“As she ceased speaking, the curtains over the main entrance parted, and the President peered in, ‘to see,’ he said, ‘if Martha had shown me the portraits of the Presidents.’ Joining him in his promenade, we passed before them, as they were hanging in the main hall, he dwelling on the life and character of each, we listening to his descriptions, and personal recollections. “At the dinner, afterwards, not the display of beautiful _toilettes_, nor the faces of lovely women, could draw from my mind the memory of that afternoon. More than ever, I was convinced that the best of our natures is entirely out of the reach of ordinary events, and the finest fibres are rarely, if ever, made to thrill in sympathy with outward influences. Grave statesmen, and white-haired dignitaries chatted merrily with fair young ladies, or sedate matrons; but turn where I would, the burden of my thoughts were the remarks of Mrs. Patterson, whose unselfish devotion to her father, deserves a more fitting memorial than this insignificant mention. With her opposite him, and by her proximity, relieving him of much of the necessity of entertaining, he enjoyed and bestowed pleasure, and won for these social entertainments a national reputation. “During the impeachment trial of her father, unflinchingly Mrs. Patterson bent every energy to entertain, as usual, as became her position, wearing always a patient, suffering look. Through the long weeks of the trial, she listened to every request, saw every caller, and served every petitioner, (and only those who have filled this position, know how arduous is this duty,) hiding from all eyes the anxious weight of care oppressing herself. That she was sick after the acquittal, astonished nobody who had seen her struggling to keep up before.” But no matter what the accusations against Andrew Johnson, they died into silence without touching his family. If corruption crossed the outer portals of the White House, the whole land knew that they never penetrated into the pure recesses of the President’s home. Whatever Andrew Johnson was or was not, no partisan foe was bitter or false enough to throw a shadow of reproach against the noble characters of his wife and daughters. There was no insinuation, no charge against them. There was no furniture or ornaments gone; nor could any one say that they had received costly presents:—no expensive plate, no houses, horses, or carriages. No family ever left Washington more respected by the powerful, more bewept by the poor. From the Nation’s House, which they had redeemed and honored, they went back empty-handed to their own dismantled home, followed by the esteem and affection of all who knew them. The White House holds the record of their spotless fame. Generations will pass before, from its grand old rooms, will fade out the healing and saving touches of one President’s daughter.