THE STRUGGLE OF BOYHOOD.
_Socrates._—Alcibiades, what sayest thou that is, passing between us
and yon wall?
_Alcibiades._—I should call it a thing; some call it a boy.
_Soc._—Nay, I call it neither a thing nor a boy, but rather a young
man. By Hercules, if I should go further, I should say that that
being is a god in embryo!
_Alc._—You are my master, Socrates, or I should say that nature
would have hard work to hatch a god out of such an object.
_Soc._—Most men are fools, Alcibiades, because they are unable to
discover in the germ, or even in the growing stalk, the vast
possibilities of development. They forget the beauty of growth; and,
therefore, they reckon not that nature and discipline are able to
make yon boy as one of the immortals.
So the child James Garfield advanced into the golden age of boyhood.
This period we will now briefly live over after him. Spring time deepens
into early summer; the branches and the leaves are swollen with life’s
young sap; what manner of fruit will this growing tree offer the
creative sun to work upon?
The young lad, in whom our interest centers, was now, in the autumn of
1843, twelve years old, when something new came into his life, and gave
to him his first definite and well-fixed purpose. He had always, and by
nature, been industrious. In that little farm home, where poverty strove
continually to carry the day against the combined forces of industry and
economy, no service was without its value. And, therefore, it had
doubtless been a delight to all in that narrow circle to observe in
James the qualities of a good worker. He seemed a true child of that
wonderful western country which is yet so young, and so able to turn its
energies to advantage in every available way. So, while still too young
to “make a hand” at anything, James had found his place wherever there
was demand for such light duties as he was able to perform. At field,
barn or cabin, in garden or in kitchen, place there was none where the
little fellow’s powers were not exercised. Instinct with forces larger
than his frame, development of them was inevitable.
[Illustration: GARFIELD AT SIXTEEN.]
But now a great event in the family took place. Thomas, who had just
attained his majority, had returned from a trip to Michigan with a sum
of ready money, and wanted to build his mother a new house. Life in the
cabin had, in his estimation, been endured long enough. Some of the
materials for a frame building were already accumulated, and under the
directions of a carpenter the work was begun and rapidly pushed to
completion. In all these proceedings James took an intense interest, and
developed such a liking for tools and timber as could but signify a
member of the Builders’ Guild. He resolved to be a carpenter; and from
this day on was never for a moment without an object in life.
The ambition to “be something” took many different turns, but was a
force which, once created, could never be put down. The care and skill
requisite to putting a house together, fitting the rafters into place,
and joining part to part with mathematical precision, gave him an idea
that these things were of a higher order than farm labor. Plain digging
would no longer do; there must be a better chance to contrive something,
to conjure up plans and ways and means in the brain, and show forth
ideas by the skill of the hand. Consequently a variety of tools began to
accumulate about James Garfield. There was a corner somewhere which, in
imitation of the great carpenter who built their house, he called his
“shop;” a rough bench, perhaps, with a few planes, and mallets, and
chisels, and saws, and the like, to help in mending the gates and doors
about the place. No independent farm can get along without such help,
and of course these services were in constant demand.
The dexterity thus acquired soon led to earnings abroad. The first money
Garfield ever received in this way was one dollar, which the village
carpenter paid him for planing a hundred boards at a cent apiece. His
active and earnest performance of every duty brought him plenty of
offers, and between the ages of twelve and fifteen years he helped to
put up a number of buildings in that district of country, some of which
are standing to this day.
Thus this young life passed away the precious time of the early teens.
Work and study; study and work. Hands and feet, marrow and muscle, all
steadily engaged in the rugged discipline of labor, battling with nature
for subsistence. But time rolls on; childhood fast recedes from that
glory from the other side which fringes the dawn; and, as we move on,
every rising sun wakes up a new idea. While our young friend gave his
attention and strength to industry, his imagination began to live in a
new world. He had been to school, and still went a few months each year;
and the following incident will indicate what a good-hearted, bright
school-boy he was. There was a spelling-match in the little log
school-house, in which James, who was thirteen years old, took part. The
teacher told the scholars that if they whispered she would send them
home. The lad standing next to James got confused, and to help him James
told him how to spell the word. The teacher saw this, and said: “James,
you know the rule; you must go home.” James picked up his cap and left.
In a very few seconds he returned and took his place in the class. “Why,
how is this, James? I told you to go home,” said his teacher. “I know
it, and I went home,” said James.
But the log school-house, with its mystery of the three R’s, was not
sufficient. James was one of the boys who are born to the love of books.
Whatever had an intelligent aspect, whatever thing had the color and
glow of an idea, was by nature attractive to his mind, and this he
sought with eagerness and zeal. Therefore, even before the boy could
read, his mother had read to him; and afterwards winter evening and
leisure summer hour alike went swiftly by. The scholar in him hungered
for the scholar’s meat and drink; which means books, and books, and
never enough of them.
These people did not have many volumes, but they used them only the
more, and knew them the better. Among them all, first in their
affections, was the Bible. The woman, whose staff at eighty, when bowed
down under the great sorrow, was the Everlasting Word, loved the Bible
in her youth, and led her children to it as to a fountain of pure water.
Thus James early acquired some knowledge of the old Bible stories, and
it is said was somewhat fond of showing his superior learning. This he
did by asking his little friends profound questions, such as: “Who slew
Absalom?” “What cities were destroyed with fire and brimstone from the
sky?” And when all had professed ignorance, he would invite their
admiration by a revelation of the facts.
At this period of time, however, it is likely that his lively
imagination was more vividly impressed with two or three other books
which had found their places on the book-shelf of the house—books of
adventure, with their thrilling scenes, their deeds of danger, dashing
and gallant. And accordingly it is related that about this time James
Garfield became deeply interested in the life of Napoleon, as told by
Grimshaw. How eagerly he must have followed out the magical story of
that wonderful career of glory and blood through all its varied
windings; seeing first a young Corsican lieutenant on the road to Paris,
by sudden and brilliant successes rising quickly, step by step, but ever
on the run, to be First Consul of the new French Republic, and then
Emperor. Austerlitz, its carnage, its awful crisis, and its splendid
victory; the terrible Russian campaign, with the untold horrors of that
memorable retreat before the fierce troops of Cossack riders; on, and
ever on through the changing fields of bright transfigurations and the
Cimmerian darkness of defeat, down to the fell catastrophe at
Waterloo,—and young Garfield lived and moved in it all, like an old
soldier of the Imperial Legion. Another brave old book he knew was a
“Life of Marion,” which had the added interest of telling the story of
our own first great struggle for liberty. No wonder then, that, with
such food for wild fancies as these at hand, James felt in his veins the
hot blood of a martial hero, and resolved aloud, before his laughing
relatives, that he meant to “be a soldier, and win great battles, as
Napoleon did.”
But the smoke of battle was yet afar off. So on flew the winter days and
nights at more than lightning speed, in hours of work and school, books
and dreams, and all the myriad modes and moods of human life. So, too,
passed the summer time, whose busy labors preserved the family from
want. Our young farmer and carpenter kept ever at the post of duty.
Pressed by necessity from without, moved from within by the growing
restlessness of a spirit which fed on stories of adventure, a nervous
and ceaseless activity pushed him steadily forward to the new
experiences which only waited for his coming. Another motive, more to
the credit of his goodness of heart, which kept James busy, was that
deathless love for his mother which, from the beginning, was the chief
fountain of all good in his life. He knew how the faithful widow had
lived and worked only for her children; that her hopes were bound up in
their fortunes; and he determined that, as for him, she should not be
disappointed. With this high purpose in mind, he worked on,—worked on
the farm, labored on the neighboring farms, exercised his carpentering
skill in country and in village, till his friends proudly said: “James
Garfield is the most industrious boy in his neighborhood; there is not a
lazy hair on his head.”
When about fifteen years old, in the course of his trade, he was called
on to assist in the building of an addition to a house, for a man who
lived several miles away from the home farm. This man, whose business
was that of a “black-salter,” noticed the peculiar activity and
ingenuity displayed by James in his work, and took a liking to him.
Being in need of such a person, he offered him his board and fourteen
dollars a month to stay with him, help in the saltery, and superintend
the financial part of the concern. After some meditation, and a
consultation on the subject at home, James accepted the offer. This was
against the judgment of Mrs. Garfield, whose advice was, at least,
always respectfully heard, though not always followed. In this business
he succeeded well, and was expected, by his employer, to make a
first-class salter. But the spirit of adventure again revived in him.
There came a new book, and a new epoch, and the old wish to become an
American Napoleon took a fresh turn. He saw no way to be a soldier. The
peaceful progress of the Ohio country, fast developing in agriculture
and its attendant industries, did not offer very good opportunity for a
great campaign, and military leadership was, therefore, not in demand.
In this unfortunate conjuncture of civil surroundings with uncivil
ambitions, James began to read books about the sea. “Jack Halyard” took
the place of General Marion; white sails began to spread themselves in
his brain; the story of Nelson and Trafalgar, and the like men and
things began to take shape in his thought as the central facts of
history; and a life on the ocean wave hung aloft before him as the
summit of every aspiration worth a moment’s entertainment. Through all
these notions we can see only a reflection of the books he read. Give a
child its first look at the world through blue spectacles, and the world
will be blue to the child; give a boy his first ideas of the world
beyond his neighborhood by means of soldiers and navies, and he will be
soldier and sailor at once. James was now approaching the age of sixteen
years. New force was added to the sea-fever by a work named “The
Pirate’s Own Book.” New tales of adventure stirred his blood; he could
even sympathize with the triumphs of a bold buccaneer, and with the
Corsair sing:
“Oh! who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o’er the waters wide,
The exulting sense, the pulse’s maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?”
While in this brittle state of mind no great provocation would he need
to produce a break with the black-salter. Accordingly, an insult, which
soon offered, led to a scene and a departure. Some member of the family
alluded to James as a “servant.” In an instant his warm blood rose to
fever heat; he refused to stay another hour where such things could be
said of him. The employer’s stock of eloquence was too small to change
the fiery youth’s mind; and that night he slept again beneath his
mother’s roof.
Hitherto the forces and facts which rested in and about James A.
Garfield had kept him near home; the outward tending movement now became
powerful, and struggled for control. With the passion for the sea at its
height, he began to consider the situation. At home was the dear mother
with her great longing that he should love books, go to school, and
become a man among men, educated, a leader, and peer of the best in
character and intellect. And how could he leave her? The struggle for
life had not yet become easy on the farm, and his absence would be felt.
“Leave us not,” pleads the home. “The sea, land-lubber, the wide, free
ocean,” says the buccaneer within. At this point, while he reflected at
home on these things, being out of employment, a new incident occurred.
Our young friend had now acquired something more than the average
strength of a full-grown man. Born of a hardy race, constant exercise of
so many kinds was giving him extraordinary physical power. So he felt
equal to the opportunity which offered itself, and became a
wood-chopper. Twenty-five cords of wood were rapidly cut for a reward of
seven dollars. The place where this was done was near Newburg, a small
town close to Cleveland. During this time his mother hoped and prayed
that the previous intention of her son, to go to the lake and become a
sailor, would weaken, and that he would be led to remain at home; but
fate decreed otherwise. The scene of his wood-cutting exploit was close
to the lake shore, where the vessels passed at every hour. The
excitement within him, as each sail went out beyond the horizon, never
ceased. The story never grew old. The pirate had not died, but still
plotted for plunder, and hungered for black flags, cutlasses and blood.
No doubt Garfield would have been a good-hearted corsair—one of the
generous fellows who plundered Spanish galleons just because their gain
had been ill-gotten; who spared the lives and restored the money of the
innocent, gave no quarter to the real villains, and never let a fair
woman go unrescued.
Returning home from Newburg to see his mother, she persuaded him to
remain a while longer. Harvest-time would soon approach, and his
services were needed on the farm. Of course, he stayed; helped them
through the season, and even spent some extra time working for a
neighbor. But the facts of a boy’s future sometimes can not be changed
by circumstances. A firm-set resolve may be hindered long, but not
forever. James Garfield had set his head to be a sailor, and a sailor he
would be. Farming was a very good business, no doubt, and just the thing
for the brother Thomas, but by no means suited to a young salt like
himself.
Now, bright blue waves of Erie, dash against your shores with glee, and
rise to meet your coming conqueror! The last family prayer was uttered,
the good-bye kiss was given; and mother Garfield stood in the low
doorway, peering out through the mists of morning, to catch a last
glimpse of the boy who has just received her parting blessing. The story
of that memorable time is already well known. With a bundle of clothes
on a stick, thrown across his sturdy shoulder, he trudged along,
sometimes wearily, but always cheerily, bound for the harbor of
Cleveland. The way was probably void of noteworthy incidents; and, with
his thoughts all absorbed on what he believed to be his coming
experiences on deck, he arrived at Cleveland. It was an evening in July
of 1848. The next morning, after due refreshment and a walk about the
city, being determined on an immediate employment, he lost no more time
in hastening toward the rolling deep. Boarding the only vessel in port
at the time, he strolled about and waited for the appearance of his
intended captain. The experience of that hour was never forgotten.
Garfield’s ideas of a sailor had thus far chiefly come out of books, and
Jack, as a swearing tar, he was not prepared to meet. Presently a
confused sound came up from the hold, first faintly muttering, then
swelling in volume as it came nearer and nearer. Uncertainty about the
matter soon ceased, however, as the “noble captain’s” head appeared,
from which were issuing rapid volleys of oaths, fired into space,
probably, as a salute to the glorious god of day. Rough in looks, rude
in manners, a coarse and petty tyrant on the water, and a drunkard both
there and on land, this bloated individual was not the one to greet a
green and awkward boy with soft words. Glad to see a new object for his
hitherto objectless oaths, he inquired Garfield’s business there, in
language not well shaped to courtesy nor kindness. The offer of his
services was made, however, as James was not disposed to back out of any
thing; but he was informed that they had no use for him, and obliged to
retire in confusion, amid the continued curses of a magnanimous
commander, and the profane laughter of an uncouth group of the
commanded.
At this moment of time the reader will pause to reflect and consider on
what a delicate balance hangs the history of the world, and the men who
make the world. “Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!” The
results of that day’s experience at Cleveland are written in every
public event that ever felt the force of Garfield’s molding influence.
Senates owed a name which raised their reputation, armies owed their
victories to the drunken vulgarity of an Erie captain! That was
Garfield’s _first_ day in Cleveland. You who know the future, which has
now become the past, think, and compare it with his _last_ day there!
Having beat an inglorious retreat from the lake, James was now forced to
confront a new and unexpected difficulty. First, he became sensible that
his treatment there had probably arisen principally from his rustic
appearance; and the notion came close behind that the same scene was
liable to be enacted if he should try again. He had plenty of pluck, but
also a good stock of prudence. Go home he would not, at least till he
had by some means conquered defeat. “What shall I do next?” he muttered
as he sauntered along. He had already learned, by inquiries in town
during the day, that work there would be difficult to get. In this
perplexity, as in every doubtful situation in the world, when
difficulties are met by determination, a clear way out came to him. The
problem was solved thus: “I’m going to be a sailor. But the ocean is too
far away, and I must make my way there by lake, meanwhile learning what
I can about the business. But I can’t go on the lake now,—and there’s
nothing left me but the muddy canal. I will go first by way of the
canal, meanwhile learning what I can about the business.” To the canal
he turned his tired steps.
It was the old Ohio and Pennsylvania Canal; and he found, by rare good
fortune, a boat ready to start, and in need of a driver. The captain of
this less ambitious navigating affair proved to be not quite so rich in
profanity, but more wealthy in good-natured sympathy; his name was Amos
Letcher, and he was Garfield’s cousin. To this man James told the story
of his experience thus far, and asked employment on the boat. The result
was a contract to drive mules. Letcher became much interested in his
young friend, and is authority for some good stories about this
“voyage.”
When the time came to start, the _Evening Star_ was brought up to the
first lock, and after some delay got through. On the other side waited
the mule-team and its impatient driver, who was eager for the trip to
begin. In a few hours he would be farther from home than ever in his
life before, traveling a path which led he knew not whither.
Practically, they were bound for Pittsburgh. To his imagination, it was
a trip around the world. So the whip was flourished triumphantly, and
this circumnavigation committee of one was on his way.
Directly a boat approached from the opposite direction. Jim bungled, in
his excitement, and got his lines tangled. While he stopped to get
things straight, the boat came up even with him, leaving the tow-line
slack for several yards. Eased of their load, the mules trotted on
quickly to the extent of the line, when, with a sudden jerk, the boat
caught on a bridge they were passing, and team, driver, and all were in
the canal.
The boy, however, was not disconcerted, but climbed out, and, amid loud
laughter from those on board, proceeded coolly along as if it had been a
regular morning bath.
The rough men of the canal were fond of a fight, and always ready at
fisticuffs. One of the most frequent occasions of these difficulties was
at the locks, where but one boat could pass at a time. When two boats
were approaching from opposite directions each always tried to get there
first, so as to have the right to go through before the other. This was
a prolific source of trouble.
As the _Evening Star_ approached lock twenty-one at Akron, one of these
scenes was threatened. An opposite boat came up just as Letcher was
about to turn the lock for his own. The other got in first. Letcher’s
men all sprang out for a fight. Just then Jim walked up to the captain
and said, “Does the right belong to us?” “No, I guess not; but we’ve
started in for it, and we are going to have it anyhow.” “No, sir,” said
Garfield. “I say we will _not_ have it. I will not fight to keep them
out of their rights.” This brought the captain to his senses, and he
ordered his men to give room for the enemy to pass.
There was half-mutiny on board that night, and many uncomplimentary
remarks about the young driver. He was a coward, they said. Was he a
coward? Or simply a just, fair-minded youth, and as brave as any of
them? He made up his mind to show them which he was, when a good time
came.
The captain had defended Jim from these accusations of the men, for a
reason unknown to them. The boy had _whipped him_ before they came to
Akron. It was after a change of teams, and Jim was on the boat. Letcher
was a self-confident young man, who had recently been a school teacher
in Steuben County, Indiana, and felt as if all knowledge was his
province. He had made all his men revere him for his learning, and now
was the time to overwhelm the new driver.
So, sitting down near where the lad was resting, he said: “Jim, I
believe you have been to school some, and as I have not heard a class
lately, I will ask you some questions to see where you are, if you don’t
care.”
[Illustration: GARFIELD ON THE TOW-PATH.]
James assented. Pedagogue Letcher thought his time had come; he searched
out witty inventions; he asked deep questions; he would open this
youngling’s eyes. The examination did not last long, for all questions
were quickly answered, and the quizzer ran out of materials; his stock
of puzzlers was exhausted.
Then the tables turned. The tailor was out-tailored in three minutes,
for in that time James had asked him seven questions which he could not
answer. Hence the captain’s allowance for the boy’s refusal to fight.
Letcher knew enough to appreciate the reason.
The _Evening Star_ had a long trip before her, as the present load
consisted of copper ore consigned to Pittsburgh. This ore came down to
Cleveland first in schooners from Lake Superior, where those great
treasuries of ore, which still seem inexhaustible, were at that time
just beginning to become important interests. The habit of the
canal-boatmen was to take up the copper at Cleveland, carry it to
Pittsburgh, and bring back loads of coal. Garfield’s first experience
here must have given him new ideas of the growing industries of his
country. This constant and immense carrying trade between distant places
indicated the play of grand forces; these great iron foundries and
factories at Pittsburgh betokened millions of active capital, thousands
of skilled workmen, and fast-increasing cities abounding in wonders and
in wealth. Whatever the immediate result of Garfield’s canal life might
have been, whether the boatmen had voted him coward or general, one fact
must have remained—the mental stimulus imparted from these things which
he had seen. Then must have dawned upon him for the first time a sense
of the unmeasured possibilities which lay before his own country. Tramp,
tramp the mules; lock after lock has been left behind, each turn
bringing a new landscape, and the young driver pushed bravely on,
self-reliant, patient, and popular with all the men. For these rough
comrades liked him from the first as a pleasant fellow, and soon admired
him as well. Opportunity came to him on the way to prove himself their
equal in fighting qualities, and more than their equal in generosity.
The occasion was one the like of which he often knew, where he came off
victor with the odds favoring his enemies. At Beaver, from a point where
the boats were towed up to Pittsburgh by steamboat, the _Evening Star_
was about to be taken in. As Garfield stood in the bow of the boat, a
burly Irishman, named Dave Murphy, who stood a few feet behind, was
accidentally struck by a flying piece of rope from the steamer, which
had evaded Garfield and gone over his head. No harm was done, but Murphy
was a bully who saw here a good chance for a fight. He was thirty-five
years old, Garfield sixteen. Turning on the boy in a towering rage, he
aimed a blow with all his strength. But as sometimes occurs to men with
more brawn than brains, he soon discovered that in this case Providence
was _not_ “on the side of the heavy battalions.” By a dexterous motion
James eluded his antagonist, at the same instant planting a blow behind
the fellow’s ear which sent him spinning into the bottom of the boat.
Before the man could recover, his young antagonist held him down by the
throat. The boatmen cheered the boy on; according to their rules of
pugilism, satisfaction was not complete till a man’s features were
pounded to a jelly. “Give him a full dose, Jim;” “Rah fer Garfield!” The
two men arise; what does this mean? The Murphy face has not been
disfigured; the Murphy nose bleeds not! Slowly the astonished men take
in a new fact. Generosity has won the day, and brutality itself has been
vanquished before their eyes. From that hour James became one of the
heroes of the tow-path; and the day he left it was a day of regret to
all his new acquaintances there.
On the way back from Pittsburgh a vacancy occurred on deck; Garfield was
promoted to the more responsible position of bowman, and the mules found
a new master. So the ocean drew one step nearer; this was not exactly
the sea, of course, but after all it was a little more like sailing. Up
and down the narrow course, following all its windings, the _Evening
Star_ pursued its way without serious accident, and James Garfield stood
at the bow till November of 1848. Then came a change. New things were
preparing for him, and all unknown to him old things were passing away.
The mother at home still watched for her boy; the mother at home still
prayed for her son, and yearned for a fulfillment of her steadfast
desire that he should be such a man as she had begun to dream of him
when he was a little child. An accident now brought him home to her. The
position of bowman on the _Evening Star_ was rather an unsafe one. The
place where James stood was narrow and often slippery, and, in a brief
period of time, he had fallen into the water fourteen times. The last
immersion chanced in the following manner: One night as the boat
approached a lock the bowman was hastily awakened, and tumbled out half
asleep to attend to his duty. Uncoiling a rope which was to assist in
steadying the boat through, he lost his balance, and in a second found
himself in a now familiar place at the bottom of the canal. The night
was dark, and no help near. Struggling about, his hand accidentally
clutched a section of the rope which had gone over with him. Now, James,
pull for your life, hand over hand; fight for yourself, fight for
another visit to home and mother. Strength began to fail. The rope slid
off; swim he could not. Jerk, jerk; the rope has caught. Pulling away
with a will, he climbed back to his place, and found that he had been
saved by a splinter in a plank in which the rope had caught by a knot.
Such a narrow escape might well stir up the most lethargic brain to new
and strange reflections; but to the active intellect and bright
imagination of James A. Garfield it brought a profound impression, a
fresh resolution and a new sphere of action. He saw himself rescued by a
chance which might have failed him a thousand times. Might not this be
in answer to a mother’s prayer? Was it possible that he had been saved
for some better fortune than his present life promised? He recalled the
vague ambitions which had at times stirred him for a career of
usefulness, such as he knew his mother had in mind for him.
When the boat neared home again, James bade good-bye to the _Evening
Star_. Now, farewell visions of the Atlantic; farewell swearing captain
of the lake; farewell raging canal, for this sailor lad is lost to you
forever. The romantic element of his character indeed was not destroyed,
as it never could be; nor was the glamour of the sea quite gone. It
would take the winter of sickness which was before him to remove all
nautical aspirations. Arriving before the old gate one night while the
stars were out in all their glory, he softly raised the latch, and
walked up to the house. Never was happier mother than greeted him at
that door. Mrs. Garfield felt that her triumph was now at hand; and set
herself to secure it at once.
Four hard months of life on and in the canal had told heavily on the
young man’s constitution. Four months more ague and fever held him fast;
four months more he longed in vain for the vigor of health. During this
dreary time one voice above all others comforted, cheered, and swayed
his drooping spirits, and helped him back to a contented mood. In
conversation and in song, the mother was his chief entertainer. Indeed,
Mrs. Garfield had not only a singing voice of splendid quality, but also
knew a marvelous number of songs; and James said, later in life, that he
believed she could have sung many more songs consecutively, from memory,
than her physical powers would have permitted. Songs in every kind of
humor,—ballads, war songs (especially of 1812) and hymns with their
sacred melody—these she had at command in exhaustless stores. And we may
be sure that such sweet skill was not without its power on her children.
That voice had been the dearest music James ever heard in childhood, and
his ear was well fitted to its every tone; escape from its power was
hopeless now if he had even wished it so.
Meanwhile the past receded, and new plans for the future were unfolding.
It is interesting to notice how smoothly, and all unknown to ourselves,
we sometimes pass over the lines which mark the periods of our lives.
The manner of Garfield’s present experience was no exception to the
rule.
Samuel D. Bates was a young man, not many years older than James A.
Garfield. He was a good scholar, and had been attending a place called
“Geauga Seminary,” which had grown up in the adjoining county. This
winter he had taken the school on the Garfield farm, expecting to save
some money and return to Geauga. With his head full of these ideas, he
met Garfield, and soon had the latter interested in his plans. When the
time came for the next term to begin, James was well again, and his
mother and Bates proposed that he should go also. He thought the subject
over carefully, but was still uncertain what to do. He was not sure of
his capacity to turn an education to account, and did not wish to spoil
a good carpenter for the sake of a bad professor or preacher. Before
making a final decision, he therefore did a characteristically sensible
thing. Dr. J. P. Robison was a physician of Bedford, a man well known
for good judgment and skill in his profession. One day he was visited by
an awkward country lad, who asked a private conversation with him, and,
that favor being granted, said to him: “My name is James Garfield. My
home is at Orange. Hitherto I have acquired only the rudiments of an
education, and but a scanty knowledge of books. But, at this time, I
have taken up the notion of getting an education, and, before beginning,
I want to know what I have to count on. You are a physician, and know
men well. Examine me, and say plainly whether you think I will be able
to succeed.”
This frank speech was rewarded by as fair an answer. The physician
sounded him well, as to both body and mind, and ended with an opinion
which summed up in about this fashion: “You are well fitted to follow
your ambition as far as you are pleased to go. Your brain is large and
good; your physique is adapted to hard work. Go ahead, and you are sure
to succeed.”
This settled the question at once and forever. Garfield the student, the
thinker, the teacher, the preacher, and the statesman, are all included
in this new direction, and time alone is wanting to reveal them to
himself and to the world.
Geauga Seminary was situated at a place called Chester, in Geauga
County. The faculty consisted of three men and as many women. They were:
Daniel Branch and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Coffin, Mr. Bigelow, and Miss
Abigail Curtis. In the second year of Garfield’s attendance, Mr. and
Mrs. Branch retired, and were succeeded by Mr. Fowler and Mr. Beach. The
students were about one hundred in number, and of both sexes. There was
a library of one hundred and fifty volumes, and a literary society,
which offered a chance for practice in writing and speaking. Knowing
these facts, and that the seminary offered the advantages common to many
such institutions, we know the circumstances under which Garfield began
that course of studies which, in seven years, graduated him with honor
from an Eastern college.
There went with him to Chester two other friends besides Bates—one his
cousin, William Boynton, the other a lad named Orrin H. Judd. These
three being all poor boys, they arranged to live cheaply. Garfield
himself had only seventeen dollars, which Thomas and his mother had
saved for him to begin on; and he expected to make that go a long way by
working at his old carpenter trade at odd hours, as well as by economy
in spending money. So the trio kept “bachelors’ hall” in a rough shanty,
which they fitted up with some articles brought from home; and a poor
woman near by cooked their meals for some paltry sum.
There came a time when even this kind of life was thought extravagant.
Garfield had read an autobiography of Henry C. Wright, who related a
tale about supporting life on bread and crackers. So they dismissed
their French cook, and did the work themselves. This did not last long,
but it showed them what they could do.
“What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, and a’ that;
Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that!”
Life at college on such a scale as this lacks polish, but may contain
power. The labors which James A. Garfield performed at this academy, in
the one term, from his arrival on March 6, 1849, to the end, were
probably more than equal to the four years’ studies of many a college
graduate. He never forgot a moment the purpose for which he was there.
Every recitation found his work well done; every meeting of the literary
society knew his presence and heard his voice. The library was his
favorite corner of the building. A new world was to be conquered in
every science, a new country in every language. Thus a year passed, and
Garfield’s first term at Geauga was ended. During the summer vacation he
was constantly busy; first he helped his brother to build a barn at
home, then turned back for a season to his old business as a
wood-cutter, and then worked in the harvest-field. About the latter a
good story remains to us. With two well-grown, but young,
school-fellows, James applied to a farmer who needed more hands, asking
employment. The farmer thought them rather too young for the business;
but, as they offered to work for “whatever he thought right,” he agreed,
thinking it would not be much. But they had swung the scythe before, and
soon made it a warm task for the other men to keep even with them. The
old man looked on in mute admiration for a while, and finally said to
the beaten men: “You fellows had better look to your laurels; them boys
are a beatin’ ye all holler.” The men, thus incited to do their best,
worked hard; but they had begun a losing battle, and the Garfield crowd
kept its advantage. When settling time came round, these “boys” were
paid men’s full wages.
Having, in these ways, saved enough money to begin on, James began the
fall term at Geauga. Here he still pursued the same plan of alternate
work and study, inching along the best he could. His boarding
accommodations were furnished by a family named Stiles, for one dollar
and six cents a week. The landlady, Mrs. Stiles, is made responsible for
a story which illustrates how nearly penniless James was all this time.
He had only one suit of clothes, and no underclothing. But toward the
end of the term, his well-worn pantaloons split at the knee, as he bent
over one day, and the result was a rent of appalling proportions, which
the pin, with which he tried to mend matters, failed to conceal. Mrs.
Stiles kindly undertook to assist him out of his trouble while he was
asleep that night. But the time soon came when, though still poor,
Garfield was beyond danger of being put in such straights again. For,
even before the time came to go home again, he had paid his expenses and
purchased a few books. One piece of work which he did at this time was
to plane all the boards for the siding of a house, being paid two cents
a board.
About the first of November James applied for an examination, and
received a certificate of fitness to teach school. One whole year was
gone since the sea-vision vanished, and his means for support in the new
life had been made chiefly by the unaided force of his own tough
muscles. Enough capital of a new kind had now accumulated to become
productive, and he determined, for the future, to make money out of the
knowledge in his head, as well as out of the strength and skill of his
arm. The time for opening the country schools was come, and the young
man made several applications to school trustees near his home, but
found no place where he was wanted. Returning home discouraged, he found
that an offer was waiting for him. He took the contract to teach the
Ledge school, near by, for twelve dollars a month and board.
This school was one of those unfortunate seats of learning so often
found in rural districts, where teachers are habitually ousted each term
by the big boy terrible. For James Garfield, not yet quite eighteen
years old, this would be a trying situation, but we already know enough
about him to feel confident that he can not easily be put down. His
difficulties were, however, peculiarly great; for, though a prophet, he
was in his own country, and the scholars were not likely to be forward
in showing respect to “Jim Gaffil.” It was the old story, which many a
man who has taught country school can parallel in his own experience.
First came insubordination, then correction, then more fight, followed
by a signal victory, and at last Master Garfield was master of the
situation. Then came success, his reward for hard study and hard blows.
The Ledge prospered, its teacher became popular; and, when the time came
to close, he did so, satisfied with himself, and possessor of a neat
little sum of money.
Garfield went back to Geauga that year as planned. Early in 1851 he had
his first ride on a railroad train. Taking passage on a train of the
Cleveland and Columbus road, then new, he went, with his mother, to
Columbus. There the representative to the legislature from Geauga
County, Gamaliel Kent, kindly showed him the sights of the capital; from
there they went to Zanesville, and then down the Muskingum, eighteen
miles, to visit some relatives. There James is said to have taught a
short term of school before he returned home again; after this came the
renewal of school-days at Chester; and so progressing, we may end by
saying that James managed to support himself at Chester for somewhat
over two years, and to save a little money to begin on when he moved a
step higher. We have been thus minute in relating these incidents only
because they best show the stuff that was in this heroic young fellow,
and he can have no better eulogy.
Now, what were some of the elements of Garfield’s mental development at
this period? During the first term he had revived the rusty
recollections of his early acquirements, and pursued arithmetic,
algebra, grammar, and natural philosophy; afterwards came more of the
regular academic studies, including the rudiments of Latin and Greek; he
also studied botany, and collected a good herbarium. Every step had been
carefully taken, and his mind was becoming accustomed to close thinking.
Probably his first political impressions of importance were at this time
being made, but we have no record of any opinions formed by him at that
time on the subjects which then made political affairs interesting.
At the end of the first term in Chester, the literary society gave a
public entertainment; on that occasion James made a speech, which is
referred to in the diary he kept at that time, with this comment: “I was
very much scared, and very glad of a short curtain across the platform
that hid my shaking legs from the audience.” Soon afterwards, he took
some elocution lessons, which is evidence of the fact that he began to
think of making some figure as a public speaker.
While Garfield taught the Ledge school another change had come to him.
The old log school-house on his mother’s farm was used regularly as a
church, where a good old man, eloquent and earnest in his devotion to
religion, ministered to the little congregation of “Disciples” who
assembled to hear him. Recent events, and serious thinking, had
predisposed James to listen with a willing ear, and he began to feel
drawn back again to the simple faith of childhood which had been taught
him by his mother. The sect, of which his family were all members, were
followers of a new religious leader. Alexander Campbell is a name
familiar to all the present generation of older men. At a time of
furious disputation on religious subjects, Campbell was one of the
ablest of controversialists. First, a Presbyterian preacher, he had
rejected the Confession of Faith, and founded a new church, called the
“Disciples of Christ,” whose only written creed was the Bible. Gifted
with a proselyting spirit, he soon saw his one society spread and grow
into a multitude, so that soon not Virginia alone, but many surrounding
States were included in the religious territory of the “Disciples,”
called sometimes the “Campbellites.” It was one of this man’s followers
and preachers who now attracted Garfield. Their fundamentals of belief
have been summed up thus:
1. We call ourselves Christians or Disciples.
2. We believe in God the Father.
3. We believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God,
and our only Savior. We regard the divinity of Christ as the
fundamental truth in the Christian system.
4. We believe in the Holy Spirit, both as to its agency in
conversion and as an indweller in the heart of the Christian.
5. We accept both the Old and New Testament Scriptures as the
inspired Word of God.
6. We believe in the future punishment of the wicked and the future
reward of the righteous.
7. We believe that Deity is a prayer-hearing and prayer-answering
God.
8. We observe the institution of the Lord’s Supper on every Lord’s
Day. To this table it is our practice neither to invite nor debar.
We say it is the Lord’s Supper for all the Lord’s children.
9. We plead for the union of all God’s people on the Bible, and the
Bible alone.
10. The Bible is our only creed.
11. We maintain that all the ordinances of the Gospel should be
observed as they were in the days of the Apostles.
Aside from its adherence to the Bible, this organization did not have or
profess to have any thing in the way of creed to attract a fervid young
man to its acceptance.
Garfield was a man of susceptibility to influences; and peculiarly to
those of religion. Nature prepared him for it, and his early influences
led to it. The “wild-oats” had been sown, and the prodigal was ready to
return. In March, 1850, he joined the Church, and at once became an
enthusiastic worker for its interests. How this new connection came to
have a potent influence in the shaping and development of his progress,
will constantly appear as we observe the next few years of his life.
Garfield was always interested in any cause which still had its place to
make in the world; for in that particular it would be like himself. He
joined a young church; the first school he went to was a new one, as was
also the second. He joined the Republican party before that party had
ever won a national victory.
In 1851, Garfield thought he had about exhausted the advantages of
Geauga, and he began to seek “fresh scenes and pastures new.” We
ourselves can not do better than to take leave of that secluded spot,
summing up our hero’s life there in these his own words: “I remember
with great satisfaction the work which was done for me at Chester. It
marked the most decisive change in my life. While there I formed a
definite purpose and plan to complete a college course. It is a great
point gained, when a young man makes up his mind to devote several years
to the accomplishment of a definite work. With the educational
facilities now afforded in our country, no young man, who has good
health and is master of his own actions, can be excused for not
obtaining a good education. Poverty is very inconvenient, but it is a
fine spur to activity, and may be made a rich blessing.”
Alexander Campbell was not merely a zealous propagandist of religious
opinions; he was an organizer of religious forces. Among these forces,
education stands in the first rank. Understanding this fact, Campbell
himself founded a college at Bethany, West Virginia,—then Virginia,—of
which he was President until he died. Following their leader in this
liberal spirit, the Disciples had established schools and colleges
wherever they were able. Hiram, Portage County, Ohio, was a settlement
where the new sect was numerous, and here, in 1850, was erected the
first building of what is now widely known as Hiram College, but was
then called the Eclectic Institute. It was toward this place that in the
fall of that year James A. Garfield turned. A somewhat advanced course
of study was promised, and he resolved to go there and prepare for
college. Arriving there in time to begin with the first classes, he
looked about as usual for something to do. One evening the trustees were
in executive session, when a knock was heard at their door. The intruder
was admitted. He was a tall, muscular young man, scarcely twenty years
old, unpolished in appearance, and carrying himself awkwardly, but
withal in a strikingly straightforward manner.
“Well, sir, what is your business with us?”
In firm, clear tones the answer came: “Gentlemen, I have come here from
my home in Orange. I have been two years at Geauga Seminary, and am here
to continue my work. Being the son of a widow, who is poor, I must work
my way along; and I ask to be made your janitor.” Some hesitation was
visible in the faces of the trustees, and he added: “Try me two weeks,
and if you are not satisfied I will quit.”
The offer was accepted, and James A. Garfield again found himself a rich
man; rich in opportunities, rich in health, rich in having _some_ way,
though a humble one, to support himself through another period of
magnificent mental growth. His inflexible rule was to do every thing
which fell in his way to do, and do all things well. Before the term was
far gone, the entire school had become interested in him. With a
pleasant word for every one, always more than willing to do a favor,
earnest, frank, and a ready laugher, nobody could be more popular than
Garfield. In a short time one of the teachers of Science and English,
became ill, and Garfield was chosen to fill the temporary vacancy. This
duty was so faithfully performed that some of the classes were continued
to him, and so he was never without from three to six classes till he
went away to college. As a teacher he was singularly successful; the
classes never flagged in interest, for the teacher was always either
drawing forth ideas on the subject in hand from some one else, or he was
giving his own views in a manner which invariably held attention. By
these helps, by still working as a carpenter in the village, and in
various other ways, making as much and spending as little as he could,
Garfield finally left Hiram, free from debt, and possessor of three
hundred and fifty dollars on which to start into college.
From the time when he became a member of the church at Geauga, Garfield
had continually increased in devotion to religious affairs, and at Hiram
quickly became a power. He was constantly present at the social
prayer-meetings, where his remarks were frequent, and attracted notice.
In a short time he was called on to address the people, and this
becoming a habit, rapidly improved, and came to be called “the most
eloquent young man in the county.” For a number of years Garfield was
known as a first-rate preacher; in regularity of speaking, however, he
was very much like that order known among Methodists as “local
preachers.”
That Garfield was at this time beginning to have political connections,
appears from a story told by Father Bentley, then pastor of the church
at Hiram. On one occasion an evening service was about to be held, and
the pastor had invited our friend to sit with him on the platform; also
expecting him to address the people. Unnoticed by Father Bentley, a
young man called Garfield away, and was hastening him off to talk at a
political meeting. Discovering his departure, Bentley was about to call
him back; when, suddenly, he stopped, and said: “Well, I suppose we must
let him go. Very likely he will be President of the United States, some
day!”
Garfield’s general progress at Hiram was intimately connected with that
of the people about him; and the best possible view of him must come
from a knowledge of his friends, and the work they did together. In a
late address to the Alumni of Hiram, Garfield has furnished a good
sketch of the kind of human material that made up the “Eclectic
Institute.”
“In 1850 it was a green field, with a solid, plain brick building in
the center of it, and almost all the rest has been done by the
institution itself. Without a dollar of endowment, without a
powerful friend anywhere, a corps of teachers were told to go on the
ground and see what they could make of it, and to find their pay out
of the tuitions that should be received; who invited students of
their own spirit to come here on the ground and find out by trial
what they could make of it. The chief response has been their work,
and the chief part of the response I see in the faces gathered
before me to-day. It was a simple question of sinking or swimming,
and I do not know of any institution that has accomplished more,
with little means, than this school on Hiram hill. I know of no
place where the doctrine of self-help has had a fuller development.
As I said a great many years ago, the theory of Hiram was to throw
its young men and women overboard, and let them try for themselves.
All that were fit to get ashore got there, and we had few cases of
drowning. Now, when I look over these faces, and mark the several
geologic ages, I find the geologic analogy does not hold—there are
no fossils. Some are dead and glorified in our memories, but those
who are alive are ALIVE. I believe there was a stronger pressure of
work to the square inch in the boilers that ran this establishment
than any other I know of. Young men and women—rough, crude and
untutored farmer boys and girls—came here to try themselves, and
find out what manner of people they were. They came here to go on a
voyage of discovery, to discover themselves, and in many cases I
hope the discovery was fortunate.”
Among these brave toilers were two or three of Garfield’s more intimate
friends, with whom we must become acquainted before we can come at a
thorough knowledge of Garfield himself. Of his introduction to them he
has said:
“A few days after the beginning of the term, I saw a class of three
reciting in mathematics—geometry, I think. I had never seen a
geometry, and, regarding both teacher and class with a feeling of
reverential awe for the intellectual height to which they had
climbed, I studied their faces so closely that I seem to see them
now as distinctly as I saw them then. And it has been my good
fortune since that time to claim them all as intimate friends. The
teacher was Thomas Munnell, and the members of his class were
William B. Hazen, George A. Baker and Almeda A. Booth.”
Afterwards he met here, for the second time, one who had been, known to
him in Chester. Lucretia Rudolph was a farmer’s daughter, whose humble
home was then not far from Chester. Her father was from Maryland; his
uncle had been a brave soldier of the Revolution, and, as the story
goes, he afterward went to France, enlisted under the banner of
Napoleon, and was soon known to the world as Marshal Ney. Lucretia’s
mother came from Vermont, and her name had been Arabella Mason. The
Rudolph family was poor, but industrious and ambitious. Their daughter
had, therefore, been sent to Geauga. She was a “quiet, thoughtful girl,
of singularly sweet and refined disposition,” and a great reader.
“Her heart was gentle as her face was fair,
With grace and love and pity dwelling there.”
In the fall of 1849 this young lady was earnestly pursuing her studies
at Geauga Seminary, and, during the hours of recitation, there often sat
near her the awkward and bashful youth, Garfield. There these two became
acquainted; and, although the boy made but few advances at first, they
soon became good friends. Her sweet, attractive ways and sensible
demeanor drew his heart out toward her; and, as for James, though he may
have been very rough in appearance, yet his countenance was always a
good one, and his regularly brilliant leadership of the class in all
discussions was well adapted to challenge such a maiden’s admiration. A
backwoods idyl, ending in an early marriage, would not be a surprising
result in such a case as this. But these two souls were too earnestly
bent on high aims in life to trouble their hearts, or bother their
heads, with making love. They were merely acquaintances, although
tradition hath it, that from the day when, leaving Chester, their paths
diverged awhile, a correspondence was regularly kept up. However that
may be, the fact we know is, that at this time and place, James A.
Garfield first met Lucretia Rudolph, the woman who was one day to become
his wife. In 1852 the Rudolphs moved to Hiram, where the young lady
studied at the “Eclectic,” and recited to Garfield in some of her
classes. The old friendship here ripened into affection; they pursued
many studies together, and, about the time he left Hiram for college,
they were engaged to marry. Long after they were married, a poet of
Hiram referred to her thus:
“_Again_ a Mary? Nay, _Lucretia_,
The noble, classic name
That well befits our fair ladie,
Our sweet and gentle dame,
With heart as leal and loving
As e’er was sung in lays
Of high-born Roman matron,
In old, heroic days;
Worthy her lord illustrious, whom
Honor and fame attend;
Worthy her soldier’s name to wear,
Worthy the civic wreath to share
That binds her Viking’s tawny hair;
Right proud are we the world should know
As hers, him we long ago
Found truest helper, friend.”
Another woman, however, one of the members of the awe-inspiring geometry
class named above, had, in the Hiram days, more influence on Garfield’s
intellectual life than any other person. Miss Almeda A. Booth was a
woman of wonderful force of mind and character. She was the daughter of
New England parents, who had come to Ohio, where her father traveled
over an immense circuit of country as an itinerant Methodist preacher.
Almeda very early discovered intellectual tastes, and, at twelve, read
such works as Rollin’s _Ancient History_ and Gibbon’s _Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire_. She taught her first school at seventeen. An
engagement of marriage was broken by the death of her intended husband,
and her life was ever afterward devoted to the business of teaching.
Thus the quiet current of life was not wrecked, but went smoothly on,
clear and beautiful. She was poor in what people call riches; the office
of teacher gave support. She was sad because death had darkened her
life; study was a never-failing solace. Her mind gloried in strength,
and the opportunity for a career of useful exercise of its powers helped
to make her happy. Henceforth she loved knowledge more than ever; and
could freely say:
“My mind to me a kingdom is.
Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far exceeds all earthly bliss
That God or Nature hath assigned.”
About the same time with Garfield, Miss Booth came to Hiram, and soon
found her time, like his, divided between teaching in some classes and
reciting in others. Each at once recognized in the other an intellectual
peer, and they soon were pursuing many studies together. Our best idea
of her comes from an address made by Garfield, on a memorial occasion,
in 1876, the year after Miss Booth died. He compared her to Margaret
Fuller, the only American woman whom he thought her equal in ability, in
variety of accomplishments, or in influence over other minds. “It is
quite possible,” says Garfield, “that John Stuart Mill has exaggerated
the extent to which his own mind and works were influenced by Harriet
Mills. I should reject his opinion on that subject as a delusion, did I
not know from my own experience, as well as that of hundreds of Hiram
students, how great a power Miss Booth exercised over the culture and
opinions of her friends.”
Again: “In mathematics and the physical sciences I was far behind her;
but we were nearly at the same place in Greek and Latin. She had made
her home at President Hayden’s almost from the first, and I became a
member of his family at the beginning of the Winter Term of 1852–’3.
Thereafter, for nearly two years, she and I studied together in the same
classes (frequently without other associates) till we had nearly
completed the classical course.” In the summer vacation of 1853, with
several others, they hired a professor and studied the classics.
“Miss Booth read thoroughly, and for the first time, the _Pastorals_
of Virgil—that is, the Georgics and Bucolics entire—and the first
six books of Homer’s _Iliad_, accompanied by a thorough drill in the
Latin or Greek Grammar at each recitation. I am sure that none of
those who recited with her would say she was behind the foremost in
the thoroughness of her work, or the elegance of her translation.
“During the Fall Term of 1853, she read one hundred pages of
Herodotus, and about the same amount of Livy. During that term also,
Profs. Dunshee and Hull and Miss Booth and I met, at her room, two
evenings of each week, to make a joint translation of the Book of
Romans. Prof. Dunshee contributed his studies of the German
commentators, De Wette and Tholuck; and each of the translators made
some special study for each meeting. How nearly we completed the
translation, I do not remember; but I do remember that the
contributions and criticisms of Miss Booth were remarkable for
suggestiveness and sound judgment. Our work was more thorough than
rapid, for I find this entry in my diary for December 15, 1853:
‘Translation Society sat three hours at Miss Booth’s room, and
agreed upon the translation of nine verses.’
“During the Winter Term of 1853–’4, she continued to read Livy, and
also read the whole of _Demosthenes on the Crown_. The members of
the class in Demosthenes were Miss Booth, A. Hull, C. C. Foot and
myself.
“During the Spring Term of 1854, she read the _Germania and
Agricola_ of Tacitus, and a portion of Hesiod.”
These were the occupations, these the friends of James A. Garfield at
Hiram, when, in the fall of 1854, he found himself ready for college. He
was so far advanced that he would easily be able to graduate in two
years. The best institution of advanced learning, in the “Disciples’”
church, was that of which Alexander Campbell was president, at Bethany,
Virginia. But Garfield, much to the surprise of his Hiram friends, made
up his mind that he would not go there. The reasons he gave are summed
up in a letter written by him at that time, and quoted by Whitelaw Reid
in his _Ohio in the War_. This letter shows not only why he did not go
to Bethany, but why he did go to Williams. He wrote:
“There are three reasons why I have decided not to go to Bethany:
1st. The course of study is not so extensive or thorough as in
Eastern colleges. 2d. Bethany leans too heavily toward slavery. 3d.
I am the son of Disciple parents, am one myself, and have had but
little acquaintance with people of other views; and, having always
lived in the West, I think it will make me more liberal, both in my
religious and general views and sentiments, to go into a new circle,
where I shall be under new influences. These considerations led me
to conclude to go to some New England college. I therefore wrote to
the presidents of Brown University, Yale and Williams, setting forth
the amount of study I had done, and asking how long it would take me
to finish their course.
“Their answers are now before me. All tell me I can graduate in two
years. They are all brief, business notes, but President Hopkins
concludes with this sentence: ‘If you come here, we shall be glad to
do what we can for you.’ Other things being so near equal, this
sentence, which seems to be a kind of friendly grasp of the hand,
has settled the question for me. I shall start for Williams next
week.”.
The next week he did go to Williams. Boyhood, with its struggles, had
vanished. Garfield was now a man of twenty-three years, with much
development yet before him, for his possibilities of growth were very
large, and the process never stopped while he lived. What he did at
Williams let the following pages reveal.