popular humor: “Here lies the Whig party, which died of an effort to swallow the fugitive-slave law.” Clay, although terribly exhausted by his tormenting cough, lingered on longer than his physicians and attendants expected. Devoted friends surrounded him, and in his last days two of his sons were at his bedside. While he was still able to write or dictate letters, he repeatedly said that, as the world receded from him, he felt his affections more than ever centred on his children and theirs, and that he would be glad to get home once more. He professed himself perfectly composed and resigned to his fate. On May 8 his son Thomas wrote to his wife: “Had you seen, as I have, the evidences of attachment and interest displayed by my father's friends, you could not help exclaiming, as he has frequently done: ‘Was there ever man had such friends!’ The best and first in the land are daily and hourly offering tokens of their love and esteem for him.” He remained a winner of hearts to his last day. He died on June 29, 1852, in the seventy-sixth year of his age. On July 1 the members of the Senate and the House of Representatives, together with the city authorities, militia companies, and civic associations, accompanied his remains from the National Hotel to the Senate Chamber, where, attended by the President of the United States, the Cabinet, and the officers of the army and navy, the funeral services took place. The remains were then taken to his beloved Kentucky, the funeral
