after breakfast and doubtless ran over the pages of a manuscript which he had been preparing with some care for this Fourth of March. It may be guessed, too, that here, as at Monticello, he made his usual observations-noting in his diary the temperature, jotting down in the garden-book which he kept for thirty years an item or two about the planting of vegetables, and recording, as he continued to do for eight years, the earliest and latest appearance of each comestible in the Washington market. Perhaps he made a few notes about the "seeds of the cymbling (cucurbita vermeosa) and squash (cucurbita melopipo)" which he purposed to send to his friend Philip Mazzei, with directions for planting; or even wrote a letter full of reflections upon bigotry in politics and religion to Dr. Joseph Priestley, whom he hoped soon to have as his guest in the President's House.

Toward noon Mr. Jefferson stepped out of the house and walked over to the Capitol—a tall, rather loose-jointed figure, with swinging stride, symbolizing, one is tempted to think, the angularity of the American character. "A tall, large-boned farmer," an unfriendly English observer called him. His complexion was that of a man constantly exposed to the sun—sandy or freckled, contemporaries called it—but his features were clean-cut and strong and his expression was always kindly and benignant.

Aside from salvos of artillery at the hour of twelve, the inauguration of Mr. Jefferson as President of the United States was marked by extreme simplicity. In the Senate chamber of the unfinished Capitol, he was met by Aaron Burr, who had already been installed as presiding officer, and conducted to the Vice-President's chair, while that debonair man of the world took a seat on his right with easy grace. On Mr. Jefferson's left sat Chief Justice John Marshall, a "tall, lax, lounging Virginian," with black eyes peering out from his swarthy countenance. There is a dramatic quality in this scene of the President-to-be seated between two men who are to cause him more vexation of spirit than any others in public life. Burr, brilliant, gifted, ambitious, and profligate; Marshall, temperamentally and by conviction opposed to the principles which seemed to have triumphed in the election of this radical Virginian, to whom indeed he had a deep-seated aversion. After a short pause, Mr. Jefferson rose and read his Inaugural Address in a tone so low that it could be heard by only a few in the crowded chamber.

Those who expected to hear revolutionary doctrines must have been surprised by the studied moderation of this address. There was not a Federalist within hearing of Jefferson's voice who could not have subscribed to all the articles in this profession of political faith. "Equal and exact justice to all men"—"a jealous care of the right of election by the people"—"absolute acquiescence in the decisions of the majority"—"the supremacy of the civil over the military authority"—"the honest payments of our debts"—"freedom of religion"—"freedom of the press"—"freedom of person under the protection of the habeas corpus"—what were these principles but the bright constellation, as Jefferson said, "which has guided our steps through an age of revolution and reformation?" John Adams himself might have enunciated all these principles, though he would have distributed the emphasis somewhat differently.

But what did Jefferson mean when he said, "We have called by different names brethren of the same principle. We are all Republicans—we are all Federalists." If this was true, what, pray, became of the revolution of 1800, which Jefferson had declared "as real a revolution in the principles of our government as that of 1776 was in its form?" Even Jefferson's own followers shook their heads dubiously over this passage as they read and reread it in the news-sheets. It sounded a false note while the echoes of the campaign of 1800 were still reverberating. If Hamilton and his followers were monarchists at heart in 1800, bent upon overthrowing the Government, how could they and the triumphant Republicans be brethren of the same principle in 1801? The truth of the matter is that Jefferson was holding out an olive branch to his political opponents. He believed, as he remarked in a private letter, that many Federalists were sound Republicans at heart who had been stampeded into the ranks of his opponents during the recent troubles with France. These lost political sheep Jefferson was bent upon restoring to the Republican fold by avoiding utterances and acts which would offend them. "I always exclude the leaders from these considerations," he added confidentially. In short, this Inaugural Address was less a great state paper, marking a broad path for the Government to follow under stalwart leadership, than an astute effort to consolidate the victory of the Republican party.

Disappointing the address must have been to those who had expected a declaration of specific policy. Yet the historian, wiser by the march of events, may read between the lines. When Jefferson said that he desired a wise and frugal government—a government "which should restrain men from injuring one another but otherwise leave them free to regulate their own pursuits—" and when he announced his purpose "to support the state governments in all their rights" and to cultivate "peace with all nations—entangling alliances with none," he was in effect formulating a policy. But all this was in the womb of the future.

It was many weeks before Jefferson took up his abode in the President's House. In the interval he remained in his old quarters, except for a visit to Monticello to arrange for his removal, which indeed he was in no haste to make, for "The Palace," as the President's House was dubbed satirically, was not yet finished; its walls were not fully plastered, and it still lacked the main staircase-which, it must be admitted, was a serious defect if the new President meant to hold court. Besides, it was inconveniently situated at the other end of the, straggling, unkempt village. At Conrad's Jefferson could still keep in touch with those members of Congress and those friends upon whose advice he relied in putting "our Argosie on her Republican tack," as he was wont to say. Here, in his drawing-room, he could talk freely with practical politicians such as Charles Pinckney, who had carried the ticket to success in South Carolina and who might reasonably expect to be consulted in organizing the new Administration.

The chief posts in the President's official household, save one, were readily filled. There were only five heads of departments to be appointed, and of these the Attorney-General might be described as a head without a department, since the duties of his office were few and required only his occasional attention. As it fell out, however, the Attorney-General whom Jefferson appointed, Levi Lincoln of Massachusetts, practically carried on the work of all the Executive Departments until his colleagues were duly appointed and commissioned. For Secretary of War Jefferson chose another reliable New Englander, Henry Dearborn of Maine. The naval portfolio went begging, perhaps because the navy was not an imposing branch of the service, or because the new President had announced his desire to lay up all seven frigates in the eastern branch of the Potomac, where "they would be under the immediate eye of the department and would require but one set of plunderers to look after them." One conspicuous Republican after another declined this dubious honor, and in the end Jefferson was obliged to appoint as Secretary of the Navy Robert Smith, whose chief qualification was his kinship to General Samuel Smith, an influential politician of Maryland.

The appointment by Jefferson of James Madison as Secretary of State occasioned no surprise, for the intimate friendship of the two Virginians and their long and close association in politics led everyone to expect that he would occupy an important post in the new Administration, though in truth that friendship was based on something deeper and