Washington was not "a lady's man," in the usual sense of that term. There was nothing flippant nor foppish in his character. From a boy he was sedate, silent and reserved. Though fond of the society of ladies, the frivolous and fashionable votaries of brainless gaiety, felt awkward in his presence. It is said, that even in his later life, he was apt to be silent and embarrassed in female society. An old lady, whom he used to visit when both were young, said: "He was a very bashful young man. I used often to wish that he would talk more."

Such a character would not impress the majority of young ladies favorably, as good George Washington learned from experience. Three times he was moved with the tender passion. Before he was fifteen years of age, when away at school, some unknown beauty captivated his heart. Whether she wished to trifle with him, or because she deemed him a mere school-boy-for some unknown reason she refused to reciprocate his ardent affection. Possibly his natural shyness, and his deficient "rules of behavior and conversation" made him an awkward and ungainly suitor. This failure left a wound that pained him for years. Through poetry and prose his sorrowful spirit sought relief, in which he bewailed his poor, restless heart, wounded by Cupid's dart," and "bleeding for one who remains pitiless of his griefs and woes." His bashfulness seems to have prevented the formal avowal of his love.

"Ah, woe is me, that I should love and conceal,

Long have I wished and never dared reveal."

In later life, when twenty-four years of age, he visited Boston. He had already acquired renown as a brave and skillful soldier.

In the house of an early friend and school-mate, he formed the acquaintance of an heiress, Miss Mary Philipse, "a young lady, whose personal attractions are said to have rivalled her reputed wealth." His active life, thus far, had been mostly spent "in the wilderness and on the frontier, far from female society." The charms of the elegant New York lady led him captive. May we not suppose, that her polished manners were somewhat in contrast with the backward bluntness of the backwoods soldier? Tradition says, that "he sought her hand, but was refused." A more pleasing version of the story is, that he was hurried back to Virginia to serve his country, before he could press his suit. A friend in New York, soon after wrote to him, urging him to hasten back to that city "before it was too late, as Captain Morris, who had been his fellow aid-de-camp under Braddock, was laying close siege to Miss Philipse." A sterner summons called him to Winchester to repel an attack of the French, leaving his comrade "to urge his suit and unrivalled carry off the prize."

Washington had just recovered from a serious attack of illness, when he was appointed commander-in-chief of the Virginia forces. Pressing military duties called him to Williamsburg, to lay his case before the State Council. With a faithful servant, named Bishop, he started on his journey, on horseback. In crossing a ferry of the York river, he met a Mr. Chamberlayne, a wealthy Virginian of this neighborhood. He presses the General to dine with him. Not without coaxing could he prevail, as his Williamsburg business admitted of no delay. Among the guests at this unexpected dinner, was "a young and blooming widow," Mrs. Martha Custis, daughter of Mr. John Dandridge. She had two children, whose father had died three years before.

The sumptuous dinner "seemed all too short" for the Virginia General. For the third time the charms of woman led him captive. He forgot his Williamsburg mission. The afternoon passed away like a dream. His faithful Bishop was punctual to the orders he had received on halting; the horses pawed at the door, but for once Washington loitered in the path of duty. The horses were countermanded, and it was not until the next morning, that he was again in the saddle, spurring for Williamsburg.

Mrs. Custis returned to her home near this city, where Washington could conveniently visit her before his return home. Had he not better secure his prize at once, else another rival may snatch her from him, as was done with Miss Philipse? His time of courtship was brief. Before they separated, "they mutually plighted their faith." Their marriage was to take place as soon as his campaign against Fort Duquesne would end. On the 6th of January, 1759, they were married, at the house of the bride, in the presence of a happy assemblage of relatives and friends.

Mrs. Washington was born in May, 1732, in New Kent county, Virginia. It is said that her education "was entirely domestic, possibly such as wealthy families then gave their children, by means of private instruction. At the age of seventeen she was married to Daniel Park Custis. He became a Virginia planter. He died about middle age, leaving her a young widow, possessed of a large estate.

Rarely are husband and wife more happily mated than were General Washington and Mrs. Custis. The heroic, thoughtful man of war had a tender, affectionate heart beneath his dignified exterior. His wife became his amiable help-meet, in the true sense of the term. Amid the carnage and trials of the battle-field, his thoughts, with unceasing affection, reverted to her. He strove to share the glory of his triumphs with the partner of his life. Though childless himself, he became the best of fathers to her children. She soon made his home at Mount Vernon a haven of peace, a pleasing retreat from the perilous duties of his active life. In a letter written from here to a friend, he says: "I am now, I believe, fixed in this seat with an agreeable partner for life, and I hope to find more happiness in retirement than I ever experienced in the wide and bustling world." His reputation and social qualities drew many visitors, and not a few illustrious guests, to Mount Vernon. To these social gatherings Mrs. Washington contributed some of the chief attractions. "She performed the duties of a Virginia housewife, and presided at her well-spread board with ease and elegance."

This domestic happiness was not of long duration. He is appointed Commander-in-chief of the American forces, and stern duty deprives him for many years of the comforts of his delightful home. His great concern in accepting this responsible position, is the distress his separation will cause his wife. "You may believe me," he writes to her, "when I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have used every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too great for my capacity; I should enjoy more real happiness in one month with you at home than I have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my stay were to be seven times seven years." Trusting in Providence, he hopes he may return safe to her in the succeeding Fall. He fears no dangers, but is unhappy because he must leave her alone. He entreats her to summon her whole fortitude and pass her time as agreeably as possible. This he wishes to hear, and hear it from her own pen.

At length the relentless hand of war threatens to disturb the privacy and safety of Mount Vernon. The neighbors and friends

of Mrs. Washington entreat her to seek safety elsewhere, promising her a safe escort. At his winter quarters at Boston, Washington anxiously worries over the peril and loneliness of his wife, and requests her to join him. The journey was lonely, and the roads thither very bad in that season of the year. She traveled by very easy stages, attended from place to place by guards of honor. Great was the joy of the army, when the Commander's wife, "Lady Washington," arrived, with "a chariot and four, with black postilions in scarlet and white liveries," a style at that day prevalent in Virginia.

Her arrival relieved Washington of many difficult duties of hospitality, for which he possessed little fitness. "She presided at headquarters with mingled dignity and affability. Washington had prayers morning and evening with his family, and with them regularly attended church. In the latter service Mrs. Washington would always kneel during prayer, and he would stand." "The sanctity and quiet of Sunday were strictly observed. He attended chureh in the morning, and passed the afternoon alone in his closet. No visitors were admitted, excepting perhaps an intimate friend in the evening, which was spent by him in the bosom of his family; usually reading a sermon or portion of Scripture to them. The style of his entertainments was frugal and simple-a fit example for the head of a young Republic.' A guest at one of his Presidential dinners, where the foreign Ministers and the heads of departments were present, says: "It was the least showy dinner that I ever saw at the President's table, and the company was not large. As there was no chaplain present, the President himself said a very short grace as he was sitting down."

During the war, Mrs. Washington was brought to the camp at the close of each campaign. An aid-de-camp was sent to Mount Vernon to escort her to headquarters. Her arrival, in her wellknown family carriage, was always a season of rejoicing, no less among the common soldiers, than among the officers and their families. As soon as the fighting commenced she was sent home again. She remarked in later life, that she had heard the first cannon at the opening, and the last at the closing of the several campaigns of the war. During her residence in camp, she cheerfully accommodated herself to the inconveniences of army life. At Valley Forge, she rejoined Washington in the inclement month of February. Think of a lady traveling from Mount Vernon to Valley Forge, in Chester county, Pa., by a private conveyance, in mid-winter! Writing to a friend she says of her home here: "The General's apartment is very small; he has had a log cabin built to dine in, which has made our quarters much more tolerable than they were at first."

Good Mrs. Washington found from sad experience that the wife of the first President of the United States had no easy position to fill. The forms of State and "Court etiquette" were not definitely fixed. How should the President hold his levees? According to the French or British pattern, or should the head of the Republic originate a style of his own? Much fault was found with these levees. They were called "courtly levees," and "queenly drawing rooms." For some they were too plain and informal; others said "there was more pomp used there than at St. James', and that Washington's bows were more distant and stiff." For some they were too French, others saw in them the ghost of royalty. Washington felt these uncharitable strictures, and so doubtless did his wife. That his bows do not meet the taste of all, he regrets, and says they were the best he was master of. "Would it not have been better to throw the veil of charity over them, ascribing their stiffness to the effects of age, or to the unskilfulness of my teacher, rather than to pride and the dignity of office, which, God knows, has no charms for me? For I can truly say, I had rather be at Mount Vernon, with a friend or two about me, than to be attended at the Seat of Government, by the officers of State, and the representatives of every power of Europe."

On Tuesday afternoon he received all who desired to visit him. A porter showed each visitor into the room, saluting Washington at the entrance. Thereafter all enjoyed themselves promiscuously, as they listed. On Friday afternoon Mrs. Washington received visits, which, he says, were of a "more sociable kind." These levees and dinners, along with his public duties, annoyed him very much. In less than a year they brought on two severe attacks of illness" the last worse than the first. A third, more than probably, will put me to sleep with my fathers."

Meetings, sociable and sinful, in fashionable circles, now begin at 9 or 10 in the evening, and are kept up till after midnight. At Mrs. Washington's Friday evening drawing-room, "the company usually assembled about seven, and rarely staid exceeding ten o'clock. The ladies were seated, and the President passed round the circle, paying his compliments to each." Mrs. Morris always sat at the right of the President's wife; and at all dinners, public or private, the venerable Robert Morris, whenever present, sat at her right. When ladies called, the secretaries and other members of the household, handed them to and from their carriages. For the wives of the brave Greene and Montgomery, Washington himself performed this gallant duty.

Many were the calls and greetings Mrs. Washington received on the Fourth of July, and on the 22d of February. After paying his respects to their chief, many a gallant officer of the Revolution