arms, and turning toward the haunts of his childhood saw fields which had blossomed as the rose half obscured with a new wilderness, with perhaps a charred and silent ruin in the midst, must have felt keenly what seems now to be so commonly forgotten, the fearful price which had been paid for liberty. But then, liberty was secured, and, thankful for this, nearly every one determined to carry content with his remaining energies into a laborious private life.

On the eighteenth of November the British army retired from New York, and the American troops, still in service, entered from an opposite direction, General Washington and Governor Clinton riding at the head of the procession. These events caused, of course, a general joy in the city, and they were celebrated with the utmost enthusiasm. Governor Clinton gave public dinners, first to Washington and his companions in arms, and soon after to the French ambassador, the Chevalier de la Luzerne. At the last there were present more than one hundred gentlemen, besides the Commander-in-Chief, with his general officers in the city, and the principal persons connected with the state government; and in the evening followed the most splendid display of fireworks, from the Bowling Green, that had ever been seen in America. The next day, the fourth of December, occurred the most sadly impressive scene in Washington's history. At noon the officers of the army assembled, according to his request, for a final parting, at Frauncis's tavern, in Broad street. We have a touching description of the scene, by an eye-witness. The Chief, with his customary punctual. ity, entered the room where his brave associates for so many years were assembled. His emotions were too strong to be concealed. Filling a glass, he turned to them and said: "With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as

your former ones have been glorious and honorable." Having drank, he added, "I cannot come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged if each of you will come and take me by the hand." General Knox, being nearest, turned to him. Incapable of utterance, the Chief embraced him, with tears, and in the same affectionate manner he bade farewell to each succeeding officer. In every eye was the tear of dignified sensibility, and not a word interrupted the eloquent silence. Leaving the room, Thatcher continues, he passed through the corps of Light Infantry, and walked to Whitehall, where a barge awaited to convey him to Paulus Hook. The whole company followed in mute and solemn procession, their melancholy countenances displaying emotions which cannot be described. Having entered the barge, he turned to his friends, who stood uncovered upon the shore, and waving his hat, bade them a silent adieu.*

* There are some allusions to these scenes in an interesting letter, addressed to a friend at Albany, by one of the officers who shared the last march of the revolutionary army. "I suppose,” says the writer, “Mrs. Denison told you the news, up to the time she left. You know all about our marching in. There has been nothing done since but rejoice, so far as general appear ances go, and for my part, considering that we are finally free and independent, why, good God! what should I care for the looks of the old house-perfectly sacked, and in such a condition that if the little paper in my exchequer were turned into specie, I should not be able to give it the complexion it had when we quitted it. After all, since Henry was killed, it's of no great consequence what we have suffered in property. If he were with me and the girls, why, we could make thing answer, in some way. Don't suspect I think of placing these private troubles against the public good we have, and which will make up a thousand times to our children all we have lost and endured. Every body now sees what a great character General Washington is. I have heard a good deal about the leave taking at Black Sam's. Happy as was the occasion, and prayed for as it was by him and all patriots, when he might feel that there was not an enemy in America, it brought with it its sorrows, and I could hardly speak when I turned from taking my last look of him. It was extremely affecting. I do not think there ever were so many broken hearts in New York as there were that night. That cursed captain carried off Johnson's girl, after all. He never would think of such a thing you know. He feels down, down. I am suspicious he will never be the man he was. The Chief was told the story by General Knox, and he said he sincerely sympathized with Johnson. That is like him. He was always touched by every body's misfortunes. I saw him at the French minister's dinner. He looked considerably worn out, but happy, though every now and then he seemed to be thinking what all this had cost, and regretting that one friend or another who had stood the fire had not lived to see the glorious end. As to

On Friday, the seventeenth of December, he arrived at An napolis. Two years before, on his way northward, he had been received here with every honor in the gift of the city, and had delighted the people by his amenity, at a public dinner, and at a ball graced by the beauty and finest intelligence of the state. He was now met several miles from the capital, by Generals Gates and Smallwood, and a large concourse of distinguished citizens, who escorted him to his hotel, amid discharges of cannon, the display of banners, and every sign of popular respect and admiration. On Monday, a dinner was given to him by the members of Congress, at which more than two hundred persons were present, and in the evening he attended a grand ball,* in the state-house, which was brilliantly illuminated. In reply to a speech by the Mayor, just before he retired, he remarked, "If my conduct has merited the confidence of my fellow-citizens, and has been instrumental in obtaining for my country the blessings of peace and freedom, I owe it to that Supreme Being who guides the hearts of all, who has so signally interposed his aid in every stage of the contest, and who has graciously been pleased to be

Johnson, he is not alone, by a vast many. These scamps could not conquer the men of this country, but every where they have taken the women, almost without a trial, damn them! But as you say, it's the girls that ought to be damned, who could not hold out against a spruce uniform, nor remember a brave heart. Well, it's their weakness. But I'm in the wrong if one of them who has taken a British husband does not rue it, for which, certainly, I shall not care." The unhappy influence of " spruce uniforms," so feelingly alluded to, was no mere fancy, and the public interests were not unfrequently made to suffer as deeply as the feelings of individuais. In August, 1779, Governor Livingston wrote to his daughter Catherine, "The complaisance with which we treat the British prisoners, considering how they treat us when in captivity, of which you justly complain, is what the Congress can never answer to their constituents, however palliated with the specious name of humanity. It is thus that we shall be at last humanized out of our liberties. . . . I know there are a number of flirts in Philadelphia, equally famed for their want of modesty and their want of patriotism, who will triumph in our over-complaisance to the red coat prisoners lately arrived in that metropolis. I hope none of my connections will imitate them, in the dress of their heads, or in the Tory feelings of their hearts."

The ball was opened by General Washington and Mrs. James Macubbin, one of the most beautiful women of the time.

stow on me the greatest of earthly rewards, the approbation and affection of a free people."

One more scene, among the most sublime in human history, and not less impressive than that of his separation from his companions in arms, awaited him before his retirement to private life. On the twenty-third of December, according to a previous order, he was admitted to a public audience by the Congress, and soon after he was seated, the President, General Mifflin, informed him that that body was prepared to receive his communications. In a brief and appropriate speech he offered his congratulations on the termination of the war, and having alluded to his object in appearing thus in that presence—that he might resign into the hands of Congress the trust committed to him, and claim the indulgence of retiring from the public service-he concluded: "I consider it an indispensable duty to close this last act of my official life, by commending the interests of our dearest country to the protection of Almighty God, and those who have the superintendence of them to his holy keeping. Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the theatre of action, and bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose orders I have so long acted, I here offer my commission, and take my leave of all the employments of public life." He then advanced and delivered into the hands of the President his commission, with a copy of his address, and when he had resumed his place, General Mifflin replied, reviewing in a few words the great career thus brought to a close, and saying in conclusion, "The glory of your virtues will not terminate with your military command: it will continue to animate the remotest ages.... We join with you in commending the interests of our country to Almighty God, beseeching Him to dispose the hearts and minds of its citizens to improve the opportunity afforded them of becoming a happy and respectable nation. And for you, we

you

address to Him our warmest prayers, that a life so beloved may be fostered with all his care, that your days may be as happy as they have been illustrious, and that he will finally give that reward which this world cannot bestow." The editor of the Maryland Gazette, a journal which in this period was printed at Annapolis, remarks, after describing these affecting scenes: “Few tragedies ever drew so many tears, from so many beautiful eyes, as the moving manner in which his Excellency took his final leave of Congress. The next morning he set out for Virginia, accompanied, as far as South River, by Governor Paca, with the warmest wishes of the city for his repose, health, and happiness. Long may he live to enjoy them!" He arrived at his home the same evening, having been absent more than eight years and a half, during which time he had never been at his own house, except incidentally while on his way with Count Rochambeau to Yorktown, and in returning from that expedition. Here, for a while, we leave him, surrounded by his family, receiving every day some new homage from his grateful countrymen and from the noblest men of other nations, and occupied with those rural pursuits for which he had longed so many years, that we may take a brief survey of the social condition of our principal cities after the termination of the revolution.

II.

TURNING from the most credulous study of the half fabulous annals of ancient nations, to the history of our own country, for the period which is embraced in the memories of many who are still living, our reason falters in astonishment; we instinctively regard with doubt and disbelief the unparalleled advance in population, wealth, power, and all the elements of greatness, of those feeble and exhausted colonies, which in 1783 were acknowledged