We know that he succeeded in his mission and put the captain of thirty men in his proper place, but no one now can tell how deeply he was affected by the charms of Miss Philipse.  The only certain fact is that he was able not long after to console himself very effectually.  Riding away from Mount Vernon once more, in the spring of 1758, this time to Williamsburg with dispatches, he stopped at William’s Ferry to dine with his friend Major Chamberlayne, and there he met Martha Dandridge, the widow of Daniel Parke Custis.  She was young, pretty, intelligent, and an heiress, and her society seemed to attract the young soldier.  The afternoon wore away, the horses came to the door at the appointed time, and after being walked back and forth for some hours were returned to the stable.  The sun went down, and still the colonel lingered.  The next morning he rode away with his dispatches, but on his return he paused at the White House, the home of Mrs. Custis, and then and there plighted his troth with the charming widow.  The wooing was brief and decisive, and the successful lover departed for the camp, to feel more keenly than ever the delays of the British officers and the shortcomings of the colonial government.  As soon as Fort Duquesne had fallen he hurried home, resigned his commission in the last week of December, and was married on January 6, 1759.  It was a brilliant wedding party which assembled on that winter day in the little church near the White House.  There were gathered Francis Fauquier, the gay, free-thinking, high-living governor, gorgeous in scarlet and gold; British officers, redcoated and gold-laced, and all the neighboring gentry in the handsomest clothes that London credit could furnish.  The bride was attired in silk and satin, laces and brocade, with pearls on her neck and in her ears; while the bridegroom appeared in blue and silver trimmed with scarlet, and with gold buckles at his knees and on his shoes.  After the ceremony the bride was taken home in a coach and six, her husband riding beside her, mounted on a splendid horse and followed by all the gentlemen of the party.

[Illustration:  Mary Morris born Mary Philipse]

The sunshine and glitter of the wedding-day must have appeared to Washington deeply appropriate, for he certainly seemed to have all that heart of man could desire.  Just twenty-seven, in the first flush of young manhood, keen of sense and yet wise in experience, life must have looked very fair and smiling.  He had left the army with a well-earned fame, and had come home to take the wife of his choice and enjoy the good-will and respect of all men.  While away on his last campaign he had been elected a member of the House of Burgesses, and when he took his seat on removing to Williamsburg, three months after his marriage, Mr. Robinson, the speaker, thanked him publicly in eloquent words for his services to the country.  Washington rose to reply, but he was so utterly unable to talk about himself that he stood before the House