“CLASSMATES:  To me there is something exceedingly pathetic in this reunion.  In every eye before me I see the light of friendship and love, and I am sure it is reflected back to each one of you from my inmost heart.  For twenty-two years, with the exception of the last few days, I have been in the public service.  To-night I am a private citizen.  To-morrow I shall be called to assume new responsibilities, and on the day after, the broadside of the world’s wrath will strike.  It will strike hard.  I know it, and you will know it.  Whatever may happen to me in the future, I shall feel that I can always fall back upon the shoulders and hearts of the class of ’56 for their approval of that which is right, and for their charitable judgment wherein I may come short in the discharge of my public duties.  You may write down in your books now the largest percentage of blunders which you think I will be likely to make, and you will be sure to find in the end that I have made more than you have calculated—­many more.

“This honor comes to me unsought.  I have never had the Presidential fever—­not even for a day; nor have I it to-night.  I have no feeling of elation in view of the position I am called upon to fill.  I would thank God were I to-day a free lance in the House or the Senate.  But it is not to be, and I will go forward to meet the responsibilities and discharge the duties that are before me with all the firmness and ability I can command.  I hope you will be able conscientiously to approve my conduct; and when I return to private life, I wish you to give me another class-meeting.”

This brief address exhibits the modesty with which Gen. Garfield viewed his own qualifications for the high office for which twenty years of public life had been gradually preparing him.  While all are liable to mistakes, it is hardly to be supposed that a man so prepared, and inspired by a conscientious devotion to what he deemed to be right, would have made many serious blunders.  During his brief administration he made, as the country knows, an admirable beginning in reforming abuses and exacting the most rigid economy in the public service.  There was every probability of his being his own successor had his life been spared.

The inaugural ceremonies were very imposing.  Washington was thronged as it had never been before on any similar occasion.  Private citizens, civic bodies, and military companies were present from every part of the country.  Prominent among the eminent citizens present was the stately and imposing figure of Gen. Hancock, who had been the nominee of the opposing party, and who, with admirable good feeling and good taste, had accepted an invitation to be present at the inauguration of his successful rival.

And there were others present whom we have met before.  The wife and mother of the new President, with flushed cheeks and proud hearts, witnessed the ceremonies that made the one they loved the head of the State.  To him they were more than all the rest.  When he had taken the oath of office in the presence of the assembled tens of thousands, Garfield turned to his aged mother and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek, and afterward upon that of his wife.  It was a touch of nature that appealed to the hearts of all present.