The 4th of March dawned clear and balmy.  “By ten o’clock,” says an eye-witness, “the Avenue was crowded with carriages of every description, from the splendid baronet and coach, down to wagons and carts, filled with women and children, some in finery and some in rags, for it was the People’s president.”  The great square which now separates the Capitol and the Library of Congress was in Jackson’s day shut in by a picket fence.  This enclosure was filled with people—­“a vast agitated sea”—­while in all directions the slopes of Capitol Hill were thickly occupied.  At noon watchers on the west portico, looking down Pennsylvania Avenue, saw a group of gentlemen issue from the Indian Queen and thread its way slowly up the hill.  All wore their hats except one tall, dignified, white-haired figure in the middle, who was quickly recognized as Jackson.  Passing through the building, the party, reinforced by Chief Justice Marshall and certain other dignitaries, emerged upon the east portico, amid the deafening cheers of the spectators.  The President-elect bowed gravely, and, stepping forward to a small cloth-covered table, read in a low voice the inaugural address; the aged Chief Justice, “whose life was a protest against the political views of the Jackson party,” administered the oath of office; and the ceremony was brought to a close in the customary manner by the new Executive kissing the Bible.  Francis Scott Key, watching the scene from one of the gates, was moved to exclaim:  “It is beautiful, it is sublime.”

Thus far the people had been sufficiently impressed by the dignity of the occasion to keep their places and preserve a reasonable silence.  But when the executive party started to withdraw, men, women, and children rushed past the police and scrambled up the steps in a wild effort to reach their adored leader and grasp his hand.  Disheveled and panting, the President finally reached a gate at which his horse was in waiting; and, mounting with difficulty, he set off for the White House, followed by a promiscuous multitude, “countrymen, farmers, gentlemen, mounted and unmounted, boys, women, and children, black and white.”

The late President had no part in the day’s proceedings.  On arriving in Washington, Jackson had refused to make the usual call of the incoming upon the outgoing Executive, mainly because he held Adams responsible for the news paper virulence which had caused Mrs. Jackson such distress and had possibly shortened her life.  Deserted by all save his most intimate friends, the New Englander faced the last hours of his Administration in bitterness.  His diary bears ample evidence of his ill-humor and chagrin.  On the 3d of March he took up his residence on Meridian Hill, near the western limits of the city; and thence he did not venture until the festivities of the ensuing day were ended.  No amount of effort on the part of mediators ever availed to bring about a reconciliation between him and his successor.