in fly time.'"

To the infinite disgust of John Quincy Adams, Harvard University
conferred upon the distinguished visitor the honorary degree of doctor
of laws. In the course of the ceremony one of the seniors delivered,
in Latin, a salutatory concluding with the words: "Harvard welcomes
Jackson the President. She embraces Jackson the Patriot." "A splendid
compliment, sir, a splendid compliment," declared the honored guest
after Woodbury had translated the phrases for his benefit; "but why
talk about so live a thing as patriotism in a dead language?" At the
close of the exercises the students filed past the President and were
introduced to him, each greeting him, "to the infinite edification and
amusement of the grizzly old warrior," by his new title _Doctor_
Jackson. The wits of the opposition lost no opportunity to poke fun at
the President's accession to the brotherhood of scholars. As he was
closing a speech some days later an auditor called out, "You must give
them a little Latin, _Doctor_." In nowise abashed, the President
solemnly doffed his hat again, stepped to the front of the platform,
and resumed: "_E pluribus unum_, my friends, _sine qua non_!"

Life at the White House, as one writer has remarked, lost under
Jackson something of the good form of the Virginia regime, but it lost
nothing of the air of domesticity. Throughout the two Administrations
the mistress of the mansion was Mrs. Andrew Jackson Donelson, wife of
the President's secretary and in every respect a very capable woman.
Of formality there was little or none. Major Lewis was a member of the
presidential household, and other intimates--Van Buren, Kendall,
Blair, Hill--dropped in at anytime, "before breakfast, or in the
evening, as inclination prompted." The President was always accessible
to callers, whether or not their business was important. Yet he found
much time, especially in the evenings, for the enjoyment of his long
reed pipe with red clay bowl, in the intimacy of the White House
living room, with perhaps a Cabinet officer to read dispatches or
other state papers to him in a corner, while the ladies sewed and
chatted and half a dozen children played about the room.

Social affairs there were, of course. But they were simple enough to
please the most ardent Jeffersonian--much too simple to please people
accustomed to somewhat rigorous etiquette. Thus George Bancroft, who
had the reputation of being one of Washington's most punctilious