'JESSE WAS CALLED IN TO BRUSH THE JUDGE'S HAT AND COAT."

de name er goodness is done gone en done it ?"

"He shaved himself of course," Mildred said. "He is very much better this morning. I noticed it the moment I saw him. I should think you could see it yourself."

"I seed somepin' nuther wuz de matter," said Jesse. "Somepin' 'bleege' ter be de matter when I put him ter bed las' night des like he wuz a baby, ma'm, en now yer he is gwine roun' des ez spry ez de nex' one. Yessum, somepin' 'bleege' ter be de matter. Yistiddy his han's wuz shakin' same like he got de polzy, ma'm, en now yer he is shavin' hisse'f; dat what rack my min'."

"Well, I hope you are glad he is so well, Jesse," said Mildred in an injured tone.

"Oh, yessum," said Jesse, scratching his head. "Lor', yessum. Dey ain't nobody no gladder dan what I is; but it come on me so sudden, ma'm, dat it sorter skeer me."

"Well, it does n't frighten me," said Mildred. "It makes me very happy."

change in his appearance. His cheeks, usually so wan and white, were flushed a little and his eyes were bright. He smiled as Mildred entered, and exclaimed in a tone that she had not heard for years:

It was the old manner she used to admire so when she was a slip of a girl - a manner that was a charming combination of dignity and affection.

"Why, father!" she exclaimed, "you must be feeling better. You have positively grown younger in a night."

The Judge laughed until his eyes sparkled. "Yes, my dear, I am feeling very well indeed. I never felt better. I am happy, quite happy. Everything has been made clear to me. I am going to-day to transact some business that has been troubling me a long time. I shall arrange it all to-day-yes, to-day."

The change that had come over her father was such a relief to Mildred that she asked him no questions. Now, as always, she trusted to his judgment and his experience. Jesse, however, was more critical. He watched the Judge furtively and shook his head.

"Mistiss," he said to Mildred when he found an opportunity, "did you shave master?"

"Why, what a ridiculous question!" she exclaimed. "How could I shave him? It makes me shiver merely to touch the razors." "Well, Mistiss," Jesse insisted, "ef I ain't shave him, en you ain't shave him, den who

Certainly a great change had come over Judge Bascom. He stood firmly on his feet once more. He held his head erect, as in the old days, and when he talked to Jesse his tone was patronizing and commanding, instead of querulous and complaining. He seemed to be very fastidious about his appearance. After Mildred had gone to her school, Jesse was called in to brush the Judge's hat and coat and to polish his shoes. The Judge watched this process with great interest, and talked to the negro in his blandest manner. This was not so surprising to Jesse as the fact that the Judge persisted in calling him Wesley; Wesley was the Judge's old body-servant who had been dead for twenty years. It was Wesley this and Wesley that so long as Jesse was in the room, and once the Judge asked how long before the carriage would be ready. The negro parried this question, but he remembered it. He was sorely puzzled an hour afterwards, however, when Judge Bascom called him and said:

"Wesley, tell Jordan he need not bring the carriage around for me. I will walk. Jordan can bring your mistress when she is ready."

"Well," exclaimed Jesse, when the Judge

disappeared in the house, "dis bangs me! What de name er goodness put de ole man Jerd'n in his min', which he died endurance er de war? It's all away beyant me. Miss Mildred oughter be yer wid her pa right now, yit, ef I go atter her, dey ain't no tellin' what he gwine do."

Jess cut an armful of wood, and then made a pretense of washing dishes, going from the kitchen to the dining-room several times. More than once he stopped to listen, but he could hear nothing. After a while he made bold to peep into the sitting-room. There was nobody there. He went into the Judge's bedroom; it was empty. Then he called" Marster! oh, Marster!" but there was no reply. Jesse was in a quandary. He was not alarmed, but he

was uneasy.

Ef I run en tell Miss Mildred dat Marster done gone som'ers," he said to himself, "she 'll des laugh en say I ain't got no sense; en I don't speck I is, but it make my flesh crawl fer ter hear folks callin' on dead niggers ter do dis en do dat."

Meanwhile the Judge had sallied forth from the house, and was proceeding in the direction of the Bascom Place. His step was firm and elastic, his bearing dignified. The acquaintances whom he met on his way stopped and looked after him when they had returned his Chesterfieldian salutation. He walked rapidly, and there was an air of decision in his movements that had long been lacking. At the great gate opening into the avenue of the Bascom Place the Judge was met by Prince the mastiff, who gave him a hospitable welcome, and gravely preceded him to the house. Miss Sophie, Mr. Underwood's maiden sister, who was sitting in the piazza, engaged on some kind of feminine embroidery, saw the Judge coming, too late to beat a retreat, so she merely whipped behind one of the large pillars, gave her dress a little shake at the sides and behind, ran her hands over her hair, and appeared before the caller cool, calm, and collected.

"Good-morning, madam," said the Judge in his grand way, taking off his hat. "Good-morning, sir," said Miss Sophie. "Have this chair?"

were to sit down and expect the negroes to wait on me, I 'd have a good many disappointments during the day."

"Yes," said the Judge, "that is very true; very true. Where is Wesley?

"I'm sure I don't know," Miss Sophie replied. "Is he a white man or a negro?' "Wesley?" exclaimed the Judge. "Why, he's a nigger; he 's my body-servant." "Is n't this Judge Bascom?" Miss Sophie inquired, regarding him curiously. "Yes, certainly, madam," responded the Judge.

"Well, I 've seen a negro named Jesse following you and your daughter about," said Miss Sophie. "Perhaps you are speaking of Jesse."

"No, no," said the Judge. "I mean Wesley —or, maybe you are only a visitor here. Your face is familiar, but I have forgotten your name."

"I am Francis Underwood's sister," said Miss Sophie, with some degree of pride.

"Ah, yes!" the Judge sighed - "Francis Underwood. He is the gentleman who has had charge of the place these several years. A very clever man, I have no doubt. He has done very well, very well indeed; better than most men would have done. Do you know where he will go next year?"

"Now, I could n't tell you, really," Miss Sophie replied, looking at the Judge through her gold-rimmed eyeglasses. "He did intend to go North this fall, but he's always too busy to carry out his intentions."

Yes," said Judge Bascom; "I have no doubt he is a very busy man. He has managed everything very cleverly here, and I shall wish him well wherever he goes."

Miss Sophie was very glad when she heard her brother's step in the hall; not that she was nervous or easily frightened, but there was something in Judge Bascom's actions, something in the tone of his voice, some suggestion in his words, that gave her uneasiness, and she breathed a sigh of relief when her stalwart brother made his appearance.

Francis Underwood greeted his guest cordially-more cordially, Miss Sophie thought, than circumstances warranted; but the beautiful face of Mildred Bascom was not stamped on Miss Sophie's mind as it was on her brother's.

"I am sorry to put you to any inconvenience," said the Judge, after they had talked for some time on commonplace topics-"very sorry. I have put the matter off until at last I felt it to be a solemn duty I owed my family to come here. Believe me, sir," he continued, turning to the young man with some emotion

"believe me, sir, it grieves me to trouble

you in the matter, but I could no longer postpone coming here. I think I understand and appreciate your attachment—”

"Why, my dear sir," cried Francis Underwood in his heartiest manner, "it is no trouble at all. No one could be more welcome here. I have often wondered why you have never called before. Don't talk about trouble and inconvenience."

"I think I understand and appreciate your attachment for the Place," the Judge went on as though he had not been interrupted, "and it embarrasses me, I assure you, to be compelled to trouble you now."

"Well," said Francis Underwood, with a hospitable laugh, "if it is no trouble to you, it certainly is none to me. As my neighbors around here say, when I call on them, 'Just make yourself at home.'"

Judge Bascom rose from his chair trembling. He seemed suddenly to be laboring under the most intense excitement.

"My home?" he almost shrieked-"make myself at home! In God's name, man, what can you mean? It is my home! It has always been my home! Everything here is mine every foot of land, every tree, every brick and stone and piece of timber in this house. It is all mine, and I will have it! I have come here to assert my rights!"

He panted with passion and excitement as he looked from Francis Underwood to Miss Sophie. He paused, as if daring them to dispute his claims. Miss Sophie, who had a temper of her own, would have given the Judge a piece of her mind, but she saw her brother regarding the old man with a puzzled, pitying expression. Then the truth flashed on her, and for an instant she felt like crying. Francis Underwood approached the Judge and led him gently back to his chair.

"Now that you are at home, Judge Bascom," he said, "you need not worry yourself."

"I tell you it is mine!" the Judge went on, beating the arm of his chair with his clenched fist; "it is mine. It has always been mine, and it will always be mine."

Francis Underwood stood before the old man, active, alert, smiling. His sister said afterwards that she was surprised at the prompt gentleness with which her brother disposed of what promised to be a very disagreeable scene. "Judge Bascom," said the young man, swinging himself around on his boot heels, " as your guest here, allow me to suggest that you ought to show me over the place. I have been told you have some very fine cows here."

Immediately Judge Bascom was himself again. His old air of dignity returned, and he became in a moment the affable host.

"As my guests here," he said, smiling with VOL. XXXVIII.-102.

pleasure, "you and the lady are very welcome. We keep open house at the Bascom Place, and we are glad to have our friends with us. What we have is yours. I suppose," he went on, still smiling, "some of our neighbors have been joking about our cows. We have a good many of them, but they don't amount to much. They have been driven to the pasture by this time, and that is on the creek a mile and a half from here. I wonder where Wesley is! I think he is growing more worthless every year. He ought to be here with my daughter. The carriage was sent for her some time ago."

"I will see if he is in the yard," said Underwood, and his sister followed him through the hall.

"Mercy!" Miss Sophie exclaimed when they were out of hearing; "does the old Judge purpose to swarm and settle down on us?" She had an economical turn of mind. “What in the world is the matter with him?"

"I pity him from the bottom of my heart," said Francis Underwood, "but I am sorrier for his daughter. Everything seems to be blotted out of his mind except the notion that he is the owner of this Place. We must humor him, sister, and we must be tender with the daughter. You know how to do that much better than I do."

Miss Sophie frowned a little. The situation was a new and trying one, but she had been confronted with emergencies before, and her experience and her strong common sense stood her in good stead now. With a woman's promptness she decided on a line of action at once sympathetic and effectual. The buggy was ordered out and young Underwood went for a physician.

Then, when he had returned, Miss Sophie said he must go for the daughter, and she cautioned, with some severity of manner, as to what he should say and how he should deport himself. But at this Francis Underwood rebelled. Ordinarily he was a very agreeable and accommodating young fellow, but when his sister informed him that he must fetch Mildred Bascom to her father, he pulled off his hat and scratched his blonde head in perplexity.

"What could I say, sister?" he protested. "How could I explain the situation? No; it is a woman's work, and you must go. It would be a pretty come-off for me to go after this poor girl and in a fit of awkwardness frighten her to death. It is bad enough as it is. There is no hurry. You shall have the carriage. It would never do for me to go; no one but a woman knows how to be sympathetic in a matter of this kind.

"I never knew before that you were so bashful," said Miss Sophie, regarding him keenly. "It is a recent development."

of France. They went by way of Holland, England, Canada, and the United States, and arrived at New York in 1793. There they found many fugitives from San Domingo, whose reports rendered aid from that quarter very doubtful—although the father finally sailed for the island, but took the fever immediately upon landing and died. Young Saint-Mémin was thus thrown upon his own resources, and for a while boarded with a fellow-countryman who had sought an asylum in America. Struck with the beauty of New York and its harbor and the surrounding scenery, he made a most accurate sketch of it, which was greatly admired, and he was advised to have it engraved and offered to the public. He obtained an introduction to the public library, where by the aid of the encyclopedia he mastered the principles of engraving and made a highly finished copper-plate of his sketch. So successful was this his first effort in that line that he was advised to devote himself to the art of making and engraving portraits. Chrétien, in 1786, had invented an instrument which he denominated the "physionotrace," by which the profile outline of a face could be taken with mathematical precision, both as to figure and dimensions. Saint-Mémin constructed such an instrument for himself and employed it with great success, filling in the outline with crayon, generally black on a pink ground. His portraits were greatly admired for their faithfulness, and became very much in vogue. He executed no less than 818 from 1793 to 1810, visiting for the purpose most of the Atlantic cities from New York to Charleston. For the moderate sum of thirty-three dollars he furnished to each sitter a full-sized portrait of the bust, a copper-plate of the same engraved in miniature (reduced from the portrait by another instrument called a "pantograph"), and twelve proofs.

These miniatures were of medallion size, circular in form and about two inches in diameter, with the face nearly the size of a quarter-dollar. He kept two or three proofs for his own portfolio, and after his return to France in 1814 he made up two complete sets, which after his death (which occurred in 1852) were sent to this country for sale. One of them is in the possession of the Corcoran Art Gallery in Washington; the other was purchased by Mr. Elias Dexter of New York, who photographed the engravings and published them with an introduction containing a memoir of Saint-Mémin and a short biographical sketch of the persons whose portraits are contained in the collection. The memoir is merely a translation of an address before the Academy of Dijon made by M. Guignard after SaintMémin's decease. During the latter portion of

his life, from 1817 to 1852, he was Director of the Museum of Dijon, one of the most valuable depositories of works of art in France.

The original portrait of Chief-Justice Marshall of which the accompanying engraving is a copy is owned by Mr. Thomas Marshall Smith of Baltimore, whose mother was a daughter of the Chief-Justice's eldest son, and the portrait has always remained in the family. It is regarded by them as the very best likeness ever taken of their honored ancestor. Mr. Smith has recently allowed a full-sized photograph of it to be taken by Rice of Washington for the Supreme Court, reserving the copyright. The engraving in THE CENTURY is made from this excellent photograph, and, with the exception of the dozen miniatures struck off by Saint-Mémin, is the only engraving ever made from the portrait.

John Marshall is one of those purely American characters of whom we may well be proud. Born on the 24th of September, 1755, in Fauquier County, Va., a region then comparatively new, he enjoyed few of the educational facilities which existed in the older portions of the State. This was made up, however, in great degree, by one of the happiest and most intellectual of homes. His father, Colonel Thomas Marshall, was an intimate friend and old schoolmate of Washington, and was associated with him in the surveys of the Fairfax estates, which embraced a large portion of northern and north-western Virginia. His mother was Mary Keith, daughter of the Episcopal clergyman of the parish, and educated in the choicest English literature of that day. The home was a constant and regularly organized school. The best English poets and historians were made as familiar as household words, and the mathematical and other sciences were not neglected. Mr. Justice Story, who probably had it from the Chief-Justice himself, relates that at the age of twelve John, who was the eldest of the children, had transcribed the whole of Pope's "Essay on Man" and some of his "Moral Essays," and had committed to memory many of the most interesting passages of that poet. When he had become sufficiently advanced a private tutor was procured to initiate him into the mysteries of classical lore. Rev. James Thompson, an Episcopal clergyman from Scotland, was employed for this duty. At fourteen John was sent to Westmoreland County to attend the school of Rev. Mr. Campbell, where his father and Washington had been students and where he staid for a year. He then returned home and continued his classical studies under Mr. Thompson. His outdoor recreations were hunting and fishing, of which he was exceedingly fond. At eighteen he began the study of law by reading Blackstone's Com