“To the wearied traveller who sees a resting-place, and is bending his body to lean thereon, I now compare myself; but to be suffered to do this in peace is too much to be endured by some. To misrepresent my motives, to reprobate my politics, and to weaken the confidence which has been reposed in my administration, are objects which can not be relinquished by those who will be satisfied with nothing short of a change in our political system. The consolation, however, which results from conscious rectitude, and the approving voice of my country, unequivocally expressed by its representatives, deprive their sting of its poison, and place in the same point of view the weakness and malignity of their efforts....
“The remainder of my life, which in the course of nature can not be long, will be occupied in rural amusements; and, though I shall seclude myself as much as possible from the noisy and bustling crowd, none would, more than myself, be regaled by the company of those I esteem at Mount Vernon; more than twenty miles from which, after I arrive there, it is not likely that I ever shall be.
“As early in next week as I can make arrangements for it, I shall commence my journey for Mount Vernon. To-morrow, at dinner, I shall, as a servant of the public, take my leave of the president elect, of the foreign embassadors, the heads of departments, &c., and the day following, with pleasure, I shall witness the inauguration of my successor to the chair of government.”
There was a large company of ladies and gentlemen at the dinner, on the third of March, when Washington, in a somewhat informal manner, bade them all farewell. “During the dinner,” wrote Bishop White, who was one of the guests, “much hilarity prevailed; but, on the removal of the cloth, it was put an end to by the president—certainly without design. Having filled his glass, he addressed the company, with a smile on his countenance, saying, 'Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last time I shall drink your health as a public man. I do it with sincerity, and wishing you all possible happiness.' There was an end to all hilarity, and the cheeks of Mrs. Liston, wife of the British minister, were wet with tears.”
On that morning Washington performed an act of justice to himself, which he had refrained from doing while in office. It was in the form of a letter to Mr. Pickering, the secretary of state, giving his own statement concerning the spurious letters which we have already noticed—their dates, addresses, and signatures, and all the facts in the case, the chief of which we have already noted. “These well-known facts,” he said, “made it unnecessary, during the war, to call the public attention to the forgery by any express declaration of mine; and a firm reliance on my fellow-citizens, and the abundant proofs which they gave of their confidence in me, rendered it alike unnecessary to take any formal notice of the revival of the imposition during my civil administration. But as I can not know how soon a more serious event may succeed to that which will this day take place, I have thought it a duty that I owed to myself, to my country, and to truth, now to detail the circumstances above recited; and to add my solemn declaration that the letters herein described[114] are a base forgery, and that I never saw or heard of them until they appeared in print.
“The present letter I commit to your care, and desire that it may be deposited in the office of the department of state, as a testimony of the truth to the present generation and to posterity.”
On the fourth of March, John Adams, Washington's successor, was inaugurated the second president of the United States. The event took place in the hall of the representatives, which was densely crowded with spectators. Mr. Jefferson, the new vice-president, had just taken his seat as president of the senate. That body had been convened by Washington for the occasion; and now, with their presiding officer, they went into the representatives' hall, where a large audience of ladies and gentlemen were collected to witness the inaugural ceremonies. In front of the speaker's chair sat chief-justice Ellsworth, who was to administer the oath, with three other judges of the supreme court of the United States (Cushing, Wilson, and Iredell). The new vice-president and secretary of the senate took their seats on the right; and on the left sat the speaker and clerk of the late house of representatives. At a signal the doors were thrown open, and a crowd rushed in and filled the galleries. Very soon loud cheering was heard in the streets, and a few moments afterward Washington entered, followed by the president elect. The whole audience arose and greeted them with enthusiastic cheers.
John Adams
When the two dignitaries were seated perfect silence prevailed. Washington then arose, and with the most commanding dignity and self-control, proceeded to read, in a firm, clear voice, a brief valedictory. An eye-witness yet (1860) living,[115] has made the following interesting record of this portion of the scene:—