University of Virginia Library

To me that certainly was a most profitable hour, as it not
only gave rise to a positive determination to accept the advantages
of the library along with the required duties, but also
to a close friendship with the librarian—that enjoyed by few
students—which continued ever cordial throughout my course.
Some days thereafter I repeated my visit, and while there
chanced to observe on one of the tables a moderate-sized volume
with a fresh, attractive green cloth binding, titled "The
Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson." This was by his gifted
great granddaughter, Sarah N. Randolph, who resided with
her father and sister on the old homestead, Edgehill, some
five miles distant, where they conducted in the pretentious
brick mansion a private boarding school for young ladies,
which then enjoyed a substantial reputation in many parts of
the South. The book had only appeared the year before
(1871), and had just been returned by one of the professors,
so I concluded this my opportunity for learning more of Mr.
Jefferson. Upon the asking, Mr. Wertenbaker cheerfully
granted its loan—recording its title, date, my name and room
number. In due time I followed this with other lives—
Tucker, Randall, Schmucker—which, with the Jeffersonian
atmosphere pervading the community, soon sufficed to create
intelligently in me an ardent admiration for the man and his
principles.

Ever afterwards the library somehow possessed for me a
peculiar fascination—whether due to its classic architecture,
its contained literature, its vivid souvenirs and reminders of
the quiet as well as turbulent past, or to Mr. Wertenbaker's
personality, or to these collectively, need not be affirmed, but
the fact remained that I was allured into spending frequently
hours there that might have possibly been devoted elsewhere
to greater advantage. It was, however, far from idle pastime
to sit facing that senile personage, never garrulous, and quietly
imbibe his ruminations of bygones—such as at times, when the
spirit moved, he willingly communicated to the patient and interested.
His birth, youth, manhood and old age had followed
each other in and around Charlottesville, where he remembered
the enactment of most important events since that day in
1809 on which Mr. Jefferson returned from the occupancy of
the White House.

He was filled with pleasant recollections, not only of Mr.
Jefferson and the creation of the University, but he had seen
time and again—even enjoyed their conversation—such
worthy celebrities as Madison, Monroe, Lafayette, Cabell, Gilmer,
Poe, Long, Bonnycastle, Emmet, Blaetterman, Key,
Dunglison, Courtenay, Bledsoe and countless others, and better
yet, still retained to a remarkable extent, accurate impressions
of their respective personalities. How he delighted to defend
his poet classmate, Edgar Allan Poe, students together at the
University during its second session, when they enjoyed each
other's friendship and confidence to a felicitous degree. It
was as though an oracle sat recounting mysterious experiences
with that scintillating and lugubrious genius—so gifted then
in many languages as to excel his associates, and even in
Italian, at Professor Blaetterman's assigning the rendition into
English verse parts of Tasso and other authors, to be usually
the only one of the class living up to the requirement. It,
however, was no dream, nor the fiction of The Raven, when
he recalled a certain cold might in December, 1826, on which,
after spending together its early hours at a private house
socially, they wended their way to Poe's room, 13 West Range,
to find the fire in "dying embers," but soon to be rekindled
by that gifted hand with some candle-ends and the wreck of
a table, in order to recount in comfort before the blaze real
as well as imaginary grievances against man and the world.
It was an open confession—a sad story—as Poe referred
with regret to money wasted and debt contracted, forsooth,
of an ungovernable thirst for card-playing—not for drinking,
as that to him was then almost an unknown vice. That reminiscence
possesses a charm tinctured with pathos never to be
forgotten—immutable in the mind as are many of our earlier
lessons.

Indeed after a talk with Mr. Wertenbaker it seemed no
imaginative effort to realize Mr. Jefferson on horseback riding
through West Range to the rear of the original library—
fourth pavilion from the Rotunda, West Lawn, occupied at
my period, first by Professor Leopold J. Boeck, and later by
Professor Noah K. Davis—dismounting, hitching his horse
and hastening within to assist the librarian, Kean or Wertenbaker,
in properly classifying various books; or perchance

Monticello, Western or Rear Approach

(From Watson's "Life and Times of Thomas Jefferson," by courtesy of D. Appleton & Co.)

FACING 24

See page 210

hurrying along the Lawn to the Rotunda that he might give
and see executed orders, as well as watch its progress and
finish—a stage it had not quite reached even at his death.
Truly all of us recognized that every brick trod had in the
long-ago received the impress of nobler feet; every hall and
room frequented had been consecrated by the touch of him,
our great founder, who alone pioneered the very walks we
journeyed in the discharge of our daily duties. Despite the
sentiment of the Good Book, "a prophet is not without honor
save in his own country," and that of our greatest poet:

Mr. Jefferson stands a shining exception to their application
in the County that gave him birth and burial. There may
have been many, and still some, who disagreed with his tenets
and doctrines, but all unprejudiced, knowing individuals at
that time and place delighted in calling him great. Apart
from his illustrious deeds I was interested in and solicitous
for first-handed knowledge of his personal appearance and
characteristics—qualities of which I then knew accurately
little, but Mr. Wertenbaker much—such, be it to his credit, in
spite of natural reticence and disinclination to wasting words,
he took delight in communicating. He, however, always declared
that Randall in preparing Mr. Jefferson's biography
had enjoyed to the fullest extent the entrée and confidence of
the family descendants (Randolphs and Carrs), as to record
in such matters of detail about the truth and that he could
simply verify those statements. He remembered Mr. Jefferson
in his gray suit, clerical cut tall collar, wide white cravat
and low black slouch hat, and considered him more impressive
than handsome—being unusually tall, six feet two and a half
inches, erect, slender, sinewy, filling out in his best years to
good proportions, yet never beyond one hundred and sixty-five
pounds. His step was elastic and vigorous; face angular
but beamed with cheerfulness, benevolence and intelligence;
skin freckled and suffused with superficial capillaries producing
a delicately fair and ruddy complexion; cuticle very thin
and fragile, consequently peeling off easily after the slightest

exposure to sun and wind; hair parted in the middle, luxurious,
silken, reddish-chestnut or auburn—when minister to
France intermingled with a few white strands, which greatly
increased during his presidency and until death, then being
much whitened but retaining the sandy tinge very perceptibly;
nose gracefully outlined, slightly pointed and turned upward;
eyes—those of genius—kindly, blue-gray, full-size and deeply
set; manners unusually graceful, simple, cordial, but reserved
and dignified; conversational powers charming; voice almost
femininely soft, gentle and musical, used slowly and hesitatingly
but possessing in its tone a cordiality, earnestness and
frankness—a deep sympathy with humanity, a confidence in
man and a bright hopefulness in his destiny—which irresistibly
won upon the feelings alike of friend and foe; temper
amiable and forgiving—calm, self-reliant and courageous. He
never found it necessary to engage in a personal encounter
nor to experience a manly indignity, while his accomplishments
enabled him to shun all popular vices and habits of the
prevailing gentry; he never gambled, knew not one card from
another and did not allow their playing in his home; he discountenanced
strong drink and indulged in neither tobacco
nor profanity. What an inspiring character for ambitious
youths to study and emulate!

Mr. Wertenbaker thought that Mr. Webster portrayed unjustly
Mr. Jefferson shortly after visiting him in 1824, and
likewise his grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph, did not
agree with all of that description, believing it calculated to
produce an unfavorable impression—that of an ill-looking
man—the opposite to what he was. But as it was the last attempt
at recording permanently his declining condition, a portion
may be reproduced: "Mr. Jefferson is now between
eighty-one and eighty-two, about six feet high, of an ample
long frame, rather thin and spare. His head, which is not
peculiar in shape, is set rather forward on his shoulders, and,
his neck being long, there is, when walking or conversing, a
habitual protrusion of it. It is still well-covered with hair,
which, having been once red and now turning gray, is of an
indistinct sandy color. His eyes are small (as a fact they
were normal), very light, and now neither brilliant nor striking.
His chin is rather long but not pointed; his nose small,

regular in outline, and the nostrils a little elevated; his mouth
is well formed, and still filled with teeth—it is strongly compressed,
bearing an expression of contentment and benevolence;
his complexion, formerly light and freckled, now bears
the marks of age and cutaneous affection. His limbs are uncommonly
long; his hands and feet very large, and his wrists
of an extraordinary size (one had never recovered from dislocation).
His walk is not precise and military, but easy and
swinging. He stoops a little, not so much from age as from
natural formation. When sitting he appears short, partly
from a rather lounging habit of sitting, and partly from the
disproportionate length of his limbs. His dress, when in the
house, is a gray surtout, kerseymere stuff waistcoat, with an
under one faced with some material of a dingy red. His pantaloons
are very long and loose, and of the same color as his
coat. His stockings are woolen, either white or gray; his shoes
of the kind that bear his name. His general appearance indicates
an extraordinary degree of health, vivacity and spirit.
His sight is still good, for he needs glasses only in the evening.
His hearing is generally good, but a number of voices
in animated conversation confuse him. He rises as soon as
the hands of the clock, just opposite the bed, can be seen,
and examines immediately his thermometer, as he keeps a
regular meteorological diary. He employs himself chiefly in
writing till breakfast, which is at nine, thence till dinner he
is in his library, excepting in fair weather he rides on horseback
from seven to fourteen miles—this habit being essential
for his health and comfort. His diet is simple, being restrained
only by his taste; his breakfast is tea and coffee,
bread fresh from the oven, of which he does not seem afraid,
with sometimes a slight accompaniment of cold meat; his dinner
is largely vegetables with a little meat, which he enjoys.
He is easy and natural in conversation, not ambitious; it is not
loud, as challenging general attention, but usually addressed
to the person next him. Outside of topics to suit his auditor
he discusses science and letters, and especially the University
of Virginia, which is coming into existence almost
entirely from his exertions, and will rise, it is to be hoped, to
usefulness and credit under his continued care. When we were
with him, his favorite subjects were Greek and Anglo-Saxon,
historical recollections of the times and events of the Revolution,
and of his residence in France from 1783-1789."

The ingenuous grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph,
fondly called by Mr. Jefferson, "the companion and staff of
my old age," has also given with unqualified accuracy some
characteristics of that wholesome life—observations amid the
sanctity of domestic relations: "I never saw his countenance
distorted by a single bad passion or unworthy feeling. I have
seen the expression of suffering, bodily and mental, of grief,
pain, sadness, just indignation, disappointment, disagreeable
surprise and displeasure, but never of anger, impatience, peevishness,
discontent, to say nothing worse of more ignoble
emotions. To the contrary, it was impossible to look on his
face without being struck with its benevolent, intelligent,
cheerful and placid expression. It was at once intellectual,
good, kind and pleasant, whilst his tall, spare figure spoke of
health, activity and that helpfulness, that power and will,
"never to trouble another for that he could do himself,"
which marked his character. His dress was simple and adapted
to his ideas of neatness and comfort. He paid little attention
to fashion, wearing whatever he liked best, and sometimes
blending the fashions of several different periods. He wore
long waistcoats when the mode was very short, white cambric
stocks fastened behind with a buckle, when cravats were universal.
He adopted the pantaloon very late in life, because
he found it more comfortable and convenient, and cut off his
queue for the same reason. He made no change except from
motives of the same kind, and did nothing to be in conformity
with the fashion of the day. He considered such independence
the privilege of his age."

Mrs. Samuel Harrison Smith (née Margaret Bayard), during
a few days' visit to Mr. Jefferson, at Monticello, in the
summer of 1809, recorded these observations in her treasured
notebook (August 1.): "Yes, he is truly a philosopher, and
truly a good man, and eminently a great one. Then there is
a tranquillity about him, which an inward peace alone could
bestow. As a ship long-tossed by the storms of the ocean,
casts anchor and lies at rest in a peaceful harbor, he is retired
from an active and restless scene to this tranquil spot. Voluntarily
and gladly has he resigned honors which he never

sought, and unwillingly accepted. His actions, not his words,
preach the emptiness and dissatisfaction attendant on a great
office. His tall and slender figure is not impaired by age,
though bent by care and labor. His white locks announce an
age his activity, strength, health, enthusiasm, ardor and
gayety contradict. His face owes all its charm to its expression
and intelligence; his features are not good and his complexion
bad, but his countenance is so full of soul and beams
with much benignity, that when the eye rests on the face, it
is too busy in perusing its expression, to think of its features
or complexion. His low and mild voice harmonizes with his
countenance rather than his figure. But his manners—how
gentle, how humble, how kind. His meanest slave must feel
as if it were a father instead of a master who addresses him,
when he speaks. To a disposition ardent, affectionate and
communicative, he joins manners timid, even to bashfulness,
and reserved even to coldness. If his life had not proved to
the contrary I should have pronounced him rather a man of
imagination and taste, than a man of judgment, a literary
rather than a scientific man, and least of all a politician, a character
for which nature never seemed to have intended him,
and for which the natural turn of mind, and his disposition,
taste and feeling equally unfit him. I should have been sure
that this was the case, even had he not told me so. In an
interesting conversation I had one evening—speaking of his
public and present domestic life—he remarked: `The whole
of my life has been a war with my natural taste, feelings and
wishes; domestic life and literary pursuits were my first and
my latest inclinations—circumstances and not my desires lead
me to the path I have trod, and like a bow though long bent,
which when unstrung flies back to its natural state, I resume
with delight the character and pursuits for which nature designed
me. The circumstances of our country, at my entrance
into life, were such that every honest man felt himself
compelled to take part, and to act up to the best of his
abilities.' "

Mr. Jefferson, in reply to Dr. Utley, who desired a history
of his physical habits (March 21, 1819), wrote: "I live so
much like other people, that I might refer to ordinary life as
the habits of my own. I have lived temperately, eating little

animal food, and that not as an aliment so much as a condiment
for the vegetables, which constitute my principal diet.
The ardent wines I cannot drink, nor do I use ardent spirits
in any form. Malt liquors and cider are my table drinks, and
my breakfast is of tea and coffee. I have been blest with
organs of digestion which accent and concoct, without ever
murmuring, whatever the palate chooses to consign to them,
and I have not yet lost a tooth by age. I was a hard student
until I entered on the business of life, the duties of which
leave no idle time to those disposed to fulfil them, and now,
retired, and at the age of seventy-six, I am again a hard student.
Indeed, my fondness for reading and study revolts me
from the drudgery of letter writing, and a stiff wrist, the consequence
of an early dislocation, makes writing both slow and
painful. I am not so regular in my sleep, devoting to it from
five to eight hours, according as my company or the book I
am reading interests me; and I never go to bed without an
hour, or half an hour's previous reading of something moral
(Bible), whereon to ruminate in the intervals of sleep. But
whether I retire to bed early or late, I rise with the sun. I
use spectacles at night, but not necessarily in the day, unless in
reading small print. My hearing is distinct in particular conversation,
but confused when several voices cross each other,
which unfits me for the society of the table. So free from
catarrhs that I have not had one (in the breast I mean) on an
average of eight or ten years through life. I ascribe this exemption
partly to the habit of bathing my feet in cold water
every morning for sixty years. A fever of more than twenty-four
hours I have not had above two or three times in my
life. A headache every six or eight years has left me, and
now enjoy good health; too feeble, indeed to walk much, but
riding without fatigue six or eight miles a day, and sometimes
thirty or forty."

Beyond my individual ignorance of Mr. Jefferson's physical
personality—thus minified by Mr. Wertenbaker's words and
suggestive literature—his life presented to our student-body
manifestations of seeming strangeness. That evoking most
general surprise—which Mr. Wertenbaker also stood ever
ready to explain satisfactorily—being: How was it possible
for such a gifted man, with a large landed estate and a long

public career, an economist in theory and practice, to be borne
down in his latter years by the wail of poverty? Our visits
to Monticello were frequent, where we saw desertion, solitude,
neglect, decay—that indicating destitution, desecration, apathy
—a condition of several decades. At no turn around us could
the slightest evidence of his personal wealth be encountered.
His few descendants still lived in the community, and from
observation, they, like their neighboring humanity, were
struggling for an honorable existence. It was well known
to us that his ingenuous grandson—preferred beneficiary—
whom we occasionally saw in the town, especially on Sundays
at the Episcopal Church, had liquidated a residuary indebtedness
of over forty thousand dollars, in order to spare his
grandfather's honored name. His estate upon entering public
service consisted of ten thousand acres, a fine home and one
hundred and fifty slaves, which yielded two thousand dollars
annually, while from his law practice came an additional revenue
of three thousand dollars that after this period necessarily
ceased. During his vice-presidency he saved a little, but when
minister to France, Secretary of State, and President his salary
failed to meet expenses. In all these positions his style of
living was plain and retiring, restricting entertainments to a
small coterie most congenial to him—travelers, investigators,
scientists and learned men of all types. In spite of this however,
he vacated the White House twenty thousand dollars in
debt, a sum easily released by the sale of land or slaves, but
which, rather than do, he preferred to carry indefinitely with
its accumulating burden. In his long absence the entire estate
had depreciated in value, and although his slaves, through
normal fertility, had increased to nearly two hundred, the
majority was either too young or old for service, therefore
an additional expense and not a revenue. For several years
after his retirement seasons were unfavorable for good crops,
which, with low prices, tended to cheapen land and embarrass
agriculture, thereby making money scarce and at high premium.
His home, Monticello, was a sort of "Liberty Hall"
to relatives and friends, who continually came and went singly
or in families, remaining one, three or six months as inclination
and convenience suggested. Accomplished young kinswomen
regularly spent months there as though it were a
fashionable resort; these married sons of Mr. Jefferson's
friends, and then came with their entire home circle—first one
child, then many with a retinue of maids and servants. One
friend from abroad arrived with a family of six and stayed
ten months, while a second visit followed of six months. They
came of all nations—men, women and children, and at all
times, remaining for various periods, long or short. A judge
from New England, bringing simply a letter of introduction,
spent three weeks, and every day for at least eight months of
each year, brought its contingent of guests—those of wealth,
fashion, officials, military and civil, professional men, lawyers,
doctors, clergymen, priests, congressmen, diplomats, missionaries,
tourists, artists, strangers and friends. There came also
swarms of impertinent gazers, who, without introduction,
permission or ceremony, thrust themselves into the most private
of Mr. Jefferson's out-of-door resorts, and even into the
house, staring about as at a public show—a nuisance that increased
as years advanced. Many groups of utter strangers,
of both sexes, would plant themselves in the passage
between his study and dining-room, consult their watches and
wait his passing from one to the other for dinner, so that they
could momentarily catch a glimpse of him. One woman
punched through a windowpane with her parasol that she
might have the better view of him. He was waylaid in his
rides and walks, and when sitting under the porticoes in the
coolness of the evening, parties would approach within thirty
or forty feet and focus their eyes on him as a lion in a cage.
The several stables and carriage-houses every night throughout
the pleasant season were filled to overflowing with the
belongings of others—the larger coaches having to be sheltered
under the stately trees.

Traveling in that day and district was by necessity on
horseback, in carriage or coach, and those journeying southward
or northward seemed unwilling to pass Monticello without
paying a courteous respect to its illustrious host—that
which frequently was used to give themselves and equipage a
rest of over night. It truly took all hands to take care of the
visitors, and the whole farm, nay more, to feed them. Mrs.
Randolph affirmed that in her day there always was present
one or more visitors; some nights four, six or ten, while as

many as fifty guests had unexpectedly been provided beds for
over night.

Although Mr. Jefferson started out to live plainly, like a
country gentleman, his fashionable and distinguished visitors
expected much beyond that. New England judges remaining
three weeks would soon tire on ham and turkey; claret and
cider might suit Mr. Jefferson, but not his guests. He virtually
was hunted down by his reputation, and literally eaten
up by his countrymen—that which he predicted years before
when he remarked to his grandson: "If I live long enough
I will beggar my family, the number of persons I entertain
will devour my estate." Thus without prodigality, idleness,
improvidence or speculation he was reduced to poverty. But
through self-denial, retrenchment and wisest economy this
would have been averted had not his endorsement miscarried
for his dearest friend, Governor Wilson C. Nicholas, to whom
was reserved the giving of "that coup de grace which shrouded
Monticello in gloom, consigned it to stranger hands and early
decay, exposed its aged and tottering owner to the jeers of
brutal partisans, and broke the noble heart that dealt the unwilling
blow."

Indeed Mr. Jefferson's contributions to religious, educational
and charitable objects through life would have made
him rich in old age, but above all the memory of those generous
acts gave him an "unfaltering trust" when the storm of
need came, so that their possession would have brought even
then more pain than pleasure. Poverty, as it had overtaken
him, "was no disgrace, for there was not a single circumstance
connected with its causes, progress or sequel over which manhood
could blush, or friendship desire to draw a veil." All of
his debts were paid willingly by loving hands, leaving no one
to present a farthing's claim.

It was very difficult for us students to understand, why his
dear Virginia heeded not that final pathetic appeal for just
and honorable relief, or why the Government—still partly
democratic and fully acquainted with all extenuating conditions—did
not volunteer proudly and unasked that help he so
worthily deserved. We observed in our day the President's
salary easily doubled; the Senators and Congressmen receiving
thousands in back pay; the Government liberal to a fault

towards men and objects of questionable merit; the public
eager to erect costly monuments and to pay homage to those
whose labors had been far less to their country's good. And
yet we realized sadly that fifty years before the true nation-builder,
the great apostle of democracy, of civic liberty and
personal freedom—the expounder and defender of most ennobling
principles—had been allowed to pass away amid financial
misfortunes, incident to serving his country during a long
life the best he knew; that his beautiful and cherished home
had been permitted to fall into the hands of strangers, and
that its lovely mistress of the later years, his dear and beloved
daughter, Martha, whose tender and ever-sustaining hands
ministered for many years to his every want, had been
suffered to go forth from its threshold into the cold world
penniless, with its doors closed forever upon her. But "as
every cloud turns forth her silver lining," all humanity did
not remain callous, nay heartless, in the hour of greatest distress—for
the Legislatures of South Carolina and Louisiana,
with a generosity beyond reason to expect, learning her true
embarrassment took immediate steps for relief by handsome
monetary appropriations.

Mr. Jefferson's life, however, as it stood, possessed a value
and inspiration to many of us students, for while we recognized
that the world accepted it as something beyond the attainment
of those living, it was before us a veritable guide,
commanding our respect and challenging an ambition for at
least modest emulation.

We marveled at the trusted positions thrust upon him during
forty years, from early manhood to old age: member of
the House of Burgesses, Continental Congress, Governor of
Virginia, Minister to France, Secretary of State, Vice-President,
and President—and even then besought not to desert
the "Ship of State." We wondered at what he accomplished.
the many deeds performed and advocated beyond the three he
considered greatest and alone worthy to be engraved upon
his tomb; the common school system; the abolishment of
slavery and the prohibition of its importation into Virginia—
with failure; the revision of the laws of Virginia in conformity
with his ideas of liberty; the establishment of our dollar
with its various subdivisions; the selection of location for

Thomas Jefferson Randolph
1792-1875

"The companion and staff of my old age"

See page 308

Monticello Graveyard

(Mr. Jefferson's original monument)

See page 218

FACING 34

the capital at Washington; the personal magnetism exercised
towards ratifying the Treaty of Peace with Great Britain—
settling the war his Declaration of Independence helped to
bring about; the presentation to Congress of the Virginia deed
ceding her lands, northwest of the Ohio River, to the Government
for public domain; the devised plan for the temporary
government of the Northwestern Territory, with the clause
prohibiting slavery therein; the improvement of navigation of
the Rivanna River; the removal of Virginia's capital from
Williamsburg to Richmond; the enactment abolishing entails,
and that establishing the natural right of man to expatriate
himself at will; the laws changing the course of descents—
giving the inheritance to all children alike—and that apportioning
crimes and punishments; the introduction of the
olive plant into South Carolina from France (1789-90); the
bringing of upland rice into South Carolina from Africa
(1790); the purchasing of the Louisiana territory from
France (1803); the sending of Lewis, Clark and Pike to explore
the far west; the endeavor to enforce national rights by
"embargo" instead of by war; the reduction of the public
debt; the aiding of trade and commerce with the world; the
advocacy for a navy, and the provision of a system of sea
coast and tide water defences. And yet after having gloriously
been the causa sine qua non of all these benefits to his country
and countrymen, he thus modestly wrote: "I have sometimes
asked myself whether my country is the better for my having
lived at all. I do not know that it is. I have been the instrument
of doing these things; but they could have been done by
others, some of them, perhaps, a little better."

To us students it seemed almost incredible that he could
have evolved that profound document—Declaration of Independence—when
only thirty-three years of age, which, save
the Lord's Prayer and the Sermon on the Mount, including
the Commandments, continues to-day the most read and quoted
composition of our Country. It was equally surprising to
us that through his efforts denominational hatred and bigotry
were suppressed, so that the Catholic, Dissenter, Hebrew,
Quaker, Unitarian, Orthodox and Unorthodox could live at
peace with one another in his State and finally in the land.
And last—it was a greater mystery, a profound joy: how one

of his ripened years could champion successfully the cause of
general education and inaugurate a complete system having
as a capstone our favorite institution—the University.

Many of us in those days studied and pondered over his
principles—those that gave him individuality and immortality,
not a few amazing us by their comprehensiveness and truth,
and will continue to impress strongly till the end of time unborn
generations:

Somehow or another in my student period we accepted and
believed Mr. Jefferson the greatest of our Nation's founders,
unquestionably the most profound scholar and thinker of his

age—possessing a versatility of knowledge so essential then
for his Country's immediate needs, which he dealt out regardless
of stint or favor, having but one hope and ambition—
to improve the condition and liberty of his countrymen. This
he felt reasonably assured must follow if the cardinal principles
advocated and inaugurated be held inviolate, and did
not hesitate to express himself thus: "With all the defects of
our Constitution, the comparison of our Government with
those of Europe is like the comparison of heaven and hell.
England, like the earth, may be allowed to take the intermediate
station." We lived under the impression that his hands,
head and pen were at work constantly in the service of mankind
and the exercise of larger humanities throughout the
world, and towards that end he knew nothing of apathy, indifference
rest, or repose; that while Washington, Green,
Franklin, Hamilton, Adams and Madison were indispensable
luminaries in the formation and creation of our organic government,
yet upon Mr. Jefferson, more than any other, rested
the evolution of her best underlying principles—those that
will tide over impending emergencies until the end of time;
that it was through no fortuitous, but rather a prophetic realization
of this truth our Constitution possesses an elasticity,
although constructed for only three millions, standing to-day
the equally acceptable code for thirty times that number—it
is true having received an occasional amendment, but recognized
just as essential, if at all, then as now—and will remain
free from the need of change so long as we continue to grow
and expand.

Some of Mr. Jefferson's epigrammatic words of wisdom
were familiar to many of us students, and had useful application
in our daily intercourse, being quoted always with a
suppressed smile that carried approval: