Mr. Eaton was the Secretary of War, and Mrs. Eaton, with whose name scandal was rife, was ignored by the wives of the Cabinet officers as well as by the generality of ladies in Washington. The Secretary was an old and intimate friend of the President’s, and his sympathy was enlisted on Mrs. Eaton’s side of the quarrel, but without avail, so far as securing her social recognition was concerned. Mrs. Donelson’s four children were all born at the White House, and their earliest reminiscences are of the East Room, levees, state dinners, and processions. General Jackson made their christenings occasions of great ceremony. He was god-father of two of them, Mr. Van Buren of another, and General Polk of the youngest. General Jackson was very fond of these little ones, and took a grandfather’s interest in all their plays and games. The White House has probably never had a more charming tableau than that presented by the old hero, surrounded by the lovely family group, of which he was the soul and idol. Of Mrs. Donelson’s children, only her two daughters are now living. Her two sons passed away in the spring-time of life. They were young men of great promise, superior intellect, and high social standing. Andrew, the eldest, was captain of engineers in the United States army, and died of consumption in 1859. John was captain in the Confederate service, and fell in the battle of Chickamauga, fighting bravely in defence of the cause he had espoused. In the spring of 1836, Mrs. Donelson’s health became so delicate that she concluded to leave Washington and go home to Tennessee, hoping, in the quiet and seclusion of her beautiful home (Tulip Grove) soon to regain her health and strength. But her symptoms grew more alarming, and it soon became evident that consumption had marked her for its victim. The scene changes now from the gay festivities of Washington to the loneliness and suffering of the sick-room. The hectic flush and wasting form marked the rapid progress of the insidious disease, and thoughts of death became familiar. Though so young and gay, she bore her suffering with the patience and fortitude of an angel, and submitted without a murmur to the decree that tore her away from husband, children and friends. Shortly before her death, she made a public profession of religion, and connected herself with the Presbyterian Church. Every resource of medical skill and experience was tried to stay the course of her disease, but in vain; and in December her spirit passed from earth. Her death was as peaceful and hopeful as her life had been loving and happy. Always a fond and proud mother, as the time drew near for a final separation from her children, she clung to them with a tenderness and devotion touching to behold. A few evenings before her death, she was sitting at an open window, admiring the beauty of a winter sunset, when a bird entered, and flying several times around the room, alighted on her chair.