palpable imitation of Washington.  “Happily,” said the New York American, “it is the last humbug which the mischievous popularity of this illiterate, violent, vain, and iron-willed soldier can impose upon a confiding and credulous people.”  The Democrats, however, lauded the address, praised the wisdom and sincerity of its author, and laid away among their most valued mementoes the white satin copies which admiring friends scattered broadcast over the country.

Showered with evidences of undiminished popularity, the General came down to his last day in office.  One enthusiast sent him a light wagon made entirely of hickory sticks with the bark upon them.  Another presented a phaeton made of wood taken from the old frigate Constitution.  A third capped the climax by forwarding from New York a cheese four feet in diameter, two feet thick, and weighing fourteen hundred pounds—­twice as large, the Globe fondly pointed out, as the cheese presented to Jefferson under similar circumstances a quarter of a century earlier.  From all parts of the country came callers, singly and in delegations, to pay their respects and to assure the outgoing Chief of their goodwill and admiration.  March 4,1837, was a raw, disagreeable day.  But Jackson, pale and racked by disease, rode with his chosen successor to the place where he had himself assumed office eight years before, and sat uncovered while the oath was administered and the inaugural delivered.  The suave, elegantly dressed Van Buren was politely applauded as the new Chief to whom respect was due.  But it was the tall, haggard, white-haired soldier-politician who had put Van Buren where he was who awoke the spontaneous enthusiasm of the crowds.

Three days after the inauguration Jackson started for the Hermitage.  His trip became a series of ovations, and he was obliged several times to pause for rest.  At last he reached Nashville, where once again, as in the old days of the Indian wars, he was received with an acclaim deeply tinged by personal friendship and neighborly pride.  A great banquet in his honor was presided over by James K. Polk, now Speaker of the national House of Representatives; and the orators vied one with another in extolling his virtues and depicting his services to the country.  Then Jackson went on to the homestead whose seclusion he coveted.

No one knew better than the ex-President himself that his course was almost run.  He was seventy years of age and seldom free from pain for an hour.  He considered himself, moreover, a poor man—­mainly, it appears, because he went back to Tennessee owing ten thousand dollars and with only ninety dollars in his pockets.  He was, however, only “land poor,” for his plantation of twenty-six hundred acres was rich and valuable, and he had a hundred and forty slaves—­“servants” he always called them—­besides large numbers of horses and cattle.  A year or two of thrifty supervision brought his lands and herds back to liberal yields; his debts were soon paid off; and notwithstanding heavy outlays for his adopted son, whose investments invariably turned out badly, he was soon able to put aside all anxiety over pecuniary matters.