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Congress adjourned on the twelfth of August, after a session of about seven months, during which time questions of great importance had been met, discussed, and settled; not always, it must be confessed, in a conciliatory spirit. In a partial defense of the national legislature, in a letter to Doctor Stuart, Washington remarked: “I do not mean, however, from what I have here said, to justify the conduct of Congress in all these movements; for some of their movements, in my opinion, have been injudicious, and others unseasonable; whilst the questions of assumption, residence, and other matters, have been agitated with a warmth and intemperance, with prolixity and threats, which, it is to be feared, have lessened the dignity of that body, and decreased that respect which was once entertained for it. And this misfortune is increased by many members, even among those who wish well to the government, ascribing in letters to their respective states, when they are defeated in a favorite measure, the worst motives for the conduct of their opponents, who, viewing matters through another medium, may and do retort in their turn; by which means jealousies and distrusts are spread most impolitically far and wide, and will, it is to be feared, have a most unhappy tendency to injure our public affairs, which, if wisely managed, might make us, as we are now by Europeans thought to be, the happiest people upon earth.”

The session just closed had been a season of great labor for the president. The cares of state had been many and important, and the affairs of France had occupied much of his attention. Some days his application to public business was so continuous, from early morning until evening, that he omitted his usual exercise in the open air. He managed, however, to make a tour of four days, in his carriage, upon Long Island. He travelled eastward as far as Huntington, making (as appears by his diary) careful observations of the country and its resources. He proceeded from Brooklyn, through Flatbush and New Utrecht, to Gravesend, on the extreme western point of the island, and then eastward to Jamaica by the middle road. From Jamaica he journeyed to South Hempstead, and then to Hart's tavern in Brookhaven, from which place he struck across toward the north shore of the island by Coram to Setauket. On the third day of his journey (April the twenty-third) he went through Smithstown to Huntington, where he dined; and then turning westward, he drove to Oyster bay and lodged. Early the following morning he passed through Mosquito cove, and breakfasted at Hendrick Onderdonk's, at the head of a bay, the site of the present village of Roslyn, or Hempstead harbor. He dined at Flushing, reached Brooklyn ferry before sunset, and home at twilight.

Incessant application to business made severe inroads upon the health of the president, and on the tenth of May he was seized with a severe illness, which reduced him to the verge of dissolution. He was confined to his chamber for several weeks, and it was not until the twenty-fourth of June that he was able to resume his diary. His chief difficulty was inflammation of the lungs, and he suffered from general debility until the close of the session of Congress in August. Then, accompanied by Jefferson, he made a voyage to Newport, Rhode Island, especially for the benefit of his health, and incidentally to have personal intercourse with the leading inhabitants there, he having, as we have observed, avoided the soil of Rhode Island when on his eastern tour, that state not then being a member of the Union. It had recently entered by adopting the federal constitution.

The sea-voyage was beneficial to the health of the president; and soon after his return, at the close of August, he set out with his family for Mount Vernon, there to seek repose from the turmoil of public life, and the sweet recreation which he always experienced in the midst of agricultural employments in that happy retreat. He carried with him to Mount Vernon a curious present which he received from his friend Lafayette, just before the adjournment of Congress. It was the ponderous iron key of the Bastile—that old fortress of despotism in Paris which the populace of that city captured the year before, and which had been levelled to the ground by order of the marquis, who was still at the head of the revolution in France.

Washington had watched the course of his friend with great anxiety; for he loved the marquis as a brother. The career upon which he had entered was a most difficult and perilous one. “Never has any man been placed in a more critical situation,” the Marquis de Luzerne wrote to Washington. “A good citizen, a faithful subject, he is embarrassed by a thousand difficulties in making many people sensible of what is proper, who very often feel it not, and who sometimes do not understand what it is.”

“He acts now a splendid but dangerous part,” wrote Gouverneur Morris. Lafayette himself felt the perils of his position. “How often, my well-beloved general,” he wrote to Washington early in the year, “have I regretted your sage counsels and friendly support. We have advanced in the career of the revolution without the vessel of state being wrecked against the rocks of aristocracy or faction.... At present, that which existed has been destroyed; a new political edifice is forming; without being perfect, it is sufficient to assure liberty. Thus prepared, the nation will be in a state to elect in two years a convention which can correct the faults of the constitution.” Alas! those two years had scarcely passed away before the hopeful champion of freedom was a prisoner, far away from his home, in an Austrian dungeon. But we will not anticipate.

Two months later, Lafayette wrote a most hopeful letter to Washington. “Our revolution,” he said, “pursues its march as happily as is possible with a nation which, receiving at once all its liberties, is yet subject to confound them with licentiousness.” He then spoke of the hinderances to speedy success in the establishment of a sound republican government, and said: “After having avowed all this, my dear general, I will tell you, with the same frankness, that we have made an admirable and almost incredible destruction of all the abuses, of all the prejudices; that all which was not useful to the people—all which did not come from them—has been retrenched; that, in considering the situation, topographical, moral, and political, of France, we have effected more changes in ten months than the most presumptive patriots could have hoped, and that the reports about our anarchy, our internal troubles, are greatly exaggerated.”

In conclusion, the marquis said: “Permit me, my dear general, to offer you a picture representing the Bastile, such as it was some days after I had given orders for its demolition, with the main key of the fortress of despotism. It is a tribute which I owe as a son to an adopted father—as an aid-de-camp to my general—as a missionary of liberty to its patriarch.”

The picture and key were placed in the hands of Thomas Paine, then in London, who was intending soon to visit the United States. His destination was changed to France, and after considerable delay he forwarded the precious mementoes, with a letter, in which he said:—

On the receipt of these presents early in August, Washington wrote to Lafayette, saying: “I have received your affectionate letter of the seventeenth of March by one conveyance, and the token of the victory gained by liberty over despotism by another; for both which testimonials of your friendship and regard, I pray you to accept my sincerest thanks. In this great subject of triumph for the new world and for humanity in general, it will never be forgotten how conspicuous a part you bore, and how much lustre you reflected on a country in which you made the first displays of your character.”

Referring in the same letter to the treaty which had been concluded with the Creeks, he said: “This event will leave us at peace from one end of our borders to the other, except when it may be interrupted by a small refugee banditti of Cherokees and Shawnees, who can be easily chastised, or even extirpated, if it shall become necessary.” He then added:—

“Gradually recovering from the distress in which the war left us, patiently advancing in our task of civil government, unentangled in the crooked politics of Europe, wanting scarcely anything but the free navigation of the Mississippi (which we must have, and as certainly shall have as we remain a nation), I have supposed that, with the undeviating exercise of a just, steady, and prudent national policy, we shall be the gainers, whether the powers of the old world may be in peace or war, but more especially in the latter case. In that case, our importance will certainly increase, and our friendship will be coveted.” The last clause foreshadows that neutral policy which Washington assumed for the government of the United States at a little later period, when great efforts were made to involve it in the meshes of European politics, by active sympathy with the democratic movements in France.

Rest at Mount Vernon was grateful to the wearied chief of the republic. Yet it was not absolute repose. As a conscientious public servant; as the chief officer of a government yet in a comparatively formative state, and charged with the highest trusts that can be committed to mortal man, he felt most sensibly the care of state, even in his quiet home on the banks of the Potomac. One subject, in particular, filled him with anxiety. He had ordered the chastisement of the Indians in the Ohio country, and troops had gone thither for the purpose. He had deprecated a war with the deluded savages, but good policy appeared to demand it; and on the thirtieth of September an expedition set out from Fort Washington, where the city of Cincinnati now stands, under General Harmer, a veteran of the Revolution. But from that time until his arrival in Philadelphia, at the close of November, Washington remained in profound ignorance of the operations or the fate of the expedition. On the second of November he wrote to General Knox, the secretary of war, expressing his surprise that no information of the expedition had been received, and saying: “This, in my opinion, is an undertaking of a very serious nature. I am not a little anxious to know the result of it.... This matter, favorable or otherwise in the issue, will require to be laid before the Congress, that the motives which induced the expedition may appear.”

On his arrival in Philadelphia, Washington received a letter from Governor Clinton, of New York, giving an account of Harmer's ill success against the Indians, reported by Captain Brant, the celebrated Mohawk warrior of the Revolution. “If this information of Captain Brant be true,” Washington wrote to Clinton in reply, “the issue of the expedition against the Indians will indeed prove unfortunate and disgraceful to the troops, who suffered themselves to be ambuscaded.”

It was even so. The expedition, as we have already observed, failed in its efforts, and the savages took courage for future operations. An expensive war of four or five years' duration ensued.