d with timber. This had to be cleared away before the
land could be brought into cultivation. Much hard work and steady
application were needed to accomplish this purpose. Abram Garfield was
a strong, well-made man, who shrank from no labour, however hard, and
boldly faced every difficulty with a stout heart and a determined will.
Early and late he toiled on his farm, cheered by the presence of his
wife and children, who were all the world to him. The trees fell
before his axe, and ere long he had room to sow his first crop. With a
thankful heart he saw the grain ripen, and his first harvest was safely
gathered in before the winter storms came on.

[Illustration: The trees fell before his axe.]

In January 1830 he removed to his new home, and in November 1831 his
fourth child was born. This baby boy received the name of James Abram
Garfield. Little did the humble backwoodsman dream that the name he
lovingly gave his child would one day be on the lips of millions of his
fellow-countrymen; that it would rank with those of princes, kings, and
emperors; and that it would be linked for ever with the history of the
United States of America.

CHAPTER III.

A FIRE IN THE FOREST.

The Effects of Prairie Fires--How Abram Garfield saved his Crops--The
sudden Illness and Death of Abram Garfield--The Grave to the corner of
the Wheatfield.

One of General Sherman's veteran soldiers was once describing a prairie
fire. When he had finished his story, he raised himself to his full
six feet height, and with flashing eyes said, "If I should ever catch a
man firing a prairie or a forest, as God helps me, I would shoot him
down in his deed."

No wonder that the old soldier was fired with indignation when he
thought of the terrible consequences which often resulted from such
thoughtless or wanton proceedings. The loss to settlers is often
appalling. The prairies, which in the day-time seem dry, dull, and
uninteresting, give place at night to the lurid play of the fire fiend,
and the heavens and horizon seem like a furnace. It is a grand, yet
awful sight. Cheeks blanch as the wind sweeps its volume towards the
observer, or across his track.

Full in the distance is seen the long line of bright flame stretching
for miles, with its broad band of dark smoke-clouds above. Often it
rages unchecked for miles and miles, where the cabins of the settlers
have just been set up. No words can describe, no pencil paint, the