From that hour her husband seemed to live to avenge her wrongs and to honor her memory. Probably into no other administration of the government, from its first to the present, has personal feeling had so much to do with official appointments as in the offices emptied and filled by Andrew Jackson. It had only to enter his suspicion that a man had failed to espouse the cause of the beloved Rachel, and his unlucky official head immediately came off. It was told him that Mr. Watterson, the Librarian of Congress, had told, or listened to something to the detriment of Mrs. Jackson, and Mr. Watterson was immediately deposed. Thus she was avenged at times, probably in acts of personal injustice, but in her own pure tones she spoke through him in all the higher acts of his administration. Thus it was in spirit that Rachel Jackson lived and reigned at the White House. The “lovely Emily” Donelson, wife of Andrew Jackson Donelson, Mrs. Jackson’s nephew and adopted son, with Mrs. Andrew Jackson, Jr., the wife of another adopted son, shared together the social honors of the White House during the administration of President Jackson. The delicate question of precedence between them was thus settled by him. He said to Mrs. Jackson: “You, my dear, are mistress of the Hermitage, and Emily is hostess of the White House.” This Emily was of remarkable beauty, strongly resembling Mary, Queen of Scots. Her manners were of singular fascination, and she dressed with exquisite taste. The dress she wore at the first inauguration is still preserved. It is an amber-colored satin, brocaded with _bouquets_ of rose-leaves and violets, trimmed with white lace and pearls. It was a present from General Jackson, and even at that day, before “Jenkins” supposed birth, it was described in every paper of the Union. General Jackson always called her “my daughter.” She was the child of Mrs. Jackson’s brother, and married to her cousin. She was quick at repartee, and possessed the rare gift of being able to listen gracefully. A foreign minister once said: “Madame, you dance with the grace of a Parisian. I can hardly realize that you were educated in Tennessee.” “Count, you forget,” was the spirited reply, “that grace is a cosmopolite, and, like a wild flower, is found oftener in the woods than in the streets of a city.” Her four children were all born in the White House. But in the midst of its honors, in the flower of her youth, “the lovely Emily” went out from its portals to die. She sought the softer airs of “Tulip Grove,” her home in Tennessee, where she died of consumption, December, 1836. A lady gives the following picture of an evening scene at the White House, in the early part of Jackson’s administration: