mised to go on the eleventh. I knew that she would not
return my visit before I came. The reason of this peculiarity is
that her husband was killed in a duel, and she fears if she were to
go into company either morning or evening she might meet his second,
who she considers as having been very much to blame, or his
antagonist. Now all this is very natural, and I only object to it
because somehow she appears to have made her reasons too much the
subject of conversation, which is very unlike real feeling. She sees
a great deal of company at home. Her note smells so detestably of
musk that it quite perfumes the room and was like to make me sick,
so we had sealed it up in an envelope, but it shall go along with
the next of the scraps.

January 6: We have had today weather much more like June than
January, most extraordinary for this climate, where at this season
there is generally severe frost and snow. I went out with a cloak on
but speedily returned and exchanged that for a silk handkerchief
tied round my throat, which was as much as I could bear. Yesterday,
the fifth, we walked off by eleven o'clock to visit Mrs. Decatur,
who lives at Georgetown, which is separated from Washington only by
a little creek, across which there is a shabby enough tumble-down
looking wooden bridge. There is so thick a fog that we could not see
three yards before us, "quite English weather," as our friends here
tell us, but not disagreeable to my mind as it was very mild. At the
door of Mrs. Decatur's house we met General Van Rensselear, "the
Patroon," who with his wife and daughter is now here. He went in
with us and introduced us to the lady of the mansion, who we found
dressed in very becoming weeds, and she gave us an extremely cordial
reception. She is a pretty, pleasing-looking person and very
animated, with no appearance of woe except the outward sign of cap
and gown. We sat some time with her and walked home....

If only Mrs. Hall had been able to say where the house was to which they
walked from across Rock Creek on that balmy day in January!

These other letters which follow are written to a young man then
beginning to make his way in the world, who certainly was possessed of a
most attractive personality, and it is not surprising that the widow
might have been rather "setting her cap" for him.

My dear Mr. Corcor