whenever there was a job, on the farms of their neighbors. At seventeen he was driving the canal boat from the coal mines of Governor Todd at Brier Hill, to Cleveland, Ohio.
When they finally managed so well that James could attend Geauga Seminary, at Chester, Ohio, during the winter of 1849, a note of triumph must have sounded in Eliza’s church hymns, the only music which so strict a “Campbellite” could have permitted herself.
This triumphant note must have widened and mellowed and enriched Eliza Garfield’s life as her son went on to Hiram College—to a happy marriage—to the presidency of Hiram—to distinguished service in the Civil War—to Washington as senator—to the White House. And there came death at the hands of a crazed assassin.
But Eliza’s life did not end there. For “Grandma” Garfield lived on to a ripe and comfortable old age, surrounded by comforts and with one special treasure in which her tended pride was unconcealed. It was a letter, written to her by her son on his deathbed. “Dear Mother” he wrote. “Do not be disturbed by conflicting reports of my condition. It is true that I am still weak but I am gaining every day and need only time and patience to bring me through. Give my love to all my friends and relatives, especially Aunt Hetty. Your loving son. James.”
That many other Ohio women were great mothers, whether or not their sons became presidents, there is ample testimony. It was not long before the women of Ohio became aware of other needs and responsibilities. Their social service to their communities began, in fact, with the first settlements.
There is record of at least two community dinners in which women had important parts, as early as 1788.
The first of these celebrated, on July 4, the second anniversary of American Independence. It was the first public celebration in the Northwest Territory. The ordinance, remember, was passed in 1787. The affair took place out-of-doors, on the Marietta side of the Muskingum River, with a repast to which the best to be obtained from woods and streams and the highest skill of the housewives contributed in equal measure. One fish, a great pike, over six feet long and weighing over 100 pounds, was speared for the occasion by Judge Gilbert Devoll and his son Gilbert. General James M. Y arnum, also a judge of the newly created Northwest Territory, made the principal speech. It rained and the feast had to be sheltered. The sun came out and all returned to the repast. After dinner, toasts were drunk—to Congress, to General Washington, to the Northwest Territory, to General St. Clair—and to “the amiable partners of our delicate pleasures.”
About a month after this festivity, the northwest portion of the block- house at Marietta—the famous Campus Martius—was so far completed that another dinner was given, this time by the directors of the company to Governor St. Clair, head of the territory, to officers of Ft. Harmer and to the “principal citizens and their wives.”
