s elected to that
office. When the news was brought to her of her husband's election, in
December, 1828, she quietly said: "Well, for Mr. Jackson's sake" (she
always called him Mr. Jackson) "I am glad; for my own part, I never
wished it."

The people of Nashville, proud of the success of their favorite,
resolved to celebrate the event by a great banquet on the 22d of
December, the anniversary of the day on which the general had first
defeated the British below New Orleans; and some of the ladies of
Nashville were secretly preparing a magnificent wardrobe for the future
mistress of the White House. Six days before the day appointed for the
celebration, Mrs. Jackson, while busied about her household affairs in
the kitchen of the hermitage, suddenly shrieked, placed her hands upon
her heart, sank upon a chair, and fell forward into the arms of one of
her servants. She was carried to her bed, where, for the space of sixty
hours, she suffered extreme agony, during the whole of which her husband
never left her side for ten minutes. Then she appeared much better, and
recovered the use of her tongue. This was only two days before the day
of the festival, and the first use she made of her recovered speech was
to implore her husband to go to another room and sleep, so as to recruit
his strength for the banquet. He would not leave her, however, but lay
down upon a sofa and slept a little. The evening of the 22d she appeared
to be so much better that the general consented, after much persuasion,
to sleep in the next room, and leave his wife in the care of the doctor
and two of his most trusted servants.

At nine o'clock he bade her good-night, went to the next room, and took
off his coat, preparatory to lying down. When he had been gone five
minutes from her room, Mrs. Jackson, who was sitting up, suddenly gave a
long, loud, inarticulate cry, which was immediately followed by the
death rattle in her throat. By the time her husband had reached her
side, she had breathed her last.

"Bleed her," cried the general.

But no blood flowed from her arm.

"Try the temple," doctor.

A drop or two of blood stained her cap, but no more followed. Still, it
was long before he would believe her dead, and when there could no
longer be any doubt, and they were preparing a table upon which to lay
her out, he cried, with a choking voice:

"Spread four blankets upon it; for if she does come to she will lie so
hard upon the table."

All nigh