The boys who read this story can not understand the excitement of that day.  It was unlike the deep sorrow that came upon us all on the second of July, for Lincoln died a martyr, at a time when men’s passions had been stirred by sectional strife, and his murder was felt to be an outgrowth of the passions which it engendered; but Garfield fell, slain by the hand of a worthless wretch, acting upon his own responsibility.

I shall venture, for the information of young readers, to whom it may be new, to quote the graphic description of an eye-witness, contributed to General Brisbin’s interesting life of our subject: 

“I shall never forget the first time I saw General Garfield.  It was the morning after President Lincoln’s assassination.  The country was excited to its utmost tension....  The newspaper head lines of the transaction were set up in the largest type, and the high crime was on every one’s tongue.  Fear took possession of men’s minds as to the fate of the Government, for in a few hours the news came on that Seward’s throat was cut, and that attempts had been made on the lives of others of the Government officers.  Posters were stuck up everywhere, in great black letters, calling upon the loyal citizens of New York, Brooklyn, Jersey City, and neighboring places, to meet around the Wall Street Exchange and give expression to their sentiments.

“It was a dark and terrible hour.  What might come next no one could tell, and men spoke with bated breath.  The wrath of the workingmen was simply uncontrollable, and revolvers and knives were in the hands of thousands of Lincoln’s friends, ready, at the first opportunity, to take the law into their own hands, and avenge the death of their martyred President upon any and all who dared to utter a word against him.

“Eleven o’clock A.M. was the hour set for the rendezvous.  Fifty thousand people crowded around the Exchange building, cramming and jamming the streets, and wedged in as tight as men could stand together.  With a few to whom special favor was extended, I went over from Brooklyn at nine A.M., and even then, with the utmost difficulty, found my way to the reception room for the speakers in the front of the Exchange building, and looking out on the high and massive balcony, whose front was protected by a massive iron railing.

“We sat in solemnity and silence, waiting for General Butler, who, it was announced, had started from Washington, and was either already in the city or expected every moment.  Nearly a hundred generals, judges, statesmen, lawyers, editors, clergymen, and others were in that room waiting for Butler’s arrival.

“We stepped out to the balcony to watch the fearfully solemn and swaying mass of people.  Not a hurrah was heard, but for the most part a dead silence, or a deep, ominous muttering ran like a rising wave up the street toward Broadway, and again down toward the river on the right.  At length the batons of the police were seen swinging in the air, far up on the left, parting the crowd, and pressing it back to make way for a carriage that moved slowly, and with difficult jags through the compact multitude, and the cry of ‘Butler!’ ‘Butler!’ rang out with tremendous and thrilling effect, and was taken up by the people.