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hastening, he would not exchange the prospect and the hope of its enjoyment, for another glorious life like his here on earth. Heaven grant, that in the dying hour my faith may be like his!
, It is a beautiful summer morning the eighth day of June. Silence reigns all around, while anxious countenances behold the death-stricken face of the dying sage. Recovering from his swoon, and propped up in his arm-chair, with his family all around him, he said, “My dear children, do not grieve for me; it is true I am going to leave you; I am well aware of my situation; I have suffered much bodily pain; but my sufferings are as nothing, compared with that which our blessed Saviour endured upon that accursed cross, that we might all be saved who put their trust in him.” He then took them by the hand, one by one, and expressing some words of tenderness to each, bade them farewell. The little children he had brought to him, his grandchildren, and the children of his wife's sister; those who were absent at Sabbathschool, he had them sent for. He then kissed them and blessed them in a manner so touchingly impressive, that language cannot describe it. Seeing his servants anxiously pressing about the doors and windows of his chamber, that they might behold for the last time his living countenance, he took leave of them also. He then spoke for half an hour, and apparently with the power of inspiration; for he spoke with calmness, with strength, and with animation. His implicit belief in the Christian religion, and in the plan of salvation as revealed in the Bible-his great anxiety that they should believe in religion, as taught by the Holy Scriptures; and that, in so doing, they might insure their eternal salvation, and join him in heaven-made the words that fell from his lips deeply impressive, awfully sublime. In conclusion, he said, “My dear children and friends and servants, I hope and trust to meet you
all in heaven, both white and black.” Looking with tender solicitude on his servants, he repeated, “ both white and black.” These were his last words. With these he ceased to speak. The body calmly sunk into the arms of death, while the immortal spirit, clothed in celestial garments, rose triumphant over death and the grave, and ascended, amid a choir of shouting angels, into the Paradise above. Ministers may preach, divines may write, but the dying example of such a man is worth more than they all. Were I inclined to scepticism, and God knows I am too much given to its folly, the dying testimony of such a man, whose matchless courage feared not death, whose intuitive mind, piercing the shadows of time, beheld truth as it were with the eye of inspiration, would go far to remove it.
Thus lived, thus died Andrew Jackson ; great in war, great in peace, triumphant in death.
Washington was the father of his country. Jackson its defender and saviour. Neither having natural children of their own, they embrace the whole country in the arms of their affection. Out of thirteen scattered, divided, and feeble colonies, Washington, by his valour and fortitude, made a united and prosperous republic. Called to the administration of its affairs in its infancy, at a time when the monarchies of the old world were overturned, and the social institutions of civilized life were torn up from their ancient foundations, he had a difficult and a perilous task to perform. With an unsullied reputation, unbounded popularity, and the entire confidence of all the people, he had now to throw himself into the whirlpool of party strife, whence he could not hope to escape uninjured. Amid the excited passions, prejudices, conflicting interests, and opposing opinions of those revolutionary times, he did many things that were condemned—many that excited inveterate hostility. He left the government with a large portion, if not a majority of his countrymen opposed to the measures of his administration. But Washington died. All the men of that generation have been gathered to their fathers. The passions, the prejudices, and the interests that divided them, have all perished and been forgotten—and now the character of Washington, before a new generation, rises up in unclouded majesty, serene and god-like, receiving the homage of all hearts—his countrymen, and all mankind.
The tyrant from whose grasp Washington plucked this young republic was driven from our shores, but not conquered. He sought once more to lay hold on his ancient colonies. For their subjugation, he landed the best appointed army of modern times the conquerors of the conqueror of Europe-on the banks of the Mississippi. But while dreaming in his tent of an easy and undisputed conquest, Jackson, like a stroke of lightning, fell upon him, scattered his forces, and drove them in consternation and disgrace from our indignant borders.
What Washington began, Jackson finished; and, by universal acclamation, was hailed the saviour of his country.
But he was not allowed to wear in peace, the laurels he had so nobly won. He, too, was called to administer the affairs of government; and to mingle in the strife and conflicting interests of party. He, too, as we have already seen, did many things to excite oppositionmany to awaken the bitterest hostility; and he left the government with a large portion of his countrymen opposed to the measures of his administration.
But Jackson has died. All the men of his generation, with their passions, their prejudices, and their conflicting interests, will soon pass away, perish, and be forgotten; then will the character of Jackson stand forth in its just proportions; and posterity, without reservation or condition, will pronounce him second only to Washington in the hearts of his countrymen. And they two, like twin stars in the firmament, undistinguished, undivided, will shine on from age to age, shedding a glorious lustre on their country, and a benign influence on the glad hearts of millions of freemen, spread from the St. John's to the Del Norte, from the Atlantic to the Pacific ocean.
DELIVERED AT LOWELL, MASS., JULY 15, 1845,
JOHN A. BOLLES, Esq.
Once more, and for the fourth time in the history of our country, the whole American people are mourners.
The death of Washington was the occasion of our first great national sorrow. Our tears were again shed upon
which covered at once the remains of Adams and Jefferson. And when we heard that La Fayette had also passed away, we gathered a third time together with universal lamentation.
Once more are we called upon to notice, with becoming solemnity, the departure from our midst of one who had established himself in the American heart beyond all living example, and whose life we had learned, as a people, to regard as among our choicest national treasures.
It is right, it is manly, it is every way well to gather in this manner around the tomb of the illustrious dead :-not merely to gratify those generous instincts of humanity which call forth tears for departed friends; not merely that we may give form and utterance to emotions which clamour for expression, and will not be suppressed; not merely from regard to the dead, whom we will not let go down, uncommemorated, to everlasting silence; but for the sake of the living also, that we may ourselves become the wiser, the braver, the better, by communing together on our bereavement; by recalling the generous sentiments and noble deeds of the departed; by contemplating and holding up to imitation the example of a life well spent, and of a death rich with instruction. In the house of mourning, our passions and prejudices subside before the majesty of death: and we are ready to appreciate and acknowledge the 'wisdom and the patriotism of those whom we may, while living, have overlooked or misjudged.
When, therefore, an eminent public officer, or an illustrious private citizen, is cut down by death, it is, ordinarily, deemed both
proper and expedient for our municipal corporations, our constituted authorities and tribunals, to notice the event as a national calamity—to commemorate the virtues of the deceased—and bear living testimony to the world at large, that the general heart is not insensible to the general bereavement, nor dead to the claims of distinguished merit.
In pursuance of this time-honoured custom, acting upon the impulse of an affection which we deeply feel and glory to make known, we are here to-night, to offer our tribute of respect to the name and memory of Andrew Jackson :-a name, how widely known and world-admired! a name, how familiar and how dear to all living freemen! a name, that awakens echoes and arouses recollections, and kindles emotions, how warmly, how eloquently, in our hearts !
But assembled as we are, on an errand of sorrow, our sadness is not unmingled with a livelier feeling and a more cheerful spirit. Our Jackson is dead, indeed, and we mourn for him! But how little, after all, of such a man can die! The spirit of the fallen hero—the fire that warmed his breast—the love of liberty—the love of country—cannot die! Transmitted from sire to son, immortal in its nature, it passes unchanged through a hundred generations!
Can we wholly abandon ourselves to sorrow, when we recollect at how ripe an age, and after what a life of great and stirring events, he has left us at last the glory of his example? His life may have come to an end; but its influence is undying! The lips that have spoken are silent : but his words of inspiration shall live and echo for ever! His generous heart has ceased to beat : but its ruling spirit has moved the pulses of countless other hearts, and the electric impulse shall thrill through all coming generations!
We must, then, indulge but a qualified sorrow, while we remember how perfectly the great man, whose death we mourn, had accomplished all the great ends of life :-haw deeply he inscribed his name and memory on the history of his country, and on the hearts of his countrymen :-how certainly he has transmitted the glory of his name to the admiration of posterity :-and how, at last, in the fulness of years and of honours-supported by Christian hope, exulting in Christian faith, he laid down the burden of human existence, and soared aloft to the glories of immortality!
Peace be unto the illustrious dead! After a life so glorious, and a death so happy, we would not, if we could, awaken the hero from
Be it rather our task to rekindle the ardour of our patriotism at the altar of his example, and encourage ourselves, and our children, by the recollection of his virtues. He has left no children to divide the heritage of his glory :-to his country, therefore, belongs the whole of that splendid inheritance !
The life of Andrew Jackson, though, like all others of our race, he was subject to human imperfection, is rich with instruction and
his final repose.