On his return he went to Princeton, where Congress had been sitting since their flight from the mutiny which he had recently suppressed, and where a house had been provided for his use.  He remained there two months, aiding Congress in their work.  During the spring he had been engaged on the matter of a peace establishment, and he now gave Congress elaborate and well-matured advice on that question, and on those of public lands, western settlement, and the best Indian policy.  In all these directions his views were clear, far-sighted, and wise.  He saw that in these questions was involved much of the future development and wellbeing of the country, and he treated them with a precision and an easy mastery which showed the thought he had given to the new problems which now were coming to the front.  Unluckily, he was so far ahead, both in knowledge and perception, of the body with which he dealt, that he could get little or nothing done, and in September he wrote in plain but guarded terms of the incapacity of the lawmakers.  The people were not yet ripe for his measures, and he was forced to bide his time, and see the injuries caused by indifference and short-sightedness work themselves out.  Gradually, however, the absolutely necessary business was brought to an end.  Then Washington issued a circular letter to the governors of the States, which was one of the ablest he ever wrote, and full of the profoundest statesmanship, and he also sent out a touching address of farewell to the army, eloquent with wisdom and with patriotism.

From Princeton he went to West Point, where the army that still remained in service was stationed.  Thence he moved to Harlem, and on November 25 the British army departed, and Washington, with his troops, accompanied by Governor Clinton and some regiments of local militia, marched in and took possession.  This was the outward sign that the war was over, and that American independence had been won.  Carleton feared that the entry of the American army might be the signal for confusion and violence, in which the Tory inhabitants would suffer; but everything passed off with perfect tranquillity and good order, and in the evening Governor Clinton gave a public dinner to the commander-in-chief and the officers of the army.

All was now over, and Washington prepared to go to Annapolis and lay down his commission.  On December 4 his officers assembled in Fraunces’ Tavern to bid him farewell.  As he looked about on his faithful friends, his usual self-command deserted him, and he could not control his voice.  Taking a glass of wine, he lifted it up, and said simply, “With a heart full of love and gratitude I now take my leave of you, most devoutly wishing that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and honorable.”  The toast was drunk in silence, and then Washington added, “I cannot come to each of you and take my leave, but shall be obliged if you will come and