The first day of February the start was made. The grand equipage set forth, with the earl and George on the back seat of the coach and Lance on the box. Billy rode George’s horse, and was in ecstasies at the prospect of such an expedition. On the second day, in the evening, the coach rolled into Williamsburg. It was a lovely February evening, and the watchman was going about lighting lanterns hung to tall poles at the street corners. George had chosen to make the last stage with the earl, and was deeply interested in all he saw. The town was as straggling as Alexandria, or as Fredericksburg, but there was that unmistakable air of a capital which the presence of the seat of government always gives. As they drove rapidly, and with great clatter and noise, down Duke of Gloucester Street, George noticed many gentlemen in both naval and military uniforms, and others in the unpowdered wig of the scholar, which last he inferred were professors and tutors at the college. Of collegians there were not a few, and George noticed they always appeared in gangs, and seemed to regard themselves as quite aloof from other persons and slightly superior to them. As the coach drove quickly through the Palace Green, with the palace on one hand and the college on the other, both were brilliantly lighted. A couple of sentries in red coats marched up and down before the palace--a long, rambling brick building with its two generous wings, and its great courtyard with fine iron gates. On top was a cupola, which was only lighted up on gala nights. On both sides of the palace were spacious gardens, with a straight canal, bordered with cedars, cut in the stiff, artificial manner of the time, and with small summer-houses, in the form of Greek temples, made of stucco. A coach was driving out and another was driving in, while an officer, evidently an aide-de-camp, picked his way along the gravelled path that led to the side where the offices were. Opposite the palace towered the plain but substantial brick buildings of William and Mary College, and a crowd of students were going into the common hall for supper. It all seemed very grand to George’s eyes, and when they alighted at the Raleigh Tavern, the tavern-keeper, wearing silk stockings and carrying two silver candlesticks, came out to meet them, and ushered them into a handsome private room, ornamented over the mantel by a print of his majesty, King George the Second. The tavern-keeper was not by any means like the sturdy citizens who kept houses of entertainment between Fredericksburg and the mountains. He “my lorded” the earl at every turn, and was evidently used to fine company. He was happy to say that he was then entertaining Sir John Peyton, of Gloucester, who had come to Williamsburg for the winter season, and Colonel Byrd, of Westover. Also, the Honorable John Tyler, marshal of the colony, was attending the governor’s council upon matters of importance, and was occupying the second-best rooms in the tavern--my lord having the best, of course, according to his rank. The earl was a little wearied with all this, but bore with it civilly until the tavern-keeper bowed himself out, when William Fairfax burst in, delighted to see them. William was neither so tall nor so handsome as George, but he was a fine young fellow, overflowing with health and spirits.