“He will be ‘gathered to his fathers!’ And how great, in this case, is the significance of the expression!  It is possible that other men may be attended as he will be to the grave.  But when again shall the tomb of a President of the United States open its doors to receive a son who has filled the same office?”

On the following day, the body, under the charge of the municipal officers of Boston, was conveyed to Quincy.  In the Unitarian church, in the presence of old neighbors and friends, the last funeral exercises were held, and the last sad burial service was performed.

By the side of the graves of his fathers, overshadowed by aged trees, which had sheltered his head in the days of boyhood, in a plain tomb, prepared under his own direction, and inscribed simply with his name, sleep the ashes of John Quincy Adams.

  “Let no weak drops
   Be shed for him.  The virgin in her bloom
   Cut off, the joyous youth, and darling child,
   These are the tombs that claim the tender tear
   And elegiac songs.  But Adams calls
   For other notes of gratulation high;
   That now he wanders thro’ those endless worlds
   He here so well descried; and, wondering, talks
   And hymns their Author with his glad compeers. 
   Columbia’s boast! whether with angels thou
   Sittest in dread discourse, or fellow blest
   Who joy to see the honor of their kind;
   Or whether, mounted on cherubic wing,
   Thy swift career is with the whirling orbs,
   Comparing things with things, in rapture lost,
   And grateful adoration for that light
   So plenteous ray’d into thy mind below
   From Light himself—­oh! look with pity down
   On human kind, a frail, erroneous race! 
   Exalt the spirit of a downward world! 
   O’er thy dejected country chief preside,
   And be her Genius called! her studies raise,
   Correct her manners, and inspire her youth;
   For, though deprav’d and sunk, she brought thee forth,
   And glories in thy name.  She points thee out
   To all her sons, and bids them eye thy star—­
   Thy star, which, followed steadfastly, shall lead
   To wisdom, virtue, glory here, and joy
   Unspeakable in worlds to come.”

Eulogy.[Footnote:  Delivered before the Legislature of New York, by Wm. H. Seward.]

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We are in the midst of extraordinary events.  British-American Civilization and Spanish-American Society have come into collision, each in its fullest maturity.  The armies of the North have penetrated the chapparels at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma—­passed the fortresses of Monterey, and rolled back upon the heart of Mexico the unavailing tide of strong resistance from the mountain-side of Buena Vista.  Martial colonists are encamped on the coasts of California, while San Juan d’Ulloa has fallen, and the invaders have swept the gorge of Cerro Gordo—­carried Perote and Puebla, and planted the banner of burning stars and ever-multiplying stripes on the towers of the city of the Aztecs.