The eight years of toilsome work, which had been rendered all the harder by much bitter criticism, had aged him greatly and this helped to make him doubly anxious to return to the peace and quiet of home for his final days.  And yet he was affected by his parting from his friends and associates.  A few partisan enemies openly rejoiced at his departure, but there were not wanting abundant evidences of the people’s reverence and love for him.  It is a source of satisfaction to us now that his contemporaries realized he was one of the great figures of history and that they did not withhold the tribute of their praise until after his death.  As we turn the thousands of manuscripts that make up his papers we come upon scores of private letters and public resolutions in which, in terms often a bit stilted but none the less sincere, a country’s gratitude is laid at the feet of its benefactor.

The Mount Vernon to which he returned was perhaps in better condition than was that to which he retired at the end of the Revolution, for he had been able each summer to give the estate some personal oversight; nevertheless it was badly run down and there was much to occupy his attention.  In April he wrote:  “We are in the midst of litter and dirt, occasioned by joiners, masons, painters, and upholsterers, working in the house, all parts of which, as well as the outbuildings, are much out of repair.”

Anderson remained with him, but Washington gave personal attention to many matters and exercised a general oversight over everything.  Like most good farmers he “began his diurnal course with the sun,” and if his slaves and hirelings were not in place by that time he sent “them messages of sorrow for their indisposition.”  Having set the wheels of the estate in motion, he breakfasted.  “This being over, I mount my horse and ride around my farms, which employs me until it is time for dinner, at which I rarely miss seeing strange faces....  The usual time of sitting at table, a walk, and tea bring me within the dawn of candlelight; previous to which, if not prevented by company, I resolve that, as soon as the glimmering taper supplies the place of the great luminary, I will retire to my writing table and acknowledge the letters I have received, but when the lights are brought I feel tired and disinclined to engage in this work, conceiving that the next night will do as well.  The next night comes, and with it the same causes of postponement, and so on....  I have not looked into a book since I came home; nor shall I be able to do it until I have discharged my workmen, probably not before the nights grow longer, when possibly I may be looking in Doomsday Book.”

He had his usual troubles with servants and crops, with delinquent tenants and other debtors; he tried Booker’s threshing machine, experimented with white Indian peas and several varieties of wheat, including a yellow bearded kind that was supposed to resist the fly, and built two houses, or rather a double house, on property owned in the Federal City—­he avoided calling the place “Washington.”