Somewhere the connection between music and the cedars was seen by a mind poetic enough to look forward to a day when they would grow into a massive instrument upon which the pleasant winds might play. Perhaps “Old Hickory” himself conceived the idea—at any rate he approved it, or the drive would not have been planted. It is enough to know that in planting the trees he connected them with the music of at least one—perhaps two—mistresses of the Hermitage. General Jackson was interested, too, in the willows which he had planted by Mrs. Jackson’s tomb and in the flowers she had loved. In a letter written to Andrew Jackson, Jr., on August 20, 1829, he expresses deep concern for the care of her grave in the garden: “In your letter although you have informed me of your visit to your dear mother’s tomb, still you have not informed me of its situation, and whether the weeping that we planted around it are growing, or whether the flowers reared by her industrious and beloved hands, have been set around the grave as I requested. My D’r son, inform me on this subject, you know it is the one dearest to my heart, and her memory will remain fresh there as long as life lasts....” “As long as life lasts....” Each evening at sunset a failing old man turned his footsteps toward the garden. The chattering little girl who held his hand paused at the gate and watched in silence while he made his way slowly down the garden paths to the white stone temple in the lower end of the garden. “No one ever went to the tomb with him,” Mrs. Lawrence told Mr. Heiskell. “I always went to the gate, and saw him in, but I realized he was going to the tomb. He would stay there a half hour, I suppose, then return. He did this as long as he was able to walk.” It was not long to wait. Louis Philippe sent the artist Healy to paint his portrait, and Sam Houston was hastening from Texas that his fast-failing friend might lay his hands on his young son’s head in blessing. The portrait was finished three days before the old General’s death, but Sam Houston reached the Hermitage just a few hours too late. The end came quietly and peacefully on June 8, 1845, and two days later Andrew Jackson was laid to rest beside his beloved Rachel. Their mortal remains have rested peacefully in the earth they loved these many years, while the changing seasons have brought their fleeting beauty to the garden—but who shall say that their story has not become immortal? ADDITIONAL NOTES