they wheeled into line in perfect alignment, broke into double quick as one, and went charging down the hall toward the spectators amid a burst of applause. That settled the day and the Third Company retained the honor of being the color company. One thing that likely intensified this military spirit among us was the fact that just at this time there was on exhibition at Cleveland, a panorama of the Battle of Lookout Mountain. It was a splendid picture, aroused much enthusiasm, and the proceeds--in part at least--went to pay for the completion of the soldier’s monument at Dayton. A select squad from the Brooks School Battalion gave an exhibition drill in front of the picture to help the entertainment. Shortly after this competitive drill, my father told me he had given permission to Mr. Willard to use me as a model for the drummer boy in his picture. I recall a feeling of resentment on my part for that meant giving up afternoon play, a thing not to be contemplated with a feeling of joy by any boy. However, paternal edicts generally prevail, and a beginning was made by going down to Mr. Ryder’s gallery and posing for a number of photos. This was followed by a number of visits to Willard’s studio where hours were passed in rather a trying way for a boy. Willard was very kind and thoughtful. He entertained me with stories of the war, told me what was in his mind for the creation of this picture, and often would let me rest and walk in front of the picture to see what he had done. I can recall the enthusiasm of the man. He worked as if possessed of an idea that pleased him, but which he might lose. With watching him work and the picture develop, I too soon became enthusiastic. I forgot that it was tiresome to stand on one leg, and that bent, the other advanced, and the foot resting on an inverted box, with the head twisted to one side and the eyes raised and arms outstretched, although it was really very exacting of one’s temper and strength. However, things progressed rapidly, and by the thirtieth of March the picture was about finished, and I took my mother, at Willard’s request to see it. I am sure she experienced the feeling that thousands of our mothers have when they have seen their beloved son marching off to war. And then the momentous day came when it was rolled up and sent to the Centennial. That fall I went to the Centennial with my parents. We spent about two weeks there. Almost every day I went into the Art Gallery to stand before “The Spirit of ’76.” Each time I felt something aroused in me that did not diminish by the frequent visits. It also was curious to mark the effect on others. Always there was a crowd in front of the picture and many if not most of the people had perceptible tears rise to their eyes as they stood and gazed. Many actually cried, yet came again and again to look with reverence on that canvas that pulsed so much of American spirit.