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 exception of a flying visit to America about twelve years ago.  Uncle speaks of visiting his studio in 1851, in these words ("Glances at Europe,” page 217): 

“I saw something of three younger sculptors now studying and working at Florence—­Hart of Kentucky, Galt of Virginia, and Rogers of New York.  I believe all are preparing to do credit to their country.  Hart has been hindered by a loss of the models at sea from proceeding with the statue of Henry Clay, which he is commissioned by the ladies of Virginia to fashion and construct; but he is wisely devoting much of his time to careful study, and to the modelling of the ideal, before proceeding to commit himself irrevocably by the great work which must fix his position among sculptors, and make or mar his destiny.  I have great confidence that what he has already carefully and excellently done is but a foretaste of what he is yet to achieve.”

CHAPTER XI.

The Fourth of July—­A Quaker Celebration—­The House in the Woods—­Mrs. Greeley’s Life there—­Pickie—­Mary Inez—­Raffie—­Childhood of Ida and Gabrielle—­Heroism of Mrs. Greeley—­The Riots of 1863—­Mrs. Greeley defends her House against the Mob.

July 5.

Yesterday was the pleasantest Fourth I ever experienced in America.  Last year at this time I was upon the Catskill Mountains, and was aroused at an unearthly hour by the discharge of a cannon, whose reverberation was something appalling, and made me doubt if I was not shot.  The hotel was graced with the presence of some thirty or forty children, whose fond parents had invested largely in fire-crackers and toy cannon for them, and no place upon the grounds, it seemed, was so favorable for the ebullition of youthful patriotism as the spot directly under my window.  Consequently, as I was already weak from the effect of a prolonged attack of nervous fever, I was before nightfall in a state akin to distraction, and filled with anything but patriotic sentiments.  I could not then but think with regret of a previous Fourth spent upon the steamship St. Laurent, where fire-crackers were tabooed, and the celebration consisted entirely of a magnificent dinner, and speeches—­during the latter I made my escape to the deck.