Extracts from some of the President's Private Letters to a
Friend in Boston, bearing the same Family Name.--To Corydon
E. Fuller, a College Classmate.
One of the last letters written by President Garfield was to a gentleman
in Boston, who bore the same family name. They were warm friends and
mutually interested in the Garfield genealogy. They had often spoken of
the pleasure they would take in going over the country in the
neighborhood of Boston, where their common ancestors had had their
homes, and they had agreed, should chance ever bring them together here,
to take a little excursion, and as the President was about starting on a
New England tour, the letter related to the long anticipated pleasure.
If possible, the President was to take leave of his formal escort at
Concord and enjoy a quiet buggy drive with his friend, keeping perfectly
_incognito_. They were to visit the scenes of interest at Concord, where
the President's great-uncle, Abram Garfield, from whom he gets his
middle name, stood, perhaps, shoulder to shoulder with John Hoar, the
grandfather of the chairman of the Republican convention at Chicago
which so unexpectedly nominated him for his fateful office. Thence they
were to drive through Lincoln, Weston, Waltham and Watertown--towns
where the homes of their ancestors and kinsmen had stood. At Watertown
the intention was to rejoin the regular party.
The letter was evidently written late on the evening before he was shot,
and was in the handwriting of the President's private secretary, but
bore the clear signature of J. A. Garfield. It was not sent from
Washington until after Guiteau's shot had been fired, for it bore the
postmark of 1 P. M. General Garfield had had considerable correspondence
with his friend about family matters, and his letters formed the basis
of much of the accurate article on his family genealogy printed in the
_Herald_ shortly after the Chicago convention. In a letter he wrote:--
"You can hardly imagine the pleasure which your letter of the 3d inst.
has given me. You will better understand why, when I tell you the causes
which have so nearly shut me off from any knowledge of my ancestry. My
father moved into the wild woods of Ohio before he was twenty years of
age, and died when he was thirty-three, and of course when all his
children were small, and I, the youngest, but an infant. Separated thus
from the early home of our father, we had but scanty means of obtaining
anything like accurate information of his ancestry. The most I knew,
until quite recently, were the family traditions retained in the memory
of my mother, as she had heard them from father and his mother. During
the last eighteen years I have, from time to time, picked up fragmentary
facts and traditions concerning our family and its origin. Many of these
traditions are vague and no doubt worthless, but I have no doubt they
have some truth in them. One of them is that the family was originally
from Wales. This tallies with what you say concerning the original
Edward Garfield coming from the neighborhood of Chester, Eng. I stood on
the walls of Chester a little more than four years ago, and looked out
on the bleak mountains of Wales, whose northern boundary lay at my feet,
along the banks of the Dee. Possibly I was near our ancestral home. A
Welsh scholar told me, not many years ago, that he had no doubt our
family was connected with the builders of an old castle in Wales, long
since in ruins, but still known as Gaerfill Castle. I give you this
conjecture for what it is worth. While I was in college at Williamstown,
Mass., in 1854 to 1856, I went down to old Tyringham and Lee, in
Berkshire County, Mass., and there found a large number of Garfields,
some twenty families, old residents of that neighborhood. Among them
were the names Solomon and Thomas, which seemed to have continued along
in the family. I found that they had come from the neighborhood of
Boston. In an old graveyard in Tyringham (now Monterey) I found the
tombstone of Lieutenant Isaac Gearfield (for that, I learn, was the
early spelling of the name), and on the stone was recorded 1755 as the
date of his death. The family told me that he (Lieutenant Isaac) crossed
the mountains into the wilderness of western Massachusetts in about
1739, and slept the first night under his cart.... I am sure I do not
need to apologize to you for this long letter, for if it gives you half
the pleasure yours has given me, you will not tire of its length. I beg
you to write me any further details you may possess, and any you may
hereafter obtain."
Following are a number of extracts from letters addressed to Mr. Corydon
E. Fuller:--
"WARRENSVILLE, Jan. 16, 1852.
"MY DEAR CORYDON: Well, I quit writing that evening to attend the
Warrensville Literary Club, of which I am a member. We had a very good
time considering the 'timber.' We have resolved ourselves into a senate,
each member representing some State in the Union. I am not only
President, but also a representative from South Carolina, to watch the
interests of my nullifying constituents. The bill before our senate for
our next evening is, 'That we will assist financially the Hungarian
exiles, Kossuth and his compatriots, from our national Treasury.' We
shall undoubtedly have a warm time. By the way, what do you think of the
effect of the excitement in reference to Kossuth upon our Nation and
popular liberty? How far may our Government safely interfere in the
Hungarian struggle? But I am certainly rhapsodical this time. You must
write to me and trim me up. I am seated in my school-house, a room about
18 by 20, with a stove in the centre and in school, the scholars being
all around me--forty on the list. With these facts before me I am led to
exclaim,--
"Of all the trades by men pursued
There's none that's more perplexing
Than is the country's pedagogue's--
It's every way most vexing.
Cooped in a little narrow cell,
As hot as black Tartarus,
As well in Pandemonium dwell,
As in this little schoolhouse.
"Your friend and classmate,
"JAMES A. GARFIELD."
The following is taken from a letter dated Feb. 2, 1852, written near
the close of the village school at Warrensville, Ohio,--
"Oh, that I possessed the power to scatter the firebrands of ambition
among the youth of the rising generation, and let them see the
greatness of the age in which they live and the destiny to which mankind
are rushing, together with the part which they are destined to act in
the great drama of human existence. But, if I cannot inspire them with
that spirit, I intend to keep it predominant in my own breast, and let
it spur me forward to action. But let us remember that knowledge is only
an increase of power, and is only good when directed to good ends.
Though a man may have all knowledge, and have not the love of God in his
heart, he will fall far short of true excellence."
Here is an extract from a letter written in April, 1853,--
"To my mind the whole catalogue of fashionable friendships
and polite intimacies are not worth one honest tear of
sympathy or one heartfelt emotion of true friendship. Unless
I can enter the inner chambers of the soul and read the
inscriptions there upon those ever-during tablets, and thus
become acquainted with the inner life and know the inner
man, I care not for intercourse, for nothing else is true
friendship.... I have no very intimate associates here, and
hence, if it please you, I will be social with my pen and be
often cheered by a letter from you. Let us in all the varied
fortunes of human life look forward to that lamp which will
enlighten the darkness of earth, the valley of death, and
then become the bright and morning star in the heaven of
heavens. Give my love to your father and mother for they
seem like mine also, and you know you have the love of your
brother,
JAMES."
The following shows how keenly sensitive Garfield was, even as a boy,
and how early in life he determined to make a name for himself,--
"WILLIAMSTOWN, Jan. 28, 1854.
"MY DEAR CORYDON: I wish you were here to-night; I feel like
waking up the ghosts of the dead past, and holding communion
with spirits of former days. In this calm "night that
broodeth thoughts" the shadows of by-gone days flit past,
and I review each scene. That long strange story of my
boyhood, the taunts, jeers, and cold, averted looks of the
rich and the proud, chill me again for a moment, as did the
real ones of former days. Then comes the burning heart, the
high resolve, the settled determination, and the days and
nights of struggling toil, those dreary days when the
heavens seemed to frown and the icy heart of the cold world
seemed not to give one throb in unison with mine.... With
regards, I remain, as ever, your friend and classmate,
"JAMES A. GARFIELD."
"NIAGARA, Nov 5, 1853.
"CORYDON, MY BROTHER: I am now leaning against the trunk of
an evergreen tree on a beautiful island in the midst of
Niagara's foaming waters. I am alone. No breath of wind
disturbs the leaves of evergreen, which hang mute and
motionless around me. Animated nature is silent, for the
voice of God, like the "sound of many waters," is lifted up
from the swathing clouds of hoary foam that rest upon the
dark abyss below.
'Oh, fearful stream.
How do thy terrors tear me from myself
And fill my soul with wonder.'
I gaze upon the broad green waters as they come placid and
smooth, like firm battalions of embattled hosts, moving in
steady columns, till the sloping channel stirs the depths
and maddens all the waters. Then with angry roar the legions
bound along the opposing rocks, until they reach the awful
brink, where, all surcharged with frantic fury, they leap
bellowing down the fearful rocks which thunder back the
sullen echoes of thy voice, and shout God's power above the
cloudy skies! Oh man! frail child of dust thou art to lift
thy insect voice upon this spot where the Almighty thunders
from the swelling floods that lift to heaven their hoary
breath, like clouds of smoking incense. Oh, that the
assembled millions of the earth could now behold this scene
sublime and awful, and adore the everlasting God whose
fingers piled these giant cliffs, and sent his sounding
seas to thunder down and shout in deafening tones, 'We come
from out the hollow of His hand, and haste to do His
bidding.'
"Your friend and brother,
"JAMES A. GARFIELD."
Here are a few lines written in 1859, just after his nomination to the
Senate of Ohio,--
"Long ago, you know, I had thought of a public career, but I
fully resolved to forego it all, unless it could be obtained
without wading through the mire into which politicians
usually plunge. The nomination was tendered me, and by
acclamation, though there were five candidates. I never
solicited the place, nor did I make any bargain to secure
it. I shall endeavor to do my duty, and if I never rise any
higher, I hope to have the consolation that my manhood is
unsullied by the past."
"WLLLIAMSTOWN, June 19, 1855.
"MY DEAR CORYDON: Your favor of the 4th inst. was received
about ten days ago, but I have been entirely unable to
answer until this time. A day or two after it came I left
for Pittstown, N. Y., to attend a yearly meeting of
Disciples, where I spent some four days, and last Saturday I
left again for Poestenkill, and spoke to the people Saturday
evening and three discourses on Lord's Day.... We had good
meetings in each place, and much interest. I cannot resist
the appeals of our brethren for aid while I have the
strength to speak to them.... I tell you, my dear brother,
the cause in which we are engaged must take the world. It
fills my soul when I reflect upon the light, joy, and love
of the ancient Gospel, and its adaptation to the wants of
the human race.... I long to be in the thickest of the
fight, and see the army of truth charge home upon the
battalions of hoary-headed error. But I must be content to
be a spy for a time, till I have reconnoitred the enemy's
stronghold, and then I hope to work. Ever your friend and
classmate,
"JAMES A. GARFIELD."
"DORCHESTER HEIGHTS, Jan. 5, 1856.
"MY DEAR CORYDON AND MARY: I want to pencil a few lines to
you from this enchanting spot on the sea-shore, six miles
from Boston, and when I return, perhaps I will ink it in a
letter to you. I am spending the night here with a classmate
of mine, one of the dearest friends I have in college. I am
in an old house--every timber of oak--built more than one
hundred years ago. To one who has seen cities rise from the
wild forest in the space of a dozen years, and has hardly
ever seen a building older than himself, you may be assured
that many reflections are awakened by the look of antiquity
that everything has around me. The quaint old beams and
panelled walls, the heavy double windows that look out
oceanward, in short, the whole air of the building speaks of
the days of the olden time. To think that these walls have
echoed to the shouts of loyalty to George the King---have
heard all the voices of the spirit-stirring Revolution, the
patriotic resolve, the tramp of the soldier's foot, the
voice of the beloved Washington, (for within a few rods of
here he made his first Revolutionary encampment,) the cannon
of Bunker Hill, the lamentations of defeat and shouts of
victory--all these cannot but awaken peculiar reflections.
To how many that are now sleepers in the quiet church-yard,
or wanderers in the wide, cold world, has this been the dear
ancestral hall where all the joys of childhood were
clustered. Within this oaken-ceiled chamber how many bright
hopes have been cherished and high resolves formed; how many
hours of serene joy, and how many heart-throbs of bitter
anguish! If these walls had a voice I would ask them to tell
me the mingled scenes of joy and sorrow they have witnessed.
But even their silence has a voice, and I love to listen.
But without there is no silence, for the tempest is howling
and snows are drifting. The voice of the great waves, as
they come rolling up against the wintry shore, speak of Him
'whose voice is as the sound of many waters.' Only a few
miles from here is the spot where--
'The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;
And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of pilgrims moored their bark
On the wild New-England shore.'
"But the coal has sunk to the lowest bar in the grate beside
me--'tis far past the noon of night, and I must close.... As
ever, your own affectionate
JAMES."
The following letter, written to Mr. Fuller while Gen. Garfield was
chief-of-staff to Gen. Rosecrans, will be of special historical value,--
"HEADQUARTERS DEPT, OF THE CUMBERLAND,
"MURFREESBORO, Tenn., May 4, 1863.
"MY DEAR CORYDON: Yours of April 1 was received by the hand
of Lieut. Beeber, and I assure you it was read with great
pleasure. When I was in Washington last winter I saw Mr.
Colfax, who spoke very kindly and highly of you. I have now
fully recovered my health, and for the last three months
have been very hardy and robust. My duties are very full of
work here, and I have never been more pressingly crowded
with labor than now. I have not retired on an average before
two o'clock for the last two months and a half. Gen.
Rosecrans shares all his counsels with me, and places a
large share of the responsibility of the management of this
wing upon me; even more than I sometimes wish he did. This
army is now in admirable condition. The poor and weak
material has been worked out, and what we now have is hard
brawn and solid muscle. It is in an admirable state of
discipline, and when its engineries are fully set in motion,
it will make itself felt. From all the present indications
it cannot be long before we meet the rebel army now in our
front, and try its strength again. When that day arrives, it
bids fair to be the bloodiest fighting of the war. One thing
is settled in my mind. Direct blows at the rebel army,
bloody fighting is all that can end the rebellion. In
European wars, if you capture the chief city of a nation,
you have substantially captured the nation. The army that
holds London, Paris, Vienna or Berlin, holds England,
France, Austria or Prussia. Not so in this war. The rebels
have no city the capture of which will overthrow their
power. If we take Richmond, the rebel Government can be put
on wheels and trundled away into the interior with all its
archives in two days. Hence our real objective point is not
any place or district, but the rebel army, wherever we find
it. We must crush and pulverize them, and then all places
and territories fall into our hands as a consequence. These
views lead me to a hope and belief that before many days we
shall join in a death-grapple with Bragg and Johnson. God
grant that we may be successful. The armies are nearly equal
in number, and both are filled with veteran soldiers well
drilled and disciplined. The little circumstance you related
to me of the soldier in the Fifty-first Indiana touches my
heart." [A soldier who was killed had written home to his
wife to name their child, born during the former's absence,
after Gen. Garfield.] "I wish you would write a letter for
me to Joseph Lay, the young man's father, and express my
sympathy with him for the loss of his brave son, who was
many times with me under the fire of the enemy. I want to
know of the health of his family, and especially of that
little one to whom the affection of the father gave my name.
With the love of other days, I am, as ever, your brother,
JAMES."
Here is a glimpse of his home life,--
"WASHINGTON, Oct. 23, 1876.
"MY DEAR CORYDON: On Saturday last I addressed a large
Republican meeting at Hackensack, four miles from
Schraalenburg, where I went with you twenty-two years ago. I
have never been so near there before, and it brought up the
old memories to be so near. I was called here by telegraph
to the bedside of our little boy Edward, who is very ill
and I fear will not recover. He was recovering from the
whooping cough, and his disease went to his brain. He has
now been lying in an unconscious state nearly four days, and
unless the pressure can soon be removed, he cannot last
long. He is a beautiful child of two years, and the thought
of losing him rives our hearts. But he is in the keeping of
our good Father, who knows what is best for us. All the rest
of us are well. I have worked very hard this campaign,
having spoken almost constantly for two months. You have
probably seen that I was re-elected by about 9,000 majority,
this being my eighth election; but of what avail is public
honor in the presence of death? It has been a long time
since I have heard from you, and I hope that you will write
soon. 'Crete joins me in love to you and Mary.
"Ever your friend and classmate,
"JAMES A. GARFIELD."
"WASHINGTON, Nov. 9, 1876.
"MY DEAR CORYDON: I arrived in this city yesterday afternoon
and found that your kind letter of the 2d inst. was awaiting
me. Our precious little Eddie died on the 25th of October,
and the same evening 'Crete and I left with the body, and on
the 27th we buried him beside our little girl who died
thirteen years ago. Both are lying in the graveyard at
Hiram, and we have come back to those which are still left
us, but with a desolation in our hearts known only to those
who have lost a precious child. It seems to me that we are
many years older than we were when the dear little boy died.
His little baby ways so filled the house with joy that the
silence he has left is heartbreaking. It needs all my
philosophy and courage to bear it. It was very hard to go on
with the work of the great campaign with so great a grief in
my heart, but I knew that it was my duty, and I did it as
well as I could. I spoke almost every day till the election,
but it now appears that we are defeated. What the future of
our country will be no one can tell. The only safety we can
rely on lies in the closeness of the vote both on the
Presidency and on the members of the House of
Representatives. We have so far reduced the strength of the
Democratic House that I hope they will not be able to do
much harm. Still we shall have a hard, uncomfortable
struggle to save the fruits of our great war. We shall need
all the wisdom and patriotism the country possesses to save
ourselves from irretrievable calamity. If we had carried the
House of Representatives it was almost certain that I should
have been elected Speaker; but, of course, that has gone
down in the general wreck. 'Crete joins me in kindest
regards to you and May. I hope the time may come when we can
sit down and renew the memories of other days and enjoy a
long visit. I am here now for the winter, and shall soon be
at work in the Supreme Court, where I am having a number of
important cases. With as much love as ever, I am your friend
and brother,
"JAMES A. GARFIELD."