CHAPTER XLV.

Reminiscences of Corydon E. Fuller.--Of one of the Pupils at Hiram Institute.--Garfield's Keen Observation.--His Kindness of Heart.--Anecdote of the Game of Ball.--Of the Lame Girl in Washington.--Of Brown, the ex-Scout and old Boat Companion.

Mr. Corydon E. Fuller, to whom the letters in the preceding chapter were addressed, was one of the most intimate of the late President Garfield's friends, and shared with him the early privations of his academic and collegiate life. Mr. Fuller said: "My first acquaintance with Mr. Garfield was in the Eclectic Institute at Hiram College in the year 1851. We entered the school at the same time. My first recollection of him is as a young man, looking all of twenty years old, about six feet in height, powerfully built, with a head of bushy hair, and weighing about one hundred and eighty-five pounds. I remember him attired in Kentucky jean clothes with calico sleeves, ringing the bell for the opening of recitations. We very soon became acquainted, and that was during the Fall term of 1851. At this time the Boynton boys and girls, numbering six, were also at the school. These were closely related to Garfield. One of them was the Mrs. Arnold, killed at the Newberg railroad disaster at the same time with Thomas Garfield, uncle of the late President. In the winter of 1851-2 Mr. Garfield taught school at Warrensville, Cuyahoga County, and I at Hamilton, Geauga County. At that time we commenced corresponding, and kept it up until the time of his assassination."

"I remember once asking him," said one of Garfield's pupils, "what was the best way to pursue a certain study, and he said: 'Use several textbooks. Get the views of different authors as you advance. In that way you can plow a broader furrow. I always study in that way.' He tried hard to teach us to observe carefully and accurately. He broke out one day in the midst of a lesson with 'Henry how many posts are there under the building downstairs?' Henry expressed his opinion, and the question went around the class, hardly one getting it right. Then it was: 'How many boot-scrapers are there at the door?' 'How many windows in the building?' 'How many trees in the field!' 'What were the colors of different rooms, and the peculiarities of any familiar objects?' He was the keenest observer I ever saw, I think he noticed and numbered every button on our coats."

"There was one grand thing about President Garfield," said one who knew him well, "and that was he never felt ashamed to work, no matter what position he filled. He was always engaged in something, and I have never seen him alone when his thoughts were not deeply engaged in something. One great thing that was no doubt the greatest secret of his success, was his constant desire to be elevated to a higher position. He was always reaching for something, and never gave up until he received that for which he was working. Again, he never was ashamed of his low condition or poverty, and I have often heard him say, during the course of conversations, that 'there never was a grander thing to see than a man or woman in earnest in anything they undertake. No matter whether they may be right or wrong, to see them in dead earnest and working for dear life for the object of their desire is a noble sight to witness.' I'll call your attention to another fact: he always went along with his eyes and ears open, catching up every opportunity to learn something. He would walk along the street, and to merely glance at a stranger would not satisfy him, but he would watch a person and try to discover something in his countenance, and he couldn't look at a lady without being able to tell you the color of every ribbon on her hat. He has often told me that the great keeness of his perceptive faculties were often painful to him. If travelling on a railroad train, and the cars by chance would stop a short time, he was out inquiring the cause of the delay, and while walking leisurely along some highway he would meet a German or Irishman working, when he would stop and interrogate them, and then tell his friends what he had learned. He was always determined to learn something."

At one time when walking with a friend through the streets of Cleveland, Garfield suddenly stopped and then darted down a cellar-way. Over the door was the sign "Saws and Files," and a clicking sound could be heard below.

"I think this fellow is cutting files," said Garfield, "and I have never seen a file cut."

He was right; there was a man below stairs who was re-cutting an old file, so the two friends stayed there some ten minutes, until the whole process of file-cutting was thoroughly understood.

"Garfield would never go by anything," said his friend, "without understanding it."

His native kindness of heart is seen in an incident that occurred while he was principal at Hiram Institute. Ruling in the schoolroom with great firmness, he was always ready to join the boys in their games on the playground. One day, when he had taken his place in a game of ball, he happened to see some small boys close by the fence, who were looking on with wistful eyes.

"Are these boys not in the game?" he said to the players.

"What! those little tads? Of course not. They'd spoil the game."

"But they want to play," said the principal, "just as much as we do. Let them come in."

"Oh no!" was the exclamation; "it's no use to spoil the game; they can't play."

"Well," said Garfield, laying down his bat, "if they can't play I won't."

"All right, then, let them come in," was the answer, and so the kind-hearted teacher won the day.

Another story is told as follows: Two Southern ladies engaged in charitable work connected with their church society became interested in the case of a family consisting of a blind man, his invalid wife, and a lame daughter. The latter was at work in the fourth story of a government building in Washington, at a salary of $400 per annum, and to get this small amount she was obliged to walk (using a crutch) nearly three miles each way daily between her house and the printing-room, and to climb four nights of stairs to her labors. This so exhausted the poor child that she was fast losing her health. These two Southern ladies looked about them to see who, among the influential men in Washington, had the broadest human sympathy, and decided that General James A. Garfield, then M. C. was the man most likely to help them in benefiting this afflicted family. They accordingly visited General Garfield's house, and found a carriage before the door. Though complete strangers to him, they sent their cards to the general, who immediately came down stairs. He had his overcoat thrown over his arm, but very courteously greeted the ladies and asked what he could do for them. They said,--

"We notice you appear to be about leaving, and perhaps we detain you." He replied, "I am about to take the cars, but I will delay till next train if I can in any way be of service to you;" and he showed them into the parlor and introduced them to his wife. When he was told the case he replied that he should be away from Washington for two or three days, but if they would remind him on his return, he would do all he could to assist them. Mrs. Garfield engaged to remind the general on his return, which she did, and through his kindness and effort this lame girl was transferred from the fourth floor to the first, and her salary made $1200 instead of $400.

Still another instance of Garfield's kindness of heart is shown in the following story:--

One time when he was about to deliver an address at Cornell, a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turning about, he saw Brown, his ex-scout and old boat companion. He was a sad-looking wreck--with bleared eyes, bloated face, and garments that were half tatters. He had come, he said, while the tears rolled down his cheeks, to that quiet place to die, and now he could die in peace because he had seen his 'gineral.'

Garfield gave him money and got him quarters among some kind people, and left him, telling him to try to be a man; but, in any event, to let him know if he ever needed further help. A year or more passed, and no word came from Brown; but then the superintendent of the public hospital at Buffalo wrote the general that a man was there very sick, who, in his delirium, talked of him, of the Ohio Canal, and of the Sandy Valley expedition. Garfield knew at once that it was Brown, and immediately forwarded funds to the hospital, asking that he should have every possible care and comfort. The letter which acknowledged the remittance announced that the poor fellow had died--died, muttering, in his delirium, the name 'Jim Garfield.'

Garfield paid his funeral expenses.

"Poor Brown!" he exclaimed, "he had a rare combination of good and bad qualities, with strong traits, a ruined man; and yet, underneath the ruins, a great deal of generous, self-sacrificing noble-heartedness."