The Life and Work of James A. Garfield, Twentieth President of the United States / Embracing an Account of the Scenes and Incidents of His Boyhood; the Struggles of His Youth; the Might of His Early Manhood; His Valor As a Soldier; His Career As a Statesman; His Election to the Presidency; and the Tragic Story of His Death.

by John Clark Ridpath

“Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: I assure you that the information you have officially given to me brings the sense of very grave responsibility, and especially so in view of the fact that I was a member of your body, a fact that could not have existed with propriety had I had the slightest expectation that my name would be connected with the nomination for the office. I have felt, with you, great solicitude concerning the situation of our party during the struggle; but, believing that you are correct in assuring me that substantial unity has been reached in the conclusion, it gives me a gratification far greater than any personal pleasure your announcement can bring.

“I accept the trust committed to my hands. As to the work of our party, and as to the character of the campaign to be entered upon, I will take an early occasion to reply more fully than I can properly do to-night.

“I thank you for the assurances of confidence and esteem you have presented to me, and hope we shall see our future as promising as are indications to-night.”

As soon as the morning broke, General Garfield made preparations for starting home. It seldom falls to the lot of man to return home under such circumstances. He was followed by the eyes of millions. A special car whirled him away in triumph. By his side were a multitude of distinguished friends. A candidate for the presidency of the United States is not likely to want for friends. Those who accompanied General Garfield, however, were, for the most part, the genuine article. Many of them were his old comrades in arms; others were prominent politicians, some of them, no doubt, busy in constructing the fabric of a new administration with themselves for possible corner-stones.

At La Porte, Indiana, the train made a halt. That great organ of American noise, the brass band, came down the street with a multitudinous citizenship at its heels. The huzzas called out the General. He was introduced by Governor Foster, of Ohio. Then there were more huzzas, and the train rolled away. The same happened at South Bend, at Elkhart, at Goshen, and at all the other points, great and small, between Chicago and Cleveland. At the latter city there was an immense demonstration. The spacious depot was crowded with an enthusiastic throng, that burst out with far-resounding cheers as the General’s train came in. The city was all in a flutter, and it became evident that the people were up and stirring. The great Ohioan was driven to the hotel, and, in response to a speech of welcome, said:

“Fellow-citizens of my native county and of my State: I thank you for this remarkable demonstration of your good-will and enthusiasm on this occasion. I can not at this time proceed upon any speech. All that I have to say is, that I know that all this demonstration means your gladness at the unity and harmony and good feeling of a great political party, and in part your good feeling toward a neighbor, an old friend. For all of these reasons I thank you, and bid you good night.”

The following day, the 10th of June, was passed at Cleveland, and on the morrow General Garfield visited his old school at Hiram. The commencement exercises were set for that day, and the distinguished nominee was under promise to speak. Here were gathered his old friends and neighbors. Here he had first met his wife. She, with the boys, was now a part of her husband’s audience. Here was the scene of his early struggles for discipline and distinction. Here he had been a bell-ringer, a student, a college professor, a president. Here he had seen the horizon of his orphanage and boyhood sink behind him, and the horizon of an auspicious future rise upon his vision. Before the vast throng of visitors and students, at the appointed hour, he rose and delivered his address as follows:

“Fellow-citizens, old neighbors and friends of many years: It has always given me pleasure to come back here and look upon these faces. It has always given me new courage and new friends, for it has brought back a large share of that richness which belongs to those things out of which come the joys of life.

“While sitting here this afternoon, watching your faces and listening to the very interesting address which has just been delivered, it has occurred to me that the least thing you have, that all men have enough of, is perhaps the thing that you care for the least, and that is your leisure—the leisure you have to think; the leisure you have to be let alone; the leisure you have to throw the plummet into your mind, and sound the depth and dive for things below; the leisure you have to walk about the towers yourself, and find how strong they are or how weak they are, to determine what needs building up; how to work, and how to know all that shall make you the final beings you are to be. Oh, these hours of building!

“If the Superior Being of the universe would look down upon the world to find the most interesting object, it would be the unfinished, unformed character of the young man or young woman. Those behind me have probably in the main settled this question. Those who have passed into middle manhood and middle womanhood are about what they shall always be, and there is but little left of interest, as their characters are all developed.