Through four long months the nation prayed, and hoped, and agonized for the life of its beloved President. Gifts poured in from every part of the Union, but gifts were of no avail. On September 5, Garfield was carried to Elberon, Long Branch, New Jersey, where, in the Francklyn Cottage, he seemed to revive as he looked out upon the sea, the sea he had longed for in his boyhood. The nation took heart. But two weeks later, at thirty-five minutes past ten, on the evening of September 19, the anniversary of the battle of Chickamauga, the President passed from an unconscious state to the consciousness of immortality. At ten minutes past ten he had said to General Swaim, who was standing beside him, as he put his hand upon his heart, "I have great pain here." The whole world sympathized with America in her great sorrow. Queen Victoria telegraphed to Mrs. Garfield: "Words cannot express the deep sympathy I feel with you at this terrible moment. May God support and comfort you, as he alone can." On September 21, the body of the President was taken to Washington. At the Princeton Station, three hundred students from the college, with uncovered heads, strewed the track and covered the funeral car with flowers. At the Capitol, where he had so recently listened to the cheers of the people at his inauguration, one hundred thousand passed in silence before his open coffin. The casket was covered with flowers; one wreath bearing a card from England's queen, with the words: "Queen Victoria, to the memory of the late President Garfield, an expression of her sorrow and sympathy with Mrs. Garfield and the American nation." The body was borne to Cleveland, the whole train of cars being draped in black. Fifty thousand persons assembled at the station, and followed the casket to a catafalque on the public square. During the Sabbath, an almost countless throng passed beside the beloved dead. On Monday, September 26, through beautiful Euclid Avenue, the body was borne six miles, to its final resting-place. Every house was draped in mourning. Streets were arched with exquisite flowers on a background of black. One city alone, Cincinnati, sent two carloads of flowers. Among the many floral designs was a ladder of white immortelles, with eleven rounds, bearing the words: "Chester," "Hiram," "Williams," "Ohio Senate," "Colonel," "General," "Congress," "United States Senate," "President," "Martyr." After appropriate exercises, the sermon being preached by Rev. Isaac Errett, D.D., of Cincinnati, according to a promise made years before, the casket, followed by a procession five miles long, was carried to the cemetery. It was estimated that a quarter of a million people were gathered along the streets; not idle sight-seers, but men and women who loved the boy, and revered the man who had come to distinguished honor in their midst.