John Randolph, her father’s political foe, said of Martha Jefferson: “She is the sweetest creature in Virginia,” and we all know that John Randolph believed that nothing “sweet” or even endurable existed outside of Virginia. In adversity and sorrow, in poverty and trial, in age as in youth, the steadfast sweetness of character, and elevation of nature, which made Martha Jefferson remarkable in prosperity, shone forth with transcendent lustre when all external accessories had fled. The daughter of a man called a free-thinker, she all her life was sweetly, simply, devoutly religious. In her letters to her daughter, “Septimia,” she draws us nearer to her tender soul in its heavenly love and charity. This daughter, to his latest breath, was to Jefferson, the soul of his soul. After his retirement she not only entertained his guests, and ministered to his personal comforts, but shared intellectually all his thoughts and studies. Six months before her death, Sully painted her portrait. Her daughter says: “I accompanied her to Mr. Sully’s studio, and, as she took her seat before him, she said playfully: ‘Mr. Sully, I shall never forgive you if you paint me with wrinkles.’ “I quickly interrupted, ‘Paint her just as she is, Mr. Sully, the picture is for me.’ “He said, ‘I shall paint you, Mrs. Randolph, as I remember you twenty years ago.’ “The picture does represent her younger—but failed to restore the expression of health and cheerful, ever-joyous vivacity which her countenance then habitually wore. My mother’s face owed its greatest charm to its expressiveness, beaming, as it ever was, with kindness, good humor, gayety and wit. She was tall and very graceful; her complexion naturally fair, her hair of a dark chestnut color, very long and very abundant. Her manners were uncommonly attractive from their vivacity, amiability and high breeding, and her conversation was charming.” CHAPTER XXI. WIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS—LIFE AT THE WHITE HOUSE.