the presidency, if it was deemed indispensable that he should do so, made him dread failure with an almost morbid keenness, although his courage was too high and his will too strong ever to draw back.  Responsibility weighed upon his spirits, but it could not daunt him.  He wrote to Trumbull in December, 1788, that he saw “nothing but clouds and darkness before him,” but when the hour came he was ready.  The elections were favorable to the Federalists.  The electoral colleges gave Washington their unanimous vote, and on April 16, having been duly notified by Congress of his election, he left Mount Vernon for New York, to assume the conduct of the government, and stand at the head of the new Union in its first battle for life.

From the early day when he went out to seek Shirley and win redress against the assumptions of British officers, Washington’s journeys to the North had been memorable in their purposes.  He had traveled northward to sit in the first continental congress, to take command of the army, and to preside over the constitutional convention.  Now he went, in the fullness of his fame, to enter upon a task less dangerous, perhaps, than leading armies, but more beset with difficulties, and more perilous to his reputation and peace of mind, than any he had yet undertaken.  He felt all this keenly, and noted in his diary:  “About ten o’clock I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private life, and to domestic felicity; and with a mind oppressed with more anxious and painful sensations than I have words to express, set out for New York, with the best disposition to render service to my country, in obedience to its call, but with less hope of answering its expectations.”

The first stage of his journey took him only to Alexandria, a few miles from his home, where a public dinner was given to him by his friends and neighbors.  He was deeply moved when he rose to reply to the words of affection addressed to him by the mayor as spokesman of the people.  “All that now remains for me,” he said, “is to commit myself and you to the care of that beneficent Being who, on a former occasion, happily brought us together after a long and distressing separation.  Perhaps the same gracious Providence will again indulge me.  But words fail me.  Unutterable sensations must then be left to more expressive silence, while from an aching heart I bid all my affectionate friends and kind neighbors farewell.”

So he left his home, sad at the parting, looking steadily, but not joyfully, to the future, and silent as was his wont.  The simple dinner with his friends and neighbors at Alexandria was but the beginning of the chorus of praise and Godspeed which rose higher and stronger as he advanced.  The road, as he traveled, was lined with people, to see him and cheer him as he passed.  In every village the people from the farm and workshop crowded the streets to watch for his carriage, and the ringing of bells and firing of guns marked his coming and his going.