The Life and Work of James A. Garfield, Twentieth President of the United States / Embracing an Account of the Scenes and Incidents of His Boyhood; the Struggles of His Youth; the Might of His Early Manhood; His Valor As a Soldier; His Career As a Statesman; His Election to the Presidency; and the Tragic Story of His Death.

the gift of the Bolivian Legation at Washington. The steps were covered with evergreens and strewn with a thick carpet of rosebuds, tuberoses, and carnation. A large wreath, presented by the ladies of Dubuque, Iowa, was fastened near the ceiling, so that it could be seen at some distance. Looking through the open door at the head of the bier was a lyre of roses, carnations, and tuberoses, bearing in immortelles the words:

At the foot of the bier stood a heavy cross, the gift of Mrs. Garfield herself to the Decorative Committee, for that place. The sides of the vault were draped with rich black. The canopy of the interior consisted of many flags so arranged as to give the impression of an interior roof. The inner west wall was beautifully draped with flags festooned with black, and ornamented with a wreath of white roses. The floor was covered with a carpet of arbor vitæ and roses. The heavy doors were removed, and the gates were draped with bunting and festoons of smilax. In the center of the vault stood the bier, a beveled parallelogram, with a base of black velvet and draped entire with heavy black broadcloth, rich fringe, and a liberal trimming of evergreen.

The procession halted. It was the last stage in the journey. The chief mourners, except Harry and James Garfield, did not alight. The clouds still wept at intervals. The band removed to a distance, sounding the notes of a solemn requiem. The Forest City Guards formed on the right and the Knights on the left. The funeral car was then drawn up over the heavy carpeting of evergreens and flowers. The long lines of Guards presented arms. There was a moment of death-like silence—a most impressive pause—when the inclined plane was adjusted to the car. The Marines marched up into the car and carefully bore the casket down and directly into the vault. It was set gently on the bier. The Guards stood silent. A brief historical sketch of the dead President was read by the Rev. J. H. Jones, former chaplain of the old Garfield regiment. The Vocal Society of Cleveland then chanted in beautiful measure the Twenty-second Ode of Horace. The friends and attendants were thanked for their presence and sympathy, and the benediction was pronounced by President B. A. Hinsdale, of Hiram College. The door was closed. A guard was placed about the sepulcher, and all that the earth could claim of James A. Garfield was left to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

To moralize on the Life and Work of Garfield would be superfluous. He has furnished to the people of the United States one of the brightest and noblest examples of American citizenship. Both in public life and private life he has contributed to the annals of our times a record unsullied as the azure sky. His steps were the steps of a pure man climbing up to greatness. His ambitions were chastened—his aspirations the aspirations of a patriot. Over his great talents was shed the luster of noble activities, and his path was illumined with something of the effulgence of genius. His integrity was spotless, his virtue white as the snow. Of all our public men of recent times, Garfield was in a certain sense the most American. He had suffered all the hardships of the common lot. He had known poverty and orphanage and toil. To himself he owed in a preëminent degree his victory over adversity and his rise to distinction. He carried into public life, even to the highest seat of honor, the plainness and simplicity of a man of the people. Ostentation was no part of his nature, and subtlety found no place in his practices. In an age of venality and corruption—the very draff and ebb of the Civil War—he stood unscathed. He went up to his high seat and down to the doorway of the grave without the scent of fire on his garments. His name smells sweet in all lands under the circle of the sun, and his fame is a priceless legacy which posterity will not willingly let die.