mettle, and he rode forward to give some energetic advice
to the jockey, but just then he saw that the Vice-President was
ambling along at his side on an easy-going nag. "Mr. Van Buren,"
he exclaimed, "get behind me, sir! They will run over you, sir!"
and the Little Magician, with his characteristic diplomacy, which
never gave offense, gracefully retired to the rear of his chief,
which, Mr. Peyton used to say, was his place.

President Jackson used to visit his stable every morning, until he
became feeble, and he paid especial attention to the manner in
which his horses were shod. He never, after he became President,
played cards or billiards, nor did he read anything except the
_Daily Globe_ and his private correspondence. When he received a
letter that he desired one of his Cabinet to read, he would indorse
on the back "_Sec. of_ ----, A. J." He used to smoke a great deal,
using either a new clay pipe with a long stem, or a pipe made from
a piece of corn-cob, with a reed stem.

Cock-fighting had been one of General Jackson's favorite home
amusements, and he had become the possessor of a breed of fowl that
was invincible in Tennessee. He had some of these pugnacious birds
brought to Washington, and one spring morning he rode out toward
Bladensburg, with a select party of friends, to see "a main" fought
between the Hermitage and the Annapolis cocks. The birds were not
only trained to fight, but were equipped for their bloody work.
Their heads and necks were plucked, their tail feathers were closely
trimmed, and their natural spurs were cut off and replaced by
"gaffs," or sharp blades of finely tempered steel. Each bird had
his trainer, ready to administer stimulants and to sponge the blood
from the wounds inflicted by the gaffs. General Jackson was very
confident that his favorites would again be victorious, but there
was no fight, to the great disappointment of all present, who
doubtless possessed what has been called "the devil's nerve," which
thrills with base enjoyment in the visible pain of man, beast, or
bird. The long confinement in coops on the stages, or some other
unknown cause, appeared to have deprived the Hermitage birds of
their wonted pluck, and the Annapolis cocks crowed in triumph.

There was a grand wedding at Arlington in Jackson's time, when
Lieutenant Robert Edward Lee, fresh from West Point, came up from
Fortress Monroe to marry the heiress of the estate, Mary Custis.
Old Mr. Custis w