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ted the lee of the grave! Blagr the Rnaurs. dsra- per the brew, hollow and faint fsnd ratiIina vesce

 Tue old man sAnk siewIy back h slss Eed, while the arm of his sdA, the President, was about his neck his syss wefe clossd, his hands plaaed on his hrrasL He waa sliding gently, aImast lmrcr- ceptibly, into death. Inc bstt af sunlleht tkrt poured through ths window OvNr she lless. moved along the carPst, Ike the shadow cf diai; shoissn- cd and WIS gene. Still he livea--ssilla falnt aai terlng of the ahranken chest showed that shs soal wss not yet gene home.

 Itwoaid lave made yea grow in love win aesth. to see how calmly hs died. Just as the ahadews of the trees wefe east far over tho meadow hy the de. cfinlng SEu-iust as the shout of the People the thunder of cannon, the lore of the orator, came softened In thshFeszs, the old maa raised hts head, unclosedhis eycs--

 'Isesysen ra snrvipss r, he said. and the wnve of death rcached hls iIps, and he bseathed no moro. M

 @ Ii was o'clock on the afternoon of July 4th. 1896, when Jehp Adams close his life of glorious deeds.

 aycaerson yefsurvives.'

 While the wonls of the venerable Adnrns yet finger h our ears. let ns hasten away Co the second Home, wherc death has crossed tho thres- hold.

 Emerging from the shadows of the beautiful val Icy Of Virginia, ascend seht elevation, and by theligbt of the morning behold strange struc- tnre, standing amid grove of forest trees. But one story In height with elegant pillars In front, and dome rising above it's roof t strikes you with It's singular, almost Oriental style of architecture and yet seems the appropriate hermitage of Rhiloso phy and Thought.s

 That structure, relieved by the background of towering trees. k the Home of Hero. Beneath the Grecian pcrtico, the Poets Artists, and Philosophers of the Old World have often passed, eager te be- hold the Statesman of the New World, the author of the Declaration of Independence.

 lis noon-day now--the summer sun streams warmly on wonder dope---ahe leaves are scarcely stirred into motion by the faintes breath of air- Uncoyering our heads, will prepare to look upon Death and with our hearts subdaed in awe, we will enter MONTICELLO.

 There is group around his daaih-bed in wonder room. Every eye Is centred on he visage of . dying man; the beautiful woman. whom you be- hold standing pillow, her eyes eloquent with emotion, in his beloved child.

 As he rests before us, on the bed of death, the centre of the silent group, we will approach and look upon him. A man of tall and muscular frame, his face denoting in every marked feature the pow CT of bold and fearless intellect his lip compress ed with stern determination, his blue eye flashed with the light of soul born to sway the masses of men, by the magic of Thought

 As we approach, he looks up into the face of the beautiful woman, and utters these memorable words:

 "Let ae inscription be placed upon my tomb but this: Here rests THoMAs JEFFERSON, THE AUTHOR or THE DECLARATION ov lNbErKxDENcE, AND THE FRIEND OF REIlGioUs FRKEDoM.s

 As he speaks, he describes faint gesture, with his withered right hand That hand fifty years ago, wrote the Declaration of Independence. It is feeble and 'withered now, time was when it wrote certain words that sank into the heart of universal man, and struck the shackles from ten thousand hearts.

 Against the frauds pFactised by priests and kings from immemoria time-against the tricks of cear- tiers the malice of bigots, the fasehoods of time A. a-a- great--against all manner of barbarity, whether done by New Zealand cannibai, who eats the wretch whom he has butcheFed, or the Spanish IB- quisition, winch after burning It's vctims, consigns them pleasantly te an eternal tortue after deaih- against all wrong, worked by the infamous or the wicked upon Man, the child of Divinty,--was di- rected the eloqnenee of his Pen. The hand that once wielded that pen of power, is now chilled with the damps of death.

 As we stand gazing upon the dying man--held enchained by the majesty of that intellect which giows brightly the ashy face, and flashes vvid- ly in the clear blue eye-the beautiful woman takes the icy hand within her own. and kisses the cold brow.

 The hand of death is on him now.

 "Thank God that have lived to see this glorious dayn he utters In firm voice; and then raising his glazy eyes, he gazes in his daughters face, while the death-rattle writhes in his throat-"NuSc DIN- MYTHS DoNINE"'t were the last words of Thomas

 

 At the hour of noon. when the fervid sun poured straight down on the dome of his hermitage, when not breath of air rufied the leaf of stream, when in the midst of weeping thrcng stood his beloved daughter, placing her soft fingers bis glossy eye balls. pressing her warm mouth to his cold lips. died Thos Jefferson, the author ofthe Declaration of Independence.

 He died some four hours before Adams surren- dered his soul. When the Patriot of Qunincy gasped Jefferson still survives" the soul of Jeffer son already before his God.

 IL wouidhav been deemeda wonderful thing had either of these died the Fourth of July, just half century after the day of I776. But that the Brothers in thework of Freedom the Master Spirits of the Council, who stirred up mems hearts with god-like impulses, and moved their in glorious deeds, in the dark hour of Revolution, should have died not only the Fourth of July, but on the some day, within few hours of each other; while bodily separated by hundreds of miles. their souls borne to Heaven, with the hymns of People freed by their lahors, looks to me though Almighty God had sent his Messenger and called his servants home, thus sanctfying by this two-fold death, the Fourth of July for evermore.

 They met before the Throne of God, and stood. solemn and awful. before the throngo of heroes cIus- tered there.

 