“Glorious, Bliss! isn’t it?”
But the hopes that were awakened were illusive and short-lived, and at 10.35, Monday evening, September 19, on the anniversary of the battle of Chickamauga, in which he won great distinction for personal heroism and cool, clear-headed generalship, the earthly life of James Abram Garfield was ended.
The sad event was announced in many of the principal cities by the tolling of the bells at midnight, and never did the death of a man cause such general lamentation and inspire such a universal outburst of public and private grief. Dispatches of condolence and sympathy were sent to Mrs. Garfield and the State Department from every government in the old world, and Queen Victoria, mindful of that dark hour when the noble Prince Consort was taken from her side, sent touching messages of womanly sympathy, and directed her ambassador at Washington to lay a rich and costly floral offering upon the coffin of the dead President. After funeral services at Long Branch the remains were borne back to Washington over the same route which the President traversed on his way to the sea, and after imposing funeral ceremonies in the Capitol building the cortege once more pursued its mournful way to Cleveland, where, on Monday, September 26, 250,000 people from all parts of the country participated in the final obsequies. That day was also observed throughout the United States, and in England and other countries as well, as a general memorial day, and was marked by the total suspension of ordinary business and the holding of public services in all the cities and towns. These observances in this country were invited by President Arthur and the State executives, but in truth no official summons was needed to stimulate every possible tribute of respect. The whole country was in mourning, and, as it was when the Prince of Orange died, “the little children cried in the streets.”
President Garfield was large-framed, large-brained, and large-hearted. He was six feet in height and was a splendid picture of a man. His personal character and habits were clean and pure, and his home life at Mentor or Washington was simply delightful. No husband and wife ever lived happier together than President and Mrs. Garfield, and no man who honored his mother as did President Garfield could fail to be idolized by his children. Five of his seven children survived him, two of whom, Harry and James A., entered Williams College as freshmen during their father’s illness.
President Garfield was one of the closest students this country has ever known. No man at Washington ever made so much use of the vast literary treasures of the Congressional library as he, and when he was tired and worn by committee and legislative work, he used to find recreation in general literary study. At the close of a long and busy session of Congress, a caller found him surrounded with every edition of the Latin poet, Horace, which he could find in the library, and he was hard at work “resting himself,” as he called it. It has been well said, since his death, by one of our well-known scholars and public men: “The future historian will declare Garfield the most thorough student of political problems in the Presidential chair since John Quincy Adams; the man of most scholarly breadth in statesmanship since James Madison; the most eloquent parliamentarian since John Adams. His had been a life, a career, a character which would have satisfied the highest hopes of Washington and Jefferson for their successors in the chief magistracy.”
In a word, James A. Garfield was a man physically, intellectually, and morally who was an honor to his country and to his race, and no more imperishable name will ever adorn our country’s annals.
The End.
(Whole number of pages with illustrations, 705.)