We found the coach, by which we meant to proceed to Little Washington, full, and learnt that we must wait two days before it would again leave the town.  Posting was never heard of in the country, and the mail travelled all night, which I did not approve of; we therefore found ourselves compelled to pass two days at the Wheeling hotel.

I know not how this weary interval would have worn away, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance of our meeting with a bel esprit among the boarders there.  We descended to the common sitting room (for private parlours there are none) before breakfast the morning after our arrival; several ordinary individuals entered, till the party amounted to eight or nine.  Again the door opened, and in swam a female, who had once certainly been handsome, and who, it was equally evident, still thought herself so.  She was tall, and well formed, dressed in black, with many gaudy trinkets about her:  a scarlet fichu relieved the sombre colour of her dress, and a very smart little cap at the back of her head set off an immense quantity of sable hair, which naturally, or artificially, adorned her forehead.  A becoming quantity of rouge gave the finishing touch to her figure, which had a degree of pretension about it that immediately attracted our notice.  She talked fluently, and without any American restraint, and I began to be greatly puzzled as to who or what she could be; a lady, in the English sense of the word, I was sure she was not, and she was a little like an American female of what they call good standing.  A beautiful girl of seventeen entered soon after, and called her “Ma,” and both mother and daughter chattered away, about themselves and their concerns, in a manner that greatly increased my puzzle.

After breakfast, being much in want of amusement, I seated myself by her, and entered into conversation.  I found her nothing loth, and in about a minute and a half she put a card into my hand, setting forth, that she taught the art of painting upon velvet in all its branches.

She stated to me, with great volubility, that no one but herself and her daughter knew any thing of this invaluable branch of art; but that for twenty-five dollars they were willing to communicate all they knew.

In five minutes more she informed me that she was the author of some of the most cutting satires in the language; and then she presented me a paper, containing a prospectus, as she called it, of a novel, upon an entirely new construction.  I was strangely tempted to ask her if it went by steam, but she left me no time to ask any thing, for, continuing the autobiography she had so obligingly begun, she said, “I used to write against all the Adams faction.  I will go up stairs in a moment and fetch you down my sat-heres against that side.  But oh! my dear madam! it is really frightful to think how talent is neglected in this country.  Ah!  I know what you are going to say, my dear madam, you will tell me that