The Governor's palace did not absorb all the gayety of Williamsburg. Who has not heard of the Raleigh Tavern, with its leaden bust of Sir Walter, and its crowning glory of "The Apollo Room," named doubtless for that famous "Apollo Room" in the "Devil's Tavern," Fleet Street, where Shakespeare and Jonson held their bouts of wit and wine? If we could have crept up to the Raleigh Tavern some night, early in the last half of the last century, and peeped through the small-paned windows of "the Apollo," we might have seen a party of gay collegians making merry with their sweethearts and friends. This tall youth, with sandy hair and gray eyes, is Tom Jefferson, who is offering his awkward homage at the shrine of Miss 'Becca Burwell. Near them is Jefferson's most intimate friend, Jack Page, dancing with his Nancy. Yonder, near the wide fireplace, between Sukey Potter and Betsy Moore, stands Ben Harrison, a mere boy still, though soon to enter the House of Burgesses, and over there in the corner, gravely surveying the dancers, is the uniformed figure of the young soldier, George Washington. Should we have read in these youthful faces a promise of the parts they were destined to play on the world's stage? Probably no more than we should have foreseen this gay ballroom turned into the hall of a political assembly, where the first birth-cry of American freedom is heard. We can get whatever impression we choose of Williamsburg and its society by selecting our authority judiciously. Burnaby, who visited it in 1759, describes it as a pleasant little town, with wooden houses straggling along unpaved streets; while Hugh Jones writes, thirty years earlier, that many good families live here "who dress after the same modes and behave themselves exactly as the Gentry in London." "Most families of any note," he adds, "have a coach, chariot, Berlin or chaise." The city, so he says, is well stocked with rich stores, and "at the Governor's House upon Birthnights and at Balls and Assemblies, I have seen as fine an appearance, as good diversion, and as splendid entertainments in Governor Spotswood's time as I have seen anywhere." When Governor Botetourt (pronounced after the English fashion, _Bottatot_) came over to Virginia, he took the oath of office here at Williamsburg, and rode in state in a great coach drawn by six milk-white horses. After the oath had been administered, a grand supper was given in his honor at the Raleigh Tavern. _The Gazette_ gives a full account of the affair. An ode was sung, beginning: "He comes! His Excellency comes To cheer Virginia's plains. Fill, your brisk bowls, ye loyal sons, And sing your loftiest strains! Be this your glory, this your boast, Lord Botetourt's the favorite toast. Triumphant wreaths entwine! Fill your bumpers swiftly round, And make your spacious rooms resound With music, joy and wine!" The air being ended, the recitative took up the strain of effusive compliment: