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PAGES I RO Pl ffl SCRAP ‘BOOK I WHERE ANDREW JACKSON LIVED. By Elizabeth Davis Fielder. A dozen miles from Nashville, in the midst of the most beautiful rural scenery in the State cf Tennessee, is the Hermitage, so long the home of General Andrew Jackson. We were happy in having an ideal day for our drive to this historic spot —an ideal autumn day, with a light haze across the sky, through which the sunshine sifted, and a floating silver mist over the distant landscape. In the fields close by the roadside were far-reach ing acres of ripened corn, with yel low pumpkins lying like balls of dull gold among the dried weeds and corn blades. Along the low stone fence ran riotously a tangle of vines, drop ping here and there a cluster of scar let harries, while beyond the wall tall, feathery heads of dried weeds and grasses made soft, rustling music in the wind. The principal "difference between the Hermitage and other houses which we pass on the way is the portico, with tall, fluted columns, which gives grace and dignity to the place. As we halt before the wide Colonial doorway an old gray-haired negro comes out to meet us. It is “Uncle Alfred,” the last surviving member of General Jackson’s retinue of ser vants. When the house and grounds passed into the hands of the Ladies’ Hermitage Association it seemed a very fitting thing that Uncle Alfred should “go with the place.” He lives in a little log cabin back of “the big house,” which has been his home for almost half a century, and it is his duty and delight to show visitors over the place, and discourse in his own peculiar way about “Miss Rach el” and “de Gen’l.” We follow him through the hall, the walls of which are still hung with odd-looking paper selected by General Jackson himself; through the parlors and dining-room, in which some of the original furnishings are still preserved; into the General’s bedroom, which remains intact, with its arm-chair and four-poster bed; then to the library, with its many paned windows looking out on the lawn and admitting the yellow au tumn sunshine to the farthest corner of the room. Through a side entrance we pass to the garden, down the walks bordered with old-fashioned roses, and we find ourselves at the tomb. “It’s right ovah yondah,” Uncle Alfred said, resting one hand on the iron railing and pointing across the garden fence toward a clump of trees down in the meadovy. “Dcwn dar is de log house whar Miss Rachel an* de Gen’l fus’ went ter honsekeepin’. I’se bawn down dar ninety five years agn. Mistis — a long long time dat— en es dai’s enny sign in er pusson’s feelin’s, I ain’t or gwine to be heah bery much longei. I’se had de rheu matiz mighty bad already, ea winter ain’t sot in yit . . ' i “Yessum,” Uncle Alfred resumed, recalling his waadermg atteatien, “my mammy wuz Miss Rachel’s own maid, en de fus’ thing 1 ebber done wuz ter hoi’ de Gen’l’s boss. 1 ’members when de new house wuz built. De Gen’l wanted it right dar, whar you see dat open space ’foie you gits ter de house, but Miss Rachel say no, she want it dar, en de Gen’l say, ‘Berry well, my deah, whar eb ber you say, kaze you got ter stay in it mo’ en enybody else.’ So dar dey built it. Miss Rachel nad dis gyarden. laid out herse’f. 1 dun de wuk, en Miss Rachel stood by en tol, me how ter do it. 1 planted dem rose-bushes, en she held ’em wid her own hands while 1 put de dirt erroun’ ’em. Yes sum, you kin had cne er de roses. Co’se, co’se I’ll cut it es you likes. Dey don’t b’ar so many blossoms ez dey use ter when Miss Rachel tended ’em, an’ ebbiy yeah 1 wonders es ole Alfred’ll be heah ter tend ’em next yeah. Yessum, 1 ’members when Miss Rachel died. She was tucK mighty sudden-like, en mos’ ’fore en nybody know she sick she wuz dead. I ’members when we cyared her out head in de gyarden ter berry her. De baggage-wagon en de trabbelin-’ kerrige wuz er stan’in right dar ’fore de house, kaze de Gen’l wuz gittin’ redy to go ter Wash’n’tun to git his ’naugeration. He stood right dar while we wuz er kiverin’ her up, en den he walk ovah yondah ’long er de gyarden fence en broke some sprouts oif’n er willer-tree. He fotch ’em back en plant ’em at dem four corn el's, en when he come back ag’in dey all four growin’. No, dey ain’t dar now, kaze de folks dat come heah af ter de Gen’l wuz berried dene broke ’em up so bad they die, en we could n’t nebber git no mo’ ter grow. “Did I ebber see de Gen’l angry?” and a broad grin spread over his wrinkled, grizzled visage. “Yessum; but I didn't nebber see him git mad at me. Gen’l Jackson nevah got mad at his serbants ner his family. He wuz good ter us, and nebber bodder hisss’f much ’bout what we done. Miss Rachel she keep us at wmk. De only folks I /sbber see Gen’l Jackson mad at wuz dem perlitercal gen’le men what come out head en git ter argyfyin’ wid him. Mad! Well, you ought ter see him fer yerse’f. When he say, ‘By the Eternal!’ he jes be ginnin’ ter git mad. De har rize up on his head like bristks, en dem eyes er his’n —well, I alters rudder b° sum mers else when de Gen’l’d happen ter get real good en mad. Does I ’mem ber when de Gen’l died? Yessum. Seems like dat’s ’bout de las’ thing I does ’member. Mos’ ebberything sence seems like er dream. Us nig gers wuz in de room, en somebody say, ‘Turn ’em out; deys too many, en dey ain’t got no bizness in heah.’ De Gen’l heah ’em, er. he say, ‘No; dey stay by me while I lib, let ’em stay while I die.’ Toward de las’ he wanter be hope up, en I got down on de baid en put my abms erroun’ him en nelt him dar tel he gone.” Old Aunt Hannah, a house servant at the Hermitage, who has long since gone to her reward, delighted to tell •f the advaat es the heir inte the WATSON'S WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN Hermitage home. A few miles away lived Mr. Severn Donelson, the brother of Mrs. Jackson, and one morning as the General and his wife sat down in state to their lonely breakfast in the great dining-room, Hannah appeared with a grin of de light on her face, and announced that there was a new pair of twins over at Mars Severn’s. Mrs. Jackson looked meaningly at the General, and said, “What will they do with two babies?” “I don’t know, my dear.” he an swered. “Suppose I have Alfred sad dle the herses, and we wi l ! gc over and see.” Then he added, as if he understood what was passing in her mind, “You might taka Hannah along, so if there is a baby to spare she can bring it back.” It was a cold day, but the Gener al and Mrs. Jackson rode over to see the twin boys, while Hannah “walked through.” Mrs. Jackson must have succeeded in persuading her brother that there was “a baby to spare,” for when they started home Hannah carried a great bundle of shawls and blankets, in which reposed Andrew Jackson, Jr. To her dying day Hannah showed a stump in the woods where she put the baby down a moment to rest. Another epoch in this household was the arrival of the son and his bride. Much curiosity and uncer tainty was felt by the servants and the simple country folk in the neigh borhood concerning the “Northern lady” who was coming to be mistress of the old place. General Jackson never excluded himself from the simple farmer folk who had been his neighbors for so long. They had free access to his home, and always found a hearty welcome. He was able to appreciate the value of their ster ling virtues and strong common sense, so he was anxious that the new daughter-in-law should be well re ceived by them. The daughter also entered fully into this desire, and when the neighbors dropped in for an informal visit she exerted herself as much to please them as she ever did the most honored guest at the White House. The situation was not without embarrassment for the guests themselves, and to show that they were entirely at ease in her presence one might frequently see a guest sit ting in an easy attitude, with face to the back of the chair, and bis cow hide shoes or boots disposed at wide angles on either side. At the entrance to the lawn leading off from the main road to the Her mitage stands the little Presbyterian church of which General Jackson was a member. His pew is still known by the name-plate, but unfortunate ly the chuich has been remodeled un til little remains to show what it was like in the days when General Jackson sat patiently in that pew and listened to tue “Fifthly, my dear brethren,” with an interest which Bhaiued the professedly mure pious of the congregation. General Jackson’s private letters to his w'ife show that he hud always an unfaltering faith in an overruling Providence, and the profoundest re spect for the religion which she pro fessed. After her death, one com munion Sunday he drove to the lit tle church, and in fulfillment of a premise made to her united with the church. It was not a mere form, done in fulfillment of a promise, for he w-as profoundly moved. On re turning home, he led his daughter-in law to his room, talked with her ten derly of what w r as passing in his owm heart, and then kneeling down prayed humbly and impressively. Whatever the public may have thought of the life and character of General Jackson, those who were nearest to him were conscious of an underlying tenderness in his nature. The outer world only touched the rough shell in which he encased him self to meet it; but on the other side was the kind master, the devoted hus band, the tender father and the loy al friend. His was a nature not to be prejudiced by the opinions of society, and to a marked degree he possessed a charitable tolerance of the) failings of others, whether they were friend or foe. Those who come in constant con tact with the world, and especially those who stand in the front ranks combating old prejudices, leading the way in the onward march of prog ress, must turn to the world a very different side of their nature from that which they reserve for the pri vacy of their own homes. If thia is necessary now, how much more was it so in those formative days when General Jackson was fighting his country’s battles as warrior and as statesman? For this reason it rarely happens that a man in public life is viewed in the same light by the public and by his family and friends. One will praise and the other blame; but no matter how great his public achieve ments, the glory of it is dimmed by the knowledge that in his own home he was little, mean and tyrannical. All honor to the man who keeps the best of his nature for his own fire side I Divorce, says Lillian Russell, is the greatest blessing in the world today. And it must be admitted that Lillian has had her share of blessings. At the St. Paul City Hospital a strike was precipitated the other day by a nurse named Miss Alvina Ham mer. Alvina must be something of a knocker. From the West comes the news that the price of cement has gone down. No further evidence is needed that cement is not one of the necessities of life. Now thnt the betting odds are against his favorite candidate for mayor of Cleveland, the President may soon find occasion to point out the evils of gambling. PAGE THREE