“At nine o’clock in the evening, as I fumbled my way through the badly-lighted rotunda, having just escaped from a caucus that had been holding ‘a secret session,’ in the room of the committee on public lands, I descried a light issuing from the vestibule of the Senate chamber, which apprized me that ‘the most dignified body on earth’ was still in session.  Impelled by a natural curiosity, I proceeded towards the council chamber of the right reverend signors; and, just as I reached the door, Mr. Adams stepped out.  I inquired if the resolution had been disposed of.

“‘No, sir,’ he replied; ’nor is it probable that it will be to-night!  A Senator from North Carolina is yet on the floor; and, as it does not appear likely that he will yield it very soon, and as I am somewhat faint and weary, I think I shall go home.’

“The night was very stormy.  Snow was falling fast; the moon, which had

‘—­not yet fill’d her horns,’

had receded beneath the western horizon; and, as the capitol was but sadly lighted, I offered my services to the venerable sage of Quincy, and at the same time asked leave to conduct him to his dwelling.

“‘Sir,’ said he, ’I am indebted to you for your proffered kindness; but I need not the service of anyone.  I am somewhat advanced in life, but not yet, by the blessing of God, infirm; or what Doctor Johnson would call “superfluous;” and you may recollect what old Adam says in the play of “As you like it:” 

“For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.’”

“For the first time in my life, I found Mr. Adams a little inclined to be facetious; and I was glad of it—­for it was to me a kind of assurance that my presence was not absolutely unwelcome.

“The salutation being over, and Mr. Adams having consented that I should see him down the steps of the capitol, I proceeded onward, and soon found myself, with my revered convoy, in the vicinity of the western gate of the capitol grounds ‘The wind whistled a dismal tale,’ as we trudged onward, looking in vain for a cab; and the snow and sleet, which, early in the day, had mantled the earth, was now some twelve inches deep on Pennsylvania avenue.  I insisted on going onward; but Mr. Adams objected, and bidding me good night somewhat unceremoniously, told me, almost in as many words, that my farther attendance was unwelcome.

“As I left him, he drew his ‘Boston wrapper’ still closer around him, hitched up his mittens, and with elastic step breasted a wintry storm that might have repelled even the more elastic movement of juvenility, and wended up the avenue.  Although I cannot irreverently say that he

‘Whistled as he went, for want of thought,’

I fancy that his mind was so deeply imbued with the contemplation of affairs of state, and especially in contemplating the expunging resolution, that he arrived at his home long before he was aware that he had threaded the distance between the capitol and the Presidential square.” [Footnote:  Reminiscences of the late John Quincy Adams, by an Old Colony Man.—­New York Atlas.]