Such a narrow escape might well stir up the most lethargic brain to new and strange reflections; but to the active intellect and bright imagination of James A. Garfield it brought a profound impression, a fresh resolution and a new sphere of action. He saw himself rescued by a chance which might have failed him a thousand times. Might not this be in answer to a mother’s prayer? Was it possible that he had been saved for some better fortune than his present life promised? He recalled the vague ambitions which had at times stirred him for a career of usefulness, such as he knew his mother had in mind for him. When the boat neared home again, James bade good-bye to the _Evening Star_. Now, farewell visions of the Atlantic; farewell swearing captain of the lake; farewell raging canal, for this sailor lad is lost to you forever. The romantic element of his character indeed was not destroyed, as it never could be; nor was the glamour of the sea quite gone. It would take the winter of sickness which was before him to remove all nautical aspirations. Arriving before the old gate one night while the stars were out in all their glory, he softly raised the latch, and walked up to the house. Never was happier mother than greeted him at that door. Mrs. Garfield felt that her triumph was now at hand; and set herself to secure it at once. Four hard months of life on and in the canal had told heavily on the young man’s constitution. Four months more ague and fever held him fast; four months more he longed in vain for the vigor of health. During this dreary time one voice above all others comforted, cheered, and swayed his drooping spirits, and helped him back to a contented mood. In conversation and in song, the mother was his chief entertainer. Indeed, Mrs. Garfield had not only a singing voice of splendid quality, but also knew a marvelous number of songs; and James said, later in life, that he believed she could have sung many more songs consecutively, from memory, than her physical powers would have permitted. Songs in every kind of humor,—ballads, war songs (especially of 1812) and hymns with their sacred melody—these she had at command in exhaustless stores. And we may be sure that such sweet skill was not without its power on her children. That voice had been the dearest music James ever heard in childhood, and his ear was well fitted to its every tone; escape from its power was hopeless now if he had even wished it so. Meanwhile the past receded, and new plans for the future were unfolding. It is interesting to notice how smoothly, and all unknown to ourselves, we sometimes pass over the lines which mark the periods of our lives. The manner of Garfield’s present experience was no exception to the rule.