the Jackson party hovered near her at all
times, apparently to save her from saying or doing anything which
might do discredit to their idol. With all her disadvantages in
externals, I know she was really beloved. She was a truly good woman,
the very soul of benevolence and kindness, and one almost overlooked
her deficiencies in the knowledge of her intrinsic worth and her real
goodness of heart. With a different husband, and under different
circumstances, she might have appeared to greater advantage, but there
could not be a more striking contrast than was manifest in this
dignified, grand-looking man and this plain, common-looking little
woman. And the strangest of it all was, the General did not seem at
all aware of it. She was his ideal of every thing that was good, and
loving, and true, and, utterly unconscious of any external
deficiencies, he yielded her the entire homage of his own brave, loyal
heart. My father visited them more than once at the Hermitage. It was
customary for the officers of the army to do this, as a mark of
respect to the General, and they frequently remained at their
hospitable mansion several days at a time. The latch-string was always
out, and all who visited them were made welcome, and felt themselves
at home.

An anecdote which my father told us, characteristic of Mrs. Jackson,
impressed my young mind very forcibly. After the evening meal at the
Hermitage, as he and some other officers were seated with the worthy
couple by their ample fireplace, Mrs. Jackson, as was her favorite
custom, lighted her pipe, and having taken a whiff or two, handed it
to my father, saying, "Honey, won't you take a smoke?"

The enthusiasm of the people of Nashville for their favorite has been
descanted upon, years ago. I remember well the extravagant
demonstrations of it, especially after the result of the election was
known. I walked the streets with my father the night of the
illuminations and saw but two houses not lighted up, and these were
both mobbed. One was the mansion of Judge McNairy, who was once a
friend of Jackson, but for some reason became opposed to him, and at
that time was one of the very few Whigs in Nashville. On that
triumphant night the band played the hymn familiar to all, beginning:
"Blow ye the trumpet blow," and ending: "The year of Jubilee is come,
return ye ransomed people home." This certainly looked like deifying
the man they delighted to honor, and I remember it seemed very wick