To this he owed the respect which advanced him to each position of trust until it made him head of the Government. And it was to this n.o.ble quality of his character that he owed his death. Corruption had grown up in connection with the offices of State, and Garfield"s last mission was to purge the Government of this taint. He was resolved to set his face against "the waste of time and the obstruction to public business caused by the greedy crowd of office-seekers." And he also announced that "rigid honesty and faithful service would be required from every officer of the State."
This conduct bitterly annoyed some of his own party, who had expected that Garfield would follow the example of other Presidents, and turn out all the civic officers, to make room for his own friends. This annoyance at length found expression in the wicked act of a wretched creature, a disappointed office-seeker, named Guiteau.
The new President had been but a few months in office, when Guiteau followed him into the railway station at Washington, and, as he entered the waiting-room, shot him in the back. The President fell wounded, but not unconscious. In great pain, he still remembered his loved ones, and moaned, "My poor wife and children." Then he dictated a message to his wife.
A struggle with death ensued, on which the whole world looked with awe.
For weeks the President hovered between life and death, showing ever the same sublime spirit of cheerful patience and Christian resignation which had adorned his life. At length the end came, and on the 19th of September 1881 he fell asleep. His body was removed to Washington, where he was laid in state. On the bier a wreath of white roses rested, bearing the simple inscription--"From Queen Victoria to the memory of the late President Garfield, an expression of her sorrow, and her sympathy with Mrs. Garfield and the American nation."
Through that room pa.s.sed a hundred and thirty thousand persons of all ranks, to take one last look at the man whose life had been so great, and whose dying had been so glorious. Then in the cemetery of his native Cleveland, James A. Garfield was laid to rest.
The spontaneous affection of his countrymen amply provided for his beloved family; and his martyrdom, it was said, did more than any other event could have done to draw the North and South together. His death was mourned, and the manner of it hated by every section and party alike, and the whole nation, united now in sorrow, bowed in loving tenderness over the grave of one of its greatest children.
CHAPTER XX.
LOOKING BACK.
One of the pleasantest things in the story of Garfield is the devotion of friends and companions, which followed and helped him all his life.
To an orphan lad, the son of a poor widow in the backwoods of the State of Ohio, there seemed little chance of greatness; and yet out of that poor cabin in the woods, in which sat the weeping mother and her four fatherless children, came one who was destined to stand among princes.
It was the self-denial of his mother, elder brother, and sister which made it possible for James Garfield to rise. When the father died suddenly, leaving his family on the comparatively new clearing, Thomas, the eldest son, became the manager of the farm. "I can plough and plant, mother. I can sow the wheat too, and cut the wood, milk the cows, and do heaps of things for you."
[Ill.u.s.tration: The White House.]
This was the elder lad"s answer to his mother"s question, "Should they sell the farm now that her husband was dead?" and it decided her. And so the boy-farmer commenced his labours, and mother and children toiled together in humble and happy love.
But though Thomas was compelled to work, he was determined that his baby brother should have an education. And when a school was opened some distance off, he resolved that "Jimmy" must be one of the scholars. But how was a lad of four to get to school nearly two miles away. The answer came from a devoted sister, who said, "I"ll carry him"; and the good, brave girl, with a homely name and a n.o.ble heart, trudged the long distance day by day, with a little sister at her side, and a little brother on her back. And that was how, aided by loving hands and loyal hearts, little James Garfield, the future professor, and general, and President of the United States, began his career.
You remember how Thomas, with all his duties and responsibilities about the farm, yet found a little time on his hands to do odd jobs for a neighbour, and so obtain a little money.
When he came home with his first earnings, he walked straight up to his mother, laid it down in her lap, and said, "Now the shoemaker can come and make Jimmy a pair of shoes." What a splendid fellow Thomas was!
He seemed to have no thought for himself, but only to be wearing out his young life for others. Surely in the long hereafter, when they reckon up the good deeds in each life, the reaping of this little backwoods" farmer will be a glorious one, for he sowed a mighty harvest of love.
One story of this dear brother should never be forgotten. His brother James slept on the floor of the loft beside him, and the restless little fellow would kick off the blankets a dozen times in a night.
Then, half awake, he would say, "Tom, cover me up"; and the patient hand, that never tired of helping others, would replace the clothing, and the little head would sink down again on its hard pillow.
Five-and-twenty years afterwards, when at the head of an army, and after a great battle, he lay down on the battlefield to sleep. An officer heard him say, "Tom, cover me up." A friendly hand drew the blanket over his shoulder, and awoke him by the act. On being told of his saying, General Garfield sat a moment silent, then he told his comrades how he had been helped at home, and all through life; and as he spoke of this brother"s love, his heart grew too full, and he turned aside and wept.
Surely if there is one lesson more than another to learn from the story of this splendid life, it is to be found in the sacrifice of this elder brother, who, like Jonathan of old, stepped aside and lent a hand that another should climb over his head.
Garfield was like David. His was the magnetic soul that drew all men to him, and then drew forth the best and brightest impulses of their natures.
THE END.