ed the walls or talked to the
ladies already foregathered. Some of those same young gentlemen fairly
rivalled the ladies in richness of attire, following the elaborate
fashions of dress which General Washington had encouraged by his own
example. For the most part they were the sons of wealthy farmers and
planters, shorn perhaps of some of their pre-Revolutionary splendor, but
still aristocrats in bearing and feeling; young sporting squires who
indulged in cock-fighting and horse-racing; rising lawyers, orators, all
bearing the marks of good birth and good breeding.

Among the crowd of gayly dressed young gentlemen was one who was
especially noticeable. His handsome face wore a rather reckless,
petulant expression, which, however, could not conceal a certain
brightness and fire of genius that at moments eclipsed the irritable
look and rendered his countenance unusually attractive. It was Gilbert
Stuart, the young portrait painter, but recently returned from England,
where he was famed both as artist and wit. It was even said by his
admirers (and indeed Mr. Adams had but lately written it home from
London) that there his fame and following were the equal of his
master's, Benjamin West's, or even Sir Joshua Reynolds's.

The scene in Mr. Jefferson's drawing-room was becoming more and more
animated. The guests had nearly all assembled and were thronging the
parlor and great hall beneath the brilliant light of many candles. From
the music-gallery overhead the sounds of flute and violin in tentative
accord were beginning to be heard. The musicians were some of Mr.
Jefferson's slaves who had shown marked ability and whom he himself had
instructed in the art. They had proved themselves apt pupils and could
play excellently airs for the minuet and Virginia reel. Mr. Jefferson
was never happier than when Monticello was thronged with gay dancers,
nor was he an indifferent votary of Terpsichore himself. Indeed, many
were the balls and assemblies he attended during his student days in
Williamsburg, many the nights he danced away with "Belinda" and other
fair ones. And so when the music for the irresistible Virginia reel
struck up, Mr. Jefferson was first on the floor with Miss Molly
Crenshawe. They were quickly followed by other couples, until the
opposite lines of dancers extended half-way down the sides of the long
drawing-room. Up and down they went to the gay music, under the bright
light, misty with powder shaken from flying cu