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.