two months, and, presenting himself to his guardian and friend, General Washington, begged to be permitted to fight for his country. He was scarce fifteen, and Dr. Witherspoon, whom, as you doubtless know, our good friend Henry Laurens persuaded to leave Edinburgh to take charge of the College at Princeton, violently opposed his abandoning his studies, but the young man was determined, and was finally commissioned as an aide to General Lafayette. He was of particular service to both Lafayette and Rochambeau, as he understands and speaks the French language excellently, having studied it since childhood and speaking much with a French tutor whom he had for some years. He is to return to the College of Princeton in the fall of this year, and finish his studies. For though he will be nineteen years of age when he enters, yet such is his determination to get the college education which his service to his country interrupted, that he is resolved to recommence now at the age when most youths have finished their studies. And if at the end of his college course my duties still detain me abroad, 'tis my intention and dearest wish to have him come out to me, and I promise you he will make me as efficient a secretary as ever Hamilton made General Washington."

"All that you tell me only increases my interest in the young gentleman, Mr. Jefferson," said Stuart, "and I am more determined than ever to have him sit for me. I can see the picture," he went on, eagerly—"the fine, youthful brow and wavy hair drawn loosely back and slightly powdered, the blue eyes, aquiline nose, and firm mouth—the chin is a trifle delicate but the jaw is square—" he was speaking half to himself, noting in artist fashion the salient points of a countenance at once attractive and handsome, not so much by reason of beautiful features as because of the expression which was at once youthful, serene, and noble. All these points were afterward portrayed by Mr. Stuart, though it was not until many years later that the picture was executed, Mr. Stuart being recalled almost immediately to London, where, indeed, Calvert finally sat to him. That likeness, done in the most admirable fashion, came later into the possession of one of Calvert's dearest friends and greatest admirers, and was prized above most things by one who loved the original so deeply and so long.

"And he has other attractions," said Mr. Jefferson, after a long pause, during which the two gentlemen regarded young Calvert, the artist absorbed in plans for his picture, Mr. Jefferson in affectionate thoughts of the young man so dear to his heart. "He has one of the clearest, freshest voices that you ever heard, Mr. Stuart; a voice that matches his face and makes one believe in youth and happiness and truth. Why should he not sing for us?" he exclaimed. "The dancing has ceased, I see. Come, I will ask him."

Followed by Mr. Stuart, he went over to young Calvert, who was still standing sentinel beside Madame Carr, and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.

"Ned, we demand a song! Come, no refusal, sir!" he exclaimed. "I shall send Caesar for my Amati and you must sing us something. Shall it be 'The Lass with the Delicate Air'? That is my favorite, I think. 'Tis, as you know, Mr. Stuart, by the late Dr. Arne, the prince of song-writers. Here, boy!" he said, turning to one of the small darkies standing about to snuff the candles, "tell Caesar to bring me 'Pet.'"—for it was thus he called his violin, which had been saved by Caesar's devotion and bravery when all else at Elk Hill was destroyed by order of my Lord Cornwallis. While this was going forward Calvert stood by silent, outwardly calm and unruffled, inwardly much perturbed. It was his pleasure and habit to sing for Mr. Jefferson or for General and Madame Washington, but it was something of an ordeal to sing before an audience. That quiet heroism, though, which was part of his character, and which made him accept tranquilly everything, from the most trifling inconvenience to the greatest trials, kept him from raising any objection.

As Mr. Jefferson drew his bow across his violin the company fell away from the centre of the room, leaving a clear space. Stepping forward he leaned over his beloved Amati and played the opening bars of Dr. Arne's famous ballad, with its liquid phrases and quaint intervals of melody. At the first notes of the air Calvert stood beside him and lifted up his fresh young voice of thrilling sweetness. It was one of those naturally beautiful voices, which at this time and for many years longer had a charm that none could resist, and which helped, among other things, to earn for him the everlasting jealousy of that remarkable and versatile scoundrel, Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire.

"I protest, sir," cried Mr. Gilbert from his place beside Miss Crenshawe, when the bow at last dropped from the quivering strings, "I protest I have not heard such music since St. George and Garat played and sang together in Paris!"

Monsieur de Lafayette laid his hand affectionately on Calvert's shoulder. "Ah, Ned," he said in his English with the strong accent, "that was sweet, but if I mistake me not, thy voice sounded even sweeter to my ears as thou sangst thy songs around the campfires at night after our long marches and counter-marches when we hung upon Cornwallis's flank or raced toward Petersburg to beat Phillips! 'Twas a very girl's voice then, but it could make us forget fatigue and danger and homesickness!"

"I am glad to believe that I was of some service," said Calvert. "I have often thought," he went on, smiling a little, "that had I not been under the protection of General Washington I should never have been permitted to make the campaign."

But the Marquis would have none of his modesty.

"No, no," he cried, "thou knowest thou wert my favorite aide and served me faithfully and well. Dost thou not remember the many messages thou didst carry to General Rochambeau for me when we lay before Yorktown? And the friends thou hadst in his army? De Beaufort and d'Azay were among the best, is it not so? But what is this?" he inquired, suddenly, as he saw the middle of the long room cleared and a very army of slaves approaching bearing an immense table already laid with fine damask and silver.

"Madame Carr evidently thinks her guests are in need of refreshment after these wearying musical performances," replied Calvert, laughing, "and as we are too numerous to be entertained in the dining-room, supper is to be served here. 'Tis frequently Mr. Jefferson's fashion when his company is large."

With little formality the guests took their places at table, the ladies all being seated and many of the older gentlemen. The younger ones stood about and waited upon the ladies, contenting themselves by eating after they were served, as they hung over their chairs and conversed with them.

Calvert with Beaufort and d'Azay were busily occupied, the French officers devoting themselves to the wants of the beautiful Miss Peggy Gary and Miss Molly Crenshawe, Calvert gravely seeing that the elderly Mrs. Mason, mother of Mr. Jefferson's great friend, Mr. George Mason, Mrs. Wythe, and other dowagers were bountifully supplied. It was like him to pass by the young beauties to attend upon those who had greater needs and less attractions. From his position behind the dowagers' chairs he could catch bits of conversation from both ends of the table. Now it was Mr. Jefferson's voice, rising above the noise, talk, and laughter, offering some excellent Madeira to his abstemious friend, Mr. Arkwright.

"I insist," urged Mr. Jefferson, "for upon my word 'tis true, as someone has said, that water has tasted of sinners ever since the Flood!"

Now it was Mr. Madison who arose, glass in hand, to propose a toast to
Mr. Jefferson.

It was not a very eloquent