Issue

“It’s a picture of your father’s mother’s mother’s mother,” was my mother’s explanation when at twelve I asked about the faded daguerreotype in the breakfront. But she would not say any more

The Polish poet stayed twelve days and saw it all—the great gardens, pretty Nellie Custis, the distillery, the toy Bastille, the wretched slave huts, the great man himself denouncing the irritating French

In a strange message to the intriguing General Wilkinson, the soldier-explorer seemed to predict his own geographical befuddlement and his capture by the Spanish.