“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.’