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Gilbert Stuart painted me at sixty-four, two years before my death. He never finished the portrait; he kept the original and sold copies to subscribers. He said the unfinished version was worth more to him than any finished one, because he could keep reproducing it. I found this characteristically American — entrepreneurial and slightly dishonest at once.

I sat for painters many times. I sat for Houdon, for Peale, for Stuart. Each time I was asked to look commanding, serene, the father of a nation. I tried to oblige. What I was thinking, most of the time, was that I wanted to be at Mount Vernon. I had always wanted to go home. It took me nearly forty years.