But Uncle Luther slept on, wholly unconscious of his danger.

Jonathan Dowell, returning from the village, saw a sinister glare in the shop windows. He rushed into the room, seized the old man, and lifted him swiftly to one side. Then he beat out the fire with a gunny sack. Uncle Luther sat up, trembling and terrified. His wooden leg was gone. It had burned almost to the stump, and the charred remains were still smoking.

Jonathan Dowell's voice rang with anger. "What won't you do next, father?" he said. "You've set yourself on fire, and nearly burned up the shop. That wooden leg of yours cost me just fifty dollars, and it'll be a long time before I can afford another." And then he saw dimly the agony in his father's face, and he softened. He was not a bad man, nor even a harsh man-only thoughtless. "You must learn to be more careful, father," he said gently, and yet insistently, as if he talked to a child.

Uncle Luther was glad when his son went away. He crept to his little back room like a wounded dog,

emnly, as at a funeral, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, and yet not missing anything.

Among the very first to call was Captain Enoch Bradley, who was a hearty, warmblooded, irascible old fellow, and his bluff sympathy went far toward solacing Uncle Luther in his affliction.

""Twan't so bad as if you hadn't lost it before," he comforted.

But Uncle Luther had no mind for treating his loss frivolously. The years had crushed all of the humor out of him, and left him only tragedy.

"I was thinkin'," he said, that now I can't march, p'raps you-p'raps Amerymight let Tommy have it

Captain Enoch frowned darkly, but Uncle Luther hurried on:

"He's more commandin' than I be, er ever was, er ever will be, an' he's had practice

"Oh, you'll be ready to march by Decoration Day," interrupted Captain Enoch. "It's good of you to say so, said Uncle

town, and the next morning the sympathetic and the curious came to condole with Uncle Luther, and to examine the remains of the fifty-dollar leg, and to point out where the fire had charred the chair. They went about sol

Luther, "but I jus' can't do it. Tommy's the man;" and then he added wistfully, "I wisht I could see Tommy."

But Uncle Tommy did not come. Uncle Luther heard, however, that Uncle Tommy had been appointed marshal of the parade, and he was glad of it. For himself, he was busied after the first day or two with a stout piece of ash, which he slowly whittled down with a draw-shave to the proportions of a wooden leg. It would not do as well as a regu

lar artificial leg, such as the one he had been wearing, but he hoped that it would serve him for the Memorial Day exercises. He still cherished a desire to march with the parade, although he knew that

Jonathan would not approve of it. He was afraid of Jonathan. But whole days slipped by when he was not strong enough to work, and yet he clung to the task with feverish eagerness. The man within him protested that he was still good for something, that old age had not robbed him of everything. On the morning of Memorial Day the whittling was all finished, but there remained the task of attaching the straps, and Uncle Luther knew that he could not hope to complete the leg in time for the exercises. So he laid it away, and toward noon he dressed up in his best blue clothes, and put on his wide-brimmed black hat with the gold cord around the crown. Then he hobbled out of the door, and dropped down on a box by the fence, with his back resting against a post. It was a fresh, clear May morning. During the night there had been a shower, and the grass at the roadside stood up green and dewy. The fields of waving wheat-blades spread away for miles before him, dotted here and there with houses and red barns, and straight rows of Lombardy poplars and cottonwoods. Where Uncle Luther sat he could look up the yellow stretch of roadway, and he knew that he could see the parade almost as soon as it left the town. It would pass the end of the lane on its way to the cemetery, and he hoped, with the vague optimism of the very old and the very young, that it would come back by the same road. Seeing it was next to marching with it.

Uncle Luther put on his long-distance glasses, and he saw a blur of blue moving along the road from the village. Above it there was a blur of red and white. A moment later they resolved themselves into a knot of old soldiers, with the flag flapping above them. Uncle Luther took a long breath, and his eyes shone. Suddenly a band began to play the stirring music of "Marching through Georgia."

and orderlies clattered up and down with yellow envelopes stuck in their belts; and the shells were screeching from the rebel heights. He saw the companies wheel and deploy; he saw them strip down and form in line at "Charge bayonets." The big, black guns were leaping the ruts in the road, with the gunners clinging desperately to the caissons. Then he saw the long line of gray rise up over the hill, and pour itself down the slope. He saw the ragged, mile-long flash of the carbines and he would have leaped forward to the charge, if for a single moment he had heard the bugle's shrill summons.

Uncle Luther's spectacles were dimmed. He polished them off with shaky fingers, and looked again. Behind the band there was a stretch of white that seemed to nod and twinkle in the sunshine.

"They've got the children, too," he faltered.

Then the old fellows in blue swung at the corner; they were keeping military line, and something of the old spirit had thrilled their steps into an unwonted precision. The band, wheeling with them, swept into" Rally Round the Flag, Boys." Uncle Luther leaped forward on his one good leg, waved his hat around his head, and shouted, "Hur-. rah, hurrah!" His head was thrown back, his eyes flashed, his breath came quick and hot.

"Down with the traitor, up with the star," he chanted in his thin, quavery old

Now they had reached the end of the

T

HOMAS JEFFERSON has had more ardent followers, and more ardent opponents, than perhaps any other patriot in American history. The cause of this is that he was essentially a strong man, and no one can follow the lines of his face without seeing this. In MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE for October, 1897, was presented the life mask of Thomas Jefferson, taken by J. H. I. Browere, in 1825, when Jefferson was eighty-two years old. In relation to this, Jefferson said: "I now bid adieu forever to busts and even portraits." It was twoscore years earlier that Jefferson sat to Mather Brown for the first portrait that we know of him, and which is the first portrait here reproduced. Others follow by Houdon (1789), Gilbert Stuart (1800), Rembrandt Peale (1803), George Miller (1803), St. Mémin (1805), and Thomas Sully (1821). These portraits, covering a period of thirtyfive years, are selected as among the best and most characteristic to which we have

access.

When Jefferson was in France, John Trumbull was there, and at the minister's house at Chaillot, in the autumn of 1787, he painted Jefferson's portrait for his picture "The Declaration of Independence." It was one of those small cabinet portraits, on panel, for which Trumbull is so justly celebrated, and is now owned by Mrs. John W. Burke, of Alexandria, Va. The head of Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence" picture is not a close copy of the original. Charles Willson Peale, to whom Americans are under lasting obligations for preserving authentic portraits of the public men of the Revolutionary epoch, painted a portrait of Jefferson in 1791, which belongs to the city of Philadelphia and is a most interesting delineation of him. James Sharples made a pastel portrait of Jefferson in 1798, which is also owned by the city of Philadelphia, but it is deficient in character and individuality.

A number of portraits of Jefferson were

made that cannot be traced, which is the more to be regretted as some of them were by skillful artists. Jefferson took an intelligent interest in art, and posed as a profound connoisseur. He numbered among his personal intimates, Richard and Maria Cosway, Trumbull, Peale, Houdon, Ceracchi, and most of the foreign contingent that emigrated to these shores. It was chiefly due to his instrumentality that George Hadfield, the brother of Maria Cosway, came from England as assistant architect of the Capitol at Washington, and that Cardelli and Persico came from Italy to do the carvings. Jefferson was an amateur of some ability, especially in the not easy field of architecture. The University of Virginia, which he designed, would do no discredit to a professional of recognized experience. Jefferson showed himself to be a man of excellent æsthetic taste, and with an actual knowledge of the subject far beyond the general cultivation of his time. His correspondence teems with suggestions and reflections on design and decoration, showing an understanding of the subject, and not merely idle thoughts bestowed on an ephemeral fad.

Perhaps the most important of the lost portraits of Jefferson is the bust made by Ceracchi, which was destroyed with the burning of the library of Congress, December 24, 1851, and of which there seems to be neither replica or copy. Dr. William Thornton, the first Commissioner of Patents, and an amateur artist of decided proficiency, calls it, in writing to Jefferson, a "superb bust, one of the finest I ever beheld." Jefferson paid Ceracchi $1,500 for the original marble, that being the amount of tax the disgruntled Italian levied upon all those persons whom he had besought to sit to him as a favor, when his scheme for a national monument fell through and he prepared to leave the country.

William J. Coffee, an Englishman, who modeled small busts in terra cotta, made a bust of Jefferson in April, 1818, as also busts of his daughter Mrs. Randolph and granddaughter Ellen, for the three of which

Jefferson paid $105. In commending the sculptor to Madison as really able in his art," Jefferson said he gave "less trouble than any artist, painter, or sculptor I have ever submitted myself to." This bust is also among the missing, although those of Mrs. Randolph and Ellen are at Edgehill. Pietro Cardelli modeled a bust of Jefferson in 1819, but it is unknown, although a number of plaster copies were subscribed for by disciples of the statesman. It is highly improbable that Jefferson could have been, as he was, on terms of familiar intimacy with Richard and Maria Cosway, each of them skilled miniature painters, and that neither of them should have painted his portrait. Yet such a portrait is not known, any more than the miniature that was painted of him by Thomas Gimbrede, and engraved by the painter for State Papers and Publick Documents," published in 1815. Another unknown portrait is recorded in Jefferson's financial diary under July 12, 1792: Paid Williams for drawing my portrait, 14 D."

Jefferson seems to have approved of his own profile. In April, 1789, when in France, he had two profiles made, for one of which he paid six francs, and for the other, thirty francs; and early in 1804, Amos Doolittle, an engraver from Connecticut, appears to have made several of him. His profile was also cut at Peale's Museum about this time. The next year Gilbert Stuart painted his famous profile in monochrome. There are a number of these so-called Stuart profiles, but the identity of the original by Stuart is undetermined. Hon. T. J. Coolidge of Boston, great-grandson of Jefferson, claims to own it; but his is painted in oil color, while Jefferson writes to Joseph Delaplaine, in 1813, that it is" in water color"; and six years later writes to General Dearborn that Stuart did it " on paper with crayon." Dr. Thornton, to whom Jefferson lent it to copy, calls it a "drawing," as does also Jefferson, which would imply that it was either in crayon or water color. Dr. Thornton made his copy in Swiss crayon, which would indicate that to be the medium of the original he was copying. For the original Jefferson paid Stuart $100, June 18, 1805, covering the payment in the following note: "Mr. Jefferson presents his compliments to Mr. Stewart, and begs leave to send him the inclosed for the trouble he gave him in taking the head a la antique. Mr. Stewart seemed to contemplate having an engraving made either from that or the first portrait; he is free to use the one or the other at his

66

choice; the one not proposed to be used I will be glad to receive at Mr. Stewart's convenience; the other when he shall be done with it." This Stuart profile was so popular that William Birch copied it in enamel, and also employed Edwin to engrave it, that he might give the prints away and a proper likeness of Jefferson be circulated.

Bass Otis, a very indifferent painter, made a portrait of Jefferson in the summer of 1816, for Delaplaine's gallery, which was engraved by Nagle, and the original is now owned by Mr. W. J. Campbell of Philadelphia. Relative to this portrait Dr. Thornton writes to Jefferson, July 20, 1816: "Never was such injustice done to you except by sign painters and General Kosciusko, than which last nothing can be so bad, and when I saw it I did not wonder that he lost Poland

not that it is necessary that a general should be a painter, but he should be a man of such sense as to discover that he is not a painter." The profile of Jefferson by Kosciuszko is nothing less than a grotesque caricature. The original drawing was destroyed, but it is preserved, as an iconographic curiosity, in a fac-simile aquatint in colors, by Ml. Sokolnicki.

Charles Peale Polk, who was a nephew, pupil, and imitator of Charles Willson Peale, painted a portrait of Jefferson from life, about 1800, which, if it is, as I think it is, the picture owned by Mrs. F. A. March of Easton, Pennsylvania, exhibits some marked characteristics of the original, but very crudely rendered. Edward Savage painted and engraved in mezzotinto a portrait of Jefferson, and introduced an admirable wholelength figure of Jefferson, in profile, when completing Pine's picture of "The Congress voting Independence," which highly interesting and important painting is owned by the Historical Society of Pennsylvania.

Jefferson's figure was commanding, six feet two and a half inches in height, well formed, neither stout nor thin, indicating strength, activity, and robust health. His carriage was erect, and his step firm and elastic, which he preserved till his death. His hair was of a reddish cast, his complexion sandy, and his eyes, blue when young, changed to a hazel gray as he advanced in years. When he died, at the age of eightyfour, he had not lost a tooth, nor had he a defective one.

There is no known portrait of Martha Wayles, who became the wife of Thomas Jefferson on New Year's Day, 1772, and died September 6, 1782, at the age of thirty-four.