xt7s1r6n0r5v https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7s1r6n0r5v/data/mets.xml Berry, Carrie Williams. 19  books b92-48-26951921 English s.n., : [S.l. : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Hart, Joel Tanner, 1810-1877. Sculptors Kentucky Biography. Joel Tanner Hart  / by Carrie Williams Berry. text Joel Tanner Hart  / by Carrie Williams Berry. 19 2002 true xt7s1r6n0r5v section xt7s1r6n0r5v 


            B   BY


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  "The love of beauty and the dasire for it must be
born in a man the skill to reproduce it he must
makc."-Sch rei ner.

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IN giving an estimate of Hart as an artist,
  I have in general accepted the opinions
of English and of Italian journals, from
which I found clippings and translations
among the papers of the artist. After his
death, these papers, together with his per-
sonal effects, were sent to his niece, Miss
Weaver, to whom I am indebted for their
  Gen. C. M. Clay and Mr. F. W. Houston.
both personal friends of Hart, have given
me facts concerning the struggles and suc-
cess of his life, which struggles and success
have made the name of Joel T. Hart known
to the world.
                              C. W. B.

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area tZ 14,40- r

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             JOEL T. HART.

"Oh, you AmericanR do not know yourown prophets!'
THESE words of an Italian artist cannot
lbe more fittingly applied than to our
knowledge of Joel T. Hart, our American
sculptor. He was a noble man, a sweet
poet, the greatest portrait-sculptor.
  Joel Tanner Hart was born in Clark
county, Kentucky, February 11th, 1810.
He was the son of Josiah and Judith Tan-
ner Hart. His parents at the time of his
birth were very poor, but possessed true
worth, and the spirit that scorned poverty
and heeded not its obstacles. His mother
was a Virginian. She was pious, gentle,
refined, and intelligent beyond her time and
  His father was a man of industry and
integrity. He was one of the early settlers
of Clark county and the first to build a flat
boat for trading in New Orleans.


  Josiah Hart was given eight hundred
acres of land, upon a part of which Win-
chester now stands. This was a part of a
military grant received by the father of the
elder Hart for services rendered in the Rev-
olutionary war. Through the rascality of
an agent, Josiah was so involved that it
became necessary to sell this land to meet
his obligations.
  This brought the Hart family to penury.
  Like many another great man, Joel Hart
gave to his mother the credit of his success
in life.
  The origin of his firmness of purpose
and strength of character may be guessed
from an incident told of his mother. She
inherited from her mother's estate several
slaves. Realizing as few of those about her
did that slavery was an injury to both races,
she refused to own them; and notwithstand-
ing her family's need of money, gave her
negroes their freedom.
  About the humble home of Hart, Dame
Nature did her best to inspire the young


genius with love and adoration.   The
beautiful undulating fields of blue-grass,
stretching away to the very foot of the Cum-
berlands, whose blue-capped peaks might
be seen in the dim distance; a crystal
stream softly murmuring as it meandered
through primeval forests of majestic trees;
the indigenous cane with its beautiful
foliage and graceful outline, quietly and
surely awakened in the soul of young Hart
the love of the beautiful.
  This love grew to be the absorbing
passion of his life.
  He went to school but three months.
His brother Thomas, who had received a
liberal education before the financial mis-
fortunes of the family, was of great help to
the young student.
  Joel T. Hart went to Bourbon County
before he was twenty years old, where he
engaged in making stone fences, building
chimneys, and in doing other work of a


  Alihough he was poor and his occupation
humble, he seems to have had access to the
most urbane society of thAi Blue-grass,
where he made much of the books and cul-
ture about him,
  Although he did the work of an ordinary
workman, he took pride in the fact that it
was done in an extraordinary manner.
  There are still standing ih good condition
in this county, stone fences, chimneys,
tomb-stones, and stone steps made by
Hart about this time.
  There is one chimney of especial interest
which has his name chiseled on many
stones. In most cases, the name was care-
fully placed on the inside, out of sight.
When asked why the name was always hid,
he said, "These engravings are not for the
eye of the present generation."
  How prophetic! Always modest, still he
felt the power within him.
  From Bourbon County he went to Lex-
ington, where he worked for several years


in Pruden's marble yards, dressing and en-
graving tombstones.
  A lady, who boarded at this time in the
same house with Hart, describes him as a
handsome brunette, six feet tall, with black
hair, very fine dark eyes, a sharp nose, and
a dignified and elegant bearing.
  He was social, fond of children, a fine
conversationalist, and an amateur musi-
cian. His music was plaintive and poetic.
Indeed, his sentiments were poetic wheth-
er expressed carelessly in the social circle,
in his soft rythinical verse, or in the cold
colorless marble.
  It was during these years in Lexington
that Hon. Cassius M. Clay became ac-
quainted with and interested in Hart. Gen-
eral Clay, with keen insight and character-
istic independence, recognized the genius
of the young man, and determined to help
him into a position where his talents might
be developed.
  He encouraged Hart to go to Cincinnati,


where he received some instruction in his
chosen profession.
  General Clay gave him his first order,
which was a bust of the General, to be done
when Hart considered himself able to un-
dertake such a piece of art, but for which
five hundred dollars was to be paid down.
  This was the beginning of a friendship
which ended only with the life of the great
artist. They kept up a correspondence for
years, some of which has been published.
  When the bust was completed, it was
exhibited in Philadelphia.  It received
much praiee and admiration; which success,
no doubt, led the way to other orders. He
was soon given upon similar conditions,
orders for a bust of Andrew Jackson and a
life size statue of Henry Clay.
  The careful, painstaking way in which
he studied the expression and various
moods of the Great Commoner, the care-
ful measurement of limb and feature, and
the length of time given to this work show
his regard for detail.



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  From this cast, several statues were made
after he went abroad in 1849. One is now
in the capital at Richmond, Va., one in the
court house in Louisville, Ky., and a bronze
statue in New Orleans, where it was un-
veiled in 1860 with imposing ceremonies.
  This statue was worked into bronze in
Munich under Mueller, who wrote Hart:
"Many of your countrymen who have seen
the statue have expressed themselves as ex-
tremely satisfied. About eight days ago a
person called who said that he had been a
friend of Henry Clay's, and he embraced the
statue and kissed its hand with the greatest
enthusiasm. It was a touching sight. I
have taken the liberty of exhibiting that
work of art for three days to the public.
Many thousands have seen it, and great
praise has been expressed as to the origin-
ality of the composition and life-like truth
of the statue."
  Henry Clay obtained for the artist an ap-
pointment as bearer of important dispatches



to Europe in order to lessen the expense of
this voyage.
  Clay once said of Hart: "He had more
versatility of talent than any one I ever
  Hart spent some time in London where
he continued his study of anatomy; but
went later to Florence, Italy, where he
opened his studio on the Piazza del Indi-
  Here, he spent the remainder of his life
studying, working, writing, conceiving and
executing his masterpiece, The Triumph of
Chastity, or Woman Triumphant.
  This group of an exquisite female figure
and that of a beautiful cupid was purchased
by Tiffany and brought to this country after
the artist's death. Hart valued this, his
best and last work, at twenty thousand
dollars. He refused sixteen thousand dol-
lars for it before it was complete, and
expressed a wish that his own country
might buy it.
  The energy of Kentucky women, coupled



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with the generosity of Mr. Tiffany, made
the purchase of this rare piece of art possi-
ble. It was brought to Lexington as the
property of Fayette county, and placed in
the Court House, where it was unfortunately
destroyed by fire in May of 1897.
  While at work upon his masterpiece, he
more than once allowed his zeal to lead
him to absolute poverty.
  Brought to face this stern reality, he
would for a time suspend operation, look
about him for some portrait-busts or other
work, lay by a little sum, and once more
return to his Galatea.
  He worked at intervals the last eighteen
years of his life upon this group.
  While the group was still in clay, he told
a friend he had spent eleven years, six
months, and six weeks upon it. In reply
to the surprise expressed, he said: " It
takes God eighteen years to make a perfect
woman, and surely I should be allowed as
many to make a perfect type of a perfect


  How well he redeemed this promise!
  Woman Triumphant has been pronounced
by many critics to be the most wonderful
piece of statuary of modern times.
  The London Athenaeum of 1871 declared
it to be the most extraordinary production
of ancient or modern art.
  Hart held that the Venuses of the
ancients represented only the physical
woman, and in a private letter expressed
the opinion that the old artists made the
female head too small.
  His aim was to reproduce the impress of
the soul on the face of a noble, intelligent
  The much-told story that his early sweet-
heart was carried in his mind as his model
all these years is without foundation.
  He told a friend that he had used in part
more than one hundred and fifty girls and
women in modeling his ideal woman.
  In the following stanzas, Hart expresses
the thought embodied in the marble;




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Hail holiest vision lent to earth,
  As warm as thrice of pulse abeat
With youth's love of heavenly birth,
  As angel bright, as seraph sweet.
And beautiful from inward glow,
  In majesty she stood, and fair
As morning light on virgin snow,
  With purity and truth-and bare.
It were a dream no longer now,
  A fabled goddess of the wood,
But woman of the thoughtful brow,
  With light, and truth, and love imbued.
The winged boy with slackened bow
  On tiptoe reached-his arrow sped,
Pleading to one who answered, "No"
  In kind rebuke high o'er his head.
His empty quiver fell beside
  The arrows broken, harmless round.
And Beauty all his arts defied,
  With Virtue's spell securely bound.



A triumph-not to hurt the child-
  But teach him that the thrilling dart
Sped but to wound, if Love defiled,
  Which, when exalted, wins the heart.
And that henceforward Love's control
  O'er Beauty should be as his power
To bless, appealing to the soul
  To sooth her in her trying hour.
And I would give that vision form,
  And symbolize for Love a throne;
Would strive to animate and warm,
And dare to bid it live in stone.
  His genius was soon discovered in Italy,
the home of great artists, and he became
acquainted, even intimate, with many ce-
  He was a personal friend of Albano.
Powers, Rheinhart,  Elizabeth   Barrett
Browning and others.
  He admired Mrs. Browning very much,
and once said in answer to the question if
he knew her: "Yes; I knew her well,
and all the greatness one sees written in

her books falls short of the reality of her
heart.  She was a woman of whom one
would saythrough tears, "Thank God, she
has entered her true life with the angels."
  Hart invented an ingenious machine by
means of which statuary may be made with
wonderful exactness an(I rapidity. This was
patented in England and was miuch praised
by the London Illustrated News and other
English journals of that time. It was, how-
ever, received with little favor in Italy, be-
cause it deprived of work a class of sculp-
tors who did rough work in preparing the
marble for the hand of the master.
  The first bust upon which Hart used this
machine was that of Colonel J. W. Grigsby,
a faultless piece of work, now in the Corco-
ran Gallery at Washington.
  Mrs. Grigsby, who was a granddaughter
of Governor Shelby, met Hart in Florence
in great financial distress.  She advanced
him a loan of three thousand dollars that
he might resume work upon Woman Tri-



umphant. This loan was paid in part by
the bust of Colonel Grigsby.
  Love of his native soil, his early friends,
and his family were prominent throughout
his whole life.
  In 1860, he visited America for the last
time. He carved stone in Italy for the
graves of his parents, brought them home,
and saw them placed over the ashes so dear
to him.   It must have been during this
visit that the artist received the order and
took measurements for a bust of Alexander
Campbell, which was unveiled in 1874, and
is now the property of Bethany College.
  While in America, he was given a ban-
quet at Ashland which was attended by
the greatest Kentuckians then living, and
was only equaled in enthusiasm by similar
occasions given in honor of the Sage of
Ashland himself.
  About this time he wrote:
    "Kentucky, my proud native State,
    Home of the fair, the free, the great,


     I love thee, old Kentucky.
     Whate'er thy fortune or thy fate,
     I honor thee, Kentucky."
  William Cullen Bryant, when in Florence,
met and became much interested in the
poor artist whose poetic genius pleased
  Hart was invited to be present at a ban-
quet given to Bryant, upon which occasion
he read the following little poem:
Thrice welcome to these shores, great bard
      who sang
The song of "God's First Temples."
Where winding Arno weaves a plaintive
  Of silver sheen with mountain shadows
Where Genius hollowed old Etrurias vale;
  Where Machiavelli rose to dark renown,
And Galileo won a starry crown;
  Where, in the gorgeous temples, Raphael


His inspirations; where stern turrets frown,
  And Buonarotti wrought and Dante sung,
Shall I be mute where every stone hath
      found a tongue.
Shall I be mute while here my country's
  Her youth, her beauty and her manhood
This treasure-home; its portals open wide
  Where I and some proud names have
      toiled so long;
And see my country's Sire of Song
  Crowned with his snowy splendors
  The attention and honors paid to the
poet-artist did not effect his simple mod-
esty. An incident told by General Clay
illustrates his dignity of character and his
contempt for shams.
  He was invited by the United States Min-
ister to join him and a party of noblemen
to visit the leaning tower of Pisa.
  Various conjectures were made concern-
ing it, when Hart expressed some opinion



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saying, by way of preface, that he had
observed such a principle when building
chimneys in Kentucky.
  The shocked look of the fastidious aristo-
crats was lost upon Hart, who placed man-
hood and honest work above all titles.
  Some other products of his chisel are a
copy of the Venus de Medici and the
Morning-glory, a little girl whose scant
frock is filled with the dainty flower from
which the piece receives its name.
  These, with his own bust by Saul, his
pupil, are in the art room of the Louisville
Polytechnic Library.
  II Penseroso, an ideal female head, is in
Lexington, the property of Mrs. Henry Dun-
can, Sr.
  The beautiful hand resting upon a glove
was owned by his friend, the late John S.
Wilson, of Peewee Valley, Kentucky.
  Of this last piece there has been pub-
lished a blood-curdling story concerning the
hand used as a model, all of which seems
due to some active imagination. The truth


is, Hart enjoyed studying the human hand,
and often asked the privilege of modeling a
beautiful one in plaster. Some American
women, whose heads have been whitened
by the frosts of many winters, have smiled
complacently as they recalled this compli-
ment paid them by the great artist in his
  While Hart was living in Lexington, he
fell in love with Mary Smithers, a beautiful
and accomplished young woman. She re-
turned his affection, but after several years
the engagement was broken on account of
the young man's poverty.
  She afterward married a Mr. Kilpatrick,
and became the mother of a large family.
  It is said that Hart advised this mar-
riage, as he knew her life with him would
necessarily be one of privation and hard-
ship; and he knew that Mr. Kilpatrick
could give her the position she was so well
fitted to grace.
  She was married a second time to Mr. J.
R. Smith, of Alabama.



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  She received many letters and some
beautiful poems from Hart, which she al-
ways treasured.
  One is an acrostic, spelling the whole
name, Mary Smithers; another Mary's Pic-
ture; and still another given below, which
seems to be proof of this romantic love

Adieu, dear Mary, once adieu.
  My destined hour to part has come,
From those I love, my favorite few,
  My country and my home.
As Fortune's cold and stern decree
  Forbids me bow at Virtue's shrine,
So were this bosom worthy thee,
  I dare not call thee mine,
Be then some gallant breast thy guide
  Which all the Virtues may approve,
For thine are worth such hero's pride,
  And worthy of his love.


A nobler offering this will be
  Than one whose fate it is to roam,
Whose dwelling lies beyond the sea,
  Perhaps the waves his home.
Yet Mary, will thou breathe a prayer,
  And often greet my tender lay,
That we may see each other there,
  When I am far away.
I'll think of thee, tho' mountains rise,
  And oceans wild between us roll;
I'll steal thine image from the skies,
  And stamp it on my soul.
While hope shall light me o'er the main,
  Where'er I roam, whate'er pursue,
And fondly whisper-meet again-
  Once more, sweet maid, adieu.
  Always true to her, and considering his
art first, he never married.
  The late Mr. John S. Wilson, perhaps the
most intimate friend of the great artist,
received a letter from him bearing date of
November 6, 1875. Among other matter,


more or less private, it contained this
  "The group, my life work, is finished, and
beautifully cast in plaster-of-Daris.  I put
the Cupid at his place to-day, reaching up
for the last stolen arrow that the Purity
(shall I call her) holds up out of his reach,
for which he is tiptoeing. The same mail
will take this news to our friends, H. C.
Pindell and Jouett Menifee, to whom I
have for the same reason delayed writing as
I have to yourself. I shall duplicate it to
provide against accidents to one alone, and
as soon as it is dry enough, commence it in
marble, for which I have a fine block
roughed out. This, I trust, will set me
square with the world and bury me decently.
My instrument will copy it exactly and ad
infinitum, and make money for others when
I am gone."
  Unfortunately, Woman Triumphant was
never copied by his instrument. After this
work of art was burned with the Lexington



Court House, it was found to be impossible
to reproduce it, since the cast also hbad been
destroyed.  A  handsomer building has
Pbcenix-like sprung from the ashes of the
old one, but this statue, representing the
life work of a great artist was irretrievably
  How sad that he should put down the
chisel for the last time March 2d., 1877,
just as his great work was finished, and
just as he might have experienced the quiet
calm of competence to which he was a
  His illness was short; and his friends in
America knew nothing of it, until his spirit
had gone back to his Maker, as surely as a
just spirit ever returned to the God who
gave it.
  He was great in thought, noble in act,
foresighted as a prophet, simple as a child.
  He was buried in the English cemetery
at Florence by the side of Mrs. Browning
and Hiram Powers, where his much loved
Arno sang a requiem for the great dead.



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   The legislature of Kentucky appropiated
twelve hundred dollars for the purpose of
bringing his remains home to mingle with
the soil of his native state.
  Accordingly, Judge Charles E. Kincaid
was commissioned to go abroad and to se-
cure for the proud mother-state the remains
of a son who had so honored her, a son
whose last wishes were whispered into other
ears-not into the indifferent ears of stran-
gers, for the Italians had learned to love
him as their own.
  They were pleased and touched that Ken-
tucky should, in death, claim him who had
in life so loved her.
  After unavoidable delays, Judge Kincaid
returned to Frankfort with the body of the
great man, where it was reinterred with ap-
propiate ceremonies June 18, 1887.
  Mr. Robert Burns Wilson. Kentucky's
living poet-artist, and Hon. W. M. Beck-
ner. a representative of Hart's native county;
delivered memorial addresses.



  The late poetess of Kentucky, Rosa Vert-
ner Jeffrey, wrote a beautiful poem for the
  The Governor, the members of the Legis-
lature, Judges of the Court of Appeals and
other dignitaries attended.
  Three of his old friends, Mr. John S. Wi2-
son, Mr. F. W. Houston, and Hon. C. M.
Clay were among the honorary pall-bearers.
  Cards were sent to the relatives and inti
mate friends of the dead artist, and a gen-
eral invitation to the people of Kentucky, in
answer to which there was such a concourse
of people as Frankfort has not often seen.
  The legislature made an appropiation
with which there was erected over his re-
mains such a shaft as this modest man
would approve.


           TWO LITTLE TREES.
(To my niece, Diana Weaver-only daughter
              of my sister.)
When Spring returned to mate the dove
  One morn, and wak'd the birds and bees,
Sister and I, with children's love
  And play, set out two little trees.
Winter-abashed in tawny white
  And tattered, slid into the rills,
While Flora scattered daisies bright,
  And violets, and daffodils.
The chirp, the tap, the pheasant's drum
  Awoke the sleeping woods, and sweet
The breath of morn, the stir, the hum
  Of tiny wing, and busy feet.
The South's first herald, thistle down,
  Came gaily sailing on the breeze;
The ants began their little town,
  And moles plough'd round our tiny trees.
We built our play-house when the thrush
  And jay made nests in tangled vine,
Of bark, and moss, 'mid fern and brush,
  And named our nurslings, "Mine and
      thine. "


Our joyous hearts, each little one
  Protected, while through glen and grove
We ran, as laughing brooklets run,
  Thrice blessed with these and Mother's
We drank to them from goblet shells,
  Of crystal founts, and called it wine;
Of acorn hulls made cups and cells,
  And deemed, with these, our feast divine.
The dolls she made, my mimic men
  In little boats along would row;
Our bare feet wading, printed then
  The drifted sand or melted snow.
She bad no little shoes, nor I,
  But aided by our mother-wit,
I made us sandals bye and bye,
  And she, our little stockings, knit.
Our snow-sieve hut, with fire would glow
  At night, like lantern on a hill,
Where stars peeped in, and chaimed us so,
  We felt their glory, not the chill.
The minstrel Brooks but ceased their songs
  To frame a thousand crystal lyres,

And cities, with mosaic throngs,
  Of marble made their domes and spires.
Beyond the winter solstice now,
  Sun, Moon, and Stars, from zone to zone
Rode on, and changed, we knew not how,
  But only that they glorious shone.
So charm'd with varied Nature's smile,
  Her simple garb, and joyous tongue,
We scarcely knew their names the while
  Her mighty poets wrought and sung.
The stars were angel's eyes, we deemed
  The gold and purple clouds their wings;
The Moon their queen; while Mountains
  To bound the Earth, and were its Kings.
We watched the tempest in its wrath,
  And wondering sighed, while thunder
For trees and flowers torn in its path,
  And feared we had offended God.
Our shadows to out run would try,
And o'er the brimming rill to bound;


Through glittering hail, or shower would fly
  To catch the rainbow on the ground.
We longed to track the gorgeous sun
  Gilding the mountain spires at even;
Deemed we would grow to climb the one
  Beyond, and that it reached to Heaven.
Now as the dark stole down the hill,
  I whistled to dispel the dread;
Or startled by the whippoorwill,
  We feared it saw some ghost ahead.
While danger lured in wild cascade,
  And foot-prints wild along the shore,
The owl, through his vast realms of shade,
  Set all the dreamy woods aroar.
The great dog, first to greet at mom
  Caressing, bounded with delight;
Strayed, as the twilight dew was born,
  To guard us home, then watch all night.
Though wandering, truant, through the dells
  Gave Mother anxious pain the while;
Our wildwood ventures, tales, and shells,
  Oft won her half approving smile.

The sunshine playing with the shade,
  The moss-grown rocks, the dimpled pools;
Our pictures, seats, and mirrors made;
  The wildwoods vast and free, our schools.
Where simple voices lone and deep,
  Awoke our childhood's first young dream,
That lifelike cloud, or star, or steep,
  Was shadowed in the winding stream.
'Mid Nature's fair luxuriance round,
  We ne'er had dreamed that we were poor;
With touch, taste, scent, and sight, and
  Were happy, for we knew no more.

But when soft zephyrs ope'd the flowers,
  And far around their odors shed;
And birds for joy sang through the bowers,
  We wept our little trees as dead.

No where their parent boughs in bloom,
  Gave promise of a little pear,
'Mid budding life, and sweet perfume,
  Our little trees alone were bare.



We stole to see them one soft morn,
  As oft before in silent grief,
When two sweet buds on hers were born,
  And mine had ope'd one little leaf.
We now were happy like the doves
  Again, and busy as the bees,
And promised fruit to all our Loves,
  And to our best, some little trees.
They grew up gently, side by side,
  Like us, their guardians, 'till withdrawn,
When hers got wounded, and it died,
  While mine still lives and blossoms on.
And she hath fled to yonder sky
  And Tree of Life beside the Throne
To pluck immortal fruit, while I
  Am left to journey on alonel


        FLORENCE, ITALY, Aug. 7,1859.
My Dear Dian:
  I was very glad to receive a letter from
you, some months ago, in which you in-
quire if the cast I took from your mother's
head was lost at sea with my other things.
I regret to tell you it went down with my
original bust of General Jackson, statue of
Henry Clay, and all my likenesses, except
the daguerreotypes of Mr. Clay.
  The cast was so unlike your animated
mother in her health that it would convey
a very bad and erroneous impression upon
her children. I could not possibly have
made a good likeness of her from it.
  You speak of your father's intention of
moving to Texas next fall, and of his mov-
ing the remains of his family to the Winches-
ter cemetery.  I had hoped that he would
select the old burying ground, where her
ancestors all sleep, for your mother's re-
mains, and still hope he may.
  I shall erect a suitable monument at my
father's and mother's grave there. Ten


months ago I wrote to your uncle, Thomas
Hart, to purchase for me of Ramsey the
grave yard. He never answered my letter.
  I now have the money lying in bank to
buy it, or the whole twenty-seven acres
that belonged to my mother, provided I
cannot secure the burial ground alone.
  Please ask your father to read this letter,
and to see if he can buy one-fourtb or one-
half acre containing the grave-yard; or to
get John B. Houston to try to purchase
it. I will pay the lawyer's fee, and the
money for the land, immediately through
the Lexington Branch or Northern Bank.
  The boys, Joel T, and Robert, never an-
swered my letters to them. This disap-
pointed me, as I suppose they can both
  My age and being their uncle would
merit some notice from them, to say noth-
ing of the value of my time and the posi-
tion I have gained among men.
  You are a good Weaver, I am sure, and
I trust you may continue to weave your


daily threads through the woof of life so
that it may do honor alike to yourself and
to your dear departed mother.
  My love to all. Write to me.
        Your affectionate uncle,
                       JOEL T. HART.
Miss Dian Weaver.

      FLORENCE, ITALY, Nov. 12, 1863.
Dear Dian:
  Not knowing your address, I enclose
through Uncle Thomas Hart a poem which
I composed in memory of your mother.
  It is as true a picture of our childhood
life, as I could give in verse. You being
her only daughter, I enclose it to you. It
may otherwise be lost.
  I expect to publish my poems, should I
live-but all such things are uncertain.
  I wrote a long letter in reply to one re-
ceived from you long ago, but have had no
response since.
  I hope you and all that survive are well,


and pray that you may be protected through
this terrible ordeal that is distressing our
unhappy country.
  Not knowing that this will reach you, I
write no more.
  With my love to all,
              Your affectionate uncle,
                        JozL T. HART.
  P. 8.-The little trees alluded to were
planted, one by your mother and one by
me, in the early spring of 1820, in the gar-
den at my grandmotherTanner's old home-
stead, which fell by allotment to my mother.
  They were pear scions. The one planted
by your mother was killed many years ago
by the burning of an out-house. The other,
planted by me, still lives, or did live, three
years ago, near the old family burying-
ground, where my grandfather and grand-
mother, and my own father and mother
sleep.                       J. T. H.
Miss Dian Weaver.



       FLORENCE, ITALY, Nov. 14, 1858.
Dear Amanda:
  I should have answered your most wel-
come letter long ago, had circumstances
furnished anything of interest which I might
have written.
  You, perhaps, have had no acquaintance
in this city for years, hence I can scarcely
interest you, except in what I say of my-
self; whereas I have many relations and
acquaintances around you, of whom I
should like to hear, and especially would I
like to hear of you, your father, and all the
  The death of your brother John, just as
he was verging on manhood, was sad; but
such is the order of Providence, and we
should submit with becoming resignation.
  I see a great many American and English
people who visit my studio, frequently a
half-dozen in a day.
  We have very cultured society in Flor-
ence. It is a considerable city-one hun-
dred thousand population.


  I had an interesting sojourn in England,
where I remained fifteen months.
  About four months ago, I finished the
model of a colossal statue of Henry Clay for
New Orleans. It is twelve and one-half
feet high. I have sent it to Munich to be
cast in bronze.
  In about four months, my marble statue
of Mr. Clay will be finished for Virginia.
  Perhaps, I will return to the United States
next summer or fall. One year from next
January, I am