“No, sir.”

“Darsie!” answered Garfield, “when I get into a place that I can easily fill, I always feel like shoving out of it into one that requires of me more exertion.”

In this single sentence was one of the secrets of his success; and Darsie saw it at once. Garfield had risen rapidly by setting his standard high, and bringing himself up to it.

Akin to this, he said to the students on one occasion:

“I shall give you a series of lectures upon history, beginning next week. I do this not alone to assist you; the preparation for the lectures will compel me to study history.”

It was not the mere announcement that was interesting; it was a method of his to show his pupils the best plan of study. He could do more and better work under a necessity than otherwise; and so can every one. It was his custom to lecture on the topics he desired to study particularly, that he might derive the benefit of a two-fold object. He wanted his pupils to appreciate the advantage of it.

“How in the world can he time his steps so as to take the last one just as the bell stops?” remarked a student, referring to his coming into the chapel-exercises and taking his seat precisely as the bell ceased.

“Hard telling,” replied Darsie; “but he is always on the stairs in the last half of the last minute, and glides into his seat just as the last tap of the bell is struck.” The last stroke of the bell was indicated by a little more vigorous pull of the rope.

“And what seems marvellous to me is, that he never fails. I couldn’t time my steps like that,” added the student.

Garfield insisted upon punctuality everywhere — at prayers, recitation, lectures, all engagements. He demanded promptness as an essential duty. He made his pupils feel the importance of these qualities. But he would not require of them what he did not practise himself. He was the last man to preach what he did not practise. So he illustrated, every day, by personal example, the lessons which he taught respecting these virtues.

Returning from a neighbouring town one morning, where he lectured on the previous evening, he entered his recitation room late. Another teacher, supposing he would not return in season to hear the recitation, had taken his class. As he entered, a pupil was answering a question. While in the act of removing his overcoat, and precisely as the pupil’s answer ceased, Garfield put another question in the same line, as if the previous question were put by himself. He smiled, the teacher laughed and bowed himself out of the room, and the class roared. It was a happy termination of a single act of tardiness.

He was accustomed to lecture to his pupils upon “manners,” “elements of success,” and kindred topics. One day his topic was the “Turning Point of Life,” in which he said:

“The comb of the roof at the court-house at Ravenna (capital of Portage county, of which Hiram as a town) divides the drops of rain, sending those that fall on the south side to the Gulf of Mexico, and those on the opposite side into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, so that a mere breath of air, or the flutter of a bird’s wing, may determine their destiny. It is so with your lives, my young friends. A passing event, perhaps of trifling importance in your view, the choice of a book or companion, a stirring thought, a right resolve, the associations of an hour, may prove the turning point of your lives.”

During his connection with the school as principal his lectures were numerous. He lectured upon the natural sciences, reading, books, government, and occasional “topics of the times.” He delivered many lectures in Portage county, and in neighbouring counties, before literary societies; lectures upon geology, illustrated by charts of his own making, “Character and Writings of Sir Walter Scott,” “Character of the