The fact was, James shrank from the ordeal that awaited him.

"If I were only going among strangers," he said to his mother, "I wouldn't mind it so much; but all these boys and girls have known me ever since I was a small boy and went barefoot."

"Does your heart fail you, my son?" asked his mother, who sympathized with him, yet saw that it was a trial which must come.

"I can't exactly say that, but I dread to begin."

"We must expect to encounter difficulties and perplexities, James. None of our lives run all smoothly. Shall we conquer them or let them conquer us?"

The boy's spirit was aroused.

"Say no more, mother," he replied. "I will undertake the school, and if success is any way possible, I will succeed. I have been shrinking from it, but I won't shrink any longer."

"That is the spirit that succeeds, James."

James laughed, and in answer quoted Campbell's stirring lines with proper emphasis:

"I will victor exult, or in death be laid low, With my face to the field and my feet to the foe."

So the time passed till the eventful day dawned on which James was to assume charge of his first school. He was examined, and adjudged to be qualified to teach; but that he anticipated in advance.

The building is still standing in which James taught his first school. It is used for quite another purpose now, being occupied as a carriage-house by the thrifty farmer who owns the ground upon which it stands. The place where the teacher's desk stood, behind which the boy stood as preceptor, is now occupied by two stalls for carriage-horses. The benches which once contained the children he taught have been removed to make room for the family carriage, and the play-ground is now a barnyard. The building sits upon a commanding eminence known as Ledge Hill, and overlooks a long valley winding between two lines of hills.

This description is furnished by the same correspondent of the Boston Herald to whom I am already indebted for Henry Boynton's reminiscences contained in the last chapter.

When James came in sight, and slowly ascended the hill in sight of the motley crew of boys and girls who were assembled in front of the school-house on the first morning of the term, it was one of the most trying moments of his life. He knew instinctively that the boys were anticipating the fun in store for them in the inevitable conflict which awaited him, and he felt constrained and nervous. He managed, however, to pass through the crowd, wearing a pleasant smile and greeting his scholars with a bow. There was trouble coming, he was convinced, but he did not choose to betray any apprehension.



CHAPTER XII.

WHO SHALL BE MASTER?

With as much dignity as was possible under the circumstances, James stepped to the teacher's desk and rang the bell.

This was hardly necessary, for out of curiosity all the scholars had promptly followed the young teacher into the school-room and taken their seats.

After the introductory exercises, James made a brief address to the scholars:

"I don't need any introduction to you," he said, "for you all know me. I see before me many who have been my playfellows and associates, but to-day a new relation is established between us. I am here as your teacher, regularly appointed by the committee, and it is my duty to assist you as far as I can to increase your knowledge. I should hardly feel competent to do so if I had not lately attended Geauga Seminary, and thus improved my own education. I hope you will consider me a friend, not only as I have been, but as one who is interested in promoting your best interests. One thing more," he added, "it is not only my duty to teach you, but to maintain good order, and this I mean to do. In school I wish you to look upon me as your teacher, but outside I shall join you in your sports, and be as much a boy as any of you. We will now proceed to our daily lessons."

This speech was delivered with self-possession, and favorably impressed all who heard it, even the boys who meant to make trouble, but they could not give up their contemplated fun. Nevertheless, by tacit agreement, they preserved perfect propriety for the present. They were not ready for the explosion.

The boy teacher was encouraged by the unexpected quiet.

"After all," he thought, "everything is likely to go smoothly. I need not have troubled myself so much."

He knew the usual routine at the opening of a school term. The names of the children were to be taken, they were to be divided into classes, and lessons were to be assigned. Feeling more confidence in himself, James went about this work in business fashion, and when recess came, the comments made by the pupils in the playground were generally favorable.

"He's going to make a good teacher," said one of the girls, "as good as any we've had, and he's so young too."

"He goes to work as if he knew how," said another. "I didn't think Jimmy Garfield had so much in him."

"Oh, he's smart!" said another. "Just think of brother Ben trying to keep school, and he's just as old as James."

Meanwhile Tom Bassett and Bill Stackpole had a private conference together.

"What do you think of Jim's speech, Bill?" asked Tom.

"Oh, it sounded well enough, but I'll bet he was trembling in his boots all the while he was talkin'."

"Maybe so, but he seemed cool enough."

"Oh, that was all put on. Did you hear what he said about keepin' order?"

"Yes, he kinder looked at you an' me when he was talkin'."

"I guess he heard about our turnin' out the last teacher."

"Of course. I tell you, it took some cheek to come here and order 'round us boys that has known him all his life."

"That's so. Do you think he's goin' to maintain order, as he calls it?"

"You just wait till afternoon. He'll know better then."

James did not go out to recess the first day. He had some things to do affecting the organization of the school, and so he remained at his desk. Several of the pupils came up to consult him on one point or another, and he received them all with that pleasant manner which throughout his life was characteristic of him. To one and another he gave a hint or a suggestion, based upon his knowledge of their character and abilities. One of the boys said: "Do you think I'd better study grammar, Jimmy—I mean Mr. Garfield?"

James smiled. He knew the slip was unintentional. Of course it would not do for him to allow himself to be addressed in school by a pupil as Jimmy.

"Yes," he answered, "unless you think you know all about it already."

"I don't know the first thing about it."

"Then, of course, you ought to study it. Why shouldn't you?"

"But I can't make nothin' out of it. I can't understand it nohow."

"Then you need somebody to explain it to you."

"It's awful stupid."

"I don't think you will find it so when you come to know more about it. I shall be ready to explain it. I think I can make you understand it."

Another had a sum he could not do. So James found the recess pass quickly away, and again the horde of scholars poured into the school-room.

It was not till afternoon that the conflict came.

Tom Bassett belonged to the first class in geography.

James called out the class.

All came out except Tom, who lounged carelessly in his seat.

"Thomas, don't you belong to this class?" asked the young teacher.

"I reckon I do."

"Then why don't you come out to recite?"

"Oh, I feel lazy," answered Tom, with a significant smile, as if to inquire, "What are you goin' to do about it?"

James thought to himself with a thrill of unpleasant excitement, "It's coming. In ten minutes I shall know whether Tom Bassett or I is to rule this school."

His manner was calm, however, as he said, "That is no excuse. I can't accept it. As your teacher I order you to join your class."

"Can't you wait till to-morrow?" asked Tom, with a grin, which was reflected on the faces of several other pupils.

"I think I understand you," said James, with outward calmness. "You defy my authority."

"You're only a boy like me," said Tom; "I don't see why I should obey you."

"If you were teacher, and I pupil, I should obey you," said James, "and I expect the same of you."

"Oh, go on with the recitation!" said Tom, lazily. "Never mind me!"

James felt that he could afford to wait no longer Turning to the class, he said, "I shall have to delay you for a minute."

He walked deliberately up to the seat where Tom Bassett was sitting.

Tom squared off in the expectation of an assault; but, with the speed of lightning, the young teacher grasped him by the collar, and, with a strength that surprised himself, dragged him from his seat, in spite of his struggles, till he reached the place where the class was standing.

By this time Bill Stackpole felt called upon to help his partner in rebellion.

"You let him alone!" he said, menacingly, stepping forward.

"One at a time!" said James, coolly. "I will be ready for you in a minute."

He saw that there was only one thing to do.

He dragged Tom to the door, and forcibly ejected him, saying, "When you get ready to obey me you can come back."

He had scarcely turned when Bill Stackpole was upon him.

With a quick motion of the foot James tripped him up, and, still retaining his grasp on his collar, said, "Will you go or stay?"

Bill was less resolute than Tom.

"I guess I'll stay," he said; then picked himself up and resumed his place in the class.

Apparently calm, James returned to his desk, and commenced hearing the class recite.

The next morning, on his way to school, James overtook Tom Bassett, who eyed him with evident embarrassment. Tom's father had sent him back to school, and Tom did not dare disobey.

"Good morning, Tom," said James, pleasantly.

"Mornin'!" muttered Tom.

"I hope you are going to school?"

"Father says I must."

"I am glad of that, too. By the way, Tom, I think I shall have to get some of the scholars to help me with some of the smaller pupils. I should like to get you to hear the lowest class in arithmetic to-day."

"You want me to help you teach?" exclaimed Tom, in amazement.

"Yes; it will give me more time for the higher classes."

"And you don't bear no malice on account of yesterday?"

"Oh, no; we are too good friends to mind such a trifle."

"Then," said Tom, impulsively, "you won't have no more trouble with me. I'll help you all I can."

There was general surprise felt when the young teacher and his rebellious scholar were seen approaching the school-house, evidently on the most friendly terms. There was still greater surprise when, during the forenoon, James requested Tom to hear the class already mentioned. At recess Tom proclaimed his intention to lick any boy that was impudent to the teacher, and the new Garfield administration seemed to be established on a firm basis.

This incident, which is based upon an actual resort to war measures on the part of the young teacher, is given to illustrate the strength as well as the amiability of Garfield's character. It was absolutely necessary that he should show his ability to govern.



CHAPTER XIII.

AMES LEAVES GEAUGA SEMINARY

While teaching his first school James "boarded round" among the families who sent pupils to his school. It was not so pleasant as having a permanent home, but it afforded him opportunities of reaching and influencing his scholars which otherwise he could not have enjoyed. With his cheerful temperament and genial manners, he could hardly fail to be an acquisition to any family with whom he found a home. He was ready enough to join in making the evenings pass pleasantly, and doubtless he had ways of giving instruction indirectly, and inspiring a love of learning similar to that which he himself possessed.

He returned to school with a small sum of money in his pocket, which was of essential service to him in his economical way of living. But he brought also an experience in imparting knowledge to others which was still greater value.

An eminent teacher has said that we never fully know anything till we have tried to impart it to others.

James remained at the Geauga Seminary for three years. Every winter he taught school, and with success. In one of these winter sessions, we are told by Rev. William M. Thayer, in his biography of Garfield, that he was applied to by an ambitious student to instruct him in geometry. There was one difficulty in the way, and that a formidable one. He was entirely unacquainted with geometry himself. But, he reflected, here is an excellent opportunity for me to acquire a new branch of knowledge. Accordingly he procured a text-book, studied it faithfully at night, keeping sufficiently far ahead of his pupil to qualify him to be his guide and instructor, and the pupil never dreamed that his teacher, like himself, was traversing unfamiliar ground.

It was early in his course at Geauga that he made the acquaintance of one who was to prove his closest and dearest friend—the young lady who in after years was to become his wife. Lucretia Rudolph was the daughter of a farmer in the neighborhood—"a quiet, thoughtful girl, of singularly sweet and refined disposition, fond of study and reading, and possessing a warm heart, and a mind capable of steady growth." Probably James was first attracted to her by intellectual sympathy and a community of tastes; but as time passed he discerned in her something higher and better than mere intellectual aspiration; and who shall say in the light that has been thrown by recent events on the character of Lucretia Garfield, that he was not wholly right?

Though we are anticipating the record, it may be in place to say here that the acquaintance formed here was renewed and ripened at Hiram College, to which in time both transferred themselves. There as pupil-teacher James Garfield became in one branch the instructor of his future wife, and it was while there that the two became engaged. It was a long engagement. James had to wait the traditional "seven years" for his wife, but the world knows how well he was repaid for his long waiting.

"Did you know Mrs. Garfield?" asked a reporter of the Chicago Inter-Ocean of Mr. Philo Chamberlain, of Cleveland.

"Yes, indeed," was the reply. "My wife knows her intimately. They used to teach school together in Cleveland. Mrs. Garfield is a splendid lady. She wasn't what you would call a brilliant teacher, but she was an unusually good one, very industrious, and the children made rapid progress in their studies under her. And then she was studious, too. Why, she acquired three languages while she was in school, both as a student and a teacher, and she spoke them well, I am told. They were married shortly after he came back from Williams, and I forgot to tell you a nice little thing about the time when he paid Dr. Robinson back the money he had spent on him. When Dr. Robinson refused to take the interest, which amounted to a snug little sum, Garfield said: 'Well, Doctor, that is one big point in my favor, as now I can get married.' It seems that they had been engaged for a long time, but had to wait till he could get something to marry on. And I tell you it isn't every young man that will let the payment of a self-imposed debt stand between him and getting married to the girl he loves."

Without anticipating too far events we have not yet reached, it may be said that Lucretia Garfield's education and culture made her not the wife only, but the sympathetic friend and intellectual helper of her husband. Her early studies were of service to her in enabling her partially to prepare for college her two oldest boys. She assisted her husband also in his literary plans, without losing the domestic character of a good wife, and the refining graces of a true woman.

But let us not forget that James is still a boy in his teens. He had many hardships to encounter, and many experiences to go through before he could set up a home of his own. He had studied three years, but his education had only begun. The Geauga Seminary was only an academy, and hardly the equal of the best academies to be found at the East.

He began to feel that he had about exhausted its facilities, and to look higher. He had not far to look.

During the year 1851 the Disciples, the religious body to which young Garfield had attached himself, opened a collegiate school at Hiram, in Portage County, which they called an eclectic school. Now it ranks as a college, but at the time James entered it, it had not assumed so ambitious a title.

It was not far away, and James' attention was naturally drawn to it. There was an advantage also in its location. Hiram was a small country village, where the expenses of living were small, and, as we know, our young student's purse was but scantily filled. Nevertheless, so limited were his means that it was a perplexing problem how he would be able to pay his way.

He consulted his mother, and, as was always the case, found that she sympathized fully in his purpose of obtaining a higher education. Pecuniary help, however, she could not give, nor had he at this time any rich friends upon whom he could call for the pittance he required.

But James was not easily daunted. He had gone to Geauga Seminary with but seventeen dollars in his pocket; he had remained there three years, maintaining himself by work at his old trade of carpenter and teaching, and had graduated owing nothing. He had become self-reliant, and felt that what he had done at Chester he could do at Hiram.

So one fine morning he set out, with a light heart and a pocket equally light, for the infant institution from which he hoped so much.

The Board of Trustees were in session, as we learn from the account given by one of their number, when James arrived and sought an audience.

After a little delay, the doorkeeper was instructed to bring him in.

James was nineteen at this time. He was no longer as homespun in appearance as when he sat upon a log with Dr. Robinson, in the seclusion of the woods, and asked his advice about a career. Nevertheless, he was still awkward. He had grown rapidly, was of slender build, and had no advantages of dress to recommend him. One who saw him in after-life, with his noble, imposing presence, would hardly recognize any similarity between him and the raw country youth who stood awkwardly before the Board of Trustees, to plead his cause. It happens not unfrequently that a lanky youth develops into a fine-looking man. Charles Sumner, at the age of twenty, stood six feet two inches in his stockings, and weighed but one hundred and twenty pounds! Yet in after-life he was a man of noble presence.

But all this while we are leaving James in suspense before the men whose decision is to affect his life so powerfully.

"Well, young man," asked the Principal, "what can we do for you?"

"Gentlemen," said James, earnestly, "I want an education, and would like the privilege of making the fires and sweeping the floors of the building to pay part of my expenses."

There was in his bearing and countenance an earnestness and an intelligence which impressed the members of the board.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Frederic Williams, one of the trustees, "I think we had better try this young man."

Another member, turning to Garfield, said: "How do we know, young man, that the work will be done as we may desire?"

"Try me," was the answer; "try me two weeks, and if it is not done to your entire satisfaction, I will retire without a word."

"That seems satisfactory," said the member who had asked the question.

"What studies do you wish to pursue?" asked one gentleman.

"I want to prepare for college. I shall wish to study Latin, Greek, mathematics, and anything else that may be needed."

"Have you studied any of these already?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"At the Geauga Seminary. I can refer you to the teachers there. I have studied under them for three years, and they know all about me."

"What is your name?"

"James A. Garfield."

"There is something in that young man," said one of the trustees to Mr. Williams. "He seems thoroughly in earnest, and I believe will be a hard worker."

"I agree with you," was the reply.

James was informed that his petition was granted, and he at once made arrangements for his residence at Hiram.



CHAPTER XIV.

AT HIRAM INSTITUTE.

Hiram, the seat of the Eclectic Institute, was not a place of any pretension. It was scarcely a village, but rather a hamlet. Yet the advantages which the infant institution offered drew together a considerable number of pupils of both sexes, sons and daughters of the Western Reserve farmers, inspired with a genuine love of learning, and too sensible to waste their time on mere amusement.

This is the account given of it by President B.A. Hinsdale, who for fifteen years has ably presided over its affairs: "The institute building, a plain but substantially built brick structure, was put on the top of a windy hill, in the middle of a cornfield. One of the cannon that General Scott's soldiers dragged to the City of Mexico in 1847, planted on the roof of the new structure, would not have commanded a score of farm houses.

"Here the school opened at the time Garfield was closing his studies at Chester. It had been in operation two terms when he offered himself for enrollment. Hiram furnished a location, the Board of Trustees a building and the first teacher, the surrounding country students, but the spiritual Hiram made itself. Everything was new. Society, traditions, the genius of the school, had to be evolved from the forces of the teachers and pupils, limited by the general and local environment. Let no one be surprised when I say that such a school as this was the best of all places for young Garfield. There was freedom, opportunity, a large society of rapidly and eagerly opening young minds, instructors who were learned enough to instruct him, and abundant scope for ability and force of character, of which he had a superabundance.

"Few of the students who came to Hiram in that day had more than a district-school education, though some had attended the high schools and academies scattered over the country; so that Garfield, though he had made but slight progress in the classics and the higher mathematics previous to his arrival, ranked well up with the first scholars. In ability, all acknowledged that he was the peer of any; soon his superiority to all others was generally conceded."

So James entered upon his duties as janitor and bell-ringer. It was a humble position for the future President of the United States; but no work is humiliating which is undertaken with a right aim and a useful object. Of one thing my boy-reader may be sure—the duties of the offices were satisfactorily performed. The school-rooms were well cared for, and the bell was rung punctually. This is shown by the fact that, after the two weeks of probation, he was still continued in office, though doubtless in the large number of students of limited means in the institute there was more than one that would have been glad to relieve him of his office.

It will hardly be supposed, however, that the position of janitor and bell-ringer could pay all his expenses. He had two other resources. In term-time he worked at his trade of carpenter as opportunity offered, and in the winter, as at Chester, he sought some country town where he could find employment as a teacher.

The names of the places where he taught are not known to me, though doubtless there is many an Ohio farmer, or mechanic, or, perchance, professional man, who is able to boast that he was partially educated by a President of the United States.

As characteristic of his coolness and firmness, I am tempted to record an incident which happened to him in one of his winter schools.

There were some scholars about as large as himself, to whom obedience to the rules of the school was not quite easy—who thought, in consideration of their age and size, that they might venture upon acts which would not be tolerated in younger pupils.

The school had commenced one morning, when the young teacher heard angry words and the noise of a struggle in the school-yard, which chanced to be inclosed. The noise attracted the attention of the scholars, and interfered with the attention which the recitation required.

James Garfield stepped quietly outside of the door, and saw two of his oldest and largest pupils engaged in a wrestling match. For convenience we will call them Brown and Jones.

"What are you about, boys?" asked the teacher The two were so earnestly engaged in their conflict that neither returned an answer.

"This must be stopped immediately," said James, decisively. "It is disrespectful to me, and disturbs the recitations."

He might as well have spoken to the wind. They heard, but they continued their fight.

"This must stop, or I will stop it myself," said the teacher.

The boys were not afraid. Each was about as large as the teacher, and they felt that if he interfered he was likely to get hurt.

James thought he had given sufficient warning. The time had come to act. He stepped quickly forward, seized one of the combatants, and with a sudden exertion of strength, threw him over the fence. Before he had time to recover from his surprise his companion was lifted over in the same manner.

"Now, go on with your fighting if you wish," said the young teacher; "though I advise you to shake hands and make up. When you get through come in and report."

The two young men regarded each other foolishly. Somehow all desire to fight had been taken away.

"I guess we'll go in now," said Brown.

"I'm with you," said Jones, and Garfield entered the school-room, meekly followed by the two refractory pupils. There was not much use in resisting the authority of a teacher who could handle them with such ease.

James did not trouble them with any moral lecture. He was too sensible. He felt that all had been said and done that was required.

But how did he spend his time at the new seminary, and how was he regarded? Fortunately we have the testimony of a lady, now residing in Illinois, who was one of the first students at Hiram.

"When he first entered the school," she writes, "he paid for his schooling by doing janitor's work, sweeping the floor and ringing the bell. I can see him even now standing in the morning with his hand on the bell-rope, ready to give the signal, calling teachers and scholars to engage in the duties of the day. As we passed by, entering the school-room, he had a cheerful word for every one. He was probably the most popular person in the institution. He was always good-natured, fond of conversation, and very entertaining. He was witty and quick at repartee, but his jokes, though brilliant and sparkling, were always harmless, and he never would willingly hurt another's feelings.

"Afterward he became an assistant teacher, and while pursuing his classical studies, preparatory to his college course, he taught the English branches. He was a most entertaining teacher—ready with illustrations, and possessing in a marked degree the power of exciting the interest of the scholars, and afterward making clear to them the lessons. In the arithmetic class there were ninety pupils, and I can not remember a time when there was any flagging in the interest. There were never any cases of unruly conduct, or a disposition to shirk. With scholars who were slow of comprehension, or to whom recitations were a burden, on account of their modest or retiring dispositions, he was specially attentive, and by encouraging words and gentle assistance would manage to put all at their ease, and awaken in them a confidence in themselves. He was not much given to amusements or the sports of the playground. He was too industrious, and too anxious to make the utmost of his opportunities to study.

"He was a constant attendant at the regular meetings for prayer, and his vigorous exhortations and apt remarks upon the Bible lessons were impressive and interesting. There was a cordiality in his disposition which won quickly the favor and esteem of others. He had a happy habit of shaking hands, and would give a hearty grip which betokened a kind-hearted feeling for all. He was always ready to turn his mind and hands in any direction whereby he might add to his meagre store of money.

"One of his gifts was that of mezzotint drawing, and he gave instruction in this branch. I was one of his pupils in this, and have now the picture of a cross upon which he did some shading and put on the finishing touches. Upon the margin is written, in the name of the noted teacher, his own name and his pupil's. There are also two other drawings, one of a large European bird on the bough of a tree, and the other a church yard scene in winter, done by him at that time. In those days the faculty and pupils were wont to call him 'the second Webster,' and the remark was common, 'He will fill the White House yet.' In the Lyceum he early took rank far above the others as a speaker and debater.

"During the month of June the entire school went in carriages to their annual grove meeting at Randolph, some twenty-five miles away. On this trip he was the life of the party, occasionally bursting out in an eloquent strain at the sight of a bird or a trailing vine, or a venerable giant of the forest. He would repeat poetry by the hour, having a very retentive memory.

"At the Institute the members were like a band of brothers and sisters, all struggling to advance in knowledge. Then all dressed plainly, and there was no attempt or pretence at dressing fashionably or stylishly. Hiram was a little country place, with no fascinations or worldly attractions to draw off the minds of the students from their work."

Such is an inside view—more graphic than any description I can give—of the life of James Garfield at Hiram Institute.



CHAPTER XV.

THREE BUSY YEARS.

Among the readers of this volume there may be boys who are preparing for college. They will be interested to learn the extent of James Garfield's scholarship, when he left the Geauga Academy, and transferred himself to the Institute at Hiram. Though, in his own language, he remembers with great satisfaction the work which was accomplished for him at Chester, that satisfaction does not spring from the amount that he had acquired, but rather that while there he had formed a definite purpose and plan to complete a college course. For, as the young scholar truly remarks, "It is a great point gained when a young man makes up his mind to devote several years to the accomplishment of a definite work."

When James entered at Hiram, he had studied Latin only six weeks, and just begun Greek. He was therefore merely on the threshold of his preparatory course for college. To anticipate a little, he completed this course, and fitted himself to enter the Junior class at Williams College in the space of three years. How much labor this required many of my readers are qualified to understand. It required him to do nearly six years' work in three, though interrupted by work of various kinds necessary for his support.

He was not yet able to live luxuriously, or even, as we suppose, comfortably. He occupied a room with four other students, which could hardly have been favorable for study. Yet, in the first term he completed six books of Caesar's commentaries, and made good progress in Greek. During the first winter he taught a school at Warrensville, receiving the highest salary he had yet been paid, eighteen dollars a month—of course in addition to board.

At the commencement of the second year the president sent for him.

James obeyed the summons, wondering whether he was to receive any reprimand for duty unfulfilled.

President Hayden received him cordially, thus dissipating his apprehensions.

"Garfield," he said, "Mr. ——, tutor in English and ancient languages, is sick, and it is doubtful whether he will be able to resume his duties. Do you think you can fill his place, besides carrying on your own work as student?"

Young Garfield's face flushed with pleasure. The compliment was unexpected, but in every way the prospect it opened was an agreeable one. His only doubt was as to his qualifications.

"I should like it very much," he said, "if you think I am qualified."

"I have no doubt on that point. You will teach only what is familiar to you, and I believe you have a special faculty for imparting knowledge."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Hayden," said Garfield. "I will accept with gratitude, and I will do my best to give satisfaction."

How well he discharged his office may be inferred from the testimony given in the last chapter.

Though a part of his time was taken up in teaching others, he did not allow it to delay his own progress. Still before him he kept the bright beacon of a college education. He had put his hand to the plow, and he was not one to turn back or loiter on the way. That term he began Xenophon's Anabasis, and was fortunate enough to find a home in the president's family.

But he was not content with working in term-time. When the summer brought a vacation, he felt that it was too long a time to be lost. He induced ten students to join him, and hired Professor Dunshee to give them lessons for one month. During that time he read the Eclogues and Georgics of Virgil entire, and the first six books of Homer's Iliad, accompanied by a thorough drill in the Latin and Greek grammar. He must have "toiled terribly," and could have had few moments for recreation. When the fall term commenced, in company with Miss Almeda Booth, a mature young lady of remarkable intellect, and some other students, he formed a Translation society, which occupied itself with the Book of Romans, of course in the Greek version. During the succeeding winter he read the whole of "Demosthenes on the Crown."

The mental activity of the young man (he was now twenty) seems exhaustless. All this time he took an active part in a literary society composed of some of his fellow-students. He had already become an easy, fluent, and forcible speaker—a very necessary qualification for the great work of his life.

"Oh, I suppose he had a talent for it," some of my young readers may say.

Probably he had; indeed, it is certain that he had, but it may encourage them to learn that he found difficulties at the start. When a student at Geauga, he made his first public speech. It was a six minutes' oration at the annual exhibition, delivered in connection with a literary society to which he belonged. He records in a diary kept at the time that he "was very much scared," and "very glad of a short curtain across the platform that hid my shaking legs from the audience." Such experiences are not uncommon in the career of men afterward noted for their ease in public speaking. I can recall such, and so doubtless can any man of academic or college training. I wish to impress upon my young reader that Garfield was indebted for what he became to earnest work.

While upon the subject of public speaking I am naturally led to speak of young Garfield's religious associations. His mind has already been impressed with the importance of the religious element, and he felt that no life would be complete without it. He had joined the Church of the Disciples, the same to which his uncle belonged, and was baptized in a little stream that runs into the Chagrin River. The creed of this class of religious believers is one likely to commend itself in most respects to the general company of Christians; but as this volume is designed to steer clear of sect or party, I do not hold any further reference to it necessary. What concerns us more is, that young Garfield, in accordance with the liberal usages of the Disciples, was invited on frequent occasions to officiate as a lay preacher in the absence of the regular pastor of the Church of the Disciples at Hiram.

Though often officiating as a preacher, I do not find that young Garfield ever had the ministry in view. On the other hand, he early formed the design of studying for the legal profession, as he gradually did, being admitted to the bar of Cuyahoga County, in 1860, when himself president of Hiram College.

So passed three busy and happy years. Young Garfield had but few idle moments. In teaching others, in pursuing his own education, in taking part in the work of the literary society, and in Sunday exhortations, his time was well filled up. But neither his religion nor his love of study made him less companionable. He was wonderfully popular. His hearty grasp of the hand, his genial manner, his entire freedom from conceit, his readiness to help others, made him a general favorite. Some young men, calling themselves religious, assume a sanctimonious manner, that repels, but James Garfield never was troubled in this way. He believed that

"Religion never was designed To make our pleasures less,"

and was always ready to take part in social pleasures, provided they did not interfere with his work.

And all this while, with all his homely surroundings, he had high thoughts for company. He wrote to a student, afterward his own successor to the presidency, words that truly describe his own aspirations and habits of mind. "Tell me, Burke, do you not feel a spirit stirring within you that longs to know, to do, and to dare, to hold converse with the great world of thought, and hold before you some high and noble object to which the vigor of your mind and the strength of your arm may be given? Do you not have longings like these which you breathe to no one, and which you feel must be heeded, or you will pass through life unsatisfied and regretful? I am sure you have them, and they will forever cling round your heart till you obey their mandate."

The time had come when James was ready to take another step upward. The district school had been succeeded by Geauga Seminary, that by Hiram Institute, and now he looked Eastward for still higher educational privileges. There was a college of his own sect at Bethany, not far away, but the young man was not so blinded by this consideration as not to understand that it was not equal to some of the best known colleges at the East.

Which should he select?

He wrote to the presidents of Brown University, Yale, and Williams, stating how far he had advanced, and inquiring how long it would take to complete their course.

From all he received answers, but the one from President Hopkins, of Williams College, ended with the sentence, "If you come here, we shall be glad to do what we can for you." This sentence, so friendly and cordial, decided the young man who otherwise would have found it hard to choose between the three institutions.

"My mind is made up," he said. "I shall start for Williams College next week."

He was influenced also by what he already knew of Dr. Hopkins. He was not a stranger to the high character of his intellect, and his theological reputation. He felt that here was a man of high rank in letters who was prepared to be not only his teacher and guide, but his personal friend, and for this, if for no other reason, he decided in favor of Williams College. To a young man circumstanced as he was, a word of friendly sympathy meant much.



CHAPTER XVI.

ENTERING WILLIAMS COLLEGE.

James Garfield had reached the mature age of twenty-two years when he made his first entrance into Williamstown. He did not come quite empty-handed. He had paid his expenses while at Hiram, and earned three hundred and fifty dollars besides, which he estimated would carry him through the Junior year. He was tall and slender, with a great shock of light hair, rising nearly erect from a broad, high forehead. His face was open, kindly, and thoughtful, and it did not require keen perception of character to discern something above the common in the awkward Western youth, in his decidedly shabby raiment.

Young Garfield would probably have enjoyed the novel sensation of being well dressed, but he had never had the opportunity of knowing how it seemed. That ease and polish of manner which come from mingling in society he entirely lacked. He was as yet a rough diamond, but a diamond for all that.

Among his classmates were men from the cities, who stared in undisguised amazement at the tall, lanky young man who knocked at the doors of the college for admission.

"Who is that rough-looking fellow?" asked a member of a lower class, pointing out Garfield, as he was crossing the college campus.

"Oh, that is Garfield; he comes from the Western Reserve."

"I suppose his clothes were made by a Western Reserve tailor."

"Probably," answered his classmate, smiling.

"He looks like a confirmed rustic."

"That is true, but there is something in him. I am in his division, and I can tell you that he has plenty of talent."

"His head is big enough."

"Yes, he has a large brain—a sort of Websterian intellect. He is bound to be heard of."

"It is a pity he is so awkward."

"Oh, that will wear off. He has a hearty, cordial way with him, and though at first we were disposed to laugh at him, we begin to like him."

"He's as old as the hills. At any rate, he looks so."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Compared with you he is, for he is nearly twenty-three. However, it is never too late to learn. He is not only a good scholar, but he is very athletic, and there are few in college who can equal him in athletic sports."

"Why didn't he come to college before? What made him wait till he was an old man?"

"I understand that he has had a hard struggle with poverty. All the money he has he earned by hard labor. Dr. Hopkins seems to have taken a liking to him. I saw him walking with the doctor the other day."

This conversation describes pretty accurately the impression made by Garfield upon his classmates, and by those in other classes who became acquainted with him. At first they were disposed to laugh at the tall, awkward young man and his manners, but soon his real ability, and his cordial, social ways won upon all, and he was installed as a favorite. The boys began to call him Old Gar, and regarded him with friendship and increasing respect, as he grew and developed intellectually, and they began to see what manner of man he was.

Perhaps the readiest way for a collegian to make an impression upon his associates is to show a decided talent for oratory. They soon discovered at Williams that Garfield had peculiar gifts in this way. His speaking at clubs, and before the church of his communion in Hiram, had been for him a valuable training. He joined a society, and soon had an opportunity of showing that he was a ready and forcible speaker.

One day there came startling news to the college. Charles Sumner had been struck down in the Senate chamber by Preston S. Brooks, of South Carolina, for words spoken in debate. The hearts of the students throbbed with indignation—none more fiercely than young Garfield's. At an indignation meeting convened by the students he rose and delivered, so says one who heard him, "one of the most impassioned and eloquent speeches ever delivered in old Williams."

It made a sensation.

"Did you hear Old Gar's speech at the meeting?" asked one of another.

"No, I did not get in in time."

"It was great. I never heard him speak better. Do you know what I think?"

"Well?"

"Gar will be in Congress some day himself. He has rare powers of debate, and is a born orator."

"I shouldn't wonder myself if you were right. If he ever reaches Congress he will do credit to old Williams."

James had given up his trade as a carpenter. He was no longer obliged to resort to it, or, at any rate, he preferred to earn money in a different way. So one winter he taught penmanship at North Pownal, in Vermont, a post for which he was qualified, for he had a strong, bold, handsome hand.

"Did you know Mr. Arthur, who taught school here last winter?" asked one of his writing pupils of young Garfield.

"No; he was not a student of Williams."

"He graduated at Union College, I believe."

"Was he a good teacher?"

"Yes, he was very successful, keeping order without any trouble, though the school is considered a hard one."

This was Chester A. Arthur, whose name in after years was to be associated with that of the writing-teacher, who was occupying the same room as his Presidential successor. But to James Garfield, at that time, the name meant nothing, and it never occurred to him what high plans Providence had for them both. It was one of those remarkable cases in which the paths of two men who are joined in destiny traverse each other. Was it not strange that two future occupants of the Presidential chair should be found teaching in the same school-room, in an obscure Vermont village, two successive winters?

As the reader, though this is the biography of Garfield, may feel a curiosity to learn what sort of a teacher Arthur was, I shall, without apology, conclude this chapter with the story of a pupil of his who, in the year 1853, attended the district school at Cohoes, then taught by Chester A. Arthur. I find it in the Troy Times:

"In the year 1853 the writer attended the district school at Cohoes. The high department did not enjoy a very enviable reputation for being possessed of that respect due from the pupils to teacher. During the year there had been at least four teachers in that department, the last one only remaining one week. The Board of Education had found it difficult to obtain a pedagogue to take charge of the school, until a young man, slender as a May-pole and six feet high in his stockings, applied for the place. He was engaged at once, although he was previously informed of the kind of timber he would be obliged to hew.

"Promptly at nine o'clock A.M. every scholar was on hand to welcome the man who had said that he would 'conquer the school or forfeit his reputation.' Having called the morning session to order, he said that he had been engaged to take charge of the school. He came with his mind prejudiced against the place. He had heard of the treatment of the former teachers by the pupils, yet he was not at all embarrassed, for he felt that, with the proper recognition of each other's rights, teacher and scholars could live together in harmony. He did not intend to threaten, but he intended to make the scholars obey him, and would try and win the good-will of all present. He had been engaged to take charge of that room, and he wished the co-operation of every pupil in so doing. He had no club, ruler, or whip, but appealed directly to the hearts of every young man and young lady in the room. Whatever he should do, he would at least show to the people of this place that this school could be governed. He spoke thus and feelingly at times, yet with perfect dignity he displayed that executive ability which in after years made him such a prominent man. Of course the people, especially the boys, had heard fine words spoken before, and at once a little smile seemed to flit across the faces of the leading spirits in past rebellions.

"The work of the forenoon began, when a lad of sixteen placed a marble between his thumb and finger, and, with a snap, sent it rolling across the floor. As the tall and handsome teacher saw this act, he arose from his seat, and, without a word, walked toward the lad.

"'Get up, sir,' he said.

"The lad looked at him to see if he was in earnest; then he cast his eyes toward the large boys to see if they were not going to take up his defense.

"'Get up, sir,' said the teacher a second time, and he took him by the collar of his jacket as if to raise him. The lad saw he had no common man to deal with, and he rose from his seat.

"'Follow me, sir,' calmly spoke the teacher, and he led the way toward the hall, while the boy began to tremble, wondering if the new teacher was going to take him out and kill him. The primary department was presided over by a sister of the new teacher, and into this room he led the young transgressor.

"Turning to his sister he said: 'I have a pupil for you; select a seat for him, and let him remain here. If he makes any disturbance whatever, inform me.' Turning to the boy he said: 'Young man, mind your teacher, and do not leave your seat until I give permission,' and he was gone.

"The lad sat there, feeling very sheepish, and as misery loves company, it was not long before he was gratified to see the door open and observe his seat-mate enter with the new teacher, who repeated the previous orders, when he quietly and with dignity withdrew.

"The number was subsequently increased to three, the teacher returning each time without a word to the other scholars concerning the disposition made of the refractory lads. The effect upon the rest of the school was remarkable. As no intimation of the disposition of the boys was given, not a shade of anger displayed on the countenance of the new teacher, nor any appearances of blood were noticeable upon his hands, speculation was rife as to what he had done with the three chaps. He spoke kindly to all, smiled upon the scholars who did well in their classes, and seemed to inspire all present with the truth of his remarks uttered at the opening of the session.

"At recess the mystery that had enveloped the school was cleared away, for the three lads in the primary department were seen as the rest of the scholars filed by the door. While all the rest enjoyed the recess, the three lads were obliged to remain in their seats, and when school was dismissed for the forenoon, the new teacher entered the primary-room, and was alone with the young offenders. He sat down by them, and like a father talked kindly and gave good advice. No parent ever used more fitting words nor more impressed his offspring with the fitness thereof than did the new teacher. Dismissing them, he told them to go home, and when they returned to school to be good boys.

"That afternoon the boys were in their seats, and in two weeks' time there was not a scholar in the room who would not do anything the teacher asked. He was beloved by all, and his quiet manner and cool, dignified ways made him a great favorite. He only taught two terms, and every reasonable inducement was offered to prevail upon him to remain, but without avail. His reply was: "I have accomplished all I intended, namely, conquered what you thought was a wild lot of boys, and received the discipline that I required. I regret leaving my charge, for I have learned to love them, but I am to enter a law office at once."

"That teacher was Chester A. Arthur, now President of the United States; the teacher of the primary department was his sister, now Mrs. Haynesworth, and the first of the three refractory boys was the writer. When it was announced that our beloved teacher was to leave us, many tears were shed by his scholars, and as a slight token of our love, we presented him with an elegant volume of poems."



CHAPTER XVII.

LIFE IN COLLEGE.

Probably young Garfield never passed two happier or more profitable years than at Williams College. The Seminaries he had hitherto attended were respectable, but in the nature of things they could not afford the facilities which he now enjoyed. Despite his years of study and struggle there were many things in which he was wholly deficient. He had studied Latin, Greek, and mathematics, but of English literature he knew but little. He had never had time to read for recreation, or for that higher culture which is not to be learned in the class-room.

In the library of Williams College he made his first acquaintance with Shakespeare, and we can understand what a revelation his works must have been to the aspiring youth. He had abstained from reading fiction, doubting whether it was profitable, since the early days when with a thrill of boyish excitement he read "Sinbad the Sailor" and Marryatt's novels. After a while his views as to the utility of fiction changed. He found that his mind was suffering from the solid food to which it was restricted, and he began to make incursions into the realm of poetry and fiction with excellent results. He usually limited this kind of reading, and did not neglect for the fascination of romance those more solid works which should form the staple of a young man's reading.

It is well known that among poets Tennyson was his favorite, so that in after years, when at fifteen minutes' notice, on the first anniversary of Lincoln's assassination, he was called upon to move an adjournment of the House, as a mark of respect to the martyred President, he was able from memory to quote in his brief speech, as applicable to Lincoln, the poet's description of some

"Divinely gifted man, Whose life in low estate began, And on a simple village green, Who breaks his birth's invidious bars, And grasped the skirts of happy chance, And breasts the blows of circumstance, And grapples with his evil stars; Who makes by force his merit known, And lives to clutch the golden keys To mould a mighty state's decrees, And shape the whisper of the throne; And moving up from high to higher, Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope The pillar of a people's hope, The center of a world's desire."

I am only repeating the remark made by many when I call attention to the fitness of this description to Garfield himself.

Our young student was fortunate in possessing a most retentive memory. What he liked, especially in the works of his favorite poet, was so impressed upon his memory that he could recite extracts by the hour. This will enable the reader to understand how thoroughly he studied, and how readily he mastered, those branches of knowledge to which his attention was drawn. When in after years in Congress some great public question came up, which required hard study, it was the custom of his party friends to leave Garfield to study it, with the knowledge that in due time he would be ready with a luminous exposition which would supply to them the place of individual study.

Young Garfield was anxious to learn the language of Goethe and Schiller, and embraced the opportunity afforded at college to enter upon the study of German. He was not content with a mere smattering, but learned it well enough to converse in it as well as to read it.

So most profitably the Junior year was spent, but unhappily James had spent all the money which he had brought with him. Should he leave college to earn more? Fortunately, this was not necessary. Thomas Garfield, always unselfishly devoted to the family, hoped to supply his younger brother with the necessary sum, in installments; but proving unable, his old friend, Dr. Robinson, came to his assistance.

"You can pay me when you are able, James," he said.

"If I live I will pay you, doctor. If I do not—"

He paused, for an idea struck him.

"I will insure my life for eight hundred dollars," he continued, "and place the policy in your hands. Then, whether I live or die, you will be secure."

"I do not require this, James," said the doctor kindly.

"Then I feel all the more under obligations to secure you in return for your generous confidence."

It was a sensible and business-like proposal, and the doctor assented. The strong, vigorous young man had no difficulty in securing a policy from a reputable company, and went back to college at the commencement of the Senior year. I wish to add that the young man scrupulously repaid the good doctor's timely loan, for had he failed to do so, I could not have held him up to my young readers as in all respects a model.

There was published at Williams College, in Garfield's time, a magazine called the Williams Quarterly. To this the young man became a frequent contributor. In Gen. James S. Brisbin's campaign Life of Garfield, I find three of his poetic contributions quoted, two of which I will also transfer to my pages, as likely to possess some interest for my young reader. The first is called

"THE CHARGE OF THE TIGHT BRIGADE,"

and commences thus:

"Bottles to right of them, Bottles to left of them, Bottles in front of them, Fizzled and sundered; Ent'ring with shout and yell, Boldly they drank and well, They caught the Tartar then; Oh, what a perfect sell! Sold—the half hundred! Grinned all the dentals bare, Swung all their caps in air, Uncorking bottles there, Watching the Freshmen, while Every one wondered; Plunged in tobacco smoke, With many a desperate stroke, Dozens of bottles broke; Then they came back, but not, Not the half hundred!"

Lest from this merry squib, which doubtless celebrated some college prank, wrong conclusions should be drawn, I hasten to say that in college James Garfield neither drank nor smoked.

The next poem is rather long, but it possesses interest as a serious production of one whose name has become a household word. It is entitled

"MEMORY.

"'Tis beauteous night; the stars look brightly down Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow. No light gleams at the window save my own, Which gives its cheer to midnight and to me. And now with noiseless step sweet Memory comes, And leads me gently through her twilight realms. What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung, Or delicatest pencil e'er portrayed The enchanted, shadowy land where Memory dwells? It has its valleys, cheerless, lone, and drear, Dark-shaded by the lonely cypress tree. And yet its sunlit mountain tops are bathed In heaven's own blue. Upon its craggy cliffs, Robed in the dreamy light of distant years, Are clustered joys serene of other days; Upon its gently sloping hillside's bank The weeping-willows o'er the sacred dust Of dear departed ones; and yet in that land, Where'er our footsteps fall upon the shore, They that were sleeping rise from out the dust Of death's long, silent years, and round us stand, As erst they did before the prison tomb Received their clay within its voiceless halls.

"The heavens that bend above that land are hung With clouds of various hues; some dark and chill, Surcharged with sorrow, cast their sombre shade Upon the sunny, joyous land below; Others are floating through the dreamy air, White as the falling snow, their margins tinged With gold and crimson hues; their shadows fall Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes, Soft as the shadows of an angel's wing. When the rough battle of the day is done, And evening's peace falls gently on the heart, I bound away across the noisy years, Unto the utmost verge of Memory's land, Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet, And Memory dim with dark oblivion joins; Where woke the first remembered sounds that fell Upon the ear in childhood's early morn; And wandering thence along the rolling years, I see the shadow of my former self Gliding from childhood up to man's estate. The path of youth winds down through many a vale, And on the brink of many a dread abyss, From out whose darkness comes no ray of light, Save that a phantom dances o'er the gulf, And beckons toward the verge. Again, the path Leads o'er a summit where the sunbeams fall; And thus, in light and shade, sunshine and gloom, Sorrow and joy, this life-path leads along."

During the year 1856 young Garfield was one of the editors of the college magazine, from which the above extracts are made. The hours spent upon his contributions to its pages were doubtless well spent. Here, to use his own words, he learned "to hurl the lance and wield the sword and thus prepare for the conflict of life." More than one whose names have since become conspicuous contributed to it while under his charge. Among these were Professor Chadbourne, S.G.W. Benjamin, Horace E. Scudder, W.R. Dimmock, and John Savary. The last-named, now resident in Washington, has printed, since his old friend's death, a series of sonnets, from which I quote one:

"How many and how great concerns of state Lie at the mercy of the meanest things! This man, the peer of presidents and kings; Nay, first among them, passed through dangers gate In war unscathed, and perils out of date, To meet a fool whose pistol-shot yet rings Around the world, and at mere greatness flings The cruel sneer of destiny or fate! Yet hath he made the fool fanatic foil To valor, patience, nobleness, and wit! Nor had the world known, but because of it, What virtues grow in suffering's sacred soil. The shot which opened like a crack of hell, Made all hearts stream with sacred pity's well And showed that unity in which we dwell."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CANAL-BOY BECOMES A COLLEGE PRESIDENT.

During his second winter vacation a great temptation assailed James. It was not a temptation to do wrong. That he could easily have resisted.

I must explain.

At Prestenkill, a country village six miles from Troy, N.Y., the young student organized a writing school, to help defray his expenses. Having occasion to visit Troy, his interest in education led him to form an acquaintance with some of the teachers and directors of the public schools.

One of these gentlemen, while walking with him over the sloping sides of a hill overlooking the city, said: "Mr. Garfield, I have a proposition to make to you."

The student listened with interest.

"There is a vacancy in one of our public schools. We want an experienced teacher, and I am sure you will suit us. I offer you the place, with a salary of twelve hundred dollars a year. What do you say?"

The young man's heart beat for a moment with repressible excitement. It was a strong temptation. He was offered, deducting vacations, about one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month, while heretofore his highest wages had been but eighteen dollars per month and board. Moreover, he could marry at once the young lady to whom he had been for years engaged.

He considered the offer a moment, and this was his answer:

"You are not Satan and I am not Jesus, but we are upon the mountain, and you have tempted me powerfully. I think I must say, 'Get thee behind me!' I am poor, and the salary would soon pay my debts and place me in a position of independence; but there are two objections. I could not accomplish my resolution to complete a college course, and should be crippled intellectually for life. Then, my roots are all fixed in Ohio, where people know me and I know them, and this transplanting might not succeed as well in the long run as to go back home and work for smaller pay."

So the young man decided adversely, and it looks as if his decision was a wise one. It is interesting to conjecture what would have been his future position had he left college and accepted the school then offered him. He might still have been a teacher, well known and of high repute, but of fame merely local, and without a thought of the brilliant destiny he had foregone.

So he went back to college, and in the summer of 1856 he graduated, carrying off the highest honor—the metaphysical oration. His class was a brilliant one. Three became general officers during the rebellion—Garfield, Daviess, and Thompson. Rockwell's name is well known in official circles; Gilfillan is Treasurer of the United States. There are others who fill prominent positions. In the class above him was the late Hon. Phineas W. Hitchcock, who for six years represented Nebraska in the United States Senate—like Garfield, the architect of his own fortunes.

"What are your plans, Garfield?" asked a classmate but a short time before graduation.

"I am going back to Ohio, to teach in the school where I prepared for college."

"What is the name of the school?"

"Hiram Institute."

"I never heard of it."

"It has only a local reputation."

"Will you get a high salary?"

"No; the institute is poor, and can pay me but little."

"I think you are making a mistake."

"Why so?"

"You are our best scholar, and no one can rival you in speaking in the societies. You should study law, and then go to one of our large cities and build up a reputation, instead of burying yourself in an out-of-the-way Ohio town, where you may live and die without the world hearing of you."

"Thank you for your good opinion of me. I am not sure whether I deserve it, but if I do, I shall come to the surface some day. Meanwhile, to this humble school (it was not yet a college) I owe a large debt of gratitude. I am under a promise to go back and do what I can to pay that debt."

"In doing so you may sacrifice your own prospects."

"I hope not. At any rate, my mind is made up."

"Oh, well, in that case I will say no more. I know that if your mind is made up, you are bound to go. Only, years hence you will think of my warning."

"At any rate," said Garfield, cordially, "I shall bear in mind the interest you have shown in me. You may be right—I admit that—but I feel that it is my duty to go."

I doubt whether any man of great powers can permanently bury himself, no matter how obscure the position which he chooses. Sooner or later the world will find him out, and he will be lifted to his rightful place. When General Grant occupied a desk in the office of a lawyer in St. Louis, and made a precarious living by collecting bills, it didn't look as if Fame had a niche for him; but occasion came, and lifted him to distinction. So I must confess that the young graduate seemed to be making a mistake when, turning his back upon Williams College, he sought the humble institution where he had taught, as a pupil-teacher, two years before, and occupied a place as instructor, with an humble salary. But even here there was promotion for him. A year later, at the age of twenty-six, he was made president of the institution. It was not, perhaps, a lofty position, for though Hiram Institute now became Hiram College, it was not a college in the New England sense, but rather a superior academy.

Let us pause a minute and see what changes have taken place in ten years.

At the age of sixteen Jimmy Garfield was glad to get a chance to drive a couple of mules on the tow-path of the Ohio and Pennsylvania Canal. The ragged, homespun boy had disappeared. In his place we find James A. Garfield, A.B., president of a Western college—a man of education and culture. And how has this change been brought about! By energy, perseverance, and a resolute purpose—a soul that poverty could not daunt, an ambition which shrank from no hardship, and no amount of labor. They have been years of toil, for it takes time to transform a raw and ignorant country lad into a college president; but the toil has not harmed him—the poverty has not cramped him, nor crippled his energies. "Poverty is very inconvenient," he said on one occasion, in speaking of those early years, "but it is a fine spur to activity, and may be made a rich blessing."

The young man now had an assured income; not a large one, but Hiram was but an humble village. No fashionable people lived there. The people were plain in their tastes, and he could live as well as the best without difficulty. He was employed in a way that interested and pleased him, and but one thing seemed wanting. His heart had never swerved from the young lady with whom he first became acquainted at Geauga, to whom he was more closely drawn at Hiram, and to whom now for some years he had been betrothed. He felt that he could now afford to be married; and so Lucretia Rudolph became Mrs. Garfield—a name loved and honored, for her sake as well as his, throughout the length and breadth of our land. She, too, had been busily and usefully employed in these intervening years. As Mr. Philo Chamberlain, of Cleveland, has told us elsewhere, she has been a useful and efficient teacher in one of the public schools of that city. She has not been content with instructing others, but in her hours of leisure has pursued a private course of study, by which her mind has been broadened and deepened. If some prophetic instinct had acquainted her with the high position which the future had in store for her, she could have taken no fitter course to prepare herself to fulfil with credit the duties which, twenty years after, were to devolve upon her as the wife of the Chief Magistrate of the Union.

This was the wife that Garfield selected, and he found her indeed a helper and a sympathizer in all his sorrows and joys. She has proved equal to any position to which the rising fame of her husband lifted her. Less than a year ago her husband said of her: "I have been wonderfully blessed in the discretion of my wife. She is one of the coolest and best-balanced women I ever saw. She is unstampedable. There has not been one solitary instance in my public career when I suffered in the smallest degree for any remark she ever made. It would have been perfectly natural for a woman often to say something that could be misinterpreted; but, without any design, and with the intelligence and coolness of her character, she has never made the slightest mistake that I ever heard of. With the competition that has been against me, such discretion has been a real blessing."

Public men who have risen from humble beginnings often suffer from the mistakes of wives who have remained stationary, and are unfitted to sympathize with them in the larger life of their husbands. But as James A. Garfield grew in the public esteem, and honors crowded upon him, step by step his wife kept pace with him, and was at all times a fitting and sympathetic companion and helpmeet.

They commenced housekeeping in a neat little cottage fronting the college campus; and so their wedded life began. It was a modest home, but a happy one, and doubtless both enjoyed more happy hours than in the White House, even had the last sorrowful tragedy never been enacted. As President, James A. Garfield belonged to the nation; as the head of Hiram College, to his family. Greatness has its penalties, and a low estate its compensations.



CHAPTER XIX.

GARFIELD AS A COLLEGE PRESIDENT.

When James Garfield presented himself at Hiram, an awkward, overgrown boy of nineteen, in his rustic garb, and humbly asked for the position of janitor and bell-ringer, suppose the trustees had been told, "In seven years your institute will have developed into a college, and that boy will be the president," we can imagine their amazement.

Yet it had all come true. Nowhere, perhaps, but in America could such a thing have happened, and even here it seldom happens that such an upward stride is made in so short a time.

After all, however, the important question to consider is, "What sort of a college president did this humble canal-boy, who counted it promotion when he was elected a janitor and bell-ringer, become?"

For information upon this point, we go to one of his pupils, Rev. I.L. Darsie, of Danbury, Conn., who writes as follows:

"I attended the Western Reserve Institute when Garfield was principal, and I recall vividly his method of teaching. He took very kindly to me, and assisted me in various ways, because I was poor, and was janitor of the buildings, and swept them out in the morning and built the fires, as he had done only six years before, when he was a pupil in the same college. He was full of animal spirits, and used to run out on the green every day and play cricket with his scholars. He was a tall, strong man, but dreadfully awkward. Every now and then he would get a hit, and he muffed his ball and lost his hat as a regular thing.[A] He was left-handed, too, and that made him seem all the clumsier. But he was most powerful and very quick, and it was easy for us to understand how it was that he had acquired the reputation of whipping all the other mule-drivers on the canal, and of making himself the hero of that thoroughfare, when he followed its tow-path, only ten years earlier.

[Footnote A: I have seen it somewhere stated that when a Congressman at Washington he retained his interest in the game of base-ball, and always was in attendance when it was possible, at a game between two professional clubs.]

"No matter how old the pupils were, Garfield always called us by our first names, and kept himself on the most intimate terms with all. He played with us freely, and we treated him out of the class-room just about as we did one another. Yet he was a most strict disciplinarian, and enforced the rules like a martinet. He combined an affectionate and confiding manner with respect for order in a most successful manner. If he wanted to speak to a pupil, either for reproof or approbation, he would generally manage to get one arm around him, and draw him close up to him. He had a peculiar way of shaking hands, too, giving a twist to your arm, and drawing you right up to him. This sympathetic manner has helped him to advancement. When I was janitor, he used sometimes to stop me, and ask my opinion about this and that, as if seriously advising with me. I can see now that my opinion could not have been of any value, and that he probably asked me partly to increase my self-respect and partly to show that he felt an interest in me. I certainly was his friend all the firmer for it.

"I remember once asking him what was the best way to pursue a certain study.

"'Use several text-books,' he answered. 'Get the views of different authors as you advance. In that way you can plow a deeper 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 down-stairs?' Henry expressed his opinion, and the question went around the class, hardly any 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?' He was the keenest observer I ever saw. I think he noticed and numbered every button on our coats. A friend of mine was walking with him through Cleveland one day, when Garfield stopped and darted down a cellar-way, asking his companion to follow, and briefly pausing to explain himself. The sign, 'Saws and Files,' was over the door, and in the depths was heard a regular clicking sound. 'I think this fellow is cutting files,' said he, 'and I have never seen a file cut.

"Down they went, and, sure enough, there was a man recutting an old file; and they stayed ten minutes, and found out all about the process. Garfield would never go by anything without understanding it.

"Mr. Garfield was very fond of lecturing in the school. He spoke two or three times a week, on all manner of topics, generally scientific, though sometimes literary or historical. He spoke with great freedom, never writing out what he had to say, and I now think that his lectures were a rapid compilation of his current reading, and that he threw it into this form partly for the purpose of impressing it upon his own mind.

"His facility of speech was learned when he was a pupil at Hiram. The societies had a rule that every student should take his stand on the platform and speak for five minutes on any topic suggested at the moment by the audience. It was a very trying ordeal. Garfield broke down badly the first two times he tried to speak, but persisted, and was at last, when he went to Williams, one of the best of the five-minute speakers. When he returned as principal, his readiness was striking and remarkable."

Henry James says: "Garfield taught me more than any other man, living or dead, and, proud as I am of his record as a soldier and a statesman, I can hardly forgive him for abandoning the academy and the forum."

So President Hinsdale, one of Garfield's pupils, and his successor as president, testifies: "My real acquaintance with Garfield did not begin till the fall of 1856, when he returned from Williams College. He then found me out, drew near to me, and entered into all my troubles and difficulties pertaining to questions of the future. In a greater or less degree this was true of his relations to his pupils generally. There are hundreds of these men and women scattered over the world to-day, who can not find language strong enough to express their feeling in contemplating Garfield as their old instructor, adviser, and friend.

"Since 1856 my relations with him have been as close and confidential as they could be with any man, and much closer and more confidential than they have been with any other man. I do not say that it would be possible for me to know anybody better than I know him, and I know that he possesses all the great elements of character in an extraordinary degree. His interest in humanity has always been as broad as humanity itself, while his lively interest in young men and women, especially if they were struggling in narrow circumstances to obtain an education, is a characteristic known as widely over the world as the footsteps of Hiram boys and girls have wandered.

"The help that he furnished hundreds in the way of suggestions, teaching, encouragement, inspiration, and stimulus was most valuable. His power over students was not so much that of a drill-master, or disciplinarian, as that of one who was able to inspire and energize young people by his own intellectual and moral force."

An illustration of the interest he felt in his pupils may be given.

A student came to the president's study at the close of a college term to bid him good-bye. After the good-bye was said, he lingered, and Garfield said: "I suppose you will be back again in the fall, Henry?"

"No," he stammered, "I am not coming back to Hiram any more. Father says I have got education enough, and that he needs me to work on the farm; that education doesn't help a farmer along any."

He was a bright boy—not a prodigy, by any means, but one of those strong, awkward, large-headed fellows, such as James Garfield had himself been.

"Is your father here?" asked the young president, affected by the boy's evident sorrow.

"Yes, father is here, and is taking my things home for good."

"Well, don't feel badly. Please tell him Mr. Garfield would like to see him at his study before he leaves the college."

"Yes, sir, I will."

In half an hour the father, a sturdy farmer, entered the study and awkwardly sat down.

"So you have come to take Henry home, have you?" asked the president.

"Yes," answered the farmer.

"I sent for you because I wanted to have a little talk with you about Henry's future. He is coming back again in the fall, I hope?"

"Wal, I think not. I don't reckon I can afford to send him any more. He's got eddication enough for a farmer already, and I notice that when they git too much, they sorter git lazy. Yer eddicated farmers are humbugs. Henry's got so far 'long now that he'd rather have his head in a book than be workin'. He don't take no interest in the stock, nor in the farm improvements. Everybody else is dependent in this world on the farmer, and I think that we've got too many eddicated fellows settin' 'round now for the farmers to support."

To this Garfield answered that he was sorry for the father's decision, since his son, if permitted to come the next term, would be far enough advanced to teach school, and so begin to help himself along. Teaching would pay better than working on the farm in the winter.

"Do you really think Henry can teach next winter?" asked the father, to whom the idea was a new one.

"I should think so, certainly," answered Garfield. "But if he can not do so then, he can in a short time."

"Wal, I will think on it. He wants to come back bad enough, and I guess I'll have to let him. I never thought of it that way afore."

The victory was won. Henry came back the next term, and after finishing at Hiram, graduated at an Eastern college.



CHAPTER XX.

GARFIELD BECOMES A STATE SENATOR.

Probably Garfield considered now that he was settled in life. He had married the woman of his choice, set up a pleasant home, and was fully occupied with a class of duties that suited him. Living frugally, he was able to lay by a portion of his salary annually, and saw the way open, if life and health continued, to a moderate prosperity. He seemed to be a born teacher, and his life seemed likely to be passed in that pleasant and tranquil office.

Many years before, while still unmarried, his mother had been a teacher, and one of her experiences when so occupied was so remarkable that I can not forbear quoting it:

"About the year 1820 she and her sister were left alone in the world, without provision, so far as the inheritance or possession of property was concerned. Preferring to live among relatives, one went to reside with an uncle in Northern Ohio, and the other, Eliza, afterward Mrs. Garfield, came to another uncle, the father of Samuel Arnold, who then lived on a farm near Norwich, Muskingum County, Ohio. There Eliza Ballou made her home, cheerfully helping at the house or in the field, as was then sometimes the custom in a pioneer country. Having something more than what at that day was an ordinary education, Eliza procured about twenty pupils, and taught a summer school.

"The school-house was one of the most primitive kind, and stood in the edge of dense and heavily-timbered woods. One day there came up a fearful storm of wind and rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning. The woods were badly wrecked, but the wind left the old log-house uninjured. Not so the lightning. A bolt struck a tree that projected closely over the roof, and then the roof itself. Some of the pupils were greatly alarmed, and no doubt thought it the crack of doom, or the day of judgment. The teacher, as calm and collected as possible, tried to quiet her pupils and keep them in their places. A man who was one of the pupils, in speaking of the occurrence, says that for a little while he remembered nothing, and then he looked around, and saw, as he thought, the teacher and pupils lying dead on the, floor. Presently the teacher began to move a little. Then, one by one, the pupils got up, with a single exception. Help, medical and otherwise, was obtained as soon as possible for this one, but, though life was saved for a time, reason had forever fled."

This was certainly a fearful experience for a young teacher.

It was while on a visit to her sister, already married, in Northern Ohio, that Eliza made the acquaintance of Abram Garfield, the father of the future President. In this neighborhood, while on a visit to his relatives, at the age of seventeen, James obtained a school and taught for a single term.

Having retraced our steps to record this early experience of James' mother, we take the opportunity to mention an incident in the life of her son, which was omitted in the proper place. The story was told by Garfield himself during his last sickness to Mr. Crump, steward of the White House.

"When I was a youngster," said the President, "and started for college at Hiram, I had just fifteen dollars—a ten-dollar bill in an old, black-leather pocketbook, which was in the breast pocket of my coat, and the other five dollars was in my trowsers' pocket. I was walking along the road, and, as the day was hot, I took off my coat and carried it on my arm, taking good care to feel every moment or two of the pocketbook, for the hard-earned fifteen dollars was to pay my entrance at the college.

"After a while I got to thinking over what college life would be like, and forgot all about the pocketbook for some time, and when I looked again it was gone! I went back mournfully along the road, hunting on both sides for the pocketbook. Presently I came to a house where a young man was leaning over a gate, and he asked me when I came up what I was hunting for. Upon my explaining my loss, and describing the pocketbook, the young man handed it over. That young man," the President added, turning to his devoted physician, "was Dr. Bliss. He saved me for college."

"Yes," said the doctor, "and if I hadn't found your ten dollars you wouldn't have become President of the United States."

Many a true word is spoken in jest. It might have happened that the boy would have been so depressed by the loss of his money that he would have given up his plan of going to Hiram and returned home to fill an humbler place in the world.

But it is time to return from this digression and resume our narrative.

Devoted to his profession, young Garfield had given but little attention to politics. But in the political campaign of 1857 and 1858 he became interested in the exciting political questions which agitated the community, and, taking the stump, he soon acquired the reputation of a forcible and logical stump orator. This drew the attention of the voters to him, and in 1859 he was tendered a nomination to the Ohio Senate from the counties of Portage and Summit. His speeches during the campaign of that year are said to have been warm, fresh, and impassioned, and he was elected by a handsome majority.

This was the first entrance of the future President upon public life. The session was not long, and the absence of a few weeks at Columbus did not seriously interfere with his college duties.

In the Senate he at once took high rank. He was always ready to speak, his past experience having made this easy. He took care to inform himself upon the subjects which came up for legislation, and for this reason he was always listened to with respectful attention. Moreover, his genial manners and warmth of heart made him a general favorite among all his fellow legislators, whether they belonged to his party or to the opposition.

Again, in the session of 1860-61, being also a member of the Senate, he took a prominent part in such measures as were proposed to uphold the National Government, menaced by the representative men of the South. He was among the foremost in declaring that the integrity of the Union must be protected at all hazards, and declared that it was the right and duty of the Government to coerce the seceded States.

When the President's call for seventy-five thousand men was made public, and announcement was made to the Ohio Senate, Senator Garfield sprang to his feet, and amid loud applause moved that "twenty thousand troops and three millions of money" should be at once voted as Ohio's quota! He closed his speech by offering his services to Governor Dennison in any capacity.

This offer the Governor bore in mind, and on the 14th of August, 1861, Garfield was offered the Lieutenant-Colonelcy of the Forty-second Ohio regiment, which he had been instrumental in forming.

It was a serious moment for Garfield. The acceptance of this commission would derange all his cherished plans. It would separate him from his wife and child, and from the loved institution of which he was the head. He must bid farewell to the calm, studious life, which he so much enjoyed, and spend days and months in the camp, liable at any moment to fall the victim of an enemy's bullet.

Suppose he should be killed? His wife would have no provision but the small sum of three thousand dollars, which he had been able by great economy to save from his modest salary.

He hesitated, but it was not for long. He was not a man to shrink from the call of duty. Before moving he wrote to a friend:

"I regard my life as given to the country. I am only anxious to make as much of it as possible before the mortgage on it is foreclosed."