tion of that power dangerous to the republic, which was concentrated during the war, and in sympathy with him the men of the North and the men of the South were for the first time thoroughly reunited. Mr. Garfield was a man of great physical power. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a deep chest and a large head, while a continuous flow of animal spirits indicated his perfect health. Intellectually, his most striking characteristic was his immense breadth. It is given to but a very small number of men to succeed in any pursuit. Many are called, but few are chosen. The sea of life lines its shores with the shells of failures and things dead. Mr. Garfield was a scholar learned in the languages of the past, a preacher of the Gospel, a soldier in command on the battle field, a student of literature, finance and politics, an orator and a statesman; and in all of these diverse paths he reached distinction. He wrote a graceful poem, discussed geological problems with the professors, examined into the local history of his neighborhood, and with the same ease he met the masters of debate in Congress upon abstract questions of state. Nature, which has provided the most powerful of animals with an organ of such strength that it can uproot trees, and of such delicacy that it can untie knots, seems to have endowed him with mental capacities of like flexibility.
He was brave and generous. When the stoutest of the partisan leaders threw the glove in his face, he picked it up quietly, and his antagonist disappeared from the arena. He met his fate like a man. In his long struggle with death, there was much that was sublime. He uttered no repinings; he expressed no resentment toward the thing that had struck him; there came from his bed of suffering no cry, save that sad longing to see once more the green fields of his home. When he was elected to the
