Atlanta, GA
June 24, 2026
“Let the annual return of this day forever refresh our recollections of [our] rights, and an undiminished devotion to them.”
- Thomas Jefferson to Roger Weightman, June 24, 1826
Today is the 200th anniversary of the last letter Thomas Jefferson wrote.
He’d been asked by Washington, DC Mayor Roger Weightman to join the surviving signers of the Declaration of Independence to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the document Jefferson drafted.
Though grateful for the honor of being invited to the ceremony, his “sufferings of sickness” kept him from attending. Much as he regretted not going, his failing faculties left him no other option.
Toward Every Horizon
Jefferson was among the more prolific and eloquent letter writers in American history. A diligent correspondent and obsessive record-keeper, he left posterity almost 20,000 missives.
Jefferson referred to his letters as “a journal of his life”. Most are thoughtful, engaging, and beautifully written. They reveal an understanding of, and an unquenchable curiosity about, an endless array of diverse subjects. The realm of human knowledge was more restrained than it is today, and Jefferson sailed toward every horizon.
Within his barque were theories of politics and governance… thoughts on science, innovation, and architecture… deliberations on agriculture and botany… ruminations on education, philosophy, and religion… diversions on wine, literature, and liberty… and advice and affection for his family and friends.
Remnant of Worthies
Arthritis, infections, and fatigue kept his last letter short. To Mayor Weightman he conveyed gratitude for the “kind invitation”, expressed regret at having to refuse, and offered parting thoughts on his document and its approaching anniversary.
The Declaration asserted the secession of the states, and reaffirmed man’s unalienable rights. To Jefferson, it was a “signal… arousing men to burst the chains” of tyranny and superstition by which ignorance had persuaded them to bind themselves, “and to assume the blessings and security of self-government.”
Fifty years later, he was pleased to report that “All eyes are opened, or opening, to the rights of man.”
Unable to be at the anniversary bash, he’d lament missing “the small band, the remnant of that host of worthies, who joined with us on that day [July 4, 1776], in the bold and doubtful election we were to make”, and “to have enjoyed with them the consolatory fact, that our fellow citizens, after half a century of experience and prosperity, continue to approve the choice we made.”
The “small band” was smaller than he thought. Had Jefferson made it to Washington for the Fourth, he’d have been the lone representative of the remnant of worthies.
Only three signers of the Declaration saw the dawn of that day. Only one - Charles Carroll of Maryland - would see the dusk. Thomas Jefferson died at ten minutes to one on the afternoon of July 4, 1826. John Adams followed several hours later. Carroll survived six more years, dying in Baltimore at age 95.
Final Illness
Jefferson’s last letter became his proxy at festivities he was too debilitated to attend. It was reprinted in the papers the morning of the Fourth, and its author was honored throughout the celebration.
The next day, he would be mourned… and laid to rest on his beloved hilltop. Posthumously regarded as something of a farewell message, Jefferson’s last letter was repeatedly reprinted after his death, and remains among his most quoted epistles.
The date he wrote it marked the onset of his final illness. His physician came to his side and remained on call, yet offered no hope of recovery.
As always, Jefferson’s devoted daughter, Martha, was with him. She was his only surviving child, the “slender thread” that sustained his “evening prospects”. Other family members were summoned to Monticello. From as far as Boston, they came as fast as possible in their five-mile-an-hour world.
A Watched Pot
Jefferson was relatively lucid till the night of July 2, when he lost consciousness. He found it again only a couple more times. On each instance, he reportedly wondered whether it was the Fourth.
Throughout the Third, those keeping vigil eyed the clock like a watched pot. When its hands finally passed midnight, Thomas Jefferson could die in peace.
The spark was gone, but the flare remains: a “signal” and reminder that “the mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately, by the grace of God.”
This imagery comes from another dying man’s final words. Richard Rumbold, a Rye House republican convicted of treason, used the same metaphor in his speech from the scaffold a hundred forty years earlier.
If only someone would say it again today.
JD