The mistress of the Hermitage—Rachel, the beloved and adored—was the _raison d’être_ of the whole establishment. She was, to Andrew Jackson, the center of the universe—the one fixed thing around which all of the affairs of his life revolved. Her happiness was his greatest concern and, in building a home, her comfort and pleasure were his first consideration. She was not the kind of a woman, however, to accept such adoration without repaying it in thought and in deed. She was an excellent housekeeper, a gracious hostess, and an efficient manager of the whole plantation. Like many women of the South, she was often left for months at a time in charge of the entire estate, for travel was difficult and tedious, and men who participated in public affairs were forced to endure long absences from home. During the early years of their marriage General Jackson, either as an attorney or as judge, traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles over wilderness trails. His mercantile business, as well as his legal and political activities, took him frequently to Philadelphia, Natchez, or other distant points. Later, the Creek campaigns and activities leading up to the Battle of New Orleans kept him away from the Hermitage for months at a time. After the victory in 1815 Mrs. Jackson accompanied him on trips to Washington, to Florida, New Orleans, and other places where his fame drew great crowds around them. There never was a time, however, when fame had any attraction for Rachel. All that she asked was that the lord and master of the Hermitage be freed to return to their peaceful fireside. Of General Jackson’s devotion to his wife there are hundreds of evidences. From the time he killed Charles Dickinson in the duel provoked by a rash reference to the unfortunate circumstances of their marriage, until his dying day, he was known for his almost fanatical devotion to her, and his desire to punish anyone who might cast a slur upon her fair name. Only Rachel’s suffering after Dickinson’s death and her gentle restraint kept his fiery temper under control. The Hermitage stands upon the spot which Rachel Jackson selected. The walls of its central portion sheltered her, and to-day they house many objects made sacred by her touch. In the long years which intervened between her death and that of her distinguished husband, her memory was kept green by his devotion. The young lovers who, during his last years, laughed and danced through the pleasant rooms and hallways of the old mansion and wandered in the moonlight to the magnolia-shaded tomb in the garden caught something of his immortal love story.