On the 3d of March, 1797, the President gave his farewell dinner to the most distinguished men of the time, and as soon as possible after the inauguration of his successor, John Adams, he set out for his plantation on the banks of the Potomac, where he spent his remaining days in dignity and quiet hospitalities, amid universal regrets that his public career was ended.

Even in his retirement, when there seemed to be imminent danger of war with France, soon after his return to his home, he was ready to buckle on his sword once more; but the troubles were not so serious as had been feared, and soon blew over.  They had arisen from the venality and rapacity of Talleyrand, French minister of Foreign affairs, who demanded a bribe from the American commissioners of two-and-a-half millions as the price of his friendly services in securing favorable settlements.  Their scornful reply, and the prompt preparations in America for war, brought the Directory to terms.  When the crisis was past Washington resumed the care of his large estates, which had become dilapidated during the fifteen years of his public life.  His retreat was invaded by great numbers, who wished to see so illustrious a man, but no one was turned away from his hospitable mansion.

In December, 1799, Washington caught cold from imprudent exposure, and died on the 14th day of the month after a short illness,—­not what we should call a very old man.  His life might probably have been saved but that, according to the universal custom, he was bled, which took away his vital forces.  On the 16th of December he was buried quietly and without parade in the family vault at Mount Vernon, and the whole nation mourned for him as the Israelites mourned for Samuel of old, whom he closely resembled in character and services.

It would be useless to dwell upon the traits of character which made George Washington a national benefactor and a national idol.  But one inquiry is often made, when he is seriously discussed,—­whether or no he may be regarded as a man of genius.  It is difficult to define genius, which seems to me to be either an abnormal development of particular faculties of mind, or an inspired insight into elemental truths so original and profound that its discoveries pass for revelations.  Such genius as this is remarkably rare, I can recall but one statesman in our history who had extraordinary creative power, and this was Hamilton.  In the history of modern times we scarcely can enumerate more than a dozen statesmen, a dozen generals, and the same number of poets, philosophers, theologians, historians, and artists who have had this creative power and this divine insight.  Washington did not belong to that class of intellects.  But he had what is as rare as transcendent genius,—­he had a transcendent character, united with a marvellous balance of intellectual qualities, each in itself of a high grade, which gave him almost unerring judgment and remarkable influence over other minds, securing veneration.  As a man he had his faults, but they were so few and so small that they seem to be but spots upon a sun.  These have been forgotten; and as the ages roll on mankind will see naught but the lustre of his virtues and the greatness of his services.