, nor had he even dreamed of his lovely "Triumph of Woman" that
when finished will send his name down to posterity, as our greatest
_creative_ American sculptor.

Mamma was living with uncle when Mr. Hart arrived in New York with a
commission from Cassius M. Clay to make this bust, and she has often
told me all the circumstances of the sittings. Uncle was then, as
ever, extremely busy, and it was very difficult for him to give Mr.
Hart an occasional half hour for a sitting. As ordinary means failed,
Mr. Hart brought his clay and instruments to _The Tribune_ office, and
there he worked whilst uncle rested from his daily editorial labors;
but even while "resting," his lap was full of newspapers, and he could
not afford the time to "pose," for his eyes were rapidly scanning their
columns.

"I never," said mamma, "knew an artist to make such a study of
another's face as Mr. Hart did of brother's. He was not content with a
mere sitting from him now and then; he visited him at the house; he
watched his face in company, and attended every occasion when he spoke
in public, that he might model him, he said, in his best mood.
Consequently the bust was the most perfect likeness that had ever been
made of brother, and as his face was then delicate and his features so
classic in their cut, it was, I thought, the most beautiful piece of
sculpture that I had ever seen. It was quite a revelation to dear
brother, who in his modesty had never had an idea of his own beauty."

Ten plaster busts were struck off for the family and a few intimate
friends, but as none of them were ever put into marble, they have all,
I believe, with the exception of this one, been destroyed. Mamma's
copy was overthrown by Marguerite's little hands when a child; another
belonging to one of our cousins was broken by her little son; and
although Cassius Clay's copy was buried, Mr. Hart told me, during the
war to save it from the hands of the soldiers, he had no reason to
suppose that it finally had escaped the fate of the others. Aunt Mary,
however, in her anxiety to preserve her copy, at once enveloped it in
linen, and packed it in a box. Consequently it is now as perfect as
the day it left the studio; but mamma had never seen it from that time
until this spring, when Ida exhumed it from the store-room.

Mr. Hart and uncle were always warm friends, although Mr. Hart left for
Europe soon after completing this bust, where he has since remained,
with the