The attractions of this home and family brought so many visitors every summer, it was necessary to erect cottages about the grounds, although the house itself was quite large. And as the yard was usually filled with persons strolling about, or reading, or playing chess under the trees, it had every appearance, on first approach, of a small watering-place. The mistress of this establishment was a woman of rare attraction, possessing all the gentleness of her sex, with attributes of greatness enough for a hero. Tall and handsome, she looked a queen as she stood on the portico receiving her guests, and, by the first words of greeting, from her warm, true heart, charmed even strangers. Without the least "variableness or shadow of turning," her excellences were a perfect continuity, and her deeds of charity a blessing to all in need within her reach. No undertaking seemed too great for her, and no details--affecting the comfort of her home, family, friends, or servants--too small for her supervision. The church, a few miles distant, the object of her care and love, received at her hands constant and valuable aid, and its minister generally formed one of her family circle. No wonder, then, that the home of such a woman should have been a favorite resort for all who had the privilege of knowing her. And no wonder that all who enjoyed her charming hospitality were spellbound, and loath to leave the spot where it was extended. In addition to the qualities I have attempted to describe, this lady inherited from her father, General Breckinridge, an executive talent which enabled her to order and arrange her domestic affairs perfectly; so that from the delicious viands upon her table to the highly polished oak of the floors, all gave evidence of her superior management and the admirable training of her servants. Nor were the hospitalities of this establishment dispensed to the gay and great alone: they were shared alike by the homeless and the friendless, and many a weary heart found sympathy and shelter there. Oaklands was famous for many things: its fine light-bread, its cinnamon cakes, its beat biscuit, its fricasseed chicken, its butter and cream, its wine-sauces, its plum-puddings, its fine horses, its beautiful meadows, its sloping green hills, and last, but not least, its refined and agreeable society collected from every part of our own State, and often from others. For an epicure no better place could have been desired. And this reminds me of a retired army officer, a _gourmet_ of the first water, whom we often met there. His sole occupation was visiting his friends, and his only subjects of conversation were the best viands and the best manner of cooking them! When asked whether he remembered certain people at a certain place, he would reply: "Yes, I dined there ten years ago, and the turkey was very badly cooked--not quite done enough!" the turkey evidently having made a more lasting impression than the people.