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Show byways and backwaters Williamsburg, Virginia: Colonial Jewel College of William and Mary campus. Hand hooked rugs on the hard wood floor, spotlessly white sheets and towels, and a breathtaking view of the rose garden put back, all for $7.50 a night. No, Williamsburg revisited was no disappointment. Not for a first timer, either. ' little larger on the fringes, perhaps, with a greater pool of accommodations to house its increased number of visitors. The elegant Williamsburg Inn still offers gracious hospitality to more affluent guests while the confortable Williamsburg Lodge holds its own as the first official "motel" in the community. com-munity. And, the guest homes, still superlative and reasonably priced. For us, a lovely old colonial dwelling just across from the by Pat Whitfield A childhood in the Middle Atlantic States is liberally sprinkled with strong dashes of militia marches to pipes and drums each dusk. The fearless can sample the stock and pillory of the archaic prison. For me, Williamsburg was no disappointment, revisited. A U.S. colonial history, The Revolution, that is. After all, "Washington slept here" signs are as common as Burna-Shave used to be from Virginia to Massachusetts. For Eastern school children, a spring vacation vaca-tion to Washington, D.C. is a natural must to see the cherry blossoms in bloom and visit the mecca of monuments that swell our nation's capital. In our family, the spring tradition ' extended southward, always to encompass Williamsburg, Virginia. A completely restored U.S. colonial town of the late eighteenth century, Williamsburg Williams-burg sprang to life in the mid-1 930' s largely through the largesse of the Rockefeller family. Because my father was involved for several years in the selection of furniture appropriate appropri-ate to the period, he took a personal interest in seeing that we were exposed to Williamsburg's Williams-burg's charms over a period of growing years. I still savor the thrill of getting hopelessly "lost" in the maze at the Governor's palace, the wonder of three-tined forks to spear my entree at , Chowning's Tavern, and the blissful sensation of squeaky-clean sheets in the equally spotless Williamsburg guest homes we stayed in. Somehow childhood memories memor-ies pale with revisiting. Nonetheless, None-theless, I trekked back in time not long ago, " taking my daughter to Williamsburg one spring day hoping to experience just a fraction of those luscious childhoos moments in a town two centuries old. And, amazingly, amaz-ingly, I wasn't disappointed. Yes, Williamsburg now boasts a full-blown visitor center for tour buses and out-of-town guests. Full-on audio-visual barrage of information of what Williamsburg was and is, and how it became that way. But, still, the village's cobblestoned streets are reserved-solely for the foot traveler. Its shops and homes are hosted by goodfolk in eighteenth century attire, dust caps, panequins, pondered and caps, panequins, powdered and unpowdered wigs. The Governor's Palace still stands in silent elegance, its maze beckoning a child's fantasies. The House of Burgesses Bur-gesses even now suggests the fervor of Patrick Henry's, "Give me liberty or give me death ! ' ' The craftsmen still ply their trades - the candlemaker, the millner, the silversmith. Inns and taverns continue to serve delectable Smithfield ham, peanut soup and other Virginia savories in the glow of flickering beeswax candles nightly. The |