ས. LIFE'S GREAT TURNING-POINT. HE months go by. James Abram Garfield, the while, is enduring the hardships of life on the canal. Summer passes away. The golden dust of autumn is falling on the field, The hardships, the work from early morning till late at night, the exposure to sun and storm, the drenchings from rain, the wettings in the canal, the sleeping at night in malarious atmospheres, lying down with his threadbare clothes, limp and damp, clinging to his skin, all together have had their effect upon the boy of sixteen. He reaches Cleveland, settles with the captain, receiving his small pittance of wages, turns his steps towards his home, seventeen miles away. Nerveless, weary, fever in his blood, thin, spare, haggard, he makes his way to Orange. During the months he has been gone he has not written to his mother; there has been little time to write. He went away against her wishes, but now that the fever is burning him up, he comes back to the humble home, to feel cooling hands upon his brow. Night is falling as with faltering steps he approaches the door. His foot is upon the threshold, his hand the latch. He hears a voice within, is music to his ears, soft and low. It is the hour of evening prayer: upon "God bless my absent boy!" a voice that Not till we have traveled well along life's journey do we discover where the great turning-points of our lives have been. The weary youth, burning with fever, did not know then that the past was all behind him, - that a far different future was before him, and that his foot was upon its threshold. It was the dividing-line- the supreme moment between what he had been and what he was to be; and the crowning glory, which hung over him like a heavenly Shekinah, was a mother's love, which, morning and evening, went up to heaven for a blessing on her boy! Through the autumn months he tossed and tumbled on his bed, shaking with ague, too languid from the effects of the malaria to undertake any labor, taking mercury prescribed by the local physician till salivation set in. It was the medical treatment of the period. How hard to lie there helpless upon his bed when the great world was opening before him! He was thinking the while, not perhaps of the canal, but of the lake or the sea. The imagination which had led him to become a boatman was still portraying the pleasure of a life upon the ocean. The influence of "Jack Halyard" was still upon him, and though a third of a century has passed since James A. Garfield read the fascinating story, its influence has not wholly faded out. Even in mature life he experiences no pleasure like that which thrills him when upon the deck of a steamship in mid-ocean. Not long since he gave utterance to the following words: "The sight of a ship fills me with a strange fascination. When upon the water, when my fellow-men are suffering sea-sickness, I am as tranquil as when walking the land in serenest weather." Helpless in body but strong in purpose, he passed the hours of the closing year. He did not then comprehend how the mother's gentle hand, how her sweet voice was leading him in another direction. There was never a reproach uttered in regard to his experience upon the canal, but these were the words that fell from her lips: "Working on the canal, or going as a sailor upon the lake, will only give you employment for half the year, and you will not be able to get much to do in the winter. Would it not be much better for you to go to school and fit yourself to be a teacher? Then you will have a chance to earn money in the winter.' We are not to think of this youth, who has come from his summer's work on the tow-path, as having made no progress in intellectual culture. On the contrary, he has made the most of his opportunities, and has worried more than one teacher in the district school with his questions, answers, and problems. He has some keen-witted cousins by the name of Boynton, who also have put teachers to their trump. They have formed an intellectual circle, and have been studying the meaning of words. "We mastered Webster's Spelling-book," said General Garfield to the writer. The boy of sixteen, who has mastered even so small a volume as the Spelling-book of Noah Webster, has a good and solid foundation for future intellectual culture. The juvenile circle not only spelled the words, but hunted out their meaning. From definitions they went on to construct sentences, employing the words that would be most forcible. It was self-culture which has been of infinite value to General Garfield through life. It is manifest in all his writings, his speeches, and especially in his military despatches. The best word seems to be ever at hand. Winter came. The district school began. The teacher was a young, enthusiastic man, Samuel D. Bates, who had attended the "Geauga Seminary," as the academy in the neighboring town of Chester was called. The young schoolmaster was deeply religious, and afterward became a devoted minister. No balances have yet been constructed to measure the power of moral forces. An influence for good once started goes on forever. Little did that young schoolmaster know, when he brought the influence of his sublime enthusiasm for education, for religion, for everything that is good, pure, high and holy, upon that boy of seventeen, of what would come of it. The world does not yet know. The seed then sown is only now putting forth its flower. All mankind may yet breathe its fragrance. That winter school was the dividing-line between James A. Garfield's past and his eventful future. How wide apart the influences of that winter from those of the preceding summer! The quiet of the school-room, the Scripture lesson, the morning prayer, the enthusiasm of the young teacher, the coming in of new thoughts, new aspirations and desires, the little glimpses of the great ocean of truth, the first inhaling of the fragrance of that limitless sea, the thoughts of a better life beyond the present, of God, of heaven, this in contrast to life on the canal-boat! That prayer of the mother was still haunting his memory. Conscience, Obligation, Duty, confronted him, pointing him toward the Right. The boy heard voices divine winning him to a better, nobler, purer life. With resolute purpose he turned his back upon all the past, resolving to follow the white-winged spirits wherever they might lead him. "Go with me to the Seminary," said his teacher. How could he go? He had no money, no clothes except the suit of country jeans, worn threadbare at the knees. But the mother, whose resolute will had conquered greater difficulties in the past, was behind him, urging him on. She had prayed for him; she was ready to work for him. She had a little money, a friend had a little, together amounting to eleven dol |