silver buckles
caught now and then a gleam from the waxen candles dangling from the
low ceiling in a silver and iridescent chandelier, to the imminent
peril of the white roll of powdered hair surmounting the tall
general's forehead. At his side, proud, calm, and queenly in her
womanly dignity and virtue, stood Rachel, the beloved mistress of the
Hermitage. Her dress of stiff and creamy silk could add nothing to the
calm serenity of the soul beaming from the gentle eyes, whose glance,
tender and fond, strayed now and then to the figure of her husband,
and rested for a brief moment upon the strong, gentle face with
something akin to reverence in their shadowy depths. Her face,
beautiful and beneficent, was not without a shadow: a shadow which
grief had set there to mellow, but could not mar, the gentle sweetness
of the patient features.

There was the sound of banjo and fiddle, as one by one the dusky
musicians from the cabins ranged themselves along the wall of the big
room, which had been cleared of its furnishings, and young feet came
hurrying in when the old Virginia reel sounded through, the low
rooms, calling to the dance.

More than one set of ivories shone at door and windows where the
slaves gathered to "see the whi' folks dance." But prominent and
conspicuous, in a suit as nearly resembling his master's as might be,
and in a position at the immediate right hand of the slave who played
the bass viol, stood Caesar, the general's favorite man-servant. He
bore himself with the same courtly dignity, the same dignified
courtesy, and had stationed himself beside the viol in order to have a
more thorough view of the dancers, and above all of his beloved
master. He had faithfully ushered in the last guest, and had hurried
to his place in order to see General Jackson step down the long line
of dancers and bow to his partner. Not for worlds would he have missed
that bow, to him the perfection of grace and dignity.

Two by two the couples entered, crossed to the centre of the room and
bowed each other to their places opposite in the long, wall-like line
which characterizes the stately reel.

The ladies dropped like drooping lilies for one brief moment in the
midst of their silken stiffness, skirts that "stood alone," and made
their courtesies to their swains with proper maiden modesty.

Caesar saw it all from his post of vantage near the big viol, but he
was not interested in the visitors, he knew what they could do.