myself, you could not have found a person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable. At the same time, in justice to my own feelings, I must add, that no man possesses a more serious wish to see ample justice done to the army than I do; and, as far as my power and influence, in a constitutional way, extend, they shall be employed to the utmost of my abilities to effect it, should there be any occasion. Let me conjure you, then, if you have any regard for your country, concern for yourself or posterity, or respect for me, to banish these thoughts from your mind, and never communicate, as from yourself or any one else, a sentiment of the like nature."

In perfect keeping with the spirit in which Washington treated the dazzling offer thus so unexpectedly set before him, was the simplicity of his conduct in bidding adieu to his comrades-in-arms, and then presenting himself before congress, there to deliver up his sword, and voluntarily divest himself of the supreme command;-in the serene and thoughtful phraseology of his own words, "to address. himself once more, and that for the last time, to the armies of the United States, however widely dispersed the individuals who compose them may be, and to bid them an affectionate and a long farewell."

For the last time, he assembled them at Newburgh, when he rode out on the field, and gave them one of those paternal addresses which so eminently characterized his relationship with his army. To the tune of "Roslin Castle," the soldier's dirge, his brave comrades passed slowly by their great leader, and filed away to their respective homes. It was a thrilling scene. There were gray-headed soldiers, who had grown old by hardships and exposures, and too old to begin life anew; tears coursed freely the furrowed cheeks of these veterans. Among the thousands passing in review before him were those, also, who had done valorous service when the destiny of the country hung tremblingly in the balance. As Washington looked upon them for the last time, he said, "I am

growing old in my country's service, and losing my sight; but I never doubted its

justice or gratitude." justice or gratitude." Even on the rudest and roughest of the soldiery, the effect of his parting language was irresistible.

On the fourth of December, 1783, by Washington's request, his officers, in full uniform, assembled in Fraunces's tavern, New York, to take a final leave of their commander-in-chief. On entering the room, and finding himself surrounded by his old companions-in-arms, who had shared with him so many scenes of hardship, difficulty, and danger, his agitated feelings overcame his usual self-command. Every man arose with eyes turned towards him. Filling a glass of wine, and lifting it to his lips, he rested his benignant but saddened countenance upon 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 as your former ones have been honorable and glorious." Having drunk, he added, "I cannot come to each. of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged to you, if each of you will come and take me by the hand." A profound silence followed, as each officer gazed on the countenance of their leader, while the eyes of all were wet with tears. He then expressed again his desire that each of them should come and take him by the hand. The first, being nearest to him, was General Knox, who grasped his hand in silence, and both embraced each other without uttering a word. One after another followed, receiving and returning the affectionate adieu of their commander, after which he left the room in silence, followed by his officers in procession, to embark in the barge that was to convey him to Paulus's Hook, now Jersey City. As he was passing through the light infantry drawn up on either side to receive him, an old soldier, who was by his side on the terrible night of his march to Trenton, stepped out from the ranks, and reaching out his arms, exclaimed, “Farewell, my dear general, farewell!" Washington seized his hand most heartily, when

their tears. The scene was like that of a good patriarch taking leave of his children, and going on a long journey, from whence he might return no more.

Having entered the barge, he turned to the weeping company upon the wharf, and waving his hat, bade them a silent adieu. They stood with heads uncovered, until the barge was hidden from their view, when, in silent and solemn procession, they returned to the place where they had assembled. Congress was at this time in session at Annapolis, Maryland, to which place Washington now proceeded, greeted along his whole route with enthusiastic homage, for the purpose of formally resigning his commission. He arrived on the nineteenth of December, 1783, and the next day he informed congress of the purpose for which he had come, and requested to know whether it would be their pleasure that he should offer his resignation in writing, or at an audience. A committee was appointed by congress, and it was decided that on Tuesday, December twentythird, the ceremonial should take place as follows:

:

The president and members are to be seated and covered, and the secretary to be standing by the side of the president; the arrival of the general to be announced by the messenger to the secretary, who is thereupon to introduce the general, attended by his aids, into the hall of congress; the general, being conducted to a chair by the secretary, is to be seated, with an aid on each side standing, and the secretary is to resume his place. After a proper time for the arrangement of spectators, silence is to be ordered by the secretary, if necessary, and the president is to address the general in the following words: "Sir,-The United States in congress assembled are prepared to receive your communications." Whereupon the general is to arise and address after congress; which he is to deliver his commission and a copy of his address to the president. The general having resumed his place, the

gress, which the general is to receive standing; the president having finished, the secretary is to deliver the general a copy of the answer, and the general is then to take his leave. When the general rises to make his address, and also when he retires, he is to bow to congress, which they are to return by uncovering without bowing.

When the hour arrived, the president, General Mifflin, informed him that that body was prepared to receive his communications. With a native dignity, heightened by the solemnity of the occasion, the general rose. 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 with those affecting words, which drew tears from the eyes of all in that vast assembly:

"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 theater 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."

After advancing to the chair, and delivering his commission to the president, he returned to his place, and remained standing, while General Mifflin replied, reviewing 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 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 you that reward which this world cannot bestow."

appointing, after the manner of independent nations, a Minister Plenipotentiary to the court of Great Britain!

In February, 1785, John Adams was duly accredited ambassador, to represent the United States at that court.

That George the Third was as obstinate a man as ever ruled a kingdom, no historian has ever questioned. Having struck at the rights and liberties of America, in order to add to the riches of his coffers, nothing could turn him from his determin

Gloryh

ation to rule, or to ruin and destroy. To the suggestion that the king's rule over the colonies might be slightly softened or modified, Lord North despairingly replied: "It is to no purpose the making objections, for the king will have it so." But in no more forcible phrase could the king's arbitrary temper concerning his colonies be shown, that in that which fell from his own lips, in the presence of the new envoy, namely, "I was the last man in the kingdom, sir, to consent to the independence of America."

Of all the opponents of British misrule, in the western world, John Adams was the earliest, ablest, most intrepid and untiring. It was John Adams, who, in

1775, in the memorable continental congress, at Philadelphia, suggested George Washington as commander-in-chief of the army that was to wage war against Great Britain-and, even before this crowning act, had sent across the Atlantic, ringing into the ears of the haughty monarch, the epithets tyrant and usurper.

The kingly ceremony of acknowledging the colonies independent took place, in conformity with previous arrangements, on the fifth of December, 1782, in the house

of lords. The scene was one which drew together an immense and wondering crowd of spectators, conspicuous among whom was the celebrated admiral Lord Howe, who had just returned from a successful relief of Gibraltar, and who had now elbowed himself exactly in front of the throne, to listen, sadly, to his country's humiliation. The ladies of the nobility occupied the lords' seats on the woolsacks, so called, as an emblem of the power and wealth of old England, because it had been mainly derived from wool. The lords were standing here and there promiscuously. It was a dark and foggy day, and the windows being elevated and constructed in the antiquated style, with leaden bars to contain the diamondcut panes of glass, augmented the gloom. The walls were also hung with dark tapestry, representing the defeat of the great Spanish armada. The celebrated American painters, West and Copley, were in the throng, with some American ladies, also a number of dejectedlooking American royalists. After a tedious suspense of nearly two hours, the approach of the king was announced by a tremendous roar of artillery. He entered by a small door on the left of the throne, and immediately seated himself in the chair of state, in a graceful attitude, with his right foot resting on a stool. He was clothed in the magnificent robes of British majesty. Evidently agitated, he drew slowly from his pocket a scroll containing his humbling speech. The commons were