Never did woman exhibit more wifely solicitude, From the beginning of that dinner Mrs. Gaines became the General’s guardian. She arranged his napkin, tucking it carefully into the V of his waistcoat, read the menu and selected his food, waiting upon him as each course arrived, and herself preparing the dressing for his salad. All was done in so matter-of-fact and quiet a manner that the flow of General Gaines’s discourse was not once interrupted. Though I met this interesting woman a number of times in later years, in Washington and elsewhere, that first picture of Mrs. Gaines, probably the bravest woman, morally, of her time, has remained most vividly. When, as a widow, accompanied by her daughter, Mrs. Gaines visited Washington, she was the cynosure of all eyes in every assemblage in which she was seen. Her fearless pleading in the Supreme Court was the theme of conversation the country over. People thronged to see a woman whose courage was so indomitable, and none but were surprised at the diminutive and modest heroine. Senator Crittenden, of Kentucky, was already a Solon in the counsels of the Nation, when, in 1841, Senator C. C. Clay, Sr., left the Senate. A major in the army in 1812, Mr. Crittenden had made his appearance in Congress in 1817, and thereafter continued prominent in Washington life, as Senator or Cabinet member (in the Cabinets of Presidents Harrison and Fillmore), so that for thirty or more years his name had been associated with the names of our great law-makers, especially with those of the second quarter of the century. When I met Senator Crittenden in the middle fifties, he was a carefully preserved gentleman of courtly and genial manners. Besides the brilliancy that attached to his long career in Congressional life, he was distinguished as the husband of a still charming woman, whose proud boast it was that she was perfectly happy. This declaration alone was enough to make any woman in society remarkable; yet, to judge from her serene and smiling appearance, Mrs. Crittenden did not exaggerate her felicity. She was a sweet type of the elderly fashionable woman, her face reflecting the utmost kindness, her corsage and silvery hair gleaming with brilliants, her silken petticoats rustling musically, and, over the lustrous folds of her rich and by no means sombre costumes, priceless lace fell prodigally. Nor were there lacking notes and even whole gowns of warm colour significant of the lady’s persistent cheeriness. I remember my cousin, Miss Comer, a débutante of seventeen at that time, remarking upon Mrs. Crittenden’s dress one evening at a ball.