ry of
the Pamunkey, a branch of York River, he fell in with Mr. Chamberlin,
an acquaintance of his, who, according to the hospitable customs of
those good old times, invited him to call at his house, not far
distant, and be his honored guest till morning. The young colonel
would be only too happy to do so: but the nature of his business was
such as would not admit of an hour's delay; indeed, it was quite out
of the question, and he must hasten on. But, his friend repeating the
invitation in a manner too earnest to be mistaken, he felt it would be
uncourteous to refuse; and consented to stop and dine with him; on
condition, however, that he should be allowed to proceed on his
journey that same evening. At his friend's hospitable mansion he met
with a gay and brilliant throng of ladies and gentlemen, who, though
strangers to him, knew him well by reputation, and were but too proud
to be thus unexpectedly thrown in his company. Among them was Mrs.
Martha Custis, a young and beautiful widow of good family and large
fortune. Her husband had died three years before; leaving her with two
small children, a girl and a boy. She is said to have been a lady of
most winning and engaging manners, and of an excellent and cultivated
understanding. In stature she was a little below middle size, and of a
round and extremely well-proportioned form; which, on this occasion,
was set off to the best advantage by a dress of rich blue silk. Her
hair was dark; her features were pleasing and regular; and there was a
look of earnest, womanly softness in her hazel eyes, that found its
way at once to the heart and confidence of all on whom it chanced to
rest.

The little folks will not, I hope, suffer their admiration and respect
for our young hero to be lessened in the least, if I tell them, that,
like the rest of mankind who came within the magic circle of those
bewitching charms, he was first surprised into admiration, and then
led, whether or no, at a single step, into the enchanted realms of
love. You have seen, how that, in his boyhood, he wrote broken-hearted
verses to his Lowland Beauty; and how that, two or three years before,
he had nearly yielded himself captive to the beautiful Miss Phillipps:
which ought to prove to the satisfaction of all reasonable minds, that
Washington, like other men, had a heart of real human flesh, that now
and then gave him not a little trouble, despite that grave and
dignified reserve which hung about him lik