en, the next time she went abroad in her chair,
to be cheered by a hundred persons, white and black, and shouts of
"Huzzah, Madam!" "Heaven bless your ladyship!" They evidently thought
her patriotism had caused her determination not to go to the ball.

Madam, that there should be no mistake, puts her head out of the chair,
and cries out "God save the King" as loud as she can. The people cried
"God save the King," too. Everybody cried "God save the King" in those
days. On the night of that entertainment, my poor Harry, as a Burgess
of the House, and one of the givers of the feast, donned his uniform red
coat of Wolfe's (which he so soon was to exchange for another colour),
and went off with Madam Fanny to the ball. My Lady Warrington and her
humble servant, as being strangers in the country, and English people as
it were, were permitted by Madam to attend the assembly from which she
of course absented herself. I had the honour to dance a country-dance
with the lady of Mount Vernon, whom I found a most lively, pretty, and
amiable partner; but am bound to say that my wife's praises of her were
received with a very grim acceptance by my mother, when Lady Warrington
came to recount the events of the evening. Could not Sir George
Warrington have danced with my Lady Dunmore or her daughters, or with
anybody but Mrs. Washington; to be sure the Colonel thought so well of
himself and his wife, that no doubt he considered her the grandest lady
in the room; and she who remembered him a road-surveyor at a guinea a
day! Well, indeed! there was no measuring the pride of these provincial
upstarts, and as for this gentleman, my Lord Dunmore's partiality for
him had evidently turned his head. I do not know about Mr. Washington's
pride, I know that my good mother never could be got to love him or
anything that was his.

She was no better pleased with him for going to the ball, than with his
conduct three days afterwards, when the day of fast and humiliation
was appointed, and when he attended the service which our new clergyman
performed. She invited Mr. Belman to dinner that day, and sundry
colonial authorities. The clergyman excused himself. Madam Esmond tossed
up her head, and said he might do as he liked. She made a parade of a
dinner; she lighted her house up at night, when all the rest of the city
was in darkness and gloom; she begged Mr. Hardy, one of his Excellency's
aides-de-camp, to sing "God save the King," to which the people