being a Unitarian. He was not pleased with the way in which Garfield, in accordance with the usages of the Disciples, received candidates for baptism, and one day said to him: "It seems to me that your practice, Mr. Garfield, is hardly consistent with your doctrine in this matter. You preach excellent sermons to the impenitent, and point out the way of salvation in language which I can endorse; but when persons come forward for baptism, you have no examination by the church to see if their conversion is sound." The answer was: "I show them clearly that they must believe from the heart. If they say they do, I leave the responsibility with them."

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CHAPTER XXXIX.

The Sunday Preceding the Burial.—The Crowded Churches.—The one Theme that Absorbed all Hearts.—Across the Water.—At Alexandra Palace.—At St. Paul's Cathedral.—At Westminster Abbey.—Paris.—Berlin.—Extract from London Times.

On the Sunday that the remains of the martyred President were lying in state at Cleveland, the churches throughout the country were crowded with congregations in sober and reverent mood. One thought engrossed all minds, and one topic alone occupied the preacher's desk.

"It was most touching," said one writer, "to see with what sympathy and sadness every appreciative tribute to the dead President was received; to perceive by a thousand little indications how profoundly this great event absorbing all thoughts had stirred the hearts of the people; to detect the unbidden tears stealing down the cheeks of so many women, aye, and of men too. The ministers felt the inspiration of the occasion, and were uplifted by it to greater than ordinary eloquence, to more tender and more hearty words."

Not only in America but throughout Europe the mourning crowds were gathered to offer their tributes of respect. At the Alexandra Palace, in London, a memorial service was held, at which forty thousand persons were present, many of them in deep mourning.

St. Paul's Cathedral was crowded to overflowing at the announcement that the services would relate to the death of President Garfield. When the "Dead March in Saul" was played the whole congregation, numbering many thousands, arose and remained standing, all showing grief and many weeping. Canon Stubbs preached, and specially referred to the cruel manner of President Garfield's death. He extolled his life and virtues, and expressed sympathy for the sorrowing American nation.

The following sonnet was written in the Cathedral just after the funeral anthem for President Garfield had been sung,—

September 25.

Through tears to look upon a tearful crowd,
And hear the anthem echoing
High in the dome till angels seem to fling
The chant of England up through vault and cloud,
Making ethereal register aloud
At heaven's own gate. It was a sorrowing
To make a good man's death seem such a thing
As makes imperial purple of his shroud.
Some creeds there be like runes we cannot spell,
And some like stars that flicker in their flame,
But some so clear the sun scarce shines so well;
For when with Moses' touch a dead man's name
Finds tears within strange rocks as this name can,
We know right well that God was with the man.

At both the morning and evening services in Westminster Abbey reference was made to President Garfield's death. At the afternoon service Canon Duckworth said the American people were richer in all that could dignify national life by President Garfield's death. Had the shattered frame revived, it would be hard to believe that he could have impressed his greatness more effectually. At St. Margaret's, Westminster, the Rev. Mr. Roberts described the assassination as a crime against the whole English humanity. At all the principal churches of all denominations Garfield's death formed the subject of sympathetic allusion.

In Paris, Père Hyacinthe held a memorial service, and at Berlin, one of the Emperor's chaplains spoke at length upon the martyred President.

The London Times, summing up the events of the week, said: "Such a spectacle has never before been presented as the mourning with which the whole civilized world is honoring the late President Garfield. Emperors and kings, Senates and ministers, are, in spirit, his pall-bearers, but their peoples, from the highest to the lowest, claim to be equally visible and audible as sorrowing assistants."

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CHAPTER XL.

National Day of Mourning.—Draping of Public Buildings and Private Residences.—Touching Incident.—Tributes to Garfield.—Senator Hoar's Address.—Whittier's Letter.—Senator Dawes' Remarks.

Monday, September 26th, the day when the funeral rites were celebrated at Cleveland, was appointed by President Arthur as a national day of mourning. The public buildings throughout the country and many private residences were draped with mourning, while beautiful and appropriate emblems of the nation's sorrow were seen in almost every window. A touching incident is told of a poor colored washerwoman at Long Branch who tore up her one Sunday gown, a cheap black gingham, and hung it about her door. When remonstrated with, she said, quietly,—

"He was my President, too." It would take volumes to give any adequate collection of the many beautiful tributes to Garfield delivered in the pulpit, from the forum, and through the public press, but from them we select a few.

At Mechanic's Hall in Worcester, Senator George F. Hoar spoke as follows: "I suppose at this single hour there is deeper grief over the civilized world than at any other single hour in its history. Heroes, and statesmen, and monarchs, and orators, and warriors, and great benefactors of the race, have died and been buried. There have been men like William the Silent and his kinsmen of England, and men like Lincoln, whose death generations unborn will lament with a sense as of personal bereavement. But in the past the knowledge of great events and great characters made its way slowly to the minds of men. The press and the telegraph have this summer assembled all Christendom morning and evening at the door of one sick-chamber. The gentle and wise Lincoln had to overcome the hatred and bitterness of a great civil war. It was the fortune of President Garfield, as it was never the fortune of any other man, that his whole life has been unrolled as a scroll to be read of all men. The recent election had made us familiar with that story of the childhood in the log cabin, of the boyhood on the canal boat, of the precious school time, of the college days at the feet of our saintly Hopkins, of the school-teacher, of the marriage to the bright and beautiful schoolmate, of the Christian preacher, of the soldier saving the army at Chickamauga, of the statesman leading in great debates in Congress, and of the orator persuading the conscience and judgment of Ohio, and, through her, saving the nation's honor and credit in the great strife for public honesty, of the judge determining the great issue of the title to the presidency, of the loved and trusted popular leader, to whom was offered the choice of three great offices, Representative, Senator, and President at once. We know it all by heart, as we know the achievements of the brief and brilliant administration of the presidential office and the heroic patience and cheer of that long dying struggle, when every sigh of agony was uttered in a telephone at which all mankind were listening. No wonder the heart burst at last. While it was throbbing and pulsing with fever and pain, it furnished the courage which held up for seventy-nine days the sinking hopes of a world. This man touched the common life of humanity, touched its lowliness, touched its greatness, at so many points. His roots were in New England puritanism, were in the yeomanry of Worcester and Middlesex. He grew up to manhood in Ohio. The South had learned to know him. Her soldiers had met him in battle. When he died she was making ready to clasp the hand he was holding out to her returning loyalty. The child in the log cabin knows all about the childhood so like his own. Scholarship mourns the scholar who was struck down when he was hastening to lay his untarnished laurel at the feet of his college. Every mother's heart in America stirred within her when the first act of the new President was to pay homage to his own mother. The soldiers and sailors of England, the veterans of Trafalgar and Waterloo, join his own comrades in mourning for a hero whom they deemed worthy to be ranked with the heroes who held out the livelong day with Wellington, or who obeyed Nelson's immortal signal. The laborer misses a brother who has known all the bitterness of poverty and the sweetness of bread earned by the sweat of his brow. The Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of India, and sovereign of Cyprus and Malta and Gibraltar and Canada and Jamaica, knew her peer when she laid her wreath, last Friday, on the coffin of a king. The last we heard of him in health he was playing like a boy with his boy. As our friend said in the pulpit yesterday, the saints of mankind, when they saw him, knew the birthmark of their race, and bowed their heads. The American people have anointed him as the representative of their sovereignty. Washington and Lincoln came forward to greet him and welcome him to a seat beside their own. I say there is deeper grief at this hour over the civilized world than at any other single hour in history. It seems to me that the death of President Garfield is the greatest single calamity this country ever suffered. I have no doubt there were hundreds and hundreds of thousands of men who would gladly have bought his life with their own, but we shall dishonor our dead here if, even while his grave is open, we allow ourselves to utter a cry of despair. It is true of nations, even more than of man, that "Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth." Our republic was planted in sorrow. One-half of the pilgrims died at Plymouth the first winter, and yet not one of the original colony went back to England. Is there any man now who would they had not died, or wishes they had found summer and plenty and ease on the coast of Massachusetts? Could we celebrate Yorktown with the same lofty triumph without the memories of Valley Forge and the death of Hale and Warren? I think even the widow who goes mourning all her days will hardly wish now that our regiments had come home from the war with full ranks. God has taken from us our beloved, but think what has been brought into this precious life. Fifty millions of people, of many races, of many climes, the workman, the farmer, the slave just made free, met together to choose the man whom they could call to the presidency among mankind. God took him in his first hour of triumph and stretched him for seventy-nine days upon a rack. He turned in upon that sick-chamber a Drummond light that all mankind might look in upon that cruel assay, and see what manner of men and what manner of women Freedom calls to her high places. He revealed to them courage, constancy, cheerfulness, woman's love, faith in God, submission to his will. Into what years of Europe, into what cycles of Cathay were ever crowded so much of hope and cheer for humanity as into the tragedy of Elberon? Your prayers were not answered; the bitter cup has not passed from you, but, so long as human hearts endure, humanity will be strengthened and comforted, because you have drunk it."

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The following letter, from John G. Whittier, was read at the funeral services of President Garfield, held in Amesbury:—

Danvers, Mass., 9th Mo., 24, 1881.
W. H. B. Currier.

My Dear Friend,—I regret that it is not in my power to join the citizens of Amesbury and Salisbury in the memorial services on the occasion of the death of our lamented President. But in heart and sympathy, I am with you. I share the great sorrow which overshadows the land; I fully appreciate the irretrievable loss. But it seems to me that the occasion is one for thankfulness as well as grief. Through all the stages of the solemn tragedy which has just closed with the death of our noblest and best, I have felt that the Divine Providence was overruling the mighty affliction—that the patient sufferer at Washington was drawing with cords of sympathy all sections and parties nearer to each other. And now, when South and North, Democrat and Republican, Radical and Conservative, lift their voices in one unbroken accord of lamentation; when I see how, in spite of the greed of gain, the lust of office, the strifes and meanness of party politics, the great heart of the nation proves sound and loyal, I feel a new hope for the republic. I have a firmer faith in its stability. It is said that no man liveth and no man dieth to himself; and the pure and noble life of Garfield, and his slow, long martyrdom so bravely borne in the view of all are, I believe, bearing for us, as a people, "the peaceable fruits of righteousness." We are stronger, wiser, better for them.

With him it is well. His mission fulfilled, he goes to his grave by the lakeside, honored and lamented as man never was before. The whole world mourns him. There is no speech nor language where the voice of his praise is not heard. About his grave gathers, with heads uncovered, the vast brotherhood of man.

And with us it is well also. We are nearer a united people than ever before. We are at peace with all; our future is full of promise; our industrial and financial condition is hopeful. God grant that, while our material interests prosper, the moral and spiritual influence of this occasion may be permanently felt; that the solemn sacrament of sorrow whereof we have been partakers may be blest to the promotion of the "righteousness which exalts a nation." Thy friend,

John G. Whittier.

Said Senator Dawes:—

"Garfield was indeed a great man. This will be the judgment of those who knew him personally and of history. This tragedy prevents the corroboration of that judgment by results; for he had but just entered upon the work for which his preparation and development had fitted him and has finished nothing but a life of great promise and expectation. His growth has been a wonderful study to those who were by his side during its progress. It was constant to the last moment. The last year had turned it into an altogether new and untried channel. It had been begun and carried on until that time in quite a different direction. He had never had executive experience, and a modesty and distrust, rare in minds conscious of great power, led him to hesitate and shrink from what was before him. His first remark to a long-tried friend on taking his hand after the Chicago convention was this: 'I fear I am no man for this place; I have felt that I could reasonably count on six years more of labor and study and growth in the new and larger opportunity already secured to me in my accustomed field, but this is an untried sphere to me, and I dread the experiment.' The short time he has been permitted, however, to labor in this new field has yet been long enough to bring out great qualities and high purposes that the nation can ill spare. He was conscious of great powers carefully trained, but he lacked confidence to take hold of new things. His mind did not work quickly, though it did surely. Always feeling the ground under every step he took, he never ventured his foot where he could not, by some process of reasoning, however slow, satisfy himself that he knew what was under him. Hence the man who was a great leader in battle, and of unflinching personal courage, and better fitted than any contemporary to demonstrate and defend a political principle, had not yet come to be a safe political leader in a sudden emergency, where there is no time for logic or processes of reasoning, but action must follow instinct and first impression. At such times he distrusted himself and left to others, with not a tithe of his real power, the guidance of political movements. As free from political as from personal guile, he was too confiding and open-hearted to be safe in the hands of men less scrupulous and less selfish.

"Those who saw him enter public life, and were with him to the end, have in mind a wonderful growth, and have in admiration, also, a wonderful character, personal, mental and moral, ever charming, sure to be instructive and always exemplary. In private intercourse with those he loved he was as simple and trusting as a child, as tender and affectionate as a woman, and as true and valiant as a knight. One of the most touching scenes, illustrative of what manner of man he was, will never be forgotten. The great cares of state had well-nigh worn him out; the wife of his love lay lingering between life and death, and he had been going from official labor and responsibility to her bedside night after night, and, for the last two, had scarcely closed his eyes. The report had gone out that Mrs. Garfield was dying; a near friend called to inquire. Coming out of the sick-room, and grasping his hand, the President begged him to sit down, and there this greatest of all public men unbosomed himself like a broken-hearted woman. Dwelling with surprising tenderness upon the love and beauty of his married life, and the noble character of her who had made it what it was, he exclaimed, with great emotion, 'I have had in this trial glimpses of a better and higher life beyond, which have made this life I am leading here seem utterly barren and worthless. Whatever may come of this peril, I fear that I shall never again have ambition or heart to go through with that to which I have been called.' To human view he has not been permitted to finish the work for which he was fitted and to which he aspired, but he has left valuable material for the study and instruction of public men, covering a greater range of topics, a more thorough investigation, and sounder conclusions than have been left by any one so constantly active in the daily and current demands of public life. Let us thank God for such a life, of such infinite value to the republic. Its example, its teachings, its ambitions, its lofty aspirations and high resolves, and its demonstrations of what man can make of himself, have no parallel in history, and will have no measure in their beneficent effect upon those who shall hereafter honestly study them. He dies loved, admired and mourned before all others, but not yet fully appreciated. His loss is irreparable, his lesson invaluable."

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CHAPTER XLI.

Subscription Fund for the President's Family.—Ready Generosity of the People.—Touching Incident.—Total Amount of the Fund.—How the Money was Invested.—Project for Memorial Hospital in Washington.—Cyrus W. Field's Gift of Memorial Window to Williams College.—Garfield's Affection for his Alma Mater.—Reception given Mark Hopkins and the Williams Graduates.—Garfield's Address to his Classmates.

Soon after the President's assassination, the New York Chamber of Commerce, headed by Cyrus W. Field and other leading capitalists, started a subscription for Mrs. Garfield and her children. To this fund all classes of the people contributed with a readiness and generosity that gave touching evidence of the sincerity of their love and sympathy. Little children sent their hoarded pennies, many a poor working woman denied herself some needed comfort that she might add her mite, and one old man, in tattered clothes, came into the office of Drexel & Co., where subscriptions were received, and putting a bottle of ink on the table, said,—

"It's all I have, but I must do something."

As soon as the story was told, the ink was taken and sold again and again that day, until it brought in fifty dollars.

When Mrs. Garfield was first apprised of this subscription fund, she said,—

"I wish it were possible for me to go around and see all these dear people!"

After the President's death it was stated that the fund would close on the fifteenth day of October. The total amount received was $360,345.74, and this was at once given over to the United States Trust Company, of New York, for investment. The Company paid the amount of $348,968.75 for the purchase of $300,000 four per cent. registered bonds, and the balance of cash, $11,376.09, was placed in charge of this same Trust Company.

Among the numerous tributes to the memory of Garfield is a project for a national memorial hospital in Washington on the spot where the President was assassinated, and an organization has been formed to carry it into effect. The object has the sympathy and endorsement of President Arthur, General Sherman, members of the Cabinet, and other distinguished and influential persons. The land on which the depot stands belongs to Government, it is said, and is held on sufferance by the railroad company.

Cyrus W. Field is to place a memorial window in the chapel of Williams College.

"Nothing," says one writer, "has more illustrated the strong and tender affection which Garfield retained for the master at whose feet he learned the law of love, than the natural way in which he turned to Dr. Hopkins after his career had reached its flower. The first reception in the White House was given to Mark Hopkins and the Williams graduates. It was the President's own planning. The alumni in Washington, resident and visitors, including a large number of the class of '56, were notified of the President's wishes, and went to the White House marshalled by the venerable doctor. They were drawn up in the form of a horseshoe, and Dr. Hopkins addressed the Chief Magistrate. The speaker was profoundly moved, and exhorted his pupil to maintain the high ideals which had marked his past. President Garfield, with wet eyes, replied in one of those moving and inspired speeches which he sometimes uttered. He voiced the deepest love and reverence for his old teacher, and ascribed the good impulse of his career to lessons learned among the hills of Berkshire. The forty or more alumni present were affected to tears."

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Garfield was greatly attached to his Alma Mater; on the night previous to his inauguration he met his college classmates, and, in an address to them, spoke as follows:

"Classmates,—To me there is something exceedingly pathetic in this reunion. In every eye before me I see the light of friendship and love, and I am sure it is reflected back to each one of you from my inmost heart. For twenty-two years, with the exception of the last few days, I have been in the public service. To-night I am a private citizen. To-morrow I shall be called to assume new responsibilities, and on the day after the broadside of the world's wrath will strike. It will strike hard. I know it and you will know it. Whatever may happen to me in the future, I shall feel that I can always fall back upon the shoulders and hearts of the class of '56 for their approval of that which is right and for their charitable judgment wherein I may come short in the discharge of my public duties. You may write down in your books now the largest percentage of blunders which you think I will be likely to make, and you will be sure to find in the end that I have made more than you have calculated—many more.

"This honor comes to me unsought. I have never had the presidential fever, not even for a day; nor have I it to-night. I have no feeling of elation in view of the position I am called upon to fill. I would thank God were I to-day a free lance in the House or the Senate; but it is not to be, and I will go forward to meet the responsibilities and discharge the duties that are before me with all the firmness and ability I can command. I hope you will be able conscientiously to approve my conduct, and when I return to private life I wish you to give me another class-meeting."

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CHAPTER XLII.

Removal of the President's Remains.—Monument Fund Committee.—Garfield Memorial in Boston.—Extracts from Address by Hon. N. P. Banks.

On the 22d of October, Garfield's remains were removed from the public vault in Lakeview Cemetery to a private vault on the grounds, there to remain until the completion of the crypt, where they will permanently repose.

A Garfield Monument Fund Committee was organized at Cleveland immediately after the funeral, and contributions have been received by it from all sections of the country.

Upon Thursday, the 20th day of October, Memorial services were held in Boston at Tremont Temple. From the address delivered by Hon. N. P. Banks we give the following extracts:—

"The history of the Plymouth colony of 1620, which preceded the embarkation of the Massachusetts colony, was blistered with the results of a bitter and apparently relentless destiny, against which it would have been scarcely possible for any people but the Massachusetts Puritans and Pilgrims to have secured a triumph like that which the Deity they worshipped vouchsafed to them.

"Its founders were fugitives from England and exiles from Holland. They gladly accepted the chances of suffering and death in the New World, to gain liberty of conscience and freedom to worship God. For the first ten years of its existence population increased slowly, and numbered but three hundred souls in 1630.

"The Massachusetts colony, with which Plymouth was united, left the Old World under happier auspices. It started with concessions and congratulations from the Crown. The best men in England were ambitious to share its fortunes. Winthrop, Saltonstall and Sir Harry Vane—'the sad and starry Vane'—were among its leaders; and such men as John Hampden, Pym, Oliver Cromwell, and many others of that heroic type, were restrained from emigration at the moment of embarkation by the order of the king. Four thousand families—twenty thousand souls—people of culture, capacity and character, no decayed courtiers or adventurers, but merchants, seamen, husbandmen and others devoted to the highest interests of man, had landed in Boston in ten years from the foundation of the city.

"Among them came, in 1630, Edward Garfield, the paternal ancestor of the late President of the United States. He was a man of gentle blood, of military instincts and training, possessing some property, and a thoughtful and vigorous habit of mind and body. The earliest record of his name in the annals of the colony indicated an origin from some one of the great German families of Europe, and his alliance by marriage with a lady of that blood and birth confirmed the original impression of the people with whom he identified his fortunes. His emigration suggested a purpose consistent with his capacity and character, and with the higher aspirations of the colony. He coveted possession of land, and for that reason probably, among others, settled in Watertown, where territory was abundant, and boundary lines yet delicate and dim, especially toward the west, where they were mainly defined by the receding and vanishing forms of the aboriginal inhabitants of the country. In the realm they had abandoned it was a maxim among men that home was where the heart was. But in the New World the colonists had discovered that both home and heart were where there were liberty and land.

"He chose a residence near Charles River, a stream unsurpassed in beauty by any water that flows, since honored by the residence and immortalized by the verse of Longfellow, and the original and marvellous industries that enrich its peaceful and prosperous people.

"Edward Garfield, the founder of this new American family, did not long linger near the boundaries of Boston. His first share in the distribution of land to the freemen, by the town, was a small lot or homestall of six acres, on the line of territory afterwards incorporated as the town of Waltham. Another general grant of land by the town, in 1636, 'to the freemen and all the townsmen then inhabiting,' one hundred and twenty in number, called the Great Dividends, gave to Garfield a tract of thirty acres, the whole of which was within the territory set off to Waltham. In 1650 the land allotted to Mr. Phillips, the first minister of Watertown (about forty acres, in the same locality), was sold by his heirs to Garfield and his sons. A portion of this estate was purchased from the heirs of Garfield by Governor Gore, who constructed upon it, from imported plans and materials, on his return from England, a country seat, still admired as one of the most elegant and stately residences in America. The first distinctive title ever given to the territory now embraced within the limits of Waltham was that of 'The Precinct of Captain Garfield's Company.' It is said that, after the incorporation of that town, this name rarely appears on the records of Watertown.

"While citizens of Watertown, Garfield and his descendants were assigned to responsible military commands by the governors of the colony, and frequently chosen for the board of selectmen and other town offices. Captain Benjamin Garfield held a captain's commission from the governor, was nine times elected representative of the town, and appointed to many other offices. Others were honored in a similar manner in Watertown, in Waltham, and wherever they planted themselves.

"They did not hive in the settled and safe centres of the colony, but struck out boldly for the frontier, where danger was to be encountered and duty performed. They adhered zealously to the principles of the colony, and the controversies that arose from considerations of that nature, at the very outset of its history, settled upon an unchangeable basis the character of its government.

"An important and instructive illustration of this free spirit of the people occurred in the second year of its settlement. Without previous consultation of the several towns, the governor and assistants levied, in 1632, an assessment of eight pounds sterling upon them for construction of military defences in what is now Cambridge. This order was declared to be subversive of their rights, and the people of Watertown, the most populous and influential inland town, met in church, with their pastor and elders, according to their custom, and after much debate deliberately refused to pay the money, on the ground, they said, 'that it was not safe to pay monies after that sort, for fear of bringing themselves and their posterity into bondage.'

"When summoned before the governor they were obliged to retract the declaration and submit; but they set on foot such an agitation through the colony as to secure, within three months of their original debate, an order for the appointment of two persons from each town to advise with the governor and assistants as to the best method of raising public moneys. This order ripened, in 1634, into the creation of a representative body of deputies elected by the people, having full power to act for all freemen, except in elections. This was the origin of the House of Representatives in Massachusetts. After ten years' contest the body of assistants to the governor was separated from the body of deputies, and, sitting as a Senate, left to the deputies chosen by the towns an absolute negative upon the legislation of the colony. Thus was established, substantially as it now exists, the Legislature of Massachusetts.

"As the people began to be represented in the government of the colony, so the direction of civil affairs in the towns came to be entrusted to a municipal body of freemen, peculiar to New England, chosen for that purpose, and known as the board of selectmen. It is a pleasure to know that, during the violent contest for this right of representation in State and local governments, Edward Garfield, the earliest American ancestor of the martyr President whose loss we mourn, as a selectman of Watertown, in the very crisis of that contest, did a freeman's duty with a freeman's will, in securing to the people of Massachusetts the right of representation they now enjoy.

"The Massachusetts family of Garfields, in the male line at least, were churchmen, freemen, fighting men, thoughtful and thrifty men, and working men. They were enterprising, active, and brave, fond of adventure, distinguished for endurance and strength, athletic feats, sallies of wit, cheerful dispositions, and, like their eminent successor so recently passed away, noted always for a manly spirit and a commanding person and presence. It was a prolific and long-lived race. Marriages were at a premium, and families were large and numerous. Among the people of the Massachusetts colony who made their way quickly to the frontier when new towns were to be planted, the Garfields were well represented. The foundation of a new municipality was then a solemn affair, usually preceded by 'a day of humiliation, and a sermon by Mr. Cotton.' When the territory of Massachusetts was overstocked, they passed to other States in New England, and ultimately to the great West. Wherever they were they asserted and defended the principles they inherited from the founders of Massachusetts.

"Abram Garfield, of the fifth generation, a minute-man from Lincoln, engaged in the fight with the British at Concord, and was one of the signers of a certificate, with some of the principal citizens of that town, declaring that the British began that fight. We should not feel so much solicitude about that matter now.

"Abram Garfield, a nephew of the soldier at Concord, whose name he bore, and who represented the seventh generation of the family, settled later in Otsego County, N. Y., where he received the first fruits of toil as a laborer on the Erie Canal. The construction of canals by the Government of Ohio drew him, with other relatives, to that State, where his previous experience gained for him a contract on the Ohio Canal. The young men and women who left the earlier settlements for the frontier States sometimes consecrated the friendships of their youth by a contract of marriage when they met again in the great West. Abram Garfield in this way met and married (Feb. 3, 1821) Eliza Ballou, a New Hampshire maiden, whom he had known in earlier years. It was a long wait, but a solid union. They were nearly twenty years of age when married. A log cabin, with one room, was their home. His vocation was that of an excavator of canals in the depths of the primeval forests of Ohio. There was not much of hope or joy in the life before them; but still it was all there was for them of hope or joy. They could not expect the crown of life until they had paid its forfeit. They adhered to the religious customs of childhood. Their labor prospered. Amid their suffering and toil in the construction of the arteries of civilization and the foundation of States and empires that will hereafter rule the world, four children came to bless them. The last of the four was James Abram Garfield (Nov. 19, 1831), destined, in the providence of God, to be and to die President of the Republic.

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"Garfield had pre-eminent skill in directing and applying the labor and attainments of others to the success of his own work. This is a somewhat rare, but a most invaluable capacity. No one man can do everything. In labor, as in war, to divide is to conquer. There have been men who knew everything, and could do everything,—whose incomparable capacities would have been sufficient, under wise direction, to have given the highest rank among the few men that have changed the destiny of the world; but who could not succeed in government, because they never saw men until they ran against them.

"Such admirable qualities, united to such strength and love for active service, gave him reputation and rank, and opened the way to the campaigns in Kentucky against Marshall, at Prestonburg and Middle Creek,—the last a cause of other victories elsewhere,—and at Tullahoma and Chickamauga.

"His knowledge of law opened a new field of activity and service, of great benefit to him and to the Government. But little attention had been given by professors of legal science, at the opening of the war, to the study of military law. In the field where it was to be administered, great difficulties were encountered in determining what the law was and who was to execute it. A distinguished jurist, Dr. Francis Lieber, was appointed by the Government to codify and digest the principles and precedents of this abstruse department of the science of law. But it opened to Garfield, long before the digest was completed, a peculiar field for tireless research and labor in new fields of inquiry. Once installed as an officer of courts-martial, his services were found to be indispensable. From the West he was called to Washington, was in confidential communication with President Lincoln in regard to the military situation in the West, was a member of the most important military tribunals, became a favorite and protégé of the Secretary of War, and, upon the express wish of the President and Secretary, accepted his seat in the House of Representatives, to which he had been chosen in 1862.

"His career in Congress is the important record of his life. For that he was best fitted; with it he was best satisfied; in it he continued longest, and from it rose to the great destiny which has given him a deathless name and page in the annals of the world.

"The House of Representatives in the age of Clay, Calhoun and Webster was an institution quite unlike that of our own time. Its numbers then were small; its leading men comparatively few; but few subjects were debated, and members of the House rarely or never introduced bills for legislative action. Its work was prepared by committees, upon official information, and gentlemen prepared to speak upon its business could always find an opportunity. Now its numbers have been doubled. More than ten thousand bills for legislative consideration are introduced in every Congress. The increase of appropriations, patronage and legislation is enormous, and the pressure for action often disorderly and violent. Little courtesy is wasted on such occasions, when one or two hundred members are shouting for the floor, and when one is named by the Speaker it must be a strong man, ready, able, eloquent, to gain or hold the ear of the House. Garfield never failed in this. His look drew audience and attention. He was never unprepared, never tedious; always began with his subject, and took his seat when he had finished. He had few controversies, and was never called 'to order' for any cause. He was a debater rather than an orator; always courteous, intelligent, intelligible, and honorable. The House listened to him with rapt attention, and he spoke with decisive effect upon its judgment. He liked it to be understood that he was abreast of the best thought of the time, had a great regard for the authority of scientific leaders, and walked with reverential respect in the tracks of the best thinkers of the age. It is a pleasant thing, this method of settling all problems by demonstration of exact science. Hudibras must have been in error when he spoke so lightly of these scholastic methods, saying, or rather singing,—

'That all a rhetorician's rules
Teach him but to name his tools.'

"The people watched with great interest his long and terrible struggle for life, and their hearts trembled with alternations of hope and fear, as they studied with close attention the morning and the evening bulletins giving the ebb and flow of life's dark tide with the precision of exact science; but they read with infinite relief, if not always with satisfaction, the telegrams of the Secretary of State to the American minister at London, stating, in the language of common life, the changes that had occurred in the condition of the President from day to day.

"As chairman or prominent member of the principal business committees of the House, Garfield had always access to the floor, and an eager assembly as his audience. His topics were generally of a national character, connected with the organization and maintenance of the government; but there is scarcely any subject brought before Congress to which he has not, at some time, given a thorough and able exposition of his views. The best known and most influential of his speeches have been in relation to the war, financial affairs, the currency, and the tariff. These all involved national interests, and exhibit on his part a profound study of every subject necessary to their support. He was from the first, and constantly, a hard-money man, a leader in discussion, and a supporter by his votes of every proposition necessary to maintain a sound currency. On the subject of the tariff, while he did not deny that, as an abstract question, the doctrine of free trade presented an aspect of truth, yet he always declared that under a government like ours protection of national industries was indispensable. He advocated duties high enough to enable the home manufacturer to make a wholesome competition with foreigners, but not so high as to subject consumers to a monopoly of product or supply. A moderate and permanent protection was the doctrine he always ably sustained. It would be instructive to recall the expression of his views embodied in his speeches upon these subjects, which he photographed upon the minds of those to whom they were addressed, but it is inappropriate on the present occasion. Few men in the history of the House of Representatives have acquired a higher reputation, and none will be more kindly and permanently remembered.

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"There was much force in a declaration made by the Pastor of the Disciples' Church, at the funeral of President Garfield, in the rotunda of the Capitol at Washington. The gigantic proportions of this apartment excite a strange sensation in every visitor. One familiar with the scene, recalls at his entrance an ancient tradition, often repeated before the war, that this majestic central apartment of the Capitol would, some day, witness the coronation of a king. Apart from the unusual solemnity of this occasion, the scene was of an extraordinary character. The light that fell from the dome above gave a solemn aspect to the apartment. Distinguished personages moved silently and slowly to the positions assigned them. Two ex-Presidents, immediate predecessors of the deceased, the only occupants of the presidential office that have attended at such a time, sat in front of the eastern entrance of the rotunda. The diplomatic corps, in full court costume, were placed in rear of the ex-Presidents. Senators, judicial officers in their robes, officers of the army and navy, in brilliant uniforms, were on the right. Members and ex-members of the House, in large numbers, attended by the Speaker, were massed upon the left, and the space around them was crowded by citizens from every part of the country. The vast assembly rose as the President, with the Cabinet officers and the stricken family of mourners, passed to their seats near the casket of the deceased Chief Magistrate,—which lay upon the same bier that bore the body of President Lincoln, just beneath the centre of the canopy that from the dome overhangs the rotunda,—guarded by veterans of the Army of the Cumberland. The walls were hung with representations of important events in American history;—the Landing of Columbus, De Soto's Discovery of the Mississippi, the Baptism of Pocahontas, the Embarkation of the Pilgrims, the Declaration of Independence, the Surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, and the Resignation of Washington. On the belt of the rotunda above were seen Cortez entering the Temple of the Sun in Mexico, the Battle of Lexington, and other studies of varied and memorable scenes in the history of the Republic.

"Simple, brief, and impressive ceremonies heightened the deep and general interest of the occasion. The funeral discourse was of a purely religious character, with scarcely more than a brief allusion to the career of the deceased President, and no mention, I think, of his title or his name. But these omissions intensified the general interest in his brief personal allusions. 'I do believe,' he said, 'that the strength and beauty of this man's character will be found in his discipleship of Christ.'

"It is not my province to speak of the spiritual character of this connection, but in another relation I believe it is true.

"The Church of the Disciples, to which he belonged, is one of the most primitive of Christian communions, excluding every thought of distrust, competition, or advantage. It gave him a position and mission unique and generic, like and unlike that of other men. While he rarely or never referred to it himself, and wished at times, perhaps, to forget it, he was strengthened and protected by it. It was buckler and spear to him. It brought him into an immediate communion—a relation made sacred by a common faith, barren of engagements and responsibilities—with multitudes of other organizations and congregations, adherents and opponents, able and willing to assist and strengthen him, present or absent, at home or abroad, who dismissed aspersions upon his conduct and character as accusations of Pharisees against a son of faith, and gave him at all times a friendly greeting and welcome, whenever and wherever he felt inspired to give the world his thought and word. All great migrations and revolutions of men and nations are born of this spirit and power.

"In another direction he possessed extraordinary capacities. He was animated by an intense and sleepless spirit of acquisition. It was not, apparently, a common thirst for wealth, precedence, or power which stimulates many men in our time. His ambition was for the acquisition of knowledge. From early youth to the day of his last illness it was a consuming passion. He gave to it days and nights, the strength of youth and the vigor of middle age. When in the forests of New York, he made the rocks and trees to personate the heroes of his early reading. When engaged in the duties of his professorship, he found time for other studies than those prescribed by the faculty, and for lectures, addresses, and many other intellectual pursuits. He studied law while at college without the knowledge of his intimate friends, until he was admitted to the bar. When in Congress, he would occupy a whole night in examination of questions to be considered the next day, and debate them as if nothing unusual had occurred.

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"It was said by one of the wisest of the ancient Greeks that it was 'impossible to penetrate the secret thoughts, quality and judgment of man till he is put to proof by high office and administration of the laws.' Whatever we may think of the splendid record of the late President in every walk of life he followed, it does not enable us to anticipate the character and success of the Administration upon which he so happily entered. In other positions of public life, the concurrence of so many different influences is required to accomplish even slight results, that individual credit or responsibility therefor is but slight and intangible. In the administration of government, the highest secular duty to which men are ever called, responsibility is indivisible and unchangeable; and the final results, whether for good or evil, are indelibly stamped on the woof and warp of the web of time, and will so remain forever. Good intentions are of no account, and a plea of confession and avoidance,—admitting failure and disclaiming error,—so advantageous in other cases, never governs the world in judging men who fail rightly to administer government. We are happy in being absolved from the responsibility of judgment where decision is impossible.

"Undoubtedly, the open assertion in some parts of the world of the right of assassination as a method of reform in administration and government may have intensified the general interest in this calamitous event. But the courage and composure with which the presidential martyr bore his affliction; the firmness and constancy of his aged mother; the serenity and saint-like resignation of the heroic wife, administering consolation and courage to the husband and father, in a voice sweet as the zephyrs of the south, with a spirit as gentle as love, and a soul as dauntless as the hearts of the women of Israel,—were not unobserved or unhonored. It melted hearts in the four quarters of the globe, and drew from the sons of men, in every land and clime, such an attestation and confession of the faith that all created beings are the children of one Father, as never before fell from human lips. We should be dead to sensibility and honor did we not feel such unwonted tests of the universal scope and sweep of human sympathy vouchsafed to us by the appointed leaders of churches, empires and democracies, and by that august lady the Queen of England and Empress of India, who presides over the councils of the empire whence we derive our ideas of Christian faith, language, liberty and law, who gave to the afflicted children of revolted and republican America the emblems of mourning, reserved by the customs of her court to the best beloved and bravest of her realm, and sent, over her own hand, to the wife, mother and orphans, swift and touching evidence of the strength of her sympathy and the depths of her sorrow—the grandest of sovereigns and noblest of women!

"We turn from this record of active and honorable service to a brief consideration, such as the occasion permits, of the elements of character which distinguished President Garfield. After all, character is the only enduring form of wealth. It is the power by which the world is ruled, and the only legacy of true value that can be transmitted to posterity.

"We cannot forget what occurred during the administration of Mr. Lincoln, or of his successor, Mr. Johnson. We have witnessed no such political convulsions in our day. No one ever justified the assassination of Mr. Lincoln on such grounds, or would now counsel such violence against the chiefs of earlier administrations. Neither can it now be done with truth or justice. Those who enlisted in the opposition to past administrations were men whose intellectual and moral natures restrained them from the execution of purposes dictated by passion. To those whose feeble intellects deprive them of moral restraint we should give support, and never justify, by thought or act, conduct that, under other circumstances, might have endangered the lives of every President of the Republic! There is no cause or incitement to crime in the political controversies of this year, that might not have occurred under any other administration; and no cause or justification, of any kind whatever, for such an ineffable and inexpiable crime as the murder of the mild, generous, warm-hearted, forgiving, and Christian Chief Magistrate whose loss we mourn.

"Political assassination is not insanity. It proceeds from infection and distemper of the mind. It is not necessarily limited to the reform administrations and governments, nor to any special form of government. It can as well be applied to the settlement of a grocery bill, if an excitation be created, as to the overthrow of a dynasty.

"It is another form of the doctrine of annihilation, and the remedy for its evil is to avoid convulsions, private and public, restrain passion, avoid injustice, practise moderation in all things, and do no evil that good may come.

"The year 1881 is the complement of the full half-century since the first open movement was organized for the control or destruction of our government. The lesson of this half-century, with all its trials, sacrifices and triumphs, is that it is good to maintain and defend the government of our country and its lawfully constituted authorities, whether or not we created them or like them. In the contemplation of this half-century, can we find cause to wish the government had been destroyed? Or can we now wish it destroyed?

"The lesson of Garfield's life is an admonition to protect and defend the government. His birth marks the period when it was first assailed by enemies domestic; and at the close of his life he gave his last hours of health and strength to improve and protect it. His last friend should give his last sigh to maintain it, not for his honor, which is untarnished, nor his glory, which is immaculate, but for his country, which still has perils to encounter, and liberties to defend, for the benefit of mankind."

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CHAPTER XLIII.

Southern Feeling.—Memorial Services at Jefferson, Kentucky.—Extracts from Address by Henry Watterson.—Senator Bayard.—Ex-Speaker Randall.—Senator Hill.—Extracts from some of the Southern Journals.

At the United States military post at Jefferson, Kentucky, memorial services were held in the presence of fifteen thousand people.

Henry Watterson, the Democratic ex-Congressman, gave an eloquent address, from which we quote the following:—

"I knew him well, and know now that I loved him. He was a man of ample soul, with the strength of a giant, the courage of a lion, and the heart of a dove. There never lived a man who yearned for the approval of his fellow-men, who felt their anger more. There never lived a man who struggled harder to realize Paul's idea, and to be all things to all men. Did ever the character sketched by Paul find a nobler example, for he was blameless, vigilant, sober, of good behavior, apt to teach, not given to filthy lucre. No one without the little family circle of relatives and friends in which he lived will ever know how a certain dismal, though in truth trivial, episode in his career cut him to the soul. Born a poor man's son, to live and die a poor man, with opportunities unbounded for public pillage, with licensed robbery going on all around him, and he pinched for the bare means to maintain himself, his wife and his little ones with decency and comfort, to be held up to the scorn of men as one not honest! He is gone now, and before he went he had outlived the wounds which party friends alike with party foes had sought to put upon his honor and manhood, and maybe to-day somewhere among the stars he looks down upon the world and sees at last how selfish and unreal were the assaults of those in whose way he stood. It is a pleasure to me to reflect amid these gloomy scenes that some friendly words of mine gratified him at a moment when he suffered most. Not in the last campaign, for it would have been a crime in me to have hesitated then, but away back when no vision of the presidency had crossed the disc of his ambition, and when the cruelest blows were struck from behind. It is also a pleasure for me to remember the last time I saw him. It was during an all-night session of the House, when in company with Joseph Hawley of Connecticut, Randall Gibson of Louisiana, and Randolph Tucker, we took possession of the committee rooms of Proctor Knott, who joined us later, and turned all bickerings and jars into happy forgetfulness of section and party. I do well remember how buoyant he was that night in spirit and how robust in thought, full of suggestion, and in repartee, unaffected and genial ever; how delighted to lay aside the statesman and the partisan and be a boy again, and how loth he was, with the rest, to recross the narrow confines which separate the real and ideal, and to descend into the hot abyss below. I could not have gone thence to blacken that man's character any more than to do another deed of shame; and Republican though he was, and party chief, he had no truer friends than the brilliant Virginian whom he loved like a brother, and the eminent Louisianian whose counsels he habitually sought. I refer to an incident unimportant in itself to illustrate a character which unfolded to the knowledge of the world through affliction, and whose death has awakened the love and admiration of mankind.

"All know that he was a man of spotless integrity who might have been rich by a single deflection, but who died poor, who broadened and rose in height with each rise in fortune, who was not less a scholar because he had wanted early advantages, and who, not yet fifty, leaves as a priceless heritage to his countrymen the example of how God-given virtues of the head and heart may be employed to the glory of God and the uses of men, by one who makes all things subordinate to the development of the good within him. On all these points we think together; there are not two opinions. We stand upon common ground; we shall separate and go hence, and each shall take his way. Interests shall clash, beliefs shall jar, party spirit shall lift its horned head and interpose to chill and cloud our better natures. That is but a condition of our being. We are mortal and we live in a free land. Out of discussion and dissension ends are shapened; we rough-hewing in spite of us. However, occasions come which remind us that we have a country and are countrymen; which tell us we are a people bound together by many kindred ties. No matter for our quarrels, they will pass away. No matter for our mistakes, they shall be mended. But yesterday we were at war one with the other. The war is over. But yesterday we were arrayed in the anger of party conflict; behold how its passions sleep in the grave with Garfield. I am here to-day to talk to you of him, and through him and in his memory and honor to talk of our country. He was its chief magistrate, our President, representative of things common to us all; stricken down in the fulness of life and hope by wanton and aimless assassination. He fell like a martyr; he suffered like a hero; he died like a saint. Be his grave forever and aye a resting place for the people, and for the seeds that burst thereon to let the violets bring spring flowers of peace and love for all the people. Citizens, the flag which waves over us was his flag and it is our flag. Soldiers, standing beneath that flag and this armed fortress of the Republic, I salute your flag and his flag reverently. It is my flag. I thank God, and I shall teach my children to thank God, that it did not go down amid the fragments of a divided country, but that it floats to-day, though at half mast, as a symbol of union and liberty, assuring and reassuring us, that though the heart that conceived the words be cold, and the lips that uttered them be dumb, 'God reigns and the government at Washington still lives.'"

The tributes paid to the memory of Garfield by his political opponents show strikingly how widely he was honored and beloved by those who knew him as a friend as well as the leader of a party.

Senator Bayard always treated the President with affectionate respect, and mourns him deeply. Ex-Speaker Randall "knew him intimately and respected him greatly." Senator Hill is much affected by the death. "Poor Garfield," he says, "was a big-hearted and a big-brained man. I shall never forget the last time I saw him. He was so cheerful and apparently happy. I never saw him fuller of mental and physical vigor and of hope for the future than then. I want to always remember him as he appeared to me then—a perfect man."

The Courier-Journal of Louisville, Kentucky, said: "The President is dead, and all the nations responding to that touch of sympathy which makes the whole world kin stand uncovered in the presence of a calamity; for tragedies, ever calamitous, are doubly so when they spring from murder and attach themselves to the head of the State, the symbol of power, the representative of the people and law. If ever mortal stood in these relations to his country and his time, this man did so. It was the universal sense that he did so which brought around his bedside his fellow citizens without distinction of political opinion, and caused women who had never seen him to pray for him, and little children, who conceived not the emergency nor the magnitude nor the contingencies hanging upon his life, to ask each day after his well-being, as if he were a father ill and dying in some far-off place. Perhaps, too, the flash of the assassin's pistol let in to many a heart a feeling of honest regret, before dormant and unconscious, that they had consented to see so good and so useful a man so pitilessly assailed in his private honor during periods of angry partisan contention, and a consequent wish, personally, to disavow this and to make a part of it at least up to him in his dire misfortune."

The Baltimore Sun (Independent), alluding to President Garfield's death, said: "Turning from the peculiarly tragic and distressing circumstances of the President's death, 'tis difficult to exaggerate the loss which the nation sustains in his death at this time. Although his Administration was in its infancy, President Garfield had already met the confidence of his country in the integrity of his purposes, the moderation, soundness and conservatism of his policy."

Said another Southern Journal: "In his death, mournful as it is, the sections will evince a common sympathy that may cement more closely the bonds of that fraternity so essential to the keeping of the compact between the States. North, South, East and West will join in the grief over the grave of the dead President—a sure sign that the currents of the national life flow as strong as they ever did in the history of the Union."

The New Orleans Times said: "Throughout our whole land parties stand disarmed, and citizens bitterly deplore the death of James A. Garfield. Henceforth he lives in memory, and though he was permitted to accomplish but little during his presidential service, by his death he has given to his countrymen a deeper scrutiny into themselves—a most precious service."

The Picayune, after referring to the assassination of President Lincoln, said: "This is a sadder story in our national life. It was Garfield's fortune to come to the high office of chief magistrate at a time when peace and prosperity reigned throughout the broad confines of this great land. There was naught but sincere respect for his authority among the masses, and earnest wishes in the hearts of nearly all her citizens that his administration might prove a happy one for himself as it promised a prosperous one for the country. He was worthy of so proud a position, and in his inaugural proclaimed the new life of a nation united not in name but in truth."

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CHAPTER XLIV.

Extracts from some of the President's Private Letters to a Friend in Boston, bearing the same Family Name.—To Corydon E. Fuller, a College Classmate.

One of the last letters written by President Garfield was to a gentleman in Boston, who bore the same family name. They were warm friends and mutually interested in the Garfield genealogy. They had often spoken of the pleasure they would take in going over the country in the neighborhood of Boston, where their common ancestors had had their homes, and they had agreed, should chance ever bring them together here, to take a little excursion, and as the President was about starting on a New England tour, the letter related to the long anticipated pleasure. If possible, the President was to take leave of his formal escort at Concord and enjoy a quiet buggy drive with his friend, keeping perfectly incognito. They were to visit the scenes of interest at Concord, where the President's great-uncle, Abram Garfield, from whom he gets his middle name, stood, perhaps, shoulder to shoulder with John Hoar, the grandfather of the chairman of the Republican convention at Chicago which so unexpectedly nominated him for his fateful office. Thence they were to drive through Lincoln, Weston, Waltham and Watertown—towns where the homes of their ancestors and kinsmen had stood. At Watertown the intention was to rejoin the regular party.

The letter was evidently written late on the evening before he was shot, and was in the handwriting of the President's private secretary, but bore the clear signature of J. A. Garfield. It was not sent from Washington until after Guiteau's shot had been fired, for it bore the postmark of 1 P. M. General Garfield had had considerable correspondence with his friend about family matters, and his letters formed the basis of much of the accurate article on his family genealogy printed in the Herald shortly after the Chicago convention. In a letter he wrote:—

"You can hardly imagine the pleasure which your letter of the 3d inst. has given me. You will better understand why, when I tell you the causes which have so nearly shut me off from any knowledge of my ancestry. My father moved into the wild woods of Ohio before he was twenty years of age, and died when he was thirty-three, and of course when all his children were small, and I, the youngest, but an infant. Separated thus from the early home of our father, we had but scanty means of obtaining anything like accurate information of his ancestry. The most I knew, until quite recently, were the family traditions retained in the memory of my mother, as she had heard them from father and his mother. During the last eighteen years I have, from time to time, picked up fragmentary facts and traditions concerning our family and its origin. Many of these traditions are vague and no doubt worthless, but I have no doubt they have some truth in them. One of them is that the family was originally from Wales. This tallies with what you say concerning the original Edward Garfield coming from the neighborhood of Chester, Eng. I stood on the walls of Chester a little more than four years ago, and looked out on the bleak mountains of Wales, whose northern boundary lay at my feet, along the banks of the Dee. Possibly I was near our ancestral home. A Welsh scholar told me, not many years ago, that he had no doubt our family was connected with the builders of an old castle in Wales, long since in ruins, but still known as Gaerfill Castle. I give you this conjecture for what it is worth. While I was in college at Williamstown, Mass., in 1854 to 1856, I went down to old Tyringham and Lee, in Berkshire County, Mass., and there found a large number of Garfields, some twenty families, old residents of that neighborhood. Among them were the names Solomon and Thomas, which seemed to have continued along in the family. I found that they had come from the neighborhood of Boston. In an old graveyard in Tyringham (now Monterey) I found the tombstone of Lieutenant Isaac Gearfield (for that, I learn, was the early spelling of the name), and on the stone was recorded 1755 as the date of his death. The family told me that he (Lieutenant Isaac) crossed the mountains into the wilderness of western Massachusetts in about 1739, and slept the first night under his cart.... I am sure I do not need to apologize to you for this long letter, for if it gives you half the pleasure yours has given me, you will not tire of its length. I beg you to write me any further details you may possess, and any you may hereafter obtain."

Following are a number of extracts from letters addressed to Mr. Corydon E. Fuller:—

"Warrensville, Jan. 16, 1852.

"My Dear Corydon: Well, I quit writing that evening to attend the Warrensville Literary Club, of which I am a member. We had a very good time considering the 'timber.' We have resolved ourselves into a senate, each member representing some State in the Union. I am not only President, but also a representative from South Carolina, to watch the interests of my nullifying constituents. The bill before our senate for our next evening is, 'That we will assist financially the Hungarian exiles, Kossuth and his compatriots, from our national Treasury.' We shall undoubtedly have a warm time. By the way, what do you think of the effect of the excitement in reference to Kossuth upon our Nation and popular liberty? How far may our Government safely interfere in the Hungarian struggle? But I am certainly rhapsodical this time. You must write to me and trim me up. I am seated in my school-house, a room about 18 by 20, with a stove in the centre and in school, the scholars being all around me—forty on the list. With these facts before me I am led to exclaim,—

"Of all the trades by men pursued
There's none that's more perplexing
Than is the country's pedagogue's—
It's every way most vexing.

Cooped in a little narrow cell,
As hot as black Tartarus,
As well in Pandemonium dwell,
As in this little schoolhouse.

"Your friend and classmate,
"James A. Garfield."

The following is taken from a letter dated Feb. 2, 1852, written near the close of the village school at Warrensville, Ohio,—

"Oh, that I possessed the power to scatter the firebrands of ambition among the youth of the rising generation, and let them see the greatness of the age in which they live and the destiny to which mankind are rushing, together with the part which they are destined to act in the great drama of human existence. But, if I cannot inspire them with that spirit, I intend to keep it predominant in my own breast, and let it spur me forward to action. But let us remember that knowledge is only an increase of power, and is only good when directed to good ends. Though a man may have all knowledge, and have not the love of God in his heart, he will fall far short of true excellence."

Here is an extract from a letter written in April, 1853,—

"To my mind the whole catalogue of fashionable friendships and polite intimacies are not worth one honest tear of sympathy or one heartfelt emotion of true friendship. Unless I can enter the inner chambers of the soul and read the inscriptions there upon those ever-during tablets, and thus become acquainted with the inner life and know the inner man, I care not for intercourse, for nothing else is true friendship.... I have no very intimate associates here, and hence, if it please you, I will be social with my pen and be often cheered by a letter from you. Let us in all the varied fortunes of human life look forward to that lamp which will enlighten the darkness of earth, the valley of death, and then become the bright and morning star in the heaven of heavens. Give my love to your father and mother for they seem like mine also, and you know you have the love of your brother,

James."

The following shows how keenly sensitive Garfield was, even as a boy, and how early in life he determined to make a name for himself,—

"Williamstown, Jan. 28, 1854.

"My Dear Corydon: I wish you were here to-night; I feel like waking up the ghosts of the dead past, and holding communion with spirits of former days. In this calm "night that broodeth thoughts" the shadows of by-gone days flit past, and I review each scene. That long strange story of my boyhood, the taunts, jeers, and cold, averted looks of the rich and the proud, chill me again for a moment, as did the real ones of former days. Then comes the burning heart, the high resolve, the settled determination, and the days and nights of struggling toil, those dreary days when the heavens seemed to frown and the icy heart of the cold world seemed not to give one throb in unison with mine.... With regards, I remain, as ever, your friend and classmate,

"James A. Garfield."

"Niagara, Nov 5, 1853.

"Corydon, my Brother: I am now leaning against the trunk of an evergreen tree on a beautiful island in the midst of Niagara's foaming waters. I am alone. No breath of wind disturbs the leaves of evergreen, which hang mute and motionless around me. Animated nature is silent, for the voice of God, like the "sound of many waters," is lifted up from the swathing clouds of hoary foam that rest upon the dark abyss below.

'Oh, fearful stream.
How do thy terrors tear me from myself
And fill my soul with wonder.'

I gaze upon the broad green waters as they come placid and smooth, like firm battalions of embattled hosts, moving in steady columns, till the sloping channel stirs the depths and maddens all the waters. Then with angry roar the legions bound along the opposing rocks, until they reach the awful brink, where, all surcharged with frantic fury, they leap bellowing down the fearful rocks which thunder back the sullen echoes of thy voice, and shout God's power above the cloudy skies! Oh man! frail child of dust thou art to lift thy insect voice upon this spot where the Almighty thunders from the swelling floods that lift to heaven their hoary breath, like clouds of smoking incense. Oh, that the assembled millions of the earth could now behold this scene sublime and awful, and adore the everlasting God whose fingers piled these giant cliffs, and sent his sounding seas to thunder down and shout in deafening tones, 'We come from out the hollow of His hand, and haste to do His bidding.'

"Your friend and brother,
"James A. Garfield."

Here are a few lines written in 1859, just after his nomination to the Senate of Ohio,—

"Long ago, you know, I had thought of a public career, but I fully resolved to forego it all, unless it could be obtained without wading through the mire into which politicians usually plunge. The nomination was tendered me, and by acclamation, though there were five candidates. I never solicited the place, nor did I make any bargain to secure it. I shall endeavor to do my duty, and if I never rise any higher, I hope to have the consolation that my manhood is unsullied by the past."

"Wllliamstown, June 19, 1855.

"My Dear Corydon: Your favor of the 4th inst. was received about ten days ago, but I have been entirely unable to answer until this time. A day or two after it came I left for Pittstown, N. Y., to attend a yearly meeting of Disciples, where I spent some four days, and last Saturday I left again for Poestenkill, and spoke to the people Saturday evening and three discourses on Lord's Day.... We had good meetings in each place, and much interest. I cannot resist the appeals of our brethren for aid while I have the strength to speak to them.... I tell you, my dear brother, the cause in which we are engaged must take the world. It fills my soul when I reflect upon the light, joy, and love of the ancient Gospel, and its adaptation to the wants of the human race.... I long to be in the thickest of the fight, and see the army of truth charge home upon the battalions of hoary-headed error. But I must be content to be a spy for a time, till I have reconnoitred the enemy's stronghold, and then I hope to work. Ever your friend and classmate,

"James A. Garfield."

"Dorchester Heights, Jan. 5, 1856.

"My Dear Corydon and Mary: I want to pencil a few lines to you from this enchanting spot on the sea-shore, six miles from Boston, and when I return, perhaps I will ink it in a letter to you. I am spending the night here with a classmate of mine, one of the dearest friends I have in college. I am in an old house—every timber of oak—built more than one hundred years ago. To one who has seen cities rise from the wild forest in the space of a dozen years, and has hardly ever seen a building older than himself, you may be assured that many reflections are awakened by the look of antiquity that everything has around me. The quaint old beams and panelled walls, the heavy double windows that look out oceanward, in short, the whole air of the building speaks of the days of the olden time. To think that these walls have echoed to the shouts of loyalty to George the King—-have heard all the voices of the spirit-stirring Revolution, the patriotic resolve, the tramp of the soldier's foot, the voice of the beloved Washington, (for within a few rods of here he made his first Revolutionary encampment,) the cannon of Bunker Hill, the lamentations of defeat and shouts of victory—all these cannot but awaken peculiar reflections. To how many that are now sleepers in the quiet church-yard, or wanderers in the wide, cold world, has this been the dear ancestral hall where all the joys of childhood were clustered. Within this oaken-ceiled chamber how many bright hopes have been cherished and high resolves formed; how many hours of serene joy, and how many heart-throbs of bitter anguish! If these walls had a voice I would ask them to tell me the mingled scenes of joy and sorrow they have witnessed. But even their silence has a voice, and I love to listen. But without there is no silence, for the tempest is howling and snows are drifting. The voice of the great waves, as they come rolling up against the wintry shore, speak of Him 'whose voice is as the sound of many waters.' Only a few miles from here is the spot where—

'The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;
And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of pilgrims moored their bark
On the wild New-England shore.'

"But the coal has sunk to the lowest bar in the grate beside me—'tis far past the noon of night, and I must close.... As ever, your own affectionate

James."

The following letter, written to Mr. Fuller while Gen. Garfield was chief-of-staff to Gen. Rosecrans, will be of special historical value,—

"Headquarters Dept, of the Cumberland,
"Murfreesboro, Tenn., May 4, 1863.

"My Dear Corydon: Yours of April 1 was received by the hand of Lieut. Beeber, and I assure you it was read with great pleasure. When I was in Washington last winter I saw Mr. Colfax, who spoke very kindly and highly of you. I have now fully recovered my health, and for the last three months have been very hardy and robust. My duties are very full of work here, and I have never been more pressingly crowded with labor than now. I have not retired on an average before two o'clock for the last two months and a half. Gen. Rosecrans shares all his counsels with me, and places a large share of the responsibility of the management of this wing upon me; even more than I sometimes wish he did. This army is now in admirable condition. The poor and weak material has been worked out, and what we now have is hard brawn and solid muscle. It is in an admirable state of discipline, and when its engineries are fully set in motion, it will make itself felt. From all the present indications it cannot be long before we meet the rebel army now in our front, and try its strength again. When that day arrives, it bids fair to be the bloodiest fighting of the war. One thing is settled in my mind. Direct blows at the rebel army, bloody fighting is all that can end the rebellion. In European wars, if you capture the chief city of a nation, you have substantially captured the nation. The army that holds London, Paris, Vienna or Berlin, holds England, France, Austria or Prussia. Not so in this war. The rebels have no city the capture of which will overthrow their power. If we take Richmond, the rebel Government can be put on wheels and trundled away into the interior with all its archives in two days. Hence our real objective point is not any place or district, but the rebel army, wherever we find it. We must crush and pulverize them, and then all places and territories fall into our hands as a consequence. These views lead me to a hope and belief that before many days we shall join in a death-grapple with Bragg and Johnson. God grant that we may be successful. The armies are nearly equal in number, and both are filled with veteran soldiers well drilled and disciplined. The little circumstance you related to me of the soldier in the Fifty-first Indiana touches my heart." [A soldier who was killed had written home to his wife to name their child, born during the former's absence, after Gen. Garfield.] "I wish you would write a letter for me to Joseph Lay, the young man's father, and express my sympathy with him for the loss of his brave son, who was many times with me under the fire of the enemy. I want to know of the health of his family, and especially of that little one to whom the affection of the father gave my name. With the love of other days, I am, as ever, your brother, James."

Here is a glimpse of his home life,—

"Washington, Oct. 23, 1876.

"My Dear Corydon: On Saturday last I addressed a large Republican meeting at Hackensack, four miles from Schraalenburg, where I went with you twenty-two years ago. I have never been so near there before, and it brought up the old memories to be so near. I was called here by telegraph to the bedside of our little boy Edward, who is very ill and I fear will not recover. He was recovering from the whooping cough, and his disease went to his brain. He has now been lying in an unconscious state nearly four days, and unless the pressure can soon be removed, he cannot last long. He is a beautiful child of two years, and the thought of losing him rives our hearts. But he is in the keeping of our good Father, who knows what is best for us. All the rest of us are well. I have worked very hard this campaign, having spoken almost constantly for two months. You have probably seen that I was re-elected by about 9,000 majority, this being my eighth election; but of what avail is public honor in the presence of death? It has been a long time since I have heard from you, and I hope that you will write soon. 'Crete joins me in love to you and Mary.

"Ever your friend and classmate,
"James A. Garfield."

"Washington, Nov. 9, 1876.

"My Dear Corydon: I arrived in this city yesterday afternoon and found that your kind letter of the 2d inst. was awaiting me. Our precious little Eddie died on the 25th of October, and the same evening 'Crete and I left with the body, and on the 27th we buried him beside our little girl who died thirteen years ago. Both are lying in the graveyard at Hiram, and we have come back to those which are still left us, but with a desolation in our hearts known only to those who have lost a precious child. It seems to me that we are many years older than we were when the dear little boy died. His little baby ways so filled the house with joy that the silence he has left is heartbreaking. It needs all my philosophy and courage to bear it. It was very hard to go on with the work of the great campaign with so great a grief in my heart, but I knew that it was my duty, and I did it as well as I could. I spoke almost every day till the election, but it now appears that we are defeated. What the future of our country will be no one can tell. The only safety we can rely on lies in the closeness of the vote both on the Presidency and on the members of the House of Representatives. We have so far reduced the strength of the Democratic House that I hope they will not be able to do much harm. Still we shall have a hard, uncomfortable struggle to save the fruits of our great war. We shall need all the wisdom and patriotism the country possesses to save ourselves from irretrievable calamity. If we had carried the House of Representatives it was almost certain that I should have been elected Speaker; but, of course, that has gone down in the general wreck. 'Crete joins me in kindest regards to you and May. I hope the time may come when we can sit down and renew the memories of other days and enjoy a long visit. I am here now for the winter, and shall soon be at work in the Supreme Court, where I am having a number of important cases. With as much love as ever, I am your friend and brother,

"James A. Garfield."

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CHAPTER XLV.

Reminiscences of Corydon E. Fuller.—Of one of the Pupils at Hiram Institute.—Garfield's Keen Observation.—His Kindness of Heart.—Anecdote of the Game of Ball.—Of the Lame Girl in Washington.—Of Brown, the ex-Scout and old Boat Companion.

Mr. Corydon E. Fuller, to whom the letters in the preceding chapter were addressed, was one of the most intimate of the late President Garfield's friends, and shared with him the early privations of his academic and collegiate life. Mr. Fuller said: "My first acquaintance with Mr. Garfield was in the Eclectic Institute at Hiram College in the year 1851. We entered the school at the same time. My first recollection of him is as a young man, looking all of twenty years old, about six feet in height, powerfully built, with a head of bushy hair, and weighing about one hundred and eighty-five pounds. I remember him attired in Kentucky jean clothes with calico sleeves, ringing the bell for the opening of recitations. We very soon became acquainted, and that was during the Fall term of 1851. At this time the Boynton boys and girls, numbering six, were also at the school. These were closely related to Garfield. One of them was the Mrs. Arnold, killed at the Newberg railroad disaster at the same time with Thomas Garfield, uncle of the late President. In the winter of 1851-2 Mr. Garfield taught school at Warrensville, Cuyahoga County, and I at Hamilton, Geauga County. At that time we commenced corresponding, and kept it up until the time of his assassination."

"I remember once asking him," said one of Garfield's pupils, "what was the best way to pursue a certain study, and he said: 'Use several textbooks. Get the views of different authors as you advance. In that way you can plow a broader furrow. I always study in that way.' He tried hard to teach us to observe carefully and accurately. He broke out one day in the midst of a lesson with 'Henry how many posts are there under the building downstairs?' Henry expressed his opinion, and the question went around the class, hardly one getting it right. Then it was: 'How many boot-scrapers are there at the door?' 'How many windows in the building?' 'How many trees in the field!' 'What were the colors of different rooms, and the peculiarities of any familiar objects?' He was the keenest observer I ever saw, I think he noticed and numbered every button on our coats."

"There was one grand thing about President Garfield," said one who knew him well, "and that was he never felt ashamed to work, no matter what position he filled. He was always engaged in something, and I have never seen him alone when his thoughts were not deeply engaged in something. One great thing that was no doubt the greatest secret of his success, was his constant desire to be elevated to a higher position. He was always reaching for something, and never gave up until he received that for which he was working. Again, he never was ashamed of his low condition or poverty, and I have often heard him say, during the course of conversations, that 'there never was a grander thing to see than a man or woman in earnest in anything they undertake. No matter whether they may be right or wrong, to see them in dead earnest and working for dear life for the object of their desire is a noble sight to witness.' I'll call your attention to another fact: he always went along with his eyes and ears open, catching up every opportunity to learn something. He would walk along the street, and to merely glance at a stranger would not satisfy him, but he would watch a person and try to discover something in his countenance, and he couldn't look at a lady without being able to tell you the color of every ribbon on her hat. He has often told me that the great keeness of his perceptive faculties were often painful to him. If travelling on a railroad train, and the cars by chance would stop a short time, he was out inquiring the cause of the delay, and while walking leisurely along some highway he would meet a German or Irishman working, when he would stop and interrogate them, and then tell his friends what he had learned. He was always determined to learn something."

At one time when walking with a friend through the streets of Cleveland, Garfield suddenly stopped and then darted down a cellar-way. Over the door was the sign "Saws and Files," and a clicking sound could be heard below.

"I think this fellow is cutting files," said Garfield, "and I have never seen a file cut."

He was right; there was a man below stairs who was re-cutting an old file, so the two friends stayed there some ten minutes, until the whole process of file-cutting was thoroughly understood.

"Garfield would never go by anything," said his friend, "without understanding it."

His native kindness of heart is seen in an incident that occurred while he was principal at Hiram Institute. Ruling in the schoolroom with great firmness, he was always ready to join the boys in their games on the playground. One day, when he had taken his place in a game of ball, he happened to see some small boys close by the fence, who were looking on with wistful eyes.

"Are these boys not in the game?" he said to the players.

"What! those little tads? Of course not. They'd spoil the game."

"But they want to play," said the principal, "just as much as we do. Let them come in."

"Oh no!" was the exclamation; "it's no use to spoil the game; they can't play."

"Well," said Garfield, laying down his bat, "if they can't play I won't."

"All right, then, let them come in," was the answer, and so the kind-hearted teacher won the day.

Another story is told as follows: Two Southern ladies engaged in charitable work connected with their church society became interested in the case of a family consisting of a blind man, his invalid wife, and a lame daughter. The latter was at work in the fourth story of a government building in Washington, at a salary of $400 per annum, and to get this small amount she was obliged to walk (using a crutch) nearly three miles each way daily between her house and the printing-room, and to climb four nights of stairs to her labors. This so exhausted the poor child that she was fast losing her health. These two Southern ladies looked about them to see who, among the influential men in Washington, had the broadest human sympathy, and decided that General James A. Garfield, then M. C. was the man most likely to help them in benefiting this afflicted family. They accordingly visited General Garfield's house, and found a carriage before the door. Though complete strangers to him, they sent their cards to the general, who immediately came down stairs. He had his overcoat thrown over his arm, but very courteously greeted the ladies and asked what he could do for them. They said,—

"We notice you appear to be about leaving, and perhaps we detain you." He replied, "I am about to take the cars, but I will delay till next train if I can in any way be of service to you;" and he showed them into the parlor and introduced them to his wife. When he was told the case he replied that he should be away from Washington for two or three days, but if they would remind him on his return, he would do all he could to assist them. Mrs. Garfield engaged to remind the general on his return, which she did, and through his kindness and effort this lame girl was transferred from the fourth floor to the first, and her salary made $1200 instead of $400.

Still another instance of Garfield's kindness of heart is shown in the following story:—

One time when he was about to deliver an address at Cornell, a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turning about, he saw Brown, his ex-scout and old boat companion. He was a sad-looking wreck—with bleared eyes, bloated face, and garments that were half tatters. He had come, he said, while the tears rolled down his cheeks, to that quiet place to die, and now he could die in peace because he had seen his 'gineral.'

Garfield gave him money and got him quarters among some kind people, and left him, telling him to try to be a man; but, in any event, to let him know if he ever needed further help. A year or more passed, and no word came from Brown; but then the superintendent of the public hospital at Buffalo wrote the general that a man was there very sick, who, in his delirium, talked of him, of the Ohio Canal, and of the Sandy Valley expedition. Garfield knew at once that it was Brown, and immediately forwarded funds to the hospital, asking that he should have every possible care and comfort. The letter which acknowledged the remittance announced that the poor fellow had died—died, muttering, in his delirium, the name 'Jim Garfield.'

Garfield paid his funeral expenses.

"Poor Brown!" he exclaimed, "he had a rare combination of good and bad qualities, with strong traits, a ruined man; and yet, underneath the ruins, a great deal of generous, self-sacrificing noble-heartedness."

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CHAPTER XLVI.

Remarks of a Personal Friend.—Reminiscences of the President's Cousin Henry Boynton.—Garfield as a Freemason.

Said a personal friend,—

"No one who saw President Garfield after his installation in the White House can fail to have observed the great change which his accession to power had occasioned in him. Only at intervals did his bright joyousness shine out again, as at the pleasant home at Mentor. The very day after he became President, the struggle for the spoils of office began with a fierceness hitherto unparalleled in all the strife of that kind which has been seen at Washington. He was half-maddened by his desire to do justice to all the contending factions. It was this feeling which made him slow to give irrevocable decisions. I was at the White House one morning, and he referred to his anxiety not to take a step in haste which he might repent at leisure. The humor of his own cautious slowness brought back the twinkle in his eye, the smile on the rosy lip. 'I don't know when I shall get around to that,' he said. 'You know, there's no telling when the Mississippi River will reach a given point.' The sluggish movement of the great Father of Waters was hit off to the life by this impromptu epigram."

Hardly had Garfield been nominated for the presidency, when his neighbors, those who had known him from boyhood, together with his kinsmen, gathered, and raised upon his old home, near the spot where he was born, a pole, and placed thereon the candidate's name. The pole was erected where the house stood which Garfield with his brother erected for their mother and sisters with their own hands, after the log hut, a little farther out in the field nearer the wood, had become unfit for habitation. Thomas Garfield, an old man eighty years of age, the one who was killed in a railroad accident soon after Gen. Garfield had been inaugurated President, directed the manual labor of rearing the shaft, and was proud of his work. Soon after it was erected Garfield himself came from Mentor to look over the old place again, and with proud satisfaction looked upon this expression of friendship of his old neighbors. There is nothing except this pole left to mark his birthplace, and the old well, not two rods off, which he and his brother dug to furnish water for the family. On the day of the funeral services, the torn and tattered banner which those who knew him from childhood to manhood had erected in his honor, was lazily floating in the breeze half-way down the pole, showing in its plain way the sorrow of those who so gladly erected it less than twelve months ago. In the little maple grove to the left, children played about the country school-house, which has replaced the log one where the dead President first gathered the rudiments upon which he built to such purpose. The old orchard in its sere and yellow leaf, the dying grass, and the turning maple-leaves, seemed to join in the general mourning.

Adjoining the field where the flag floats is an unpretentious farm almost as much identified with General Garfield's early history as the one he helped to clear of the forest timber while he was a child, but it is now free of buildings. Near by is the home of Henry B. Boynton, cousin of the dead President, and a brother of Dr. Boynton, who has been so conspicuously connected with the Garfield family since Mrs. Garfield's illness last spring. "General Garfield and I were like brothers," said he to a visitor, as he turned from giving some directions to his farm hands, now sowing the fall grain upon ground which the dead President first helped to break. He looked off tearfully, as he spoke, toward the flag at half-mast, marking the birthplace of his life-long friend. "His father died yonder, within a stone's throw of us, when the son was but one and a half years old and I was but three and a half. He knew no other father than mine, who watched over the family as if it had been his own. I bore a peculiar relation to the general. His father and my father were half-brothers, and his mother and my mother were sisters. This very house in which I live was as much his home as it was mine." They walked toward the house as he spoke, and had here reached the plain mansion which was the house of the speaker's ancestors, as well as General Garfield's, and passed inside, to find his good housewife silent and tearful, and whose swollen eyes told plainer than words the terrible sorrow they all felt.

"Over there," said he, pointing to the brick schoolhouse in the grove of maples, around which the happy children were playing, "is where he and I first went to school. I have read a statement that he could not read or write until he was nineteen. He could do both before he was nine; and before he was twelve, so familiar was he with the Indian history of the country, that he had named every tree in the orchard, which his father planted before he was born, with the name of some Indian chief. One favorite tree of his he named 'Tecumseh,' and the branches of many of those old trees have been cut since his promotion to the presidency by relic hunters and carried away. General Garfield was a remarkable boy, sir, as well as man. It is not possible to tell you the fight he made amid poverty for a place in life, and how gradually he obtained it. When he was a boy he would rather read than work. But he became a great student. He had to work after he was twelve years of age. In those days we were all poor, and it took hard knocks to get on. He worked clearing the fields yonder with his brother, and then cut cordwood and did other farm labor to get the necessaries of life for his mother and sisters.

"His experience upon the canal was a severe one, but perhaps useful. I can remember the winter when he came home after the summer's service there. He had the chills all that fall and winter, yet he would shake, and get his lessons at home; go over to the school and recite, and thus keep up with his class. The next spring found him weak from constant ague. Yet he intended to return to the canal. Here came the turning point in his life. Mr. Bates, who taught the school, pleaded with him not to do so, and said that, if he would continue in school until the next fall, he could get a certificate. I received my certificate about the same time. The next year we went to the seminary at Chester, only twelve miles distant. Here our books were furnished us, and we cooked our own victuals. We lived upon a dollar a week each. Our diet was strong, but very plain; mush and molasses, pork and potatoes. Saturdays we took our axes and went into the woods and cut cordwood; during vacations we labored in the harvest field, or taught a district school, as we could. Yonder," said he, pointing off toward a beautiful valley, "about two miles distant stands the school-house where Garfield first taught school. He got twelve dollars a month and boarded around. I also taught school in a neighboring town. You see," continued the farmer, "that the general and myself were very close to one another from the time either of us could lisp until he became President. He visited me here just before election, and looked with gratification upon that pole yonder and its flag, erected by his neighbors and kinsmen. He wandered over the fields he himself had helped clear, and pointed out to me trees, from the limbs of which he had shot squirrel after squirrel, and beneath the branches of which he had played and worked in the years of his infancy and boyhood.

"I forgot to say that one of General Garfield's striking characteristics while he was growing up was that, when he saw a boy in the class excel him in anything, he never gave up until he reached the same standard, and even went beyond it. It got to be known that no scholar could be ahead of him. Our association as men has been almost as close as that of boys, although not as constant. The general never forgot his neighbors or less fortunate kinsmen, and often visited us, as we did him.

"Just before he was inaugurated I had a conversation with him, which impressed me more than any other talk of our lives. He said: 'Henry, I approach the duties of the Presidency with much reluctance. I had thought that at some future time it might be possible for me to aspire to that position, but I had been elected to the Senate, and should have preferred to serve the six years in that body to which my own State people had elected me. It would have been six years of comparative rest, for service in the Senate is much easier than in the House. I hope I may discharge the duties of the Presidency with satisfaction. There is one thing, however, that distresses me more than all else. All my life I have been making friends, and I have a great many sincere ones. But from the hour I assume the Presidency I must necessarily begin making enemies. Any man who wants an office and does not get it, will feel himself aggrieved.' Our conversation at this time was long and earnest, and seemed like returning to the days when we were schoolboys together."

Garfield was made a Mason in Magnolia Lodge, No. 20, at Columbus, Nov. 22, 1861, while he was commander at Camp Chase. His affiliation at the time of his death was with Pentalpha Lodge, No. 23, and Columbia Commandery, No. 2, Knights Templars, at Washington, D. C. Suitar says that he was the eighth Mason, but the first Knight Templar, who was ever honored with the Presidency. He was a true and courteous knight, and was not only an earnest supporter, but a charter member of Pentalpha Lodge. After his election to the Presidency, his commandery sought to express their esteem for him by attending the inauguration, and, although the Masonic law forbids any interference with or participation in politics, the occasion was regarded by the right eminent grand commander as sufficiently important and devoid of partisan coloring to grant the desired permission for five platoons of sixteen knights each to attend President Garfield. On the 19th of July, 1881, he was elected an honorary member of Hanselmann Commandery, No. 16, at Cincinnati, and they sent him handsomely engraved resolutions of sympathy, which were brought to his personal notice during his sickness, to which he appropriately replied through his private secretary.

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CHAPTER XLVII.

Poems in Memory of Garfield, by Longfellow.—George Parsons Lathrop.—From London Spectator.—Oliver Wendell Holmes.—N. Bernard Carpenter.—John Boyle O'Reilly.—Joaquin Miller. M. J. Savage.—Julia Ward Howe.—Rose Terry Cooke.—Prize Ode.—Kate Tannett Woods.

To the tributes we have already given, we add a few of the many fine poems published in memory of the martyred President.