Being solicited for a toast, to accompany the letter, he gave—"INDEPENDENCE FOREVER!!" He was asked if anything should be added to it. Immediately he replied—"Not a word!" This toast was drank at the celebration in Quincy, about fifty minutes before the departure of the venerated statesman from earth.
On the morning of the 4th, which was ushered in by the ringing of bells and firing of cannon, he was asked if he knew what day it was?—"O yes," he replied, "it is the glorious fourth of July—God bless it!—God bless you all!!" In the course of the day he said, "It is a great and glorious day." The last words he uttered were, "Jefferson survives!" But the spirit of Jefferson had already left the body, and was hovering over the earth, to accompany his to higher and brighter scenes of existence!!
Mr. Jefferson had been sensible for some days, that his last hour was at hand. He conversed with his family and friends, with the utmost composure, of his departure, and gave directions concerning his coffin and his funeral. He was desirous that the latter should take place at Monticello, and that it should be without any display or parade. On Monday he inquired the day of the month? Being told it was the 3d of July, he expressed an earnest desire that he might be allowed to behold the light of the next day—the fiftieth anniversary of American independence. His prayer was heard and answered. He beheld the rising of that sun on the morning of the 4th, which was to set on a nation mourning the loss of two of its noblest benefactors, and its brightest ornaments. He was cheerful to the last. A day or two previous, being in great pain, he said to his physician—"Well, doctor, a few hours more, and the struggle will be over."
On the morning of the last day, as the physician entered his apartment, he said, "You see, doctor, I am here yet." On a member of his family expressing an opinion that he was better, he replied, with evident impatience—"Do not imagine for a moment that I feel the smallest solicitude as to the result." Some individual present uttering a hope that he might recover, he asked with a smile—"Do you think I fear to die?" Thus departed Thomas Jefferson. His last words were—"I resign my soul to my God, and my daughter to my country!"
President J. Q. Adams receiving intelligence at Washington of the illness of his father, started immediately for Quincy. Shortly before arriving at Baltimore, tidings reached him that the patriarch had gone to his rest. Mr. Adams pursued his journey, but did not arrive at Quincy in season to be present at the funeral. This took place on the 7th of July. It was attended by a large body of citizens, assembled from the surrounding region. The funeral services took place at the Unitarian church in Quincy, on which occasion an impressive discourse was delivered by the Pastor, Rev. Mr. Whitney. The pall-bearers were Judge Davis, President Kirkland, Gov. Lincoln, Hon. Mr. Greenleaf, Judge Story, and Lieut. Gov. Winthrop. During the exercises and the moving of the procession, minute guns were fired from Mount Wallaston, and from various eminences in the adjoining towns, and every mark of respect was paid to the remains of one who filled so high a place in the history of his country and the regard of his fellow-citizens.
On the 2d of August, Mr. Webster delivered a eulogy on the death of Adams and Jefferson, before the city authorities of Boston, and a vast body of people, in Faneuil Hall. President Adams was present. It was one of Mr. Webster's most eloquent and successful attempts. He commenced as follows:—
"This is an unaccustomed spectacle. For the first time, fellow-citizens, badges of mourning shroud the columns and overhang the arches of this hall. These walls, which were consecrated, so long ago, to the cause of American liberty, which witnessed her infant struggles and rung with the shouts of her earliest victories, proclaim now, that distinguished friends and champions of that great cause have fallen. It is right that it should be thus. The tears which flow, and the honors that are paid, when the Founders of the Republic die, give hope that the Republic itself may be immortal. It is fit, that by public assembly and solemn observance, by anthem and by eulogy, we commemorate the services of national benefactors, extol their virtues, and render thanks to God for eminent blessings, early given and long continued to our favored country.
"ADAMS and JEFFERSON are no more; and we are assembled, fellow-citizens, the aged, the middle-aged and the young, by the spontaneous impulse of all, under the authority of the municipal government, with the presence of the chief magistrate of the commonwealth, and others of its official representatives, the university, and the learned societies, to bear our part in these manifestations of respect and gratitude, which universally pervade the land. ADAMS and JEFFERSON are no more. On our fiftieth anniversary, the great national jubilee, in the very hour of public rejoicing, in the midst of echoing and re-echoing voices of thanksgiving, while their own names were on all tongues, they took their flight together to the world of spirits."
The conclusion of Mr. Webster's eulogy was equally impressive:
"Fellow-citizens: I will detain you no longer by this faint and feeble tribute to the illustrious dead. Even in other hands, adequate justice could not be performed, within the limits of this occasion. Their highest, their best praise, is your deep conviction of their merits, your affectionate gratitude for their labors and services. It is not my voice, it is this cessation of ordinary pursuits, this arresting of all attention, those solemn ceremonies, and this crowded house, which speak their eulogy. Their fame, indeed, is safe. That is now treasured up, beyond the reach of accident. Although no sculptured marble should rise to their memory, nor engraved stone bear record to their deeds, yet will their remembrance be as lasting as the land they honored. Marble columns may, indeed, moulder into dust, time may erase all impress from the crumbling stone, but their fame remains; for with American liberty it rose, and with American liberty only can it perish. It was the last swelling peal of yonder choir—'THEIR BODIES ARE BURIED IN PEACE, BUT THEIR NAME LIVETH EVERMORE!' I catch that solemn song, I echo that lofty strain of funeral triumph! 'Their name liveth evermore.'