Letter to Namesake.—To John Adams.—Declining Health.—Dr. Dunglison's Memoranda.—Tenderness to his Family.—Accounts of his Death by Dr. Dunglison and Colonel Randolph.—Farewell to his Daughter.—Directions for a Tombstone.—It is erected by his Grandson.—Shameful Desecration of Tombstones at Monticello.

A friend and admirer of Jefferson's, who had named a son after him, requested that he would write a letter of advice for his young namesake. Jefferson accordingly wrote the following beautiful note to be kept for him until the young child came to years of understanding:

To Thomas Jefferson Smith.

This letter will, to you, be as one from the dead. The writer will be in the grave before you can weigh its counsels. Your affectionate and excellent father has requested that I would address to you something which might possibly have a favorable influence on the course of life you have to run; and I too, as a namesake, feel an interest in that course. Few words will be necessary, with good dispositions on your part. Adore God. Reverence and cherish your parents. Love your neighbor as yourself, and your country more than yourself. Be just. Be true. Murmur not at the ways of Providence. So shall the life into which you have entered, be the portal to one of eternal and ineffable bliss. And if to the dead it is permitted to care for the things of this world, every action of your life will be under my regard. Farewell.

Monticello, February 21st, 1825.

The Portrait of a Good Man by the most sublime of Poets, for your Imitation.

Lord, who's the happy man that may to thy blest courts repair;

Not stranger-like to visit them, but to inhabit there?

'Tis he whose every thought and deed by rules of virtue moves;

Whose generous tongue disdains to speak the thing his heart disproves.

Who never did a slander forge, his neighbor's fame to wound;

Nor hearken to a false report by malice whispered round.

Who vice in all its pomp and power, can treat with just neglect;

And piety, though clothed in rags, religiously respect.

Who to his plighted vows and trust has ever firmly stood;

And though he promise to his loss, he makes his promise good.

Whose soul in usury disdains his treasure to employ;

Whom no rewards can ever bribe the guiltless to destroy.

The man who, by this steady course, has happiness insured,

When earth's foundations shake, shall stand by Providence secured.

A Decalogue of Canons for Observation in Practical Life.

1. Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.
2. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.
3. Never spend your money before you have it.
4. Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap; it will be dear to you.
5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and cold.
6. We never repent of having eaten too little.
7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.
8. How much pain have cost us the evils which have never happened.
9. Take things always by their smooth handle.
10. When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, an hundred.

A little more than a year after the date of this letter we find Jefferson writing his last letter to John Adams. The playful tone in which it is written gives no evidence of the suffering from the disease under which he was laboring at the time.

To John Adams.

Monticello, March 25th, 1826.

Dear Sir—My grandson, Thomas J. Randolph, the bearer of this letter, being on a visit to Boston, would think he had seen nothing were he to leave without seeing you. Although I truly sympathize with you in the trouble these interruptions give, yet I must ask for him permission to pay to you his personal respects. Like other young people, he wishes to be able, in the winter nights of old age, to recount to those around him what he has heard and learnt of the heroic age preceding his birth, and which of the Argonauts individually he was in time to have seen.

It was the lot of our early years to witness nothing but the dull monotony of a colonial subservience, and of our riper years to breast the labors and perils of working out of it. Theirs are the halcyon calms succeeding the storms which our Argosy had so stoutly weathered. Gratify his ambition, then, by receiving his best bow, and my solicitude for your health, by enabling him to bring me a favorable account of it. Mine is but indifferent, but not so my friendship and respect for you.

TH. JEFFERSON.

The leaders of different parties bitterly opposed to each other, and living at a time when party spirit ran so high, there is something remarkable, as well as beautiful, in the friendship which existed between these two distinguished men, and which, surviving all political differences and rivalry, expired only on the same day which saw them both breathe their last.[77]

In the spring of the year 1826 Jefferson's family became aware that his health was failing rapidly. Of this he had been conscious himself for some time previous. Though enfeebled by age and disease, he turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Randolph's entreaties that he would allow his faithful servant, Burwell, to accompany him in his daily rides. He said, if his family insisted, that he would give up his rides entirely; but that he had "helped himself" from his childhood, and that the presence of a servant in his daily musings with nature would be irksome to him. So, until within a very short time of his death, old Eagle was brought up every day, even when his venerable master was so weak that he could only get into the saddle by stepping down from the terrace.

As he felt the sands of life running low, his love for his family seemed to increase in tenderness. Mr. Randall says, in his excellent biography of him, in alluding to this period:

Mr. Jefferson's deportment to his family was touching. He evidently made an effort to keep up their spirits. He was as gentle as a child, but conversed with such vigor and animation that they would have often cheated themselves with the belief that months, if not years, of life were in store for him, and that he himself was in no expectation of speedy death, had they not witnessed the infant-like debility of his powerful frame, and had they not occasionally, when they looked suddenly at him, caught resting on themselves that riveted and intensely-loving gaze which showed but too plainly that his thoughts were on a rapidly-approaching parting. And as he folded each in his arms as they separated for the night, there was a fervor in his kiss and gaze that declared as audibly as words that he felt the farewell might prove a final one.

In speaking of his private life, Dr. Dunglison, in his Memoranda, says:

The opportunities I had of witnessing the private life of Mr. Jefferson were numerous. It was impossible for any one to be more amiable in his domestic relations; it was delightful to observe the devoted and respectful attention that was paid him by all the family. In the neighborhood, too, he was greatly revered. Perhaps, however, according to the all-wise remark that no one is a prophet in his own country, he had more personal detractors there, partly owing to difference in political sentiments, which are apt to engender so much unworthy acrimony of feeling; but still more, perhaps, owing to the views which he was supposed to possess on the subject of religion; yet it was well known that he did not withhold his aid when a church had to be established in the neighborhood, and that he subscribed largely to the Episcopal church erected in Charlottesville. After his death much sectarian intolerance was exhibited, owing to the publication of certain of his letters, in which he animadverted on the Presbyterians more especially; yet there could not have been a more unfounded assertion than that of a Philadelphia Episcopal divine that "Mr. Jefferson's memory was detested in Charlottesville and the vicinity." It is due, also, to that illustrious individual to say, that, in all my intercourse with him, I never heard an observation that savored, in the slightest degree, of impiety. His religious belief harmonized more closely with that of the Unitarians than of any other denomination, but it was liberal, and untrammelled by sectarian feelings and prejudices. It is not easy to find more sound advice, more appropriately expressed, than in the letter which he wrote to Thomas Jefferson Smith, dated February 21st, 1825.[78]

It was beautiful, too, to witness the deference that was paid by Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison to each other's opinions. When as secretary, and as chairman of the faculty, I had to consult one of them, it was a common interrogatory, What did the other say of the matter? If possible, Mr. Madison gave indications of a greater intensity of this feeling, and seemed to think that every thing emanating from his ancient associate must be correct. In a letter which Mr. Jefferson wrote to Mr. Madison a few months only before he died (February 17th, 1826), he thus charmingly expresses himself. [Here follows the conclusion of a letter to Mr. Madison already given, beginning at the words "The friendship which has subsisted between us," etc.]

Mr. Randall gives us, in his work, the following accounts of his last hours and death, written by two of those who were present—Dr. Dunglison and his grandson, Colonel T. J. Randolph. I give Dr. Dunglison's first:

In the spring of 1826 the health of Mr. Jefferson became more impaired; his nutrition fell off; and at the approach of summer he was troubled with diarrhoea, to which he had been liable for some years—ever since, as he believed, he had resorted to the Virginia Springs, especially the White Sulphur, and had freely used the waters externally for an eruption which did not yield readily to the ordinary remedies. I had prescribed for this affection early in June, and he had improved somewhat; but on the 24th of that month he wrote me the last note I received from him, begging me to visit him, as he was not so well. This note was, perhaps, the last he penned. On the same day, however, he wrote an excellent letter to General Weightman, in reply to an invitation to celebrate in Washington the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, which he declined on the ground of indisposition. This, Professor Tucker says, was probably his last letter. It had all the striking characteristics of his vigorous and unfaded intellect.

The tone of the note I received from him satisfied me of the propriety of visiting him immediately; and having mentioned the subject to Mr. Tucker, he proposed to accompany me. I immediately saw that the affection was making a decided impression on his bodily powers, and, as Mr. Tucker has properly remarked in his life of this distinguished individual, was apprehensive that the attack would prove fatal. Nor did Mr. Jefferson himself indulge any other opinion. From this time his strength gradually diminished, and he had to remain in bed....

Until the 2d and 3d of July he spoke freely of his approaching death; made all his arrangements with his grandson, Mr. Randolph, in regard to his private affairs; and expressed his anxiety for the prosperity of the University, and his confidence in the exertion in its behalf of Mr. Madison and the other Visitors. He repeatedly, too, mentioned his obligation to me for my attention to him. During the last week of his existence I remained at Monticello; and one of the last remarks he made was to me. In the course of the day and night of the 2d of July he was affected with stupor, with intervals of wakefulness and consciousness; but on the 3d the stupor became almost permanent. About seven o'clock of the evening of that day he awoke, and, seeing me staying at his bedside, exclaimed, "Ah! Doctor, are you still there?" in a voice, however, that was husky and indistinct. He then asked, "Is it the Fourth?" to which I replied, "It soon will be." These were the last words I heard him utter.

Until towards the middle of the day—the 4th—he remained in the same state, or nearly so, wholly unconscious to every thing that was passing around him. His circulation was gradually, however, becoming more languid; and for some time prior to dissolution the pulse at the wrist was imperceptible. About one o'clock he ceased to exist.

Jefferson had the utmost confidence in Dr. Dunglison, and, on being entreated by a Philadelphia friend to send for the celebrated Dr. Physic, he refused kindly, but firmly, to do so, saying, "I have got a Dr. Physic of my own—I have entire confidence in Dr. Dunglison." Nor would he allow any other physician to be called in.

Ever thoughtful of others, and anxious to the last not to give trouble, he at first refused to allow even a servant to be with him at night; and when, at last, he became so weak as to be forced to yield his consent, he made his attendant, Burwell, bring a pallet into his room that he might rest during the night.

"In the parting interview with the female members of his family," says Mr. Randall, "Mr. Jefferson, besides general admonitions (the tenor of which corresponds with those contained in his letter to Thomas Jefferson Smith), addressed to them affectionate words of encouragement and practical advice adapted to their several situations. In this he did not pass over a young great-grandchild (Ellen Bankhead), but exhorted her to diligently persevere in her studies, for they would help to make life valuable to her. He gently but audibly murmured: 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.'"[79]

I now give Colonel Randolph's account of his grandfather's death. Having revised this for me, he has in one or two instances inserted a few words which were not in the original.

Mr. Jefferson had suffered for several years before his death from a diarrhoea which he concealed from his family, lest it might give them uneasiness. Not aware of it, I was surprised, in conversation with him in March, 1826, to hear him, in speaking of an event likely to occur about midsummer, say doubtingly that he might live to that time. About the middle of June, hearing that he had sent for his physician, Dr. Dunglison, of the University of Virginia, I immediately went to see him.[80] I found him out in his public rooms. Before leaving the house, he sent a servant to me to come to his room, whereupon he handed me a paper, which he desired me to examine, remarking, "Don't delay; there is no time to be lost." He gradually declined, but would only have his servants sleeping near him: being disturbed only at nine, twelve, and four o'clock in the night, he needed little nursing. Becoming uneasy about him, I entered his room, unobserved, to pass the night. Coming round inadvertently to assist him, he chided me, saying, that, being actively employed all day, I needed repose. On my replying that it was more agreeable to me to be with him, he acquiesced, and I did not leave him again.

A day or two after, at my request, my brother-in-law (Mr. Trist) was admitted. His servants, ourselves, and the doctor became his sole nurses. My mother sat with him during the day, but he would not permit her to sit up at night. His family had to decline for him numerous tenders of service from kind and affectionate friends and neighbors, fearing and seeing that it would excite him to conversation injurious to him in his weak condition.

He suffered no pain, but gradually sank from debility. His mind was always clear—it never wandered. He conversed freely, and gave directions as to his private affairs. His manner was that of a person going on a necessary journey—evincing neither satisfaction nor regret. He remarked upon the tendency of his mind to recur back to the scenes of the Revolution. Many incidents he would relate, in his usual cheerful manner, insensibly diverting my mind from his dying condition. He remarked that the curtains of his bed had been purchased from the first cargo that arrived after the peace of 1782.

Upon my expressing the opinion, on one occasion, that he was somewhat better, he turned to me, and said, "Do not imagine for a moment that I feel the smallest solicitude about the result; I am like an old watch, with a pinion worn out here, and a wheel there, until it can go no longer."

On another occasion, when he was unusually ill, he observed to the doctor, "A few hours more, doctor, and it will be all over."

Upon being suddenly aroused from sleep by a noise in the room, he asked if he had heard the name of Mr. Hatch mentioned—the minister whose church he attended. On my replying in the negative, he observed, as he turned over, "I have no objection to see him, as a kind and good neighbor." The impression made upon my mind at the moment was, that his religious opinions having been formed upon mature study and reflection, he had no doubts upon his mind, and therefore did not desire the attendance of a clergyman: I have never since doubted of the correctness of the impression then taken.

His parting interview with the different members of his family was calm and composed; impressing admonitions upon them, the cardinal points of which were, to pursue virtue, be true and truthful. My youngest brother, in his eighth year, seeming not to comprehend the scene, he turned to me with a smile, and said, "George[81] does not understand what all this means."

He would speculate upon the person who would succeed him as Rector of the University of Virginia, and concluded that Mr. Madison would be appointed. With all the deep pathos of exalted friendship, he spoke of his purity, his virtue, his wisdom, his learning, and his great abilities; and then, stretching his head back on his pillow, he said, with a sigh, "But ah! he could never in his life stand up against strenuous opposition." The friendship of these great men was of an extraordinary character. They had been born, lived, and died within twenty-five miles of each other, and they visited frequently through their whole lives. At twenty-three years old Mr. Jefferson had been consulted on Mr. Madison's course of study—he then fifteen. Thus commenced a friendship as remarkable for its duration as it was for the fidelity and warmth of its feelings. The admiration of each for the wisdom, abilities, and purity of the other was unlimited. Their habit of reliance upon mutual counsel equalled the sincerity of their affection and the devotion of their esteem.

In speaking of the calumnies which his enemies had uttered against his public and private character with such unmitigated and untiring bitterness, he said that he had not considered them as abusing him; they had never known him. They had created an imaginary being clothed with odious attributes, to whom they had given his name; and it was against that creature of their imaginations they had levelled their anathemas.

On Monday, the third of July, his slumbers were evidently those of approaching dissolution; he slept until evening, when, upon awaking, he seemed to imagine it was morning, and remarked that he had slept all night without being disturbed. "This is the fourth of July," he said. He soon sank again into sleep, and on being aroused at nine to take his medicine, he remarked in a clear distinct voice, "No, doctor, nothing more." The omission of the dose of laudanum administered every night during his illness caused his slumbers to be disturbed and dreamy; he sat up in his sleep and went through all the forms of writing; spoke of the Committee of Safety, saying it ought to be warned.

As twelve o'clock at night approached, we anxiously desired that his death should be hallowed by the Anniversary of Independence. At fifteen minutes before twelve we stood noting the minute-hand of the watch, hoping a few minutes of prolonged life. At four A.M. he called the servants in attendance with a strong and clear voice, perfectly conscious of his wants. He did not speak again. About ten he fixed his eyes intently upon me, indicating some want, which, most painfully, I could not understand, until his attached servant, Burwell, observed that his head was not so much elevated as he usually desired it, for his habit was to lie with it very much elevated. Upon restoring it to its usual position he seemed satisfied. About eleven, again fixing his eyes upon me, and moving his lips, I applied a wet sponge to his mouth, which he sucked and appeared to relish—this was the last evidence he gave of consciousness. He ceased to breathe, without a struggle, fifty minutes past meridian—July 4th, 1826. I closed his eyes with my own hands.

He was, at all times during his illness, perfectly assured of his approaching end, his mind ever clear, and at no moment did he evince the least solicitude about the result; he was as calm and composed as when in health. He died a pure and good man. It is for others to speak of his greatness. He desired that his interment should be private, without parade, and our wish was to comply with his request, and no notice of the hour of interment or invitations were issued. His body was borne privately from his dwelling by his family and servants, but his neighbors and friends, anxious to pay the last tribute of respect and affection to one whom they had loved and honored, waited for it in crowds at the grave.

Two days before his death, Jefferson told Mrs. Randolph that in a certain drawer, in an old pocket-book, she would find something intended for her. On looking in the drawer after his death, she found the following touching lines, composed by himself:

A Death-bed Adieu from Th. J. to M. R.

As soon as Mr. Madison was informed of the death of his revered friend, he wrote the following handsome letter to a gentleman who had married into Mr. Jefferson's family:

From James Madison.

Montpellier, July 6th, 1826.

Dear Sir—I have just received yours of the 4th. A few lines from Dr. Dunglison had prepared me for such a communication, and I never doubted that the last scene of our illustrious friend would be worthy of the life it closed. Long as this has been spared to his country and to those who loved him, a few years more were to have been desired for the sake of both. But we are more than consoled for the loss by the gain to him, and by the assurance that he lives and will live in the memory and gratitude of the wise and good, as a luminary of science, as a votary of liberty, as a model of patriotism, and as a benefactor of the human kind. In these characters I have known him, and not less in the virtues and charms of social life, for a period of fifty years, during which there was not an interruption or diminution of mutual confidence and cordial friendship for a single moment in a single instance. What I feel, therefore, now need not, I should say can not, be expressed. If there be any possible way in which I can usefully give evidence of it, do not fail to afford me the opportunity. I indulge a hope that the unforeseen event will not be permitted to impair any of the beneficial measures which were in progress, or in prospect. It can not be unknown that the anxieties of the deceased were for others, not for himself.

Accept, my dear sir, my best wishes for yourself and for all with whom we sympathize, in which Mrs. Madison most sincerely joins.

JAMES MADISON.

To the same gentleman, Judge Dabney Carr, of the Court of Appeals of Virginia, wrote:

The loss of Mr. Jefferson is one over which the whole world will mourn. He was one of those ornaments and benefactors of the human race whose death forms an epoch and creates a sensation throughout the whole circle of civilized man. But that feeling is nothing to what those feel who are connected with him by blood,[82] and bound to him by gratitude for a thousand favors. To me he has been more than a father, and I have ever loved and revered him with my whole heart.... Taken as a whole, history presents nothing so grand, so beautiful, so peculiarly felicitous in all the great points, as the life and character of Thomas Jefferson.

After Mr. Jefferson's death there were found in a drawer in his room, among other souvenirs, some little packages containing locks of the hair of his deceased wife, daughter, and even the infant children that he had lost. These relics are now lying before me. They are labelled in his own handwriting. One, marked "A lock of our first Lucy's hair, with some of my dear, dear wife's writing," contains a few strands of soft, silk-like hair evidently taken from the head of a very young infant. Another, marked simply "Lucy," contains a beautiful golden curl.

Among his papers there were found written on the torn back of an old letter the following directions for his monument and its inscription:

Could the dead feel any interest in monuments or other remembrances of them, when, as Anacreon says,

????? d? ?e?s?e?a

?????, ?st??? ?????t??,

the following would be to my manes the most gratifying: on the grave a plain die or cube of three feet without any mouldings, surmounted by an obelisk of six feet height, each of a single stone; on the faces of the obelisk the following inscription, and not a word more:

HERE WAS BURIED
THOMAS JEFFERSON,
Author of the Declaration of American Independence,
Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom,
And Father of the University of Virginia;

because by these, as testimonials that I have lived, I wish most to be remembered. [It] to be of the coarse stone of which my columns are made, that no one might be tempted hereafter to destroy it for the value of the materials. My bust, by Ceracchi, with the pedestal and truncated column on which it stands, might be given to the University, if they would place it in the dome room of the Rotunda. On the die of the obelisk might be engraved:

Born Apr. 2, 1743, O. S.
Died —— —— ——.

Folded up in the same paper which contained these directions was a scrap on which was written the dates and inscription for Mrs. Jefferson's tomb, which I have already given at page 64 of this book.

Jefferson's efforts to save his monument from mutilation by having it made of coarse stone have been futile. His grandson, Colonel Randolph, followed his directions in erecting the monument which is placed over him. He lies buried between his wife and his daughter, Mary Eppes: across the head of these three graves lie the remains of his eldest daughter, Martha Randolph. This group lies in front of a gap in the high brick wall which surrounds the whole grave-yard, the gap being filled by a high iron grating, giving a full view of the group, that there might be no excuse for forcing open the high iron gates which close the entrance to the grave-yard. But all precautions have been in vain. The gates have been again and again broken open, the grave-yard entered, and the tombs desecrated. The edges of the granite obelisk over Jefferson's grave have been chipped away until it now stands a misshapen column. Of the slabs placed over the graves of Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Eppes not a vestige remains, while of the one over Mrs. Randolph only fragments are left.

Variations in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error. Unmatched quotation marks have been ignored.

Missing page numbers are page numbers that were not shown in the original text.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.