Again he wrote: “View those East India matts or carpeting and see whether these recommended by Mr. Toland will answer better for the passage than oil cloth, and whether Sarah would prefer these to common carpets for the bedrooms....” After all the delays and the characteristic confusion of moving the furnishings—old and new—were at last arranged. A weary old man—ill and hemorrhaging heavily from the lungs—turned his face eagerly to the spot which, in all the world, he loved best. To Nicholas P. Trist he wrote on March 2, 1837, “Your letter ... found me confined to my room, indeed, I might say to my bed, and I have been only four times down stairs since the 15th of Novb. last, altho I have been obliged to labour incessantly.... Tomorrow ends my official carier forever, on the 4th I hope to be able to go to the capitol to witness the glorious scene of Mr. Van Buren, once rejected by the Senate, sworn into office....” Late in December, 1936, he had written Andrew Jackson Donelson, a letter of condolence—the spirited Emily, whom he loved deeply, but whom he, in high dudgeon, had sent home because she refused to receive the much-discussed Peggy O’Neal Timberlake Eaton, had succumbed to a lung trouble similar to that from which he was suffering. “I have this moment recd. the sad and melancholy intelligence that our Dear Emily is no more.... I have no language in which I can express my grief.... My health is slowly returning, and my strength improving slowly....” [Illustration: The Garden and the Tomb Upon the tomb is carved General Jackson’s immortal tribute to his wife: “Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, her heart kind; she delighted in relieving the wants of her fellow creatures, and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the poor she was a benefactor; to the rich an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament; her piety went hand in hand with her benevolence, and she thanked her creator for being permitted to do good. A being so gentle and so virtuous slander might wound, but could not dishonor. Even Death, when he bore her from the arms of her husband, could but transport her to the bosom of her God.”] The rest, sunlight, and pleasant atmosphere of the Hermitage were destined, however, to work a great improvement. His wiry, long-suffering body was to recover sufficiently for him to spend eight years in his new home before he was laid to rest in the garden beside the beloved Rachel. During these years his young men, under his wise guidance, had a tremendous influence in the nation—and in 1845, James K. Polk, who had openly conducted his campaign as “Young Hickory,” the legitimate political heir of the “sage of the Hermitage,” was inaugurated.