too—they're all dancing-masters over there. I say, and I stick to it, that he's a Frenchy. He says he isn't. Well, then, let him out with his papers, if he has them! If he had, would he not show them? If he had, would he not jump at the idea of going to Squire Merton, a man you all know? Now, you're all plain, straightforward Bedfordshire men, and I wouldn't ask a better lot to appeal to. You're not the kind to be talked over with any French gammon, and he's plenty of that. But let me tell him, he can take his pigs to another market; they'll never do here; they'll never go down in Bedfordshire. Why, look at the man! Look at of his feet! Has anybody got a foot in the room like that? See how he stands! Do any of you fellows stand like that? Does the landlord, there? Why, he has Frenchman wrote all over him, as big as a sign-post!"
This was all very well; and in a different scene I might even have been gratified by his remarks; but I saw clearly, if I were to allow him to talk, he might turn the tables on me altogether. He might not be much of a hand at boxing; but I was much mistaken or he had studied forensic eloquence in a good school. In this predicament, I could think of nothing more ingenious than to burst out of the house, under the pretext of an ungovernable rage. It was certainly not very ingenious—it was elementary; but I had no choice.
"You white-livered dog!" I broke out. "Do you dare to tell me you're an Englishman, and won't fight? But I'll stand no more of this! I'll leave this place, where I've been insulted! Here! what's to pay? Pay yourself!" I went on, offering the landlord a handful of silver, "and give me back my bank-note!"
The landlord, following his usual policy obliging everybody, offered no opposition to my design. The position of my adversary was now thoroughly bad. He had lost my two companions. He was on the point of losing me also. There was plainly no hope of arousing the company to help; and, watching him with a corner of my eye, I saw him hesitate for a moment. The next he had taken down his hat and his wig, which was of black horse-hair; and I saw him draw from behind the settle a vast hooded great-coat and a small valise. "Is the rascal," thought I, "going to follow me?"
(To be continued.)
ANDREW JACKSON AT HOME.
REMINISCENCES BY HIS GRANDDAUGHTER RACHEL JACKSON LAWRENCE.
I WAS near thirteen years of age when my grandfather died, and, having lived those years under his roof, our association was much closer than, and very different from, that common between grandfather and granddaughter. Apart from this, I was bound to him by the closer tie of being named for his beloved wife Rachel.
General Jackson was warmly attached to many of his wife's relatives and connections. Having no children of his own, he legally adopted his wife's nephew, when only three days old, taking him to the Hermitage, and naming him Andrew Jackson, his son and heir. He ever felt for this son the most devoted attachment, he was his only solace after the death of his wife. As a young man, twenty-one years of age, he accompanied his father to the White House in 1829, and in the fall of 1831 married Miss Sarah Yorke of Philadelphia, and brought her, a lovely bride, as a daughter to General Jackson, who welcomed her with the tenderest affection. With him there at the White House until the early spring of 1837, this son and daughter, with two grandchildren, Rachel and Andrew, constituted General Jackson's little family, and with him returned to the Hermitage at the close of his presidency.
I remember the journey perfectly, although only five years of age. General Jackson and my mother occupied the back seat of the old family coach, and my father and the general's physician, Dr. Gwynn, were on the front seat. My brother and and myself (the two grandchildren, Rachel and Andrew) were in a chartered stage-coach, with our colored nurses, faithful Gracie and Louisa, entrusted to the charge of Colonel Earl. Major W. B. Lewis and one or two other gentlemen, friends of
