Washington's advice was followed. The lesson had been learned. Each officer and soldier in Indian dress, and "light as any Indian in the woods," the troops entered the fateful forest, where Braddock's men had been butchered. They found nothing to do but hoist the English Union Jack over the smoking walls of Ft. Duquesne; for the French, fearing they would be cut off by the English in the North, had abandoned and burned their fortress. There was now no need of an army in the Ohio Valley. A new fortress arose on the ruins of Fort Duquesne-on the very spot which Washington himself had first selected. In honor of the famous prime minister, it was named Fort Pitt. There today stands the city of Pittsburgh.

News from Canada, in 1759, of the capture of Quebec, told that the French power in America was at an end. With the coming of peace, Washington left the army to lead the life of a Virginia gentleman at Mt. Vernon, which had become his own through the death of his niece. He was soon elected a member of the House of Burgesses. At his first appearance in the house, Speaker Robinson rose to thank him for his services, now on the lips of every Virginian. Blushing and confused, Washington stood, unable to utter a word. "Sit down, Mr. Washington," said the Speaker, "your modesty is equal to your valor, and that surpasses the power of any language that I possess." During the years that followed, and until the coming of the Revolution, Washington served Virginia as a Burgess.

Meanwhile, on a day in May, in 1758, as he rode on orders to Williamsburg, with the faithful Bishop at his side, Washington had been met by a friend and asked to his home to dine, and-for this was part of the invitation-to meet a beautiful young widow,

his guest. Since the affair of the "Lowland Beauty," the young soldier's heart, so history says, had beaten the quicker for the charms of another Virginia maiden and of a New York belle, but now it made its final surrender. Dinner was over, Bishop and the restless horses at the door. The shadows lengthened, and still Washington tarried, forgetful of everything but the charms of sweet Martha Custis. Twilight came, and the horses were sent back to the stable. It was well

on in the morning of the next day before Washington bowed low in farewell over the lovely widow's hand, and spurred his horse on to Williamsburg. His duty there done, he returned and sought her at once-this time at her own home. When again he left her, he carried with him to the frontier the promise of her love. This is part of a letter he wrote her, while on the march for the Ohio: "A courier is starting for Williamsburg, and I embrace the opportunity to send a few words to one whose life is now inseparable from mine. Since that happy hour when we made our pledges to each other, my thoughts have been continually going to you as to another self. That an all-powerful Providence may keep us both in safety is the prayer of your ever faithful and ever affectionate friend, G. Washington."

It was on January sixth, 1759, that a brilliant wedding took place at the little Virginia church. In the clear winter sunshine, the soldierly bridegroom, bravely clad in blue, silver and scarlet, gold buckles at knee and instep, rode beside the window of the coach and six that bore his radiant bride. Following them in other coaches was a party of "Virginia belles❞ in their beautiful silks and satins, attended by a group of His Majesty's officers, resplendent in red and gold. After three months of peaceful content at his bride's

home, Washington took his wife and her two little children, Jack and Patty Custis, to Mount Vernon.

For fifteen years he gave himself to the life of a Virginia planter with the same right good will as he had to that of a soldier. Washington chose capable men for his overseers, but he himself looked to every detail of work on his large estates. Rising often before light, early in the saddle, directing overseers and negroes, breaking in new horses, training his fine hunting dogs, studying and improving his crops, he passed his days. Washington believed that "Anything worth doing at all is worth doing well." He man like Franklin, who knew how to work with his hands and loved to do it. He often labored with his men, setting out trees, or skillfully swinging a hammer at a blacksmith's forge.

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He himself wrote all his letters and long orders to England. He watched the changes in foreign prices and duties. He kept exact account of every detail of his own and his wife's property. In a few years he became known as a planter on both sides of the Atlantic. England found his tobacco the best in all Virginia. Barrels of flour, marked "George Washington-Mount Vernon" were passed without examination at the West Indian ports. His wife's estate, joined to his own, made him one of the richest men in Virginia, where most planters were heavily in debt. But the increase of this wealth was due to hard work, thrift, wise management. When Washington died he owned more than fifty-one thousand acres of land, and was probably the greatest landholder in America. His estate was valued at more than a half million dollars.

Devoted to his "dear Patsy," as he always called his wife, whose portrait in miniature he wore around his neck till the day of his death, and loving her two little