ago as it is now, and when the opportunities enjoyed by Miss Webb are
considered, together with the fact that she was a graduate of the first
chartered college for young women in the United States, it will be
realized from whence came her executive ability and well-balanced
character. She was, while at the college in Cincinnati, under the
instruction and in the family of Rev. Mr. and Mrs. P. B. Wilbur, and her
stay with them was a season of enjoyment and study. It was during her
life in this school that her affections were engaged by Mr. Hayes, then
a promising young lawyer of Cincinnati and a native of Delaware. She was
at the Delaware Sulphur Springs enjoying a vacation when she formed his
acquaintance, and he thenceforth became a frequent visitor at the Friday
evening receptions held at the college parlors. The expression the
vivacious under-graduate made upon him during this summer vacation is
expressed in a letter he wrote to a friend in Delaware after his return
to the city. He says: “My friend Jones has introduced me to many of our
city belles, but I do not see any one who makes me forget the natural
gayety and attractiveness of Miss Lucy.”
Her schoolmates have many pleasant memories of her. One of them, writing
of her in 1880, while she was yet in the White House, referred to her
great likeness to her mother in mental and moral qualities in this wise,
and thus speaks of one of her traits of character. She says: “There is
one trait in the character of Mrs. Hayes which I should like to
emphasize. She absolutely will not talk gossip. Even in the intimate
confidences of daily intercourse she is as guarded as in the presence of
a multitude. The Executive Mansion has for its mistress one who is a
living exemplification of Christ’s Golden Rule. Except in very rare
instances, when some act of oppression to the poor or the defenceless
outrages her sense of right, she is always thoroughly kind in
expression. I think this trait of carefulness for the feelings of others
a gift from her mother, who had a nature exceedingly genial and kind. It
is indeed a blessed thing for our country that such a woman had the
training of our President’s wife.”
While yet at school Miss Webb became a member of the Methodist Episcopal
church, and was even in those early years ardently attached to the
duties and requirements of a Christian life, and in this, as in other
respects, followed closely in the footsteps of her mother. She was a
clever student, as one of her companions in school admits in a letter in
which she says: “Lucy Webb was a first-class student in botany and other
studies, and I have reason to recall my feeling of mingled annoyance and
admiration as our teacher, Miss De Forrest, would turn from us older
girls to Miss Webb, who sat at the head of the class, and get from her a
clear analysis of the flower under discussion, or the correct
transposition of some involved line of poetry. Somewhat of this accuracy
was doubtless due to the fact that she had been trained in the severe
drill of the Ohio Wesleyan University. She remained in the Ladies’
College of Cincinnati until she completed its course of study.”
In 1852, two years subsequent to her meeting with Mr. Hayes, the young
lady, whom he had courted most assiduously while she was yet engaged
with her studies, became his bride. The marriage ceremony was performed
by Professor L. D. McCabe, of the Wesleyan University, December 20,
1852, and the only attendant of the young pair was a pretty child of
eight years, the daughter of the bridegroom’s only sister. It was a
simple, unpretentious wedding, attended by loving friends, and crowned
by the most absolute affection. It has proven a marriage of absolute
happiness, and the successful career of Mr. Hayes is in a large measure
due to the devotion of his wife, and the intelligent appreciation of his
aspirations which she had, and which she inspired and encouraged. This
sentiment of loyalty for and faith in her husband is one of her
admirable traits, and it has been one which has greatly endeared her to
others; “all the world loves a lover,” runs the old saying, and if the
feeling entertained for Mrs. Hayes by the public were analyzed it would
be found to be due to her womanly and wifely qualities and to the
healthful atmosphere of her home-life. Several incidents which aptly
portray the sensitive appreciation she has of what is due the fame of
her husband from her are related, the following being a prototype of
many told. Soon after Mrs. Hayes reached the White House she was visited
by the wife of a minister of Washington, and asked to forbid the use of
wine in the mansion during her stay there. Mrs. Hayes heard the request
with polite surprise, and replied in these words: “Madame, it is my
husband, not myself, who is President. I think that a man who is capable
of filling so important a position, as I believe my husband to be, is
quite competent to establish such rules as will obtain in his house
without calling on members of other households. I would not offend you,
and I would not offend Mr. Hayes, who knows what is due to his position,
his family and himself, without any interference of others, directly or
through his wife.” This reply, in the face of the fact that Mrs. Hayes
was a strong temperance woman, a Methodist, and very likely as entirely
decided in her mind then as later regarding the subject, is a pleasing
evidence of the earnest self-respect of the President’s wife. As to the
stand she did take, the following letter, written by Rev. Dr. Read,
fully explains. The subject created considerable discussion at the time
and afterwards:
“Mrs. Hayes has decided that hereafter, while she occupies the White
House, there shall be no wine upon the table, even upon state occasions,
when American citizens dine with the President. Noble stand for a noble
Christian woman! God be praised for such a grand, heroic woman to occupy
the highest social position in the nation at this time! It is an answer
to prayer. She comes from Ohio, where the woman’s crusade against
intemperance began, and where she caught from her Christian sisters
something of that noble, heroic spirit that dares to do right in the
face of the world. Henceforth the name of Mrs. Hayes shall be enrolled
with the noblest women of the race, and with the Marys who stood by the
cross of Jesus, even when all the men, except the womanly John, had
deserted him.”
President Hayes, whose public life for a quarter of a century has been a
series of successes, was the youngest child of Rutherford Hayes, who
died before his son’s birth. The mother upon whom the sole care of the
family devolved, and the only parent her boy ever knew, was a character
of rare sweetness and strength. She was left in straitened
circumstances, but was a self-reliant woman and a good manager, and she
was able to give her children excellent educational advantages. Mr.
Hayes was a graduate of Kenyon College, Ohio, and of the Cambridge Law
School. In 1845 he was admitted to practice before the Supreme Court of
Ohio, and began his legal life in Fremont, his present home. He removed
to Cincinnati in 1850, and resided there for many years. Mr. Hayes was
twice elected city attorney of Cincinnati, and at the outbreak of the
civil war entered the army as Major of the 23d Ohio Volunteers, of which
General Rosecrans was Colonel and Hon. Stanley Matthews
Lieutenant-Colonel. During the war he was four times wounded, and served
with distinction until the close, though he was elected to Congress
before peace was declared.
Mrs. Hayes spent two summers and a winter taking care of her husband’s
soldiers, and they loved her for her motherly ministrations to them in
their hours of sickness and mental dejection.
A member of the Twenty-Third Ohio, who went out with the regiment at the
beginning of the war, tells the following anecdote, which occurred
during the first visit of Mrs. Hayes to her husband’s camp. It is a
simple story, which illustrates the character of the President’s wife
completely.
“It was the first of our being out, when we had as yet known but little
of the hardships of war. One day Mrs. Hayes arrived in camp, but the
fact was not generally known. James Saunders was a member of my company.
Jim, as he was called, was a tall, lean, unsuspecting, awkward
country-boy—a good soldier, but not overly smart in detecting a joke.
Consequently the boys used frequently to sell him quite badly; but he
took it all in good part, and was entirely ready the next time a sell
came along to ‘bite’ at it.
“For some time there had been sad need of some means of mending our
clothes. This need was being discussed the next day after Mrs. Hayes’
arrival, and Jim was especially strong in his expressions of need for
some one to mend his blouse, which really was in a very unpresentable
condition.
“‘Why, Jim,’ said one of the boys, ‘didn’t you know that there is a
woman in camp whose business it is to mend the boys’ clothes?’
“‘No,’ said Jim, in astonishment. ‘Where is she?’
“‘Up at the Colonel’s tent,’ said the other. ‘I was there and had her
fix my coat yesterday, and she did a smackin’ good job, too.’
“‘Golly’ said Jim. ‘I’ll go up, then, this very afternoon, and git my
blouse doctored. That is very handy, indeed.’
“True to his word Jim called around at the Colonel’s tent, and, with his
hat under his arm, presented himself, with his awkwardest bow, at the
entrance. He was received with marked politeness by the Colonel, and the
boys who were lurking about appreciating the joke awaited developments.
In a few moments Jim again appeared outside in his shirt sleeves, and
the radiant smile that lit up his honest features showed that he had not
been rebuffed, at least. Calling him aside, where a group of the boys
were gathered, the following conversation took place:
“‘Well, Jim, did you find your woman?’
“‘Of course I did. She was just a settin’ there, and she’s a mighty
good-looking woman, too.’
“‘What did you say?’ all chuckling.
“‘Why, when I went in I told the Colonel that I heerd there was a woman
there to do sewing for the boys, and as my blouse needed mendin’ and
buttons sewed on, I had come to git it done. He kind of smiled, and
turned to the woman settin’ there and asked her if she could fix the
blouse for me, and she said she could as well as not, as she had nothing
special on hand. So I took it off and left it, the Colonel tellin’ me to
call ‘round this afternoon and git it. You all seem to laugh, but I
don’t see anything funny. If she is here to do the sewing, why not do
mine?’
“This was too much. The boys all broke out into a loud chorus of
laughter, and as soon as it subsided, one of them said:
“‘Jim, don’t you know that that woman is the Colonel’s wife?’
“‘I don’t care; she’s a lady anyhow,’ as though that didn’t follow, ‘and
I am goin’ to git my blouse, just as she told me to.’
“And he did go, and was again received in that manner which made him
forget himself and his awkwardness, and she restored his blouse to him
in perfect repair.
“This little incident was all that was needed to fix the affections of
all the boys upon the Colonel’s wife, and whenever she appeared again in
camp, she was certain to receive the warmest welcome.
“Poor Jim died in a Southern hospital, and his name may now be seen upon
the monument standing in the village square at Mesopotamia, Trumbull
county, Ohio, and we have often wondered if the President and his wife
ever think of mending his blouse, rather than be parties to a sell upon
an innocent soldier boy.”
At the battle of South Mountain Colonel Hayes was severely wounded, and
his wife learning of his condition hastened to Washington, where she
expected to find him in some one of the hospitals. Failing to get
tidings of him she went on to Frederick, accompanied by a relative, Mr.
Platt. At last in the village of Middletown, Maryland, she found him,
cared for by her brothers, one of whom was surgeon of the regiment. She
was a welcome addition to the Colonel’s corps of nurses, and as soon as
she was established beside him his improvement began. The family in
whose house the wounded Colonel lay, Captain Rudy’s, said of her long
afterwards: “The moment she crossed our threshold we knew she was a good
woman and natural lady. She made herself easily at home, and next
morning after she came she was down in the kitchen early and asked leave
to cook the Colonel’s favorite dish.”
As soon as he was able to walk about the house she spent a portion of
every day in the hospitals, visiting Union and Confederate wounded
alike, and carrying them grapes and other delicacies. She read to those
who were well enough to be interested, and made herself a welcome
presence to the sick and the dying. Her mild manners and unaffected
kindly ways won her friends everywhere, and when she left the place to
return to Cincinnati with her husband, her departure was sincerely
regretted. They had been well cared for by the family with whom they had
stayed, and when Colonel Hayes became Governor of Ohio, Mrs. Hayes sent
for one of the young ladies of the household, and entertained her most
hospitably. Long afterward, when Governor Hayes had become President, he
heard of the death of Captain Rudy, and wrote a letter of sympathy, in
which he reverted kindly to the time when he was disabled and found a
home with them. Leaving the field as a Brigadier-General to take his
seat in the Thirty-ninth Congress, Cincinnati people saw little of Mr.
Hayes for several years, for he was re-elected to Congress, and resided,
until nominated for Governor, at the capital.
The Executive Mansion at Columbus was conducted on the most generous
scale socially, and the Governor and his wife entertained continuously.
Both are pre-eminently social in their natures, and in all the public
positions he filled, she extended elegant hospitality. Their circle of
private friends is very extensive, and Mrs. Hayes has ever delighted to
be a hostess, so that their home, wherever it was, has been rarely
without guests.
Mrs. Hayes worked to enlarge the charities of the State, and was
identified with all good causes during her life in Columbus, and
constantly interested herself in church work. She enjoyed an experience
and exerted an influence that ably fitted her for the position of lady
of the White House. Her domestic responsibilities were not light, for
she has been the mother of eight children, five of whom are living, and
her duty has been performed as well in that as in every other
relationship in life. It has been the custom for Mr. and Mrs. Hayes to
spend as much of the time in the summer in their own home at Fremont as
possible, and up to the time of their removal to the White House
“Spiegel Grove” was the resort of many friends during the warm season.
It became their place of residence after their removal from Washington.
This home is beautifully situated on Burchard Avenue, so named in honor
of Sardis Burchard, the uncle and guardian of Mr. Hayes. The house was
erected by Mr. Burchard in 1860, and it stands in the centre of thirty
acres of woodland. Immediately surrounding the house are handsome lawns
and gardens, with some fine old oaks left standing in their midst, and
which contrast most charmingly with the otherwise open grounds. The
house is of brick, two stories high, and nearly surrounded by a wide
verandah. It is a large and comfortable mansion, furnished like any
country residence of a person of means. There is a library-room on the
second floor well stocked with books and adorned with pictures, and in
the handsome parlors are paintings by American, French and German
artists. The surroundings of the place are remarkably tasteful and
attractive. Burchard Park, which was a gift to the town of Fremont from
Mr. Burchard, lies near the mansion, and there are handsome residences
in the neighboring avenues, which enhance the beauty of Spiegel Grove.
Mrs. Hayes’ personal appearance has been so often reproduced through
photographs and pen-pictures that it is almost superfluous to give any
lengthy description, particularly as the engraving accompanying this
sketch is an accurate likeness of her face. She is of medium height, is
squarely built, and has large features. Her hair is a particularly
noticeable feature, partly from the manner in which it is worn, and
mainly for its abundance and beauty of color and texture. Her brow is
low and broad, and is unmarked by care. The mouth is large and adorned
with beautiful teeth. Her eyes are large and expressive, and deepen in
color from gray to black as the feelings are wrought upon. All her
features are expressive, and her face is a most pleasing and animated
one. She has a gay and sunny temperament, hence her face is the mirror
of much that is bright and beautiful. She owes much of her good looks
and her happiness to her wonderful health, for she is as splendid a
specimen of physical womanhood as the country can boast, and her
presence is a tonic to weaker women.
The Presidential canvass in 1876 was an exciting one, and its disputed
results, its electoral commission, and final settlement tested the
equanimity of all parties, and created greater anxiety than any event
which succeeded the war. President and Mrs. Hayes reached Washington the
day before the inauguration, and became the guests of Senator Sherman.
An immense throng filled the Capitol on the morning of the 4th of March
to witness the inaugural and to see the new President. He rode with
ex-President Grant through the city, and alighted at the eastern
portico, welcomed by hundreds of people of all classes. Passing into the
Senate chamber, he was seated in front of the Speaker’s desk, beside the
retiring Chief Executive. In the gallery sat his wife, watching him with
an eagerness that betrayed her happiness, and an anxiety that discovered
her intense interest in the occasion. He looked as impassive as the
taciturn soldier beside him, until glancing his eyes over the Senate
gallery he caught sight of his wife. There was a mutual glance of
recognition, an assuring smile, and the inaugural address was given in
clear, earnest tones. Immediately following the ceremonies the
newly-made President and Mrs. Hayes lunched at the White House with
ex-President and Mrs. Grant. In the afternoon a carriage drove up to the
steps, and soon General Grant and wife appeared, followed by President
and Mrs. Hayes without hat or head-covering. They bade each other
good-bye, and as the carriage moved away, President Hayes remarked to
General Grant: “General, if I had a slipper, I’d throw it after you.”
The President and Mrs. Hayes stood a few moments looking after it, and
she, stopping to kiss one or two children near her, passed with her
husband into the house, and the new life was begun. The children of the
President, who with relatives had been at the Ebbitt House, during their
parents’ stay with Senator and Mrs. Sherman, joined them later in the
day, and the first day in the White House closed in excitement and
happiness. Mrs. Hayes was delighted with the high place to which she had
attained. She made no denial on this point, and freely admitted the
satisfaction it gave her, and the enjoyment she hoped to have. One of
the pleasantest of the many pleasant incidents connected with her advent
into the White House was the class testimonial presented to her by
several of her old schoolmates at the Female Wesleyan College, who were
in Washington at the time of the inauguration. They arranged to send her
a floral offering, and fixed upon the happy device of the college badge.
It is composed of a heart in an open Bible, the motto of the
thirty-first chapter of Proverbs, marked with an anchor. The floral
tribute was formed of a heart centre of white rosebuds, with an outside
border of fine white flowers, the intervening space being filled with
blue forget-me-nots. Upon this was placed an open Bible—a real
Bible—held open by an anchor formed of white roses, like the heart, and
a single rosebud marked the following passage:
“Her husband is known of the elders and praises her in the gates.”
Accompanying the beautiful gift was a note written by Miss Rariden, and
signed by the several ladies. It was couched in these pleasing words:
“WASHINGTON, _March 5th, 1877_.
“DEAR SISTER:—It will need but the sight of our offering—the old school
badge—to remind you of the lang syne when school lessons were our
greatest duties, and school triumphs our highest rewards. Since then you
have added to the title of good scholar the higher ones of good wife and
tender mother, and now the voice of the people has called you to come
higher.
“We, the representatives of the Alma Mater, beg the acceptance of our
flowers as a tribute to the first of our number called to preside at the
White House, though the offering is less due to you as our President’s
wife than to the true woman you have proved yourself in every relation
of life.
“We hope you will have the kindness to appoint an early day, when we can
express in person our congratulations.
“MARY BROWN HITT,
“MARY C. RARIDEN,
“MRS. J. EDDY SOMERS,
“MISS EASTON,
“MRS. ELIZA LETFORD NORDHOFF.”
Of the number, Mrs. Hitt and Miss Rariden were the only classmates; the
others were _alumni_. The best plans will go aglee, and in the
conveyance of this lovely gift the note was abstracted or lost, and Mrs.
Hayes was in a quiver of excitement over the anonymous offering. That
evening upon receipt of another Bible (she had enough Bibles given her
to stock a hotel), she spoke of the more precious one accompanying the
college badge, and crossing the room pointed out its beauties. The
husband of one of the donors happened to be present, and communicated
their names. The end was felicitous. Mrs. Hayes appointed the next
morning to receive the ladies. She met them with charming friendliness,
conducted them through the green-house, sent for her husband and
children, and in the words of one of her guests, “was all that a
courteous hostess could be.”
Four weeks after taking up her residence in the Executive Mansion, she
held her first Saturday afternoon reception, and on this occasion she
was as well satisfied a lady as had ever stood in her place. A friend
who observed her on that day said that “her eyes looked as black as
night, and they had a lustre rarely seen. She made no effort to conceal
her delight. Her whole face was positively radiant. The effect as she
received, assisted by her friends, was precisely that of all the light
thrown upon one figure of a tableau.” The toilette worn by Mrs. Hayes on
this occasion was a black gros grain princesse dress, square at the
neck, and perfectly fitting, and relieved of its plainness by exquisite
point-laces. The next public occasion on which she appeared was at the
dinner given to the Russian Grand Dukes Alexis and Constantine. The
gathering was as brilliant as any ever assembled in the Executive
Mansion. The drawing-rooms were elaborately decorated with flowers, and
the State dining-room never presented a finer appearance. The table was
a mass of flowers and cut-glass and Sevres china. In the centre was an
oval mirror representing a lake with tropical banks of ferns and
trailing vines. In the centre of the lake was an island of pink azalias
studded with cloth of gold roses, while over the outer surface were
vines massed to look like water-lilies. The banks of the lake were
strewn with graceful hills formed with vases of tropical fruit, and here
and there a pyramid or column of candied fruits and bon-bons rose
between. At each end of the lake were tall frosted cakes decorated with
white azalias and pink and tea roses and smilax. Delicate pink and white
vases of frosted glass and silver stands stood at each plate, the pink
vases holding clusters of white buds, and the white vases pink buds.
Azalia trees, camelias and other flowering plants were arranged about
the room, ornamenting by their proximity to them the chocolate and
strawberry pyramids that stood at the north side of the room. Vines of
smilax strung on gilt wire were draped about the table, chandeliers and
pictures. The Grand Duke Alexis with Mrs. Hayes led the promenade
through the East Room, the Marine Band playing the Russian march,
followed by the Grand Duke Constantine and Mrs. Evarts. The President
escorted Lady Thornton, and when seated at the table, the two Grand
Dukes were on either side of Mrs. Hayes, and the President sat opposite,
between Lady Thornton and Mrs. Shishkin, wife of the Russian Minister.
The other members of the brilliant company were ranged about the table
in regular order. The toilette worn by Mrs. Hayes at this entertainment
was an exquisite cream-colored _faille_, richly trimmed with the
material and elegant lace.
As regards the use of wine on this occasion, about which the press of
the entire country had so much to say, the actual facts are these. The
President and Mrs. Hayes objected to its use, but the Secretary of
State, Mr. Evarts, was of the opinion that the Grand Dukes and other
foreigners, being accustomed to dine with wine, would not enjoy their
dinner without it, and the master of ceremonies was ordered to provide
it. He was at the same time informed that on all future occasions, when
the President entertained citizens of the United States, wine would be
omitted.
In the _American Register_, at Paris, appeared, shortly after the
inauguration, the following complimentary allusion to the new lady of
the White House: “The administration of Mrs. Hayes receives quite as
much attention as does that of the President. Her beauty, simplicity,
womanliness and frankness have taken the blasé society of Washington by
storm. Her dresses of rich material are very simply made, high at the
neck, long at the wrist, with fine laces at both, but no jewelry; her
hair is neither puffed nor frizzed, but coiffured plainly at the back
and held in place with a shell comb. She is a lady by birth and
education, and is a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The first
Sunday she and her husband were in Washington they stole quietly to the
Foundry Methodist Episcopal Church, while the Rev. Dr. Newman,
‘Inspector of Consuls,’ Chaplain to the Senate, Pastor of the Great
Metropolitan Court Church, ‘was all primed and powdered’ for their
appearance. But they came not. Everybody who knows the style and quality
of the Metropolitan Methodist Episcopal Church was exceedingly pleased
at the incident.”
When Mrs. Hayes went to the White House it was said that she had decided
not to interfere with appointments, or to consider any application for
her influence in any matter with which her husband had to do.
Applications for office were turned over to the secretaries, and through
the years of her stay in the White House she succeeded in avoiding this
source of annoyance. Occasionally she deviated from this rule, as in the
case of the postmistress of a town in Pennsylvania, who was turned out
of office because of her strong temperance proclivities. The member of
Congress who represented the district in which this woman held office
succeeded in getting a man appointed in her place who would not work
with temperance organizations to defeat party candidates. The order for
her removal had been made out at the Post-Office Department, when a lady
friend of Mrs. Hayes, who had passed through the town, and learned the
facts, telegraphed to her for a stay of proceedings till the case could
be explained. The request was granted, and the next news the member of
Congress received from home was that the postmistress had been
reinstated by order of the President.
A Washington correspondent describes Mrs. Hayes’ attention to some “poor
relations” who were visiting her. The description is well worth
reproducing as showing her democratic independence and her appreciation
of her friends.
“Not long ago I was passing Corcoran’s Art Gallery, and saw Mrs. Hayes
assisting into her carriage some people of a sort that are usually
described as ‘countrified.’ They were not finely-dressed, nor were their
garments fashionably made. Quite the reverse was the case. But it struck
me that the horses were unusually well groomed, and there was a footman
in livery, which is a bit of style Mrs. Hayes seldom assumes. It was not
the every-day carriage, either, but the best one, and I am as sure as if
Mrs. Hayes had told me so, that she was putting on a few frills just to
please her guests, for human nature is human nature, and Mrs. Hayes has
a keen sense of perception. I afterwards learned that a party of Mrs.
Hayes’ friends were visiting the White House, from the interior of Ohio.
They were humble people and had never been in Washington before, but
their great-grandchildren will all know about that visit, and the taking
of those folks around in the President’s best carriage, with driver and
footman in livery, will be a tradition in that family for generations.
This wasn’t an isolated occurrence. Similar people have visited the
White House before, and have received similar attentions. Mrs. Hayes has
taken them to the Capitol, and they have sat beside her in the
President’s seat in the reserved gallery, and had they been the Queen of
England and the Princesses Royal, Mrs. Hayes couldn’t have been more
devoted than she was to her ‘poor relations.’”
Mrs. Hayes entertained many guests in the White House, and she made it
particularly attractive to her young friends and relatives. She gave
them an opportunity of seeing Washington life from the high
vantage-ground of the White House, and showed them at the same time the
domestic side of a lovely home-life. No mistress of the Executive
Mansion, it can truly be said, ever made more of her opportunity in the
direction of true sociability. She, from the first, displayed a generous
hospitality, not so much to official people as to her old friends and
her husband’s and their young connections. She exhibited all the
possibilities of a happy home, and left an influence upon the growing
generation about her that will never be forgotten. In years to come they
will tell of the sweet simplicity of her life there, and the great
influence that she had over a public, hardly recovered from all the
excessive extravagance and display that followed the restoration of
peace, and reached its height under the preceding administration. There
was felt towards her a prejudice on the part of a portion of the public,
which opposed her temperance views, but she has her surest fame in this
stand which no predecessor of hers was ever strong enough to assert and
maintain. And from the millions of homes in this country, where young
men are growing to manhood with their sisters beside them, have gone up
from the hearts of parents thankful, grateful prayers for the honor and
reverence paid to the one cause in this land which has most lacked for
recognition in high places. Whatever course may be adopted by future
generations, the social administration of Mrs. Hayes marks a new era in
the history of temperance, and it will be a mile-stone to show the turn
in the tide in favor of this principle which had languished for want of
just the recognition she gave it and her sex, its standard-bearer. Such
is her fame, and her reward is the gratitude of the best men and women
of the age.
Mrs. Hayes had with her in the White House all of her children, save the
eldest son, who is an Ohio lawyer. The second son, whose coming of age
was appropriately celebrated in the White House, acted as his father’s
confidential secretary; a third son was at school, and the only daughter
and youngest son were with their parents there.
Mrs. Hayes has the distinction of being one of the few women who have
lived in the glare and glitter of society in Washington and avoided all
manner of extremes in dress. She did not appear in diamonds, eschewed
low-neck and short-sleeved dresses, never varied her individual fashion
of arranging her hair, and, to quote the remark of one of her girlhood
friends, made at the commencement of her husband’s administration, “she
is the same Lucy as of old.” This same friend said of her, “It is just
like Lucy to go to the Foundry Church. She always despised shams and
ostentation.”
Of all the Washington scribes who have written of Mrs. Hayes, Mary
Clemmer, in describing the inauguration,has said the most pleasing
things. And the queries she made of her possible course are answered in
the remark of Mrs. Hayes’ school friend. She wrote of her after seeing
her in the Senate Chamber on that auspicious occasion:
“Meanwhile, on this man of whom every one in the nation is this moment
thinking, a fair woman between two little children looks down. She has a
singularly gentle and winning face. It looks out from the bands of
smooth dark hair with that tender light in the eyes which we have come
to associate always with the Madonna. I have never seen such a face
reign in the White House. I wonder what the world of Vanity Fair will do
with it? Will it friz that hair? powder that face? draw those sweet,
fine lines awry with pride? bare those shoulders? shorten those sleeves?
hide John Wesley’s, discipline out of sight, as it poses and minces
before the first lady of the land? what will she do with it, this woman
of the hearth and home? Strong as she is fair, will she have the grace
to use it as not abusing it; to be in it, yet not of it; priestess of a
religion pure and undefiled, holding the white lamp of her womanhood,
unshaken and unsullied, high above the heated crowd that fawns, flatters
and spoils? The Lord in heaven knows. All I know is that Mr. and Mrs.
Hayes are the finest-looking type of man and woman that I have seen take
up their abode in the White House.” This description of her tallies with
that given by a white-haired Southerner who went to a White House
reception, and remarked to his friends that Mrs. Hayes was a “God
beautiful woman.” President Hayes cannot be described in so graphic a
way, though he is a man easily sketched. His eyes are blue and kindly in
expression; his features are strong and his manners are polished. His
home-life is, as may well be judged by all that has been said in the
foregoing sketch, beautiful. He is refined, affectionate and manly, and
when he and his wife stood together in the Blue Room of the White House,
on the 31st of December, 1877, to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary
of their marriage, their friends gathered about them coincided in the
opinion that they were “the finest-looking type of man and woman that
they had ever seen take up their abode in the White House.” This
silver-wedding, the first ever celebrated in the White House, was a
social event which proved of genuine interest to the people of the
country, who, irrespective of party, wished them a long-continued career
of happiness. The anniversary was celebrated on the afternoon of the
30th, when the Rev. Dr. McCabe, who married, them, renewed his pastoral
blessing in the same words and heard the same pledges given that were
uttered a quarter of a century ago. Mrs. Hayes wore the same satin dress
and slippers which she wore on her wedding-day, and they were surrounded
by their five children and the following personal guests: Mr. and Mrs.
Herron, Dr. and Mrs. Davis, of Cincinnati; General and Mrs. Force,
Secretary Rogers and wife, Miss Platt, Miss McKell, Colonel Wier, Miss
Foote and Mrs. Mitchell. After the celebration of the ceremony a most
interesting event followed. The infant daughter of Mr. Herron was
christened, and received the name of Lucy Webb, in honor of Mrs. Hayes.
After it was baptized the President presented his daughter Fannie and
youngest son Scott Russell, for baptism, and then the party were ushered
into the dining-room, where dinner was served. The next evening the
formal ceremonies were held, and one hundred guests were present. The
Executive Mansion was brilliantly illuminated, and the parlors and the
East Room were elegantly decorated with flowers. Mrs. Hayes wore a
reception dress of white striped silk, trimmed with point lace. Her
wedding dress of white satin was exhibited to her lady friends, but the
idea at first entertained of wearing it was abandoned because of its
size, it being too small. The guests were as far as possible the same
who attended the wedding in 1852, and among the number were Mr. Rogers,
the private secretary and former law partner of the President, Mr. and
Mrs. Wilber, Mrs. Hayes’ former teachers, and Mrs. Mitchell, the
President’s niece, who as a little girl was the bride’s attendant and
held her hand during the ceremony. A large portion of the company
present were Ohioans, and the entertainment was social and informal. The
only present received, for it had been made known distinctly that the
President would accept none, was a gift to Mrs. Hayes from the officers
of the Twenty-Third Ohio Volunteer Infantry, consisting of a silver
plate imbedded in a mat of black velvet and enclosed in a richly
ornamented ebony frame. The present was given in memory of kindness
received at the hands of Mrs. Hayes in the field, and it was inscribed
on its face, “To the Mother of the Regiment.” The inscription on the
silver is:
“To Thee, ‘Mother of ours,’ from the 23d O. V. I. To Thee, our Mother,
on thy silver troth, we bring this token of our love. Thy boys give
greeting unto thee with burning hearts. Take the hoarded treasures of
thy speech, kind words, gentle when a gentle word was worth the surgery
of an hundred schools to heal sick thought and make our bruises whole.
Take it, our mother: ’tis but some small part of thy rare beauty we give
back to thee, and while love speaks in silver, from our hearts we’ll
bribe Old Father Time to spare his gift.”
Above the inscription is a sketch of the log hut erected as Colonel
Hayes’ head-quarters in the valley of the Kanawha, during the winter of
1863 and 1864, and above it the tattered and torn battle-flags of the
regiment.
After the invitations were written, the President personally addressed
each and added these words: “I hope you will be present.”
The White House was a family mansion in the fulness of the term while
Mrs. Hayes was in it. She kept it filled with relatives and friends, and
gave receptions and entertainments suited to the tastes of those she
designed to honor. The President’s niece, Miss Platt, who made her home
with her uncle, was married in the mansion, and bridal parties were
entertained there from all parts of the country. Mrs. Hayes, on one of
her tours with her husband, was asked if she did not get tired of seeing
so many people and going so much, and she replied: “Oh, no; I never get
tired of having a good time.” She really liked to meet the people who
wished to see her, and to shake hands with all who chose to offer her
congratulations and respect. She was the most idolized woman in America
during her husband’s administration, and not because she held the rank
she did, for many have held it before her, who were not known outside a
small circle, but for the reason that she is a loving, sunny-hearted,
unselfish woman, liking popularity and seeking it according to the Bible
injunction: “A man that hath friends must show himself friendly.” She
uses the world without abusing it, and carries herself through its pomps
and vanities unspotted and pure.
The closing months of President Hayes’ administration were marked by
national good feeling and cordiality, and the social life of the White
House was most brilliant. Dinner parties and invitation receptions
followed each other in rapid succession, and the guests that were
entertained there were great in numbers. The extent of her hospitality
was estimated by ladies whose husbands had official relations with the
President, and who by right of their positions were often at the White
House entertainments, as being greater than any other hostess who had
preceded her in her high position. She never gave a dinner or an evening
party that was not on a scale of elegance compatible with her position,
and hence only praise can be said of her administration.
One of the most charming of the entertainments she gave was a lunch
party to fifty young ladies in honor of eight guests. There was no
married lady present except Mrs. Hayes. The young ladies invited to meet
her youthful visitors were the daughters of the members of the Cabinet,
of the Chief-Justices, members of Congress, of the foreign Ministers,
and army and navy officers in the city, and they included many beautiful
and not a few distinguished ladies. The lunch was given in the state
dining-room, and as only forty persons can be seated at the table, it
was extended by long tables reaching nearly across the room, placed at
right angles with it at each end. Mrs. Hayes sat at the head of the
room, and the young ladies staying in the house were dispersed among the
guests. No gentlemen were present. The table was exquisitely adorned
with flowers and dishes of fresh and candied fruits, candelabra, etc.
Potted plants were also grouped about the room. The plants and ferns in
the conservatory were seen to great advantage through the long windows.
A photograph was taken of the table and the vista through the
conservatories before the guests assembled. The bon-bons served were of
many choice and novel varieties, and the _menu_ included every delicacy.
The dinner cards were perfectly plain, square, white cards, with a
silver edge, and the coat-of-arms of the United States upon them.
In addition to the many incidental receptions and entertainments, and
apart from the usual Presidential receptions, Mrs. Hayes was invariably
at home to welcome whoever chose to call upon her from eight to ten
o’clock each evening. And there was scarcely an evening in the week when
the green parlor was not full of people. Whether these were strangers
from out of the city or personal acquaintance, they were received
informally, and as they took their departure it was most usually the
case that they carried away with them flowers, which were always to be
seen in all the rooms during her life there.
Mrs. Hayes left the White House signally honored by her own sex. She
received during the closing days of her stay in Washington every
recognition that the women of this country could give her, and she
returned to her home in Ohio assured of the esteem of those whose good
opinions she would naturally value. She did not win the regard of her
sex by seeking for their favorable opinions, but by being true to
herself.
The presentation of her portrait, a life-size painting by Huntington,
was made to the nation by the temperance people, who felt that her
course deserved some more marked tribute than could be paid her in
words. The picture represents her standing, holding in her hands a
cluster of roses. She is arrayed in a ruby velvet, the rich color being
toned by white laces about her neck and sleeves. The canvas is seven
feet four inches high by six feet wide, and the frame (of oak) stands
nearly ten feet in height. The sides of the frame are in the form of
pilasters with a capital at the top and a plinth at the base, the sides
supporting a rich projecting cornice. This cornice presents a hollow
moulding a foot deep, on which are carved branches of oak in high
relief, above which is displayed in unique designs the American flag.
The capitals on the pilasters are in a pattern of lilies (purity), the
bases of these in laurel (victory), the bottom in the English hawthorn
and the water lily, the top in oak leaves and acorns (power and
strength), together with several other less noticeable designs. The
frame was made by the Cincinnati School of Design, under Mr. Benn
Pitman, and is the finest ever carved. The presentation was made in the
East Room on the morning of the 8th of March, General Garfield replying
to Miss Frances Willard, who, as President of the National Woman’s
Christian Temperance Union, tendered it. The event awakened interest
throughout the nation. Everybody felt renewed interest in the woman who
had done such worthy things as to secure to herself a following such as
no other member of her sex ever had in this country. She came to her
fame step by step, proving with each day’s life that she was building
character and not seeking applause. She had no more power in the White
House than she had in Ohio, for though her husband’s ear was ever
conveniently near by, she did not impose taxes upon him or make him pay
tribute to her rank as his wife. With him she shared his high place, but
it was not used selfishly to advance her popularity or to win for her
aught of selfish fame. In the midst of her surroundings, which were
outwardly captivating enough to turn a strong head, she lived a
self-respecting life, individualizing it without antagonizing her
husband’s public interests. In the stand she took in refusing to use
wine on her table, she exhibited rare courage, because it was not only
an unpopular step, but it was one that placed her in contrast with her
predecessors in the position she was holding—a circumstance which was
her chief regret. As to the right of a woman to take the authoritative
stand she did, she did not stop to consider, for she was in her own home
even if in the Executive Mansion, and the public had no more right to
dictate what she should drink than what she should eat or wear. Mr.
Hayes, had he set aside her wishes and trampled her authority, would
have committed in so doing no act that would have condemned him in the
eyes of the majority of people. But she reaped as she had sown, and was
respected in the measure of her self-respect, and it was this evidence
of her moral power, more than the mere fact of her being a temperance
advocate, that drew the women of this country about her. And taken all
in all, she is one of the finest representatives of her sex who has held
the place she has filled. This is the verdict of the women of this
country, who by thousands signed the testimonials sent her, and united
in presenting to the nation her portrait, as a manifestation of their
gratitude for worthy representation. It is the first instance of the
kind in the history of any nation, and it marked the prestige of a
people who are every year becoming more renowned throughout the world,
and more and more an example of the advancing power of civilization.
Ex-President and Mrs. Hayes, accompanied by their children and a party
of friends, left Washington on Saturday morning, the 5th of March, and
hardly had they begun their journey when an accident occurred which came
nigh proving disastrous. Fortunately none of the persons with the
ex-President were hurt, though two persons on the train were killed and
a number were seriously injured. The accident occurred near Baltimore in
the afternoon of the day they left Washington. Arriving at Fremont the
people received the long absent family with every manifestation of
delight and regard, and welcomed them with music, banners and speeches.
At night the town was illuminated, and the house of the ex-President was
crowded with neighbors and friends, who made the home-coming as pleasant
as the God-speed had been hearty and earnest.
[Illustration: Engraved by Samuel Sartain, Phil_a ]
XXVII.
LUCRETIA RUDOLPH GARFIELD.
A woman who had known Mrs. Garfield for a number of years previous to
the election of her husband to the Presidency said of her, in reply to a
question regarding her fitness for the place she was to fill:
“She will have a most beneficent influence upon society in Washington.
She loves truth and despises shams. She is a woman of exceeding good
sense, and will perform her entire social duty when called upon.”
“Will she be popular with what is called the fashionable world?”
“Mrs. Garfield is not what would be termed a fashionable woman in
Washington, but she will command the respect of all classes. She
inclines to retirement, and is very quiet and serious, naturally.”
“A home-body, then!”
“Yes, a home-body; and a lady whose refinement, attainments and fine
character the people will like.”
Mrs. Garfield went to the White House under the most advantageous
circumstances, but it was the common remark of her friends that she was
not likely to make as much of her opportunity, as the First Lady of the
Land, socially, as some of her predecessors had. “I hope I shall not
disappoint you,” she said to several women who called upon her during
the inauguration week. She seemed to feel that more was expected of her
than she was likely to perform, and her eyes were full of tears when she
made this remark. Had no circumstance occurred to call into prominence
the finest characteristics of her nature, she would probably have been
slow in producing upon the general public the appreciation she deserved.
Her qualities of heart and mind are those that pass for less than their
value in what is termed society life. She is not a woman of showy
attainments; is not given to the saying of sharp things that sound
clever when repeated, but generally hurt those to whom they are
addressed. She had no ambition to shine as the leader of Washington
society, as the public discovered during the few months of her life in
the President’s House. The newspapers overpraised her accomplishments,
and this troubled her, as all exaggerations did. She remarked the
injustice inaccurate publications did her predecessors, but she could do
nothing more than pursue the even tenor of her way, performing what she
knew to be her duty. The earlier months of the Administration passed
quietly away, the social season being over and her health being poor,
and it was remarked that she kept herself secluded from public gaze. By
and by her severe illness was announced, and the public sympathized with
her husband, who seemed to be borne down by anxiety and dread lest she
should be taken from him.
It was evident to those who came in contact with the new Lady of the
White House that, though fragile in appearance, she possessed great
powers of endurance, and her deliberate and thoughtful utterances gave
assurance of a mind and heart that could but prove a blessing to her in
her new field of action. The qualities for which she was praised on
every side had characterized her through life, but the full opportunity
for their display came to her for the first time as the President’s
wife. She was found to be undemonstrative and self-contained, and showed
by her words and her acts that she valued the place she occupied mainly
because it reflected her husband’s greatness and could be made a help to
him. Beyond her duties she had no inclinations or aspirations. Her
influence had never been exerted selfishly, and she was not likely to
change in any respect, because she was greater in herself than she was
in the place she had been called to fill for a time. Her husband’s
interests were her chief concern, and she lived at his side, aiding and
blessing him. She was to him an inspiration—a perpetual joy and solace.
He was her rock of strength—her ever-present refuge and rest. He was
hers, she was his, and the two were one in their children.
The story of their two lives is well known in this country. Both were
born in Ohio; he was the son of a widowed mother, she the daughter of a
home full of children. Neither was well-to-do in worldly ways, and he
was very poor, and with nothing but a stout heart and a mother’s love to
depend upon in the beginning of his career.
When the little girl, Lucretia Rudolph, met James Garfield, her senior
by a few years, he was in the same school she attended, Geauga Seminary,
and was a strong, healthy boy who was working assiduously to fit himself
for college. She was a studious girl who had no very definite plans
until she became acquainted with him, and imbibed his taste for books.
For several years they were at this school, and then young Garfield
entered Hiram College, just completed. In a short time, through the
illness and retirement of one of the tutors, he became a teacher, and
into his class-room came the reserved young girl, who for two years
recited Latin to him. He evidently taught her well, for twenty years
later she instructed her boys in Latin, preparatory to their entering
college.
Her father, Mr. Zebulon Rudolph, was a farmer living near Garrettsville,
and was one of the founders of Hiram College. Her mother was a daughter
of Elijah Mason, of Lebanon, Connecticut, and a descendant, on her
mother’s side, of General Nathaniel Greene.
Her parents reared their daughter in a practical manner, early imbuing
her with ideas of self-restraint and self-government that admirably
fitted her for her after career.
After she was graduated from Hiram College she taught school in order to
relieve her parents of her support and lift herself above dependence
upon them. When Mr. Garfield went to Williams College to continue his
education, she went to Cleveland, to teach in one of the public schools.
Both studied: she, with a view to self-improvement that she might be a
fitting companion for her ambitious lover; he, that he might be prepared
for the place among men he aspired to take. They loved each other, and
were engaged to be married before their departure from Hiram.
At the end of the year they met at Hiram, and when he had graduated and
returned there, she was still teaching. She taught for a year after,
though not in Cleveland, and in a letter written by the Hon. A. M.
Pratt, of Bayou, Ohio, is given this picture of the two:
“Twenty-three years ago Mrs. Garfield sought and taught scholars in
painting and drawing in this then very insignificant village, and not
getting very large classes, living meantime in my house, the guest and
friend of my then wife. The future President was frequently entertained
at my table; he, a young, strong, green, great-hearted, large-headed
youth, but two years from college, hopeful, full of life and push; she,
graceful, sweet, amiable, retiring, with a disposition as lovely as a
star-lit sky—both poor. Their fortune was their youth, health, hearts,
intellects, hopes, and, glad am I to say, love.”
The marriage took place at the house of the bride’s parents, November
11, 1858. Mr. Garfield had been made Principal of Hiram College, and
considered himself fairly started in life, so that there was no reason
for longer deferring the union. He was not rich enough to give his bride
a home, and for some years they boarded. Pupils of his during that time
knew his wife as a quiet, retiring person, who always welcomed them
kindly and showed real interest in their school work and progress. She
was an admirable school-teacher’s wife, because of her acquaintance with
the work and her appreciation of the responsibility as such. They were a
poor couple and lived much within themselves; but they were happily
united and congenially employed. She had been taught by her parents—to
whom she owes much for such instruction—to be a truth-speaking,
right-thinking young woman, and added to this rare training were her
excellent school advantages and her practical use of them. She was the
outgrowth of this fine family government, and such womanhood as she has
developed is a credit to her and an encouragement to other parents.
The husband she selected was eminently fitted by his rearing to
appreciate her worth, and it was with genuine satisfaction that their
friends saw them unite their two lives.
Of General Garfield’s career much could be written, did the limits of
this sketch admit. After his election to the Presidency, considerable
was said of his ancestry, but the people of this country cared little
for genealogical records in his case. The story of his mother’s
struggles to rear her young children, the success achieved in her
labors, and her own personal worth, added to what is known of the
character of his early lost father, were enough to convince his country
people that he came of good stock and had a glorious heritage.
When the father of James Garfield lay dying, he pointed to his children,
and said to his wife, “Eliza, I have planted four saplings in these
woods; I leave them to your care.” He was buried in a corner of a wheat
field on his little farm, and the mother and her boys worked in the
fields together. James was her baby. When he was four years old he went
to the district school. He was sent thus early that he might learn to
read and write before he became old enough to assist on the farm. The
three elder children were at work, and when the mother could spare time
from her indoor duties she helped them to gather hay, plant corn, and,
with her eldest boy’s aid, she cleared new land and fenced it in. Little
James learned to spell and read, and imbibed with every passing day the
inspiration of purpose and reverence for work that came by-and-by to be
second nature to him. His mother early saw that he loved study, and she
determined to help him gratify his taste. She could not send him to
school in winter, because it was too far for his little feet to plod
alone, and she offered to give a corner out of her farm if her neighbors
would put up a school-house. It was done, and James became a pupil. He
carried home a New Testament at the close of the first term for being
the best boy in school.
When he was sixteen he walked sixteen miles to offer his services to a
farmer who wanted laborers. He was asked what pay he expected, and
replied, “A man’s wages—a dollar a day.” It was refused, and then he
volunteered to mow hay by the acre, with the help of a boy older than
himself. The offer was accepted, and he earned his dollar before four
o’clock in the afternoon.
Who does not know the story of his life? The tow-boy on the Erie Canal;
the steersman; the labor-loving and industrious widow’s son whose
respect for women all through his life was founded on his respect for
his mother. He was not long from home at any time, because she could not
bear it, and when he talked about being a sailor she told him of a
better life to lead. She was no drudge whose poverty had quelled
ambition. She was a true mother, and lived over her life in her
children. To her persevering persuasions her boy owed his opportunity
for study. Had she possessed riches she could not have done more for him
and might have done less. Her youngest born, whom the neighbors, looking
at in the cradle, thought would be better off out of the world than in
it, followed the way she led, and gave up his desire to work in order to
get an education. She was helped in her effort by a spell of sickness he
had, and which kept him in the house with her. To that attack of ague,
and the opportunity it gave his mother, he largely owed his future
career.
If anybody in the day of his power was surprised at the extreme and
enthusiastic devotion he paid his mother, it was from a lack of
knowledge of how he loved her. The sons of widows are, as a rule, far
more appreciative of their mothers than are other boys. It needs not a
very extended outlook of history to be able to recall numerous instances
of this truth, and among the Presidents themselves are several notable
examples of the influence of widowed mothers over ambitious sons. And it
is well to observe that great men who have owed their training directly
to their mothers have never failed to be the strictest observers of the
fifth commandment. It is not possible in the limits of this sketch to
trace all the struggles of the youth to get an education. His history is
one that should be studied by the young of both sexes in this country.
The life-work of Mother Garfield is written in the worthy lives of all
her children, and imperishably in the fame of her “baby” boy, the
twentieth President of the United States.
Mr. and Mrs. Garfield resided in Hiram until 1860, when he was elected
to the State Senate, and went to Columbus. He had previous to this time
made up his mind that he would become a lawyer, and was admitted to the
bar. His intention was to settle in Cleveland and practise his
profession, and he doubtless would have done so but for the breaking out
of the war. In 1861 he left the Senate to become Colonel of the
Forty-second Ohio Regiment. At an earlier period of his life, and while
a teacher, he had become a preacher of the Church of the Disciples—a
sect known as the Campbellites. His ministerial work was, however,
incidental, and not at any time a regular pursuit, though his friends
desired him to adopt it as such.
Mr. Garfield went to the war a poor man, not even owning a home, and it
was with money saved while in the service that his wife bought a house
and lot at Hiram, for which $800 was paid. His wife and children lived
in that modest little cottage, which he greatly improved, and owned no
other house until, in 1870, after several years of Congressional life,
he built himself a dwelling in Washington. When he went to the Senate
his salary of $5,000 a year was the largest amount of money he had ever
earned, and with a feeling of lessened pecuniary cares was entertained
the desire of owning a farm in Ohio, where his fast-growing boys could
spend their vacations, and where he could give his wife and himself the
rest they required after the busy winters in Washington. Lawnfield, a
place now historic, was purchased, and Mrs. Garfield designed the house,
which was erected in 1880, and into which the family moved that summer.
The long years of the war were spent by Mrs. Garfield at her home in
Hiram. Her parents were living not far away, and the absence of the
husband and father was as far as possible atoned for by the presence of
relatives and the companionship of Mother Garfield, whose home was with
her son from the time he had one to offer her. The months dragged slowly
by, until after the battle of Corinth, when Mrs. Garfield was gladdened
by the return of her husband, now Brigadier-General, who remained at
home for six months suffering from fever and ague, contracted on the
tow-path when a boy, and from the effects of which he was never able to
completely rid himself.
On his return to the front he joined General Rosecrans as Chief of
Staff, and at the battle of Chickamauga he won his Major-General’s
stars.
It was during this absence that he lost his infant daughter, and when
the news reached him he hastened home to attend the funeral. His dead
child was photographed in his arms, and this picture is among the
treasures cherished of him now. He was greatly attached to his children,
and in speaking of his lost one and the circumstance mentioned, he said
to his friend, President Hinsdale: “As I sat with that dead child in my
arms my eyes rested upon my bright blue uniform, so recently bestowed
upon me, and I thought: ‘How small are all the honors of this life—how
insignificant are all its struggles and triumphs!’ I am grieved and
broken in spirit at the great loss which has been inflicted upon me, but
I can endure almost anything so long as this brave little woman is left
me.”
While at the front the people of his district elected him to Congress;
and, in 1863, his career in Washington began, and for eight terms he was
re-elected. Afterward he was chosen to succeed Mr. Wade in the Senate.
The first years General Garfield lived in Washington, whether in
boarding-houses or in rented dwellings, his wife and himself were people
of no great prominence socially, because they were poor; both were busy
and their children absorbed their evenings. Their circle of friends was
a charming one, however, because their quiet tastes and studious habits
made them attractive to really accomplished people.
When Mrs. Garfield moved into her own house she was as happy as a woman
could be, and her husband was not less pleased that he could at last
shelter his children under his own roof and at his own fireside.
Doubtless, this time spent in their modest home was as free from care as
any they ever knew. But wherever they were they were happy together. The
mother had her heart’s desire in giving her children the careful home
training she could not have bestowed without such a home as she
possessed. Her house was a real home because her husband was one with
her in all things, and his life and hers were not separated in pleasure
or in duty. She was as fond of books as he, and he was always her
teacher. It was beyond doubt due to his influence over her life in its
formative period that she became a teacher. Her appreciation of his
ability and their kindred tastes made them comrades in study and in
work. They were united in more than in their domestic relations, and
grew nearer together as the years passed.
It is rarely that two people marry, who have known each other so long
and so well as did this couple, and it is one of the causes of
congratulation that their example has been so prominently set before the
world. Men and women of the nobler sort, who appreciate the need there
is in public life of notable examples of happy marriages will never
regret that the opportunity was given this man and woman to discover
their home-life to the people of this country, however much they may
deplore the terrible calamity that was the means of unveiling the sacred
side of their lives to the world. The comfort it is to the American
people—in view of the world-wide publicity given the slightest
circumstance connected with their career—that these two people were so
admirable in their personal characters and in their home-life, has not
been fully realized generally; but it is undeniably true that it was the
one sweet strain that sang itself into the wounded hearts of a nation in
their time of grief and pain.
Ten years before Mrs. Garfield went into the White House, and during one
summer when the family were in Ohio, she was compelled to do much of her
own work. In the temporary absence of her husband from home, she wrote
him a letter, which, intended for no other eye than his, fell into the
hands of President Hinsdale, who made an extract from it for the use of
his pupils, as showing the character of the President’s wife and her
views upon the subject of woman’s work. It is appropriate here, and is
as follows:
“I am glad to tell that out of all the toil and disappointments of the
summer just ended, I have risen up to a victory; that silence of thought
since you have been away has won for my spirit a triumph. I read
something like this the other day: ‘There is no healthy thought without
labor, and thought makes the labor happy.’ Perhaps this is the way I
have been able to climb up higher. It came to me one morning when I was
making bread. I said to myself, ‘Here I am compelled by an inevitable
necessity to make our bread this summer. Why not consider it a pleasant
occupation, and make it so by trying to see what perfect bread I can
make?’ It seemed like an inspiration, and the whole of life grew
brighter. The very sunshine seemed flowing down through my spirit into
the white loaves, and now I believe my table is furnished with better
bread than ever before; and this truth, old as creation, seems just now
to have become fully mine—that I need not be the shrinking slave of
toil, but its regal master, making whatever I do yield me its best
fruits. You have been king of your work so long that maybe you laugh at
me for having lived so long without my crown, but I am too glad to have
found it at all to be entirely discontented even by your merriment. Now,
I wonder if right here does not lie the ‘terrible wrong,’ or at least
some of it, of which the woman suffragists complain. The wrongly
educated woman thinks her duties a disgrace, and frets under them or
shrinks them if she can. She sees man triumphantly pursuing his
vocations, and thinks it is the kind of work he does which makes him
grand and regnant; whereas it is not the kind of work at all, but the
way in which he does it.”
In this letter is discovered the quality for which Mrs. Garfield is
distinguished—self-discipline. She is a woman fitted for emergencies,
and it requires them to show her real worth. The control she has over
her emotional nature gives her an immense advantage in meeting a trying
exigency. She withstands surprises, shocks and disasters with a steady
courage that commands respect, and long ago made her a heroine in the
eyes of her husband. In speaking to a friend, a few months before he was
inaugurated, while remarking upon some public man whose domestic affairs
had crippled his course of usefulness, he said of her:
“I have been singularly fortunate in marrying a woman who has never
given me any perplexity about anything she has said. I have never had to
explain away words of hers. She has been so prudent that I have never
been diverted from my work for one minute to take up any mistakes of
hers. She is perfectly unstampedable. When things get worse and there is
the most public clamor and the most danger to me and to us, then she is
the coolest. Sometimes it looks a little blue before me, but I get
courage from her perfect bravery.”
A Washington correspondent, in writing of Mrs. Garfield, paid her this
tribute:
“She was in Washington City during the years of extravagance, and almost
every Congressman’s wife had a carriage and every house competed for
brilliant visitors. She lived through that time as if she belonged to a
different social scale. She would not refuse to see anybody, but was
seldom dressed as if ready for company. She never apologized for her
appearance, and she made visits about twice or three times a year,
generally calling on foot, but never failing to please with the
sweetness of her countenance, the beauty of her eyes, and a
self-restraint and reserve perfectly natural.”
Another correspondent, in referring to the same period, says:
“Quietly, but with the truest kindness, has Mrs. Garfield presided over
her modest house at the corner of Thirteenth and I streets, in this
city, during the years since General Garfield purchased it. In it she
has entertained, often in the simplest style, but ever with
old-fashioned, true-hearted hospitality, all of wit, wisdom, beauty that
Washington has had during the years she has been here. She is an
accomplished hostess as well as an accomplished woman—they’re two very
different things. Living as the Garfields have had to live, in the most
economical way, doing without elegant clothes, fine furniture, sumptuous
food, good, new, and rare old books, dearer than all else to them, they
have contributed more to make Washington winter life pleasant and
profitable than many other families who have supplemented less taste and
culture with more money. Mrs. Garfield’s receptions have been the
largest ever held by the wife of a mere Representative. They have far
surpassed those of more ambitious Senators’ wives, and have approximated
those of the ladies of the Supreme Court and Cabinet families in size
merely. In attractions they have stood abreast of any of them. This
simply because Mrs. Garfield is a sweet-tempered, cultured, refined
woman, in whose smile it is a pleasure to bask.
“When we consider that, without allowing her manifold cares to interfere
with the performance of her social duties, she has managed her
establishment alone, and personally conducted the training of her boys
for college, we can conceive her superiority, with all her social
success, to the mere ‘society leader.’ General Garfield is the president
of our literary society, and during the past year it has met at his
house. It was more pleasantly entertained there than it had ever been
before. Mrs. Garfield exerted even her latent social powers that night,
and it was difficult for her guests to break away from her delightful
parlors.”
The summer preceding the Chicago Convention, the Garfield family went to
Mentor rather late in the season, and remained there through the fall
and winter. It had been their intention to return to Washington as usual
before the reassembling of Congress, but the result of the Convention
changed previous plans, and the household continued there until the week
before the inauguration. During that time the crowds continually
visiting Mentor left Mrs. Garfield but little time for relaxation and
rest. She was in the midst of excitement of a political kind constantly,
and to it were added the onerous duties of hostess—a position scarcely
to be desired, under such circumstances. She shrank from the publicity
which the nomination of her husband to the highest gift in the nation
subjected her, though she met the requirements of the position with a
pleasant demeanor and quiet reserve natural to her.
The newspapers abounded in personal allusions to the family, and many
efforts were made to obtain her photograph for publication in the
illustrated periodicals. This she would not permit, either during the
canvass or after the election. It was not in her power, however, to
prevent those who had her picture from showing it to their friends, and
finally she recognized the natural desire of the public to see the
photograph of the Lady of the White House, and she sat for one that was
approved by herself and husband. The engraving accompanying this sketch
is from that photograph, and is a correct likeness of her, as she
appeared at that time.
Though the newspapers could not obtain her photograph, the
correspondents made pen-pictures of herself and her home. One of them
(writing to the Detroit _Evening News_) gave so pleasant a picture of
her that it is reproduced in part. It was written shortly after the
election:
“The historic orchard and pumpkin-fields were lying peacefully now under
their snowy covering, and giving no signs of the recent scenes of
devastation. Crossing the wide veranda, the solitary pilgrim rang the
bell, and was ushered by a wonderfully patient-looking colored
man-servant into the reception-room, although that is quite too formal a
name to give a room combining such an air of comfort with its elegance;
it is the emanation of an artist and a fireside genius in one, and you
are not surprised to learn later that the mistress of the mansion is an
artist of considerable skill. A royal grate-fire burns brightly at one
end of the room, over which is a Queen Anne mantel, with cabinet
photographs of Garfield and Arthur, painted candles, and numerous
articles of bric-a-brac. At the opposite end of the apartment stands a
fine upright piano, adorned with photographs of Hancock, Marshall Jewell
and Ole Bull. Over this is a French picture in bright watercolors, on
one side of which hangs a copy of Meissonier’s Napoleon, on the other a
little landscape, painted and given her, Mrs. Garfield relates, by her
old drawing teacher, of whom she tells some interesting reminiscences.
“The quiet tinted walls of the reception-room are further adorned with
large portraits of the General and his mother, one of Alexander
Campbell, the founder of the faith which Garfield indorses, and a number
of other pieces, among them a copy of Miss Ransom’s ‘Hagar and her Son,’
from—‘let me see if I can remember the name,’ Mrs. Garfield said,
turning the picture and spelling out the Italian name from a card on the
back. ‘Miss Ransom put the card there so that I shouldn’t forget the
name, because he was not one of the best known painters.’
“‘And this,’ pointing to a little gilt frame decorated with pansies,
‘was sent to the General by a little Vermont girl, her own work, and the
verse inscribed on it was written for her by Whittier.’
“In this interest in her pictures and their histories Mrs. Garfield
showed constantly the artistic element in her nature, as well as in a
hundred touches about the rooms.
“A small-figured dark carpet covered the floor, a Smyrna rug lay before
the fire, in the glow of which sat the famous grandmother, a quaint
little figure, making with her snowy hair and cap, and her
knitting-work, a fitting adjunct to an ‘interior’ charming enough for
anybody’s pencil. There were easy-chairs and lounges, speaking of solid
comfort, and a little centre-table piled up carelessly with all kinds of
books, school-books, story-books, a gay-colored copy of _Chic_, a life
of the President-elect, and ‘Bits of Talk,’ by H. H., being among them.
And there were also upon that table—yes, actually, dear prim
housekeepers—the well-known slouch hat of the General’s, and a roll of
red flannel, with a thimble beside it.
“Everywhere—in every nook and corner—there are books. A case in the
parlor contains editions of Waverley and Dickens, French history in the
original, old English poets and dramatists richly bound in black and
gold, and a choice collection of miscellaneous works; in the little
hallway leading to the dining-room are books, and in the dining-room
itself more books. The last is a cheery room with its handsome tiled
mantle, open fire, pictures and shining silver. There is everywhere
evidence of the dainty housekeeper.
“The pilgrim wandered out through the back regions of the house where
the tin wash-basin and milk-cans, which were really seen, would no doubt
be deemed objects of sacred interest to the enthusiastic adorer, and
crossed over to the detached office, whose walls are lined with
ponderous volumes, and where busy clerks and a peculiar hum of the wires
gives one some idea of the work done there. A peculiarity of the
telegraph wires running into General Garfield’s office is that the sound
of Cleveland’s church bells is conveyed distinctly over them, thirty
miles.
“Under a tree near the office was a spirited picture. The two youngest
scions of the house and the great Newfoundland dog, all three in a state
of frantic delight, were chasing a coon which had been sent the General
by train that morning, a sample of the odd and incongruous quality of
the presents which are showered upon the family. Returning to the
parlor, the visitor found Mrs. Garfield seated before the fire, and
received her pleasant and cordial consent to the sketching of her home
for the benefit of the public, who have a natural and loyal interest in
it. To those who would wish to see a brilliant society leader in the
White House, Mrs. Garfield will perhaps be a disappointment; but those
who have been led to think of her as a retiring, mere domestic woman,
inadequate to the position, will also be disappointed. She is a lady of
admirable self-poise, dignity and thorough culture, reserved yet
affable, and with the distinguishing trait of genuineness. There is not
a trace of affectation about her. A Mentor gentleman remarked, ‘There
isn’t a family in town, apparently, so little set up by the situation as
the Garfields.’
“When asked if she dreaded the coming responsibilities (so much has been
said of her retiring nature), she said, slowly, with her brown eyes
fixed thoughtfully on the fire: ‘Yes, in many ways; but it has always
been my experience, so far, that one grows fitted for responsibility as
it comes. My greatest fear is that the time will slip by, and when it is
over I shall have it to look back to with regret for the many things
that ought to have been done.’
“With such a spirit it will be safe to trust the woman influence in the
next administration. That it is going to be an influence that will be
felt, no one who is acquainted with Mrs. Garfield doubts....
“Her youth was spent quietly at Hiram, and there were struggles
connected with it, in obtaining her education, which have doubtless
aided in developing her self-reliant spirit. Since marriage her life has
been devoted to her family, but she has always given up a great deal of
time to the rites of hospitality.
“‘Bless you,’ said a local gossip, ‘they have always been overrun with
visitors. Why, Mrs. Garfield hasn’t had a chance to get acquainted,
hardly, with people here.’ The same oracle said: ‘Mrs. Garfield is
wonderfully firm; if she once makes up her mind to a thing nothing can
turn her. Now, the general can be coaxed, but they both have splendid
family government.’... The pilgrim boarded the train, with a good-bye,
for Mentor, and an uncommonly pleasant picture tucked away in his memory
of a charming home, and of the future mistress of the White House. The
latter picture is in personnel a slender, graceful lady, with a
transparently clear complexion, with delicate features, and clear,
penetrating, brown eyes; hair the same shade of brown, worn in a braid
at the back, and frizzed quite in conventional style in front. A dark
blue dress, simple lace tie, and little or no jewelry, completed the
lady’s home appearance.
“A gentleman, well acquainted with the family, remarked: ‘Mrs. Garfield
looks a little worn now, and no wonder. She has changed a good deal
within the last year. When she got the telegram announcing the
nomination the tears came into her eyes, and when she was asked if she
was not glad and proud to hear it, she said: “Oh, yes; but it is a
terrible responsibility to come to him and to me;” but I tell you she
has put her shoulder to the wheel bravely so far, and she will continue
to the end.’”
The allusion to Miss Ransom, the artist, in this extract, recalls the
fact that a year or more previous to the election, General Garfield
commissioned her to paint a portrait of Mrs. Garfield. The two were old
Cleveland friends, and had been intimately associated for years. The
portrait was painted, and during the week of the inauguration it was
seen by many strangers in Washington who visited her studio. She told a
characteristic thing of Mrs. Garfield in connection with this portrait.
Miss Ransom for a background sketched a beautiful view from the
Soldiers’ Home, showing the Capitol, and the Potomac, like a thread of
silver, in the far distance. Mrs. Garfield objected to it, saying, “That
will do for a President’s wife who resides at the Soldiers’ Home a part
of each year, but not for me.” The artist argued and pleaded, but in
vain. Mrs. Garfield was decided in her mind, and refused to have it. She
however added to her objection the remark, that she would be pleased if
there could be introduced into the picture a view of Franklin Park—“the
corner opposite my window, where I have so often watched my children at
play,” she said. The artist still demurred, on the ground that the park
was so near and so shut in that it was impossible to get the perspective
requisite for a good background, but the children and the General were
delighted with Mrs. Garfield’s idea, and Miss Ransom yielded to their
united request, and the portrait was finished accordingly. General
Garfield was greatly pleased with the result, and would not let the
portrait be taken from Washington to the artist’s studio in Cleveland,
where she proposed to complete it, lest something might befall it in the
transportation.
[Illustration:
ELIZA BALLOU GARFIELD.
]
Of the mother of General Garfield much was said previous to the
inauguration, and has been since. She is the first mother of a President
who has lived in the White House, and by reason of the deference and
distinction her son showed her has been the recipient of exceptional
attentions. No one who ever saw her in his company but felt that an
unusual tie bound them. They were the ideal mother and son, and were so
recognized years before he had grown into a public man. “You never see
General Garfield at church without his wife and mother,” was the remark
of a resident of Washington who lived near the Church of the Disciples.
“He goes by here almost every Sunday with his wife on one arm and his
mother on the other.”
People who called at the house saw the bright old lady, who was
“grandma” to so many children, and knew by her sunshiny manner that she
was an honored member of the family—not a mere guest or an inmate of the
house. She was “mother” to Mrs. Garfield as well as to her son, and the
two women loved each other because their hearts were centred in him.
Many incidents are related of her sterling worth and integrity of
character. Few women of to-day have known such rugged experiences with
poverty as she had for long years after she lost her young husband. She
must have been possessed of intense force of will, or she would have
failed in the work she accomplished. All her children were blessings to
her, and honored her absolutely. She lived for years a life of toil, and
in the neighborhood of the old home are told many circumstances
creditable to her. Her eldest son was a little boy when his father died,
and was not able to wield an axe. She wanted fences made, and her
neighbors offered to do the job for her, as they did for each other. The
custom was a common one, and all that was expected in return was a
supply of whiskey. She refused to furnish liquor to them—she the widow,
with fatherless boys about her, watching her example and knowing no
other guide. She wielded her maul and split her own rails, without
subjecting her boys to temptation or perilling their future by any act
of hers. Widow Garfield would not open her door to an enemy too strong
for women to cope with in strangers and the bitterest of foes to
encounter in the home circle, and wisely decided to save her young at
whatever sacrifice. If people occasionally wondered at the depth of her
children’s love, and the jealous care they bestowed upon her, it was
because she had earned such riches for herself and was wearing the crown
that was of her own making.
The scene at the inauguration of her son—when he stood in the presence
of the most distinguished men and women of the land, and saw a sea of
human beings before him such as no man could count, and turning from
them all kissed his old mother first and then his wife—will never be
forgotten. The people could talk of nothing else then, and cannot now
recall the event without dwelling upon it. The new President might well
have overlooked his mother at such a time and been formal with his wife,
but he was husband and son first, and the young men who witnessed the
spectacle were benefited and blessed by it.
Such filial and husbandly devotion won President Garfield the respect of
wives and mothers throughout the land—a respect which kindled into
affection in the time that came. A speedy illustration of the effect of
this act was given by a young school-girl who had been an eye-witness to
it, and whose enthusiasm was checked by her companion. “It was done for
effect,” he teasingly remarked. “It was done because he is a knight—a
real Sir Galahad!” she replied, the bright eyes sparkling, the rosy
cheeks flushing, as she defended her hero. That little act was the tie
that bound the women of this country to those two women as nothing else
could, and it was an assurance of a happy home which aroused generous
American sentiment for the new White House occupants.
Mrs. Garfield was eighty years of age when her youngest child entered
upon the performance of the highest office in his country, and very
naturally she was the object of much sincere interest. When the
Presidential party reached Washington, she was escorted from the car by
her son and placed in the carriage of President Hayes, which awaited her
coming. She was driven to the White House direct, and was there to
welcome her son and daughter when they came over from the Riggs House in
the evening to see her. Her heart must have throbbed with thankfulness
and delight that night as she looked back over the years that lay behind
her, thought of the husband dead for fifty years, and dwelt upon the
career of her boy, who had grown up by her side, and was the first in
the land and ruler of a nation.
Incidents of her early life are rare, and from a relative, an aged man,
who knew her in girlhood, these facts are obtained:
“Eliza Ballou and a sister, about 1820, by the death of their parents,
were left alone in the world and unprovided for, 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, 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 a 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 school-house
uninjured. Not so the lightning. A bolt struck a tree that projected
closely over the roof and then the roof of the building itself. Some of
the pupils were greatly alarmed, and no doubt thought it the crack of
doom or 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 the
teacher and all the pupils lying dead on the floor, as he thought.
Presently the teacher began to move a little, and rose to her feet.
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,
and, though life was saved for a time, reason had forever fled. This was
a fearful experience for a young female teacher, and it probably ended
her career as an instructress.
“Eliza Ballou’s sister married in northern Ohio, and while on a visit to
her the former made the acquaintance of Abram Garfield, and subsequently
married him. When James was about sixteen years old, he and his widowed
mother visited Muskingum county in search of a school for the young man.
They visited the family of the elder Arnold, at Norwich, and also the
family of Samuel Arnold, now a citizen of New Lexington, and before
referred to. The unusual intelligence of the boy and the astonishing
affection between mother and son were what chiefly impressed itself upon
the minds of those who entertained the poor humble boy who was to become
a future President of the United States, and die a martyr to the high
official position, more widely lamented than any other man had ever
been. There appeared to be no opening for a school in the neighborhood
of Norwich, and mother and son went to Uncle Ballou’s, in another part
of the county, where James got a school and taught a single term. The
money thus earned he applied in further educating himself. And this was
why he and his mother were hunting a school.”
Forty-five years later the proudest day of that mother’s life had come,
and she went forth to meet it, treading lightly, forgetting that she was
old, and remembering that it was “her baby” who was to be made President
of the United States. “There is the President’s mother,” was whispered
among the throng, as a small, elderly lady, dressed in black silk, with
her white head covered with a close-fitting bonnet, stepped into the
Senate gallery. It was the woman in her that made her so calm and
composed as she looked down upon the scene before her; it was the mother
in her that caused her withered cheeks to flush and the tears to start
as she saw her son come upon the floor, surrounded by the chief officers
of the nation.
She was the first to receive him as he entered the Executive Mansion,
and a sweeter picture has rarely been seen on earth than this little
mother presented as she advanced, with a proud step and eyes full of
tears, to greet her son. What mattered it to her if the grandest civil
and military procession ever seen in Washington had escorted him there
and was awaiting his presence impatiently! She was his mother by right
of royal reverence as by ties of nature, and she was not disappointed in
the honor paid her. She could walk under his outstretched arm thirty
years before without stooping; but he paid her the same deference he
gave her when he was a little son and not a great man—when she was a
hard-toiling and strong-armed woman, and not the mother of the Chief
Magistrate of the country.
Despite her fatigue she wanted to see all that was done in her son’s
honor, and when the party left the lunch-table and went to the
reviewing-stand on the avenue in front of the Mansion, Mother Garfield
was one of the number, and for a long while sat near her son enjoying
the sight. The vast multitude that filed in front of that stand scarcely
had time to note the presence of the venerable woman before them, but
the people about her watched her with a satisfaction almost undefinable
to themselves and never to be forgotten now, in view of all that has
transpired.
A few days after she was established in the White House she wrote a
letter to a relative in the West which, as here given, does not show the
handwriting tremulous with age, yet exhibits all the beautiful spirit of
the writer:
“WHITE HOUSE, _March 7, 1881_.
“MY DEAR COUSIN:—I received your good letter and your picture also, and
would have answered sooner, but waited to get my picture. I have some,
and will send you one, though they are not good. I am happy to tell you
that we are all pretty well, but a good deal tired out. We have passed
through the greatest rush of people for the last six months that I ever
saw. Since the Inauguration it is one steady stream of old friends
calling. It takes pretty much all of the time to entertain them; they
want to see the President’s mother. I am the first mother that has
occupied the White House and her son President, but I feel very thankful
for such a son. I don’t like the word proud, but if I must use it I
think in this case it is quite appropriate. How many times my mind goes
back to our girlhood school days! but changes take place. I have seen
sorrowful days and have seen happy days. I was once young and am now
old, but I have never seen the righteous forsaken or his seed begging
his bread. I have got a very pleasant room, nice furnished, and waited
on in the very best manner possible. Now I want you to write to me. Our
folks all send love to you; with very much love, I remain your aged
cousin,
“ELIZA GARFIELD.”
Notwithstanding the novelty of her position, the first instance of the
kind in the history of the Presidents, although her son was not the
first President whose mother was living during his term of office, she
was at once established as a great favorite, and her short stay in the
White House was as happy as worldly honors and human affection could
make it. When the summer came she longed for the country and old friends
in Ohio, and accompanied by her two youngest grandsons, she returned to
Mentor. She expected her son to visit her during the summer, and to
return with her daughter in the fall to the White House.
[Illustration:
MENTOR—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
]
No more imposing ceremonies were ever witnessed in Washington, or in
this country, than those which attended the inauguration of President
James A. Garfield. Thousands of National Guardsmen and scores of civic
associations were in the procession, which, with the exception of the
famous review in 1865, was the finest pageant the country has yet seen.
Twenty thousand men were in line, and the cortege occupied two hours in
passing the review-stand. From the White House to the Capitol there was
a mass of people, and the decorations of the historic avenue were
profuse and handsome. The snow lay on the parks and terraces about the
Capitol, and the day was raw and disagreeable, though the sun shone at
noonday and dispelled the sombre clouds that hung heavy over the city
after the storm of the preceding night and early morning.
In the front row of the Senate gallery the wife and mother of General
Garfield sat beside Mrs. Hayes, and with them were the only daughters of
the incoming and outgoing Presidents. The galleries were very soon
crowded with a brilliant audience, and on the floor of the Senate were
many distinguished men. General Hancock, the Democratic candidate for
the Presidency, was among the number, and the ovation tendered him was
second only to that bestowed upon the President-elect. The ceremony of
introducing his successor was performed by Vice-President Wheeler; and
after the oath of office had been administered to Vice-President Arthur,
and Mr. Wheeler had said his farewell to the Senate, the assembly
adjourned to the eastern portico to witness the taking of the oath of
office by President Garfield. The spectacle was a grand one. A vast
multitude of people gazed upon the immense platform upon which were
seated General Garfield, with Chief-Justice Waite on his right and
Sergeant-at-Arms Bright on his left. Immediately back of the three, who
were directly in the centre of the platform, sat President Hayes, Mrs.
Hayes and Mrs. Garfield and the mother of General Garfield. Still behind
them stood Mollie Garfield and Fanny Hayes, and to their right sat the
Speaker of the House of Representatives, Mr. Randall. The gentlemen sat
with their heads uncovered. The Chief-Justice rose from his seat, and
instantly the noise and din died away, and the oath of office was
administered. Then followed the inaugural address, after which Mr. Hayes
shook hands with the new President, as did the Chief-Justice. Turning
from them, President Garfield tenderly kissed his mother and then his
wife. This being the first incident of its kind, the people noted it
with great gratification, and the throng rent the air with huzzas, while
the President received the congratulations of those about him as he
slowly made his way back to the head of the procession. The ladies of
the party returned first, and were at the White House before the
procession got under way from the Capitol. The President’s carriage was
drawn by four horses, and the escort were the Cleveland troops, in showy
uniforms. General Sherman rode at the head of the procession. The
reviewing-stand in front of the White House was occupied by a
distinguished company, which awaited the coming of the Presidential
party from the White House, whither they had gone to lunch. At half-past
two the President and ex-President walked down to the stand, followed by
their families and the entire White House party. The President stood
with his wife and his mother on his right, and ex-President and Mrs.
Hayes on his left, with General Hancock immediately behind and above
him, and surrounded by the members of the Cabinet, Senators, Congressmen
and a numerous company of ladies.
President Hayes and his family became the guests of Secretary and Mrs.
Sherman, and after the procession had passed they returned to the door
of the Mansion, took leave of the President and Mrs. Garfield, and with
their son, who welcomed Mrs. Garfield as she crossed the threshold, were
driven away.
The city was brilliantly illuminated at night, and the inauguration ball
in the Museum Building was attended by nearly every person of
distinction in Washington. Mrs. Garfield was arrayed in a magnificent
dress of lavender satin, with trimmings of point lace and a corsage
bouquet of pansies. Mrs. Hayes wore a white satin de Lyons trimmed with
pearl passementeries. Both costumes were elegant and were worn without
jewels. In a ball-room thronged with ladies whose superb diamonds were
resplendent and glittered with reflected light, their simplicity was all
the more charming.
The National Museum is a building designed in the form of a Greek cross,
the arms diverging from a central octagonal, surmounted by a dome, and
the temporary decorations were magnificent, consisting of statues,
tropical plants, flowers and the national colors, draped with evergreen,
and coats-of-arms. The President and Mrs. Garfield received on a raised
dais. The gallery above them was for the use of Mrs. Garfield and Mrs.
Hayes and their invited guests. Another was occupied by General Hancock,
who was the guest of the committee, surrounded by a distinguished party
of military officers. The scene, viewed from the balcony near the
rotunda, had the appearance of a series of halls, separated by arches,
and affording an extended and varied vista. The view was enchanting and
bewildering. The picture was a never-to-be-forgotten one. With all the
adjuncts of famous people, gorgeous in apparel and surrounded by music
and flowers, the ball-room is remembered as a fairy place and recalled
as a bright dream.
Succeeding the inauguration were days of bustle and excitement for the
new inmates of the White House. They had many friends in the city where
they had lived so long and entertained so hospitably, and all were
anxious to see them. So likewise were the hundreds of strangers who had
visited the Capitol to witness the inaugural ceremonies, and the
Saturday evening following the event the President and Mrs. Garfield
received. In the matter of dress Mrs. Garfield came up to the
requirements of her position. At this reception she wore a rich ruby
velvet, made in princess style, the facings of the long bow and loops
that fastened the fullness at the back being of Sultan red satin. The
open neck and the half-long sleeves were ornamented with elegant lace.
Her hair was simply arranged after the prevailing style, and she wore no
jewels.
Several afternoon receptions were held during the spring, and many
invited guests were informally entertained, but there was no opportunity
for social gayeties, and the anticipations were all the brighter for the
coming winter. The ladies of the Cabinet numbered several long
accustomed to official life in Washington, and it was anticipated that
the receptions and State dinners the coming winter would be rendered
brilliant by the circle immediately about the President. Mrs. Blaine,
Mrs. MacVeagh, Mrs. James, Mrs. Lincoln, and in fact all, were well
known in Washington society, and were united in their desire to make the
Administration, socially, as successful as it promised to be officially.
The spring wore away, and the summer came, bringing with it the two
elder sons of the President, who had been away at school.
The five children of the President and Mrs. Garfield attracted much
attention while in the White House, particularly the two eldest boys,
Harry and James, just developing into manhood, and Mollie, the only
daughter. Two younger lads, Irwin and Abram, were less before the public
than the elder children, and were in Washington but a short time, having
returned to Ohio in the early summer. The elder boys were at their
studies, and the daughter was too young to participate in the few public
receptions given by the President.
The family were all together for a time in the spring, and this
description of a dining-room scene is given by a Washington
correspondent:
“In the cosy family dining-room the President’s seat is midway the
length of the table on its west side, and Mrs. Garfield sits opposite,
with Harry, her eldest, a decided ‘mother boy,’ as near her as the
presence of almost constant guests will permit, while Jimmie sits
correspondingly near his father, where also ‘Grandma’ Garfield has an
honored place. She is always waited on first, whoever else may be
present. Mollie sits at the north end of the table, and the two younger
boys are disposed a little promiscuously, according to the exigencies of
the case. Harry is eighteen, tall and graceful, with the regular
features of his mother. The down of manhood appears on his cheeks.
Jimmie, sixteen years old, is nearly or quite as tall as his brother and
broader shouldered, with the Saxon hair and large features of his
father, whom he bids fair to resemble strongly in person and intellect.
Mollie, aged fourteen, has the dark-brown hair of her mother and the
lineaments of her father not unhandsomely reproduced. When womanhood has
softened the charm of her face she will be very fine-looking. She is a
great pet with her father. Irwin, aged eleven, and Abram, aged nine, you
already know through descriptions, especially the former, who is the
eccentric one, possibly the genius of them all. He is named for General
McDowell, and insists that his name must be always written, not Irwin
M., but Irwin McD. Meal-time is almost the only time the President has
lately had with his children, and he devotes himself in great part to
them at that time, after asking questions on some interesting point of
Harry or James or Mollie to draw them out, and then explaining it at
considerable length, instructing by the Socratic method as it were.”
The eldest and the youngest of the household are dead; the latter, an
infant son, having died in Washington four years before the President’s
election. It is related of General Garfield that he suffered intense
grief at the loss of his children, and his friends frequently during his
last months of life recalled the sorrow he manifested at the time of his
little child’s death in Washington.
In June the public was startled with the news of Mrs. Garfield’s
illness, and it was with great concern that the announcements from the
sick-room were learned. The President gave up all public matters, and
for days watched over her, giving her the medicines prescribed and
remaining at her bedside day and night. Happily, her life was saved, and
so soon as she could be conveyed from Washington, she was taken to Long
Branch, where it was hoped the sea air would restore her. She was so
weak when she got there that she had to be carried to her room, and was
but beginning to grow strong when the President left her and returned to
Washington, preparatory to making a trip to New England and the White
Mountains. He was daily cheered by the news of his wife’s steady
improvement, and was anticipating a happy visit to Williams College, his
_Alma Mater_. The party were to leave Washington on the third of July,
and be joined by Mrs. Garfield and her friends at New York. The trip was
all arranged, and the morning of the eventful day came. Mrs. Garfield at
Long Branch was anticipating a reunion with her husband, and was making
final preparations to start from the hotel to the train when the news
that startled the nation reached there and was in part tenderly broken
to her. She was taken from Washington, at a leisurely gait, a helpless
invalid, but the telegram that shocked her that July morning sent her
back at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Even that seemed slow to the
anxious wife and the suffering husband. The event was the
never-to-be-forgotten, never-to-be-forgiven tragedy of the shooting of
President Garfield, the particulars of which are briefly told here.
On the morning of Saturday, July 2d, when it was supposed that the
President was on his way from Washington to New York, accompanied by all
his Cabinet, their wives and several friends, this news was flashed over
the wires: “President Garfield was shot before leaving on the limited
express train this morning!”
The brief announcement, made in two lines, that the President of the
United States had been shot by an assassin, excited great incredulity,
then amazement, and finally a feeling of horror that rendered suspense
almost intolerable. The second despatch followed speedily, and it
conveyed the intelligence that Colonel Corbin had returned to the
President with a physician. This was meagre enough, and the third was
waited with intense excitement. It said: “President Garfield was shot
this morning at the Baltimore and Potomac depot by an assassin. It is
reported that he is mortally wounded. The assassin was caught.”
The fourth despatch, dated half an hour later, was to the effect that
Dr. Bliss had said that the President’s wound was not a mortal one, and
that concerning the assassin nothing was known except that he was under
arrest. A subsequent message announced that the physicians attending the
President were holding a consultation. Soon came the particulars of the
shooting:
The President and Mr. Blaine rode from the White House to the depot in
the Secretary’s carriage. Reaching the entrance on B street, the
President and the Secretary left it and entered the ladies’
waiting-room, walking arm-in-arm. Just at the moment that they were
passing through the door into the main room, two shots were fired. Mr.
Blaine saw a man run through the room at that instant, and started
toward him, but turning to the President and seeing that he had fallen
he sprang to his side, as did several others, and raised his head from
the floor. One shot passed through the arm, and the other took effect in
the lower part of the back. There were few people in the room when the
shots were fired. The members of the President’s party were on the
platform beyond the waiting-room, or in the car that was ready to start
the moment the President was aboard. Secretaries Windom and Hunt were
promenading on the platform, Postmaster-General James stood at the side
of the car in which were seated the ladies of the party. They were all
chatting as they watched for the coming of the President. Colonel
Jamison, of the Post-office Department, ran out of the depot immediately
after the shots were fired and exclaimed, “The President is shot!” One
of the party made a doubting reply, but when their informant answered “I
saw it,” they rushed back and found the President on the floor, his head
supported by Mrs. White, the woman in charge of the waiting-room, who
had witnessed the shooting. The entire party hastily quitted the car and
followed them to the scene, and a large crowd gathered about the
prostrate form. Shortly after a mattress was brought in and the
President was removed to the upper floor of the depot. Within an hour an
ambulance had arrived and the President, who had grown very weak, was
removed to it and conveyed to the White House. The news spread like
wildfire, and those who at first doubted the report became convinced
that something had happened by the rapid driving of a carriage through
Pennsylvania avenue, clearing the way for the ambulance which followed
driven at a rapid pace, and surrounded by mounted police. An excited
throng followed. The President bore the removal with great fortitude,
and in fact, after the first paroxysm of pain and faintness had passed,
he seemed not again to lose his self-control. His first thought after
the shock of the shooting had passed was of his wife, and from speaking
reassuringly to his son James, who was beside him, he dictated to
Colonel Rockwell this despatch to her:
“The President wishes me to say to you from him that he has been
seriously hurt. How seriously he cannot yet say. He is himself, and
hopes you will come to him soon. He sends his love to you.”
The ladies of the party hurried to the White House to make preparations
for the reception of the President, and when the sad procession reached
the Mansion, everything was in readiness for him. As he was lifted from
the ambulance he saw some familiar faces at the windows, and with a
smile, which those who saw it will never forget, he raised his right
hand and gave the military salute. His face was ghastly white, and it
was thought that his moments were numbered. He was carried into the
“southwest chamber,” that he had recently occupied as a sleeping room,
and was soon surrounded by the physicians. The events that transpired in
that room during the day were made known throughout the land, and are
familiar to all readers of the newspapers.
It is not needful in a sketch of Mrs. Garfield to recite the painful
history of the creature who shot the President, or to give any of the
particulars of his case. His name is execrated wherever it is heard, and
the world would be glad to bury it in eternal oblivion. The only emotion
of a human kind exhibited by him was his hesitation to shoot the
President when he went to Long Branch with Mrs. Garfield. In his
confession he stated that he was at the depot for that purpose, but
noticing that Mrs. Garfield was pale and ill, and clung tenderly to her
husband’s arm, he decided not to take his life then.
It was seven o’clock in the evening when the train dashed at express
speed into Washington. Shortly afterward the President heard the wheels
of a carriage on the drive, and speaking to Mrs. James, who sat beside
him, said, “That is my wife.” Alighting from the carriage she was
accompanied up the stairs by her son James and Attorney-General
MacVeagh. She hurried to the bedside of the President, and greeted him
with a cheerful smile. Her self-control and quiet demeanor were noted by
the doctors, who returned to the room and terminated the interview for
the time being. She was escorted out of her husband’s presence, and then
broke down, weeping piteously. Shortly afterward she returned to the
bedside and had a second private interview with him. From that time he
manifested favorable symptoms and hope was revived. Later in the
evening, as Mrs. James sat beside him watching him as he slept, he
suddenly awoke, and said to her: “Do you know where Mrs. Garfield is
now?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. James answered; “she is close by, watching and praying
for her husband.”
He looked up to the lady with an anxious face, and said, “I want her to
go to bed. Will you tell her that I say if she will undress and go to
bed, I will turn right over, and I feel sure that when I know she is in
bed, I can go to sleep and sleep all night? Tell her that I will sleep
all night if she will only do what I ask.”
Mrs. James went immediately with the message to Mrs. Garfield, who
quickly replied: “Go back and tell him that I am undressing.” She
returned with the answer, and the President turned over on his right
side and dropped asleep almost instantly.
Throughout the night he was cheerful, and to Dr. Bliss, who, in replying
to his question as to his condition, had told him that there was a
chance of recovery, said hopefully, “We will take that chance.”
The people, impressed with this remark and the cheerfulness it
indicated, renewed the hope which had well nigh been extinguished by the
repeated assurances of the physicians that he could not live through the
night. The Fourth of July, the saddest ever known in this country,
passed; the news from the bedside of the nation’s patient was less
cheering, and the gloomy tide of a great sorrow ran a strong current
under the ordinary occupations and duties of every-day life. No
gathering of people was possible where it was not the dominant subject,
and it took weeks of weary anxiety to quell the spirit of revenge that
was universal in the hearts of men against the wasp that had stung the
President and had poisoned his life-blood. The sympathy of other
countries soothed this feeling in time, and the demeanor of the
President was such an example to the country that it was impossible to
express hostile feelings with such a pattern of submission before them.
Great as had been President Garfield’s services in the past, his heroic
bearing in affliction was of more value to the people, and his influence
did more to bring about harmony of feeling, brotherly love and the
obliteration of party bitterness than any work he had done in his days
of health and activity.
As he lay on his bed of sickness, he thought of his mother, whose
absence from him troubled him. He hoped at first to go to her soon and
to recuperate his strength at Mentor, but while waiting for the strength
that never came he wrote her this letter:
WASHINGTON, D. C., _August 11th, 1881_.
DEAR MOTHER:—Don’t be disturbed by conflicting reports about my
condition. It is true I am still weak and on my back, but I am gaining
every day, and need only time and patience to bring me through.
Give my love to all the relatives and friends and especially to sisters
Hetty and Mary. Your loving son,