Talking and laughing, the two young girls rustled down the stairs and across the broad hall to the entrance of the saloon parlor, where Mr. Jefferson and his sister, the lovely widow Carr, were standing, greeting their guests.  The courtesies which the young ladies swept their host and hostess were marvels of grace and dexterity, and were noted with approval by the young gentlemen who lined 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 curls.