courts; had tasted the sweets of power and position; and now, as the end approached, he was content to pass on.
As the members gathered in session the next day at the usual hour, they moved noiselessly to their seats; the hum of voices and the noisy greeting's usually attendant upon such occasions had given way to an impressive stillness. The Speaker, in a subdued voice and with deep emotion, announced the death of Mr. Adams in these words:
"A seat on this floor has been vacated, towards which our eyes have been accustomed to turn with no common interest.
"A voice has been forever hushed in this hall, to which all ears have been accustomed to listen with profound reverence.
"A venerable form has faded from our sight, around which we have daily clustered with an affectionate regard.
"A name has been stricken from the roll of living statesmen of our land, which has been associated for more than a half a century with the highest civil service and the loftiest civil renown."
All the public buildings were shrouded with crape, and most of the private edifices. The obsequies took place in the hall of the House. Both branches of Congress, the President and Cabinet, the Judges of the Supreme Court, the foreign ministers, and the high officers of the army and navy were in attendance. The cold form of the dead statesman lying in the coffin in front of the Speaker's desk, the somber shading given to the hall by the emblems of mourning, the reverential visages of all in the assembly, the solemn notes of the funeral dirge by the Marine Band, united to make it a scene truly awe-inspiring. The Rev. Dr. Gurley, pastor of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church and Chaplain of the House, preached the funeral discourse, from the words: 'And thine age shall be clearer than the noonday; thou shalt shine forth, thou shalt be as the morning. And thou shalt be secure, because there is hope."
The body was borne, for the time, to the Congressional Cemetery; John C. Calhoun was one of the pallbearers. Afterwards it was removed to Quincy, Massachusetts, under the escort of a Congressional committee of which Abraham Lincoln was a member, and laid to rest in the burying-ground of Mr. Adams's ancestors, by the side of his father, John Adams. And thus they rest, father and son, both ex-Presidents of the United States, side by side, till the ushering in of the new morn.
The correspondence between Mr. Adams and his father, after the former's election as President by the House of Representatives, is interesting. There having been no choice in the Electoral College, it devolved upon the House to elect from the three candidates having the highest number of votes in the Electoral College. General Jackson had received ninety-nine votes, J. Q. Adams eighty-four, W. H. Crawford forty-one, and Henry Clay thirty-seven. Adams received the votes of thirteen States, Jackson of seven, and Crawford of four. There was indescribable excitement in the House, about the Capitol, and in the city, shortly preceding and during the taking of the vote. As soon as the vote was declared, Senator Rufus King of New York sent a brief note of congratulation to Mr. Adams at the State Department, informing him of the result. Mr. Adams immediately enclosed the same to his father, with the following letter:
My Dear Father: The enclosed letter from Mr. King will inform you of the event of this day, upon which I can only offer you my congratulations and ask your blessing and prayers.
John Quincy Adams.
The following was the answer:
My Dear Son: I have received your letter of the 9th inst. Never did I feel so much solemnity as on this occasion. The multitude of my thoughts and the intensity of my feelings are too much for a mind like mine in its ninetieth year. May the blessing of God Almighty continue to protect you to the end of your life, as it has heretofore protected you in so remarkable a manner from your cradle. I offer the same prayer for your lady and for your family, and am your affectionate father,
Quincy, Mass., February 17, 1825.
The following, written by Mr. Adams the night after his inauguration, shows with what dread and anxiety he assumed the responsibility of the Presidency:
"After two successive sleepless nights, I entered upon this day with a supplication to heaven, first, for my country, secondly, for myself and for those connected with my good name and fortunes, that the last results of its events may be auspicious and blessed."
His last public service in the House of Representatives, his vindication of the right of petition and the freedom of debate, his unselfish devotion to the interests of humanity and the cause of the slave must ever entitle him to the gratitude of mankind.
