It was on Christmas eve when Washington reached Mount Vernon. It must have been a happy and a merry Christmas in that beautiful home, for the toils and dangers of war were over, peace was smiling upon all the land, and the people were free and independent. The enjoyment of his home, under these circumstances, was an exquisite one to the retired soldier; and in his letters to his friends he gives frequent and touching evidence of his happiness in private life. To Lafayette he wrote on the first of February:—
“At length, my dear marquis, I am become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac, and under the shadow of my own vine and my own fig-tree, free from the bustle of a camp, and the busy scenes of public life. I am solacing myself with those tranquil enjoyments, of which the soldier, who is ever in pursuit of fame, the statesman, whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of other countries, as if this globe was insufficient for us all, and the courtier, who is always watching the countenance of his prince, in hopes of catching a gracious smile, can have very little conception. I have not only retired from all public employments, but I am retiring within myself, and shall be able to view the solitary walk, and tread the paths of private life, with a heartfelt satisfaction. Envious of none, I am determined to be pleased with all; and this my dear friend, being the order of my march, I will move gently down the stream of life, until I sleep with my fathers.”
A little later he wrote to Madam Lafayette, saying:—
“Freed from the clangor of arms and the bustle of a camp, from the cares of public employment and the responsibility of office, I am now enjoying domestic ease under the shadow of my own vine and my own fig-tree; and in a small villa, with the implements of husbandry and lambkins around me, I expect to glide gently down the stream of life, till I am entombed in the mansion of my fathers.
“Come, then, let me entreat you, and call my cottage your home; for your own doors do not open to you with more readiness than mine would. You will see the plain manner in which we live, and meet with rustic civility; and you shall taste the simplicity of rural life. It will diversify the scene, and may give you a higher relish for the gayeties of the court, when you return to Versailles. In these wishes and most respectful compliments, Mrs. Washington joins me.”
Notwithstanding Washington's retirement was so perfect as to amount to positive isolation for a month or more, on account of the effects of an intensely severe winter, which closed almost every avenue to Mount Vernon, and suspended even neighborly intercourse, he found it extremely difficult to divest himself of the habits of the camp. “Strange as it may seem,” he wrote to General Knox on the twentieth of February, “it is nevertheless true, that it was not till lately I could get the better of my usual custom of ruminating, as soon as I waked in the morning, on the business of the ensuing day; and of my surprise at finding, after revolving many things in my mind, that I was no longer a public man, nor had anything to do with public transactions.
“I feel now, however, as I conceive a wearied traveller must do, who, after treading many a painful step with a heavy burthen on his shoulders, is eased of the latter, having reached the haven to which all the former were directed; and from his house-top is looking back, and tracing with an eager eye the meanders by which he escaped the quicksands and mires which lay in his way; and into which none but the all-powerful Guide and Dispenser of human events could have prevented his falling.”
Surely, if ever a man had cause for serenity of mind while taking a retrospect of his public and private life, it was George Washington. From his youth he had walked in the path of truth and rectitude, and throughout his long public career of about thirty years, at the time of his retirement from the army, not a stain of dishonor—not even the suspicion of a stain—had ever been seen upon his character. His moral escutcheon was bright, his conscience was unqualifiedly approving, his country loved him above all her sons. With a sincere desire to spend the remainder of his days as a simple farmer upon the Potomac, without the ambition of being famous, or the expectation of being again called into public life, he resumed his old domestic habits, and prepared for the enjoyment of the evening of his days undisturbed by the turmoils of society around him.
“My manner of living is plain,” he wrote to a friend, “and I do not mean to be put out by it. A glass of wine and a bit of mutton are always ready, and such as will be content to partake of them, are always welcome. Those who expect more will be disappointed.”
But Washington's modest dream of quietude and simplicity of life in his home at Mount Vernon was not realized.