"I arrived at his house at Mentor in the early morning following the disaster in Maine. While all about him were in panic, he saw only a damage which must and could be repaired. 'It is no use bemoaning the past,' he said; 'the past has no uses except for its lessons.' Business disposed of, he threw aside all restraint, and for hours his speculations and theories upon philosophy, government, education, eloquence; his criticism of books, his reminiscences of men and events, made that one of the white-letter days of my life. At Chickamauga he won his major-general's commission. On the anniversary of the battle he died. I shall never forget his description of the fight—so modest, yet graphic. It is imprinted on my memory as the most glorious battle-picture words ever painted. He thought the greatest calamity which could befall a man was to lose ambition. I said to him, 'General, did you never in your earlier struggle have that feeling I have so often met with, when you would have compromised your future for a certainty, and if so, what?' 'Yes,' said he, 'I remember well when I would have been willing to exchange all the possibilities of my life for the certainty of a position as a successful teacher.' Though he died neither a school principal nor college professor, and they seem humble achievements compared with what he did, his memory will instruct while time endures.
"His long and dreadful sickness lifted the roof from his house and family circle, and his relations as son, husband, and father stood revealed in the broadest sunlight of publicity. The picture endeared him wherever is understood the full significance of that matchless word 'Home.' When he stood by the capitol just pronounced the President of the greatest and most powerful of republics, the exultation of the hour found its expression in a kiss upon the lips of his mother. For weeks, in distant Ohio, she sat by the gate watching for the hurrying feet of the messenger bearing the telegrams of hope or despair. His last conscious act was to write a letter of cheer and encouragement to that mother, and when the blow fell she illustrated the spirit she had instilled in him. There were no rebellious murmurings against the Divine dispensation, only in utter agony: 'I have no wish to live longer; I will join him soon; the Lord's will be done.' When Dr. Bliss told him he had a bare chance of recovery, 'Then,' said he, 'we will take that chance, doctor.' When asked if he suffered pain, he answered: 'If you can imagine a trip-hammer crashing on your body, or cramps such as you have in the water a thousand times intensified, you can have some idea of what I suffer.' And yet, during those eighty-one days was heard neither groan nor complaint. Always brave and cheerful, he answered the fear of the surgeons with the remark: 'I have faced death before; I am not afraid to meet him now.' And again, 'I have strength enough left to fight him yet'—and he could whisper to the Secretary of the Treasury an inquiry about the success of the funding scheme, and ask the Postmaster-General how much public money he had saved.
"As he lay in the cottage by the sea, looking out upon the ocean, whose broad expanse was in harmony with his own grand nature, and heard the beating of the waves upon the shore, and felt the pulsations of millions of hearts against his chamber door, there was no posing for history and no preparation of last words for dramatic effect. With simple naturalness he gave the military salute to the sentinel gazing at his window, and that soldier, returning it in tears, will probably carry its memory to his dying day and transmit it to his children. The voice of his faithful wife came from her devotions in another room, singing, 'Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah.' 'Listen,' he cries, 'is not that glorious?' and in a few hours heaven's portals opened and upborne upon prayers as never before wafted spirit above he entered the presence of God. It is the alleviation of all sorrow, public or private, that close upon it press the duties of and to the living.
"The tolling bells, the minute-guns upon land and sea, the muffled drums and funeral hymns fill the air while our chief is borne to his last resting-place. The busy world is stilled for the hour when loving hands are preparing his grave. A stately shaft will rise, overlooking the lake and commemorating his deeds. But his fame will not live alone in marble or brass. His story will be treasured and kept warm in the hearts of millions for generations to come, and boys hearing it from their mothers will be fired with nobler ambitions. To his countrymen he will always be a typical American, soldier, and statesman. A year ago and not a thousand people of the old world had ever heard his name, and now there is scarcely a thousand who do not mourn his loss. The peasant loves him because from the same humble lot he became one of the mighty of earth, and sovereigns respect him because in his royal gifts and kingly nature God made him their equal."
Chapter XXXVI—The Lessons Of His Life.
Probably the nearest and closest friend of Garfield, intellectually speaking, was his successor in the presidency of Hiram College, B.A. Hinsdale. If any one understood the dead President it was he. For many years they corresponded regularly, exchanging views upon all topics that interested either. They would not always agree, but this necessarily followed from the mental independence of each. To Mr. Hinsdale we turn for a trustworthy analysis of the character and intellectual greatness of his friend, and this he gives us in an article published in the N.Y. Independent of Sept. 29, 1881:
"First of all, James A. Garfield had greatness of nature. Were I limited to one sentence of description, it would be: He was a great-natured man. He was a man of strong and massive body. A strong frame, broad shoulders, powerful vital apparatus, and a massive head furnished the physical basis of his life. He was capable of an indefinite amount of work, both physical and mental. His intellectual status was equally strong and massive. He excelled almost all men both in the patient accumulation of facts and in bold generalization. He had great power of logical analysis, and stood with the first in rhetorical exposition. He had the best instincts and habits of the scholar. He loved to roam in every field of knowledge. He delighted in the creations of the imagination—poetry, fiction, and art. He loved the deep things of philosophy. He took a keen interest in scientific research. He gathered into his storehouse the facts of history and politics, and threw over the whole the life and power of his own originality.
"The vast labors that he crowded into those thirty years—labors rarely equaled in the history of men—are the fittest gauge of his physical and intellectual power. His moral character was on a scale equally large and generous. His feelings were delicate, his sympathies most responsive, his sense of justice keen. He was alive to delicate points of honor. No other man whom I have known had such heart. He had great faith in human nature and was wholly free from jealousy and suspicion. He was one of the most helpful and appreciative of men. His largeness of views and generosity of spirit were such that he seemed incapable of personal resentment. He was once exhorted to visit moral indignation upon some men who had wronged him deeply. Fully appreciating the baseness of their conduct, he said he would try, but added: 'I am afraid some one will have to help me.'