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Washington was a vestryman of both Truro and Fairfax parishes. The place of worship of the former was at Pohick, and of the latter at Alexandria. Mount Vernon was within Truro parish, and in the affairs of the church Washington took a lively interest. The old Pohick building became so dilapidated that in 1764 it was resolved to build a new church. The question as to location was discussed in the parish with considerable excitement, some contending for retention of the old site and others favoring a more central position. At a meeting for settling the question, George Mason (the famous author of the Bill of Rights of Virginia) made an ardent and eloquent plea to stand by the old landmarks consecrated by the ashes of their ancestors, and sacred to all the memories of life, marriage, birth, and death. In reply to this touching appeal Washington produced a survey of the parish, drawn by himself with his usual accuracy, on which every road was laid down, and the residence of every householder marked. Spreading his map before the audience, he showed that the new location which he advocated would be more conveniently reached by every member of the parish, while to many of them the old site was inaccessible. He expressed the hope that they would not allow their judgment to be guided by their feelings. When the vote was taken, a large majority favored removal to the proposed locality. Thereupon George Mason put on his hat and stalked out of the meeting, saying, in not smothered tones, “That’s what gentlemen get for engaging in debate with a damned surveyor.” But, notwithstanding this little tiff, the owners of Gunston Hall and of Mount Vernon had the highest respect and warmest affection for each other.

One of the greatest blessings which a man can possess—especially if he is a public man—is an imperturbable temper. It is a remarkable fact that those who have most signally manifested this virtue have been men who were constitutionally irritable. Such was the case with Washington, whose habitual composure, the result of strenuous self-discipline, was so great that it was supposed to be due to a cold and almost frigid temperament. By nature a violently passionate man, he triumphed so completely over his frailty as to be cheated of all credit for his coolness and exasperating trials.

His biographers record very few instances of violent outbreak of anger, even under excessive provocation. One of the few was in the well-known disobedience of orders by General Charles Lee, at the battle of Monmouth, and his ordering a retreat by which the day was nearly lost. It was a betrayal of confidence which was subsequently explained by the verdict of a court-martial convened to inquire into his misconduct. When Washington, who was hurrying forward to his support, met the retreating troops struggling and straggling in confusion, and realized the situation, he rode at Lee as if he meant to ride him down. He was like a raging lion. Demanding the meaning of the rout, he accompanied his questions with imprecations whose crushing force was terrible.

Another instance of justifiable wrath following the libellous attacks of Bache, Freeman, and the French Minister Genet, is noted as follows in McMaster’s “History of the People of the United States,” which we copy from that admirable book by permission of the publishers, D. Appleton & Company:

“For a while Washington met this abuse with cold disdain. ‘The publications,’ he wrote to Henry Lee, June 21, 1793, ‘in Freneau’s and Bache’s papers are outrages on common decency. But I have a consolation within that no earthly effort can deprive me of, and that is, that neither ambition nor interested motives have influenced my conduct. The arrows of malevolence, therefore, however barbed and well pointed, never can reach the most vulnerable part of me, though, while I am up as a mark, they will be continually aimed.’ But as time went on, the slanders daily heaped upon him by the National Gazette and the General Advertiser irritated him to such a degree that every allusion to them provoked a testy answer or a show of rage. One of these outbursts took place at a cabinet meeting held early in August, and has been described with manifest delight by Jefferson. The matter discussed was the conduct of Genet, and, in the course of some remarks, Knox spoke of the recent libel on the President. In a moment the face of Washington put on an expression which it was seldom given his friends to see. Says Jefferson, ‘He got into one of those passions when he cannot command himself, ran on much on the personal abuse which had been bestowed on him, and defied any man on earth to produce one single act of his since he had been in the government which had not been done on the purest motives. He had never repented but once having slipped the moment of resigning his office, and that was every moment since; and, by heavens! he would rather be in his grave than in his present situation. He would rather be on his farm than be emperor of the world; and yet they were charging him with wanting to be a king.’”

This reference to a dictatorship recalls the incident which shook to its centre his evenly balanced and self-controlled nature. Discontent among officers and soldiers over arrearages of pay, the neglect of Congress to make provision for the claims of their suffering families, and increasing distrust of the efficiency of the government and of republican institutions, led to an organized movement for a constitutional monarchy, and to make Washington its king. A paper embodying the views of the malcontents was drawn up, and presented to the Chief by a highly esteemed officer,—Colonel Nicola. Washington’s scornful rebuke, dated Newburgh, May 22, 1782, expressed surprise and indignation. Said he, “No occurrences in the course of the war have given me more painful sensations than your information of the existence of such ideas in the army, ideas which I view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity. I am at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could have given encouragement to an address, which to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs that can befall my country. If I am not deceived in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable. Let me conjure you, 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, from yourself or any one else, a sentiment of the like nature.”

While colonel of the Virginia troops in 1754, Washington was stationed at Alexandria. At an election for members of the Assembly Colonel Washington, in the heat of party excitement, used offensive language toward a Mr. Payne. Thereupon that gentleman struck him a heavy blow and knocked him down. Intelligence of the encounter aroused among his soldiers a spirit of vengeance, which was quieted by an address from him, showing his noble character. Next day, Mr. Payne received a note from Washington, requesting his attendance at the tavern in Alexandria. Mr. Payne anticipated a duel, but instead of pistols he found a table set with wine and glasses, and was met with a friendly smile by his antagonist. Colonel Washington felt that himself was the aggressor, and determined to make reparation. He offered Mr. Payne his hand, and said: “To err is human; to rectify error is right and proper. I believe I was wrong yesterday; you have already had some satisfaction, and if you deem that sufficient, here is my hand—let us be friends.” The amende honorable was promptly accepted.

Another case of offence, with prompt regret and reparation, occurred at Cambridge, in 1775, when the army was destitute of powder. Washington sent Colonel Glover to Marblehead for a supply of that article, which was said to be there. At night the colonel returned and found Washington in front of his head-quarters pacing up and down. The general, without returning his salute, asked, roughly, “Have you got the powder?” “No, sir.” Washington swore the terrible Saxon oath, with all its three specifications. “Why did you come back, sir, without it?” “Sir, there is not a kernel of powder in Marblehead.” Washington walked up and down a minute or two in great agitation, and then said, “Colonel Glover, here is my hand, if you will take it and forgive me. The greatness of our danger made me forget what is due to you and myself.”

In his “Memories of a Hundred Years,” Edward Everett Hale says, “It is with some hesitation that I add here what I am afraid is true, though I never heard it said aloud until the year 1901. It belongs with the discussion as to the third term for the Presidency. The statement now is that Washington did not permit his name to be used for a third election because he had become sure that he could not carry the State of Virginia in the election. He would undoubtedly have been chosen by the votes of the other States, but he would have felt badly the want of confidence implied in the failure of his own ‘country,’ as he used to call it in his earlier letters, to vote for him. It is quite certain, from the correspondence of the time, that as late as September of the year 1796, the year in which John Adams was chosen President, neither Adams nor Washington knew whether Washington meant to serve a third time.”

In delineating the characteristics of Washington, Edward Everett says, in his masterly way:

“If we claim for Washington solitary eminence among the great and good, the question will naturally be asked in what the peculiar and distinctive excellence of his character consisted; and to this fair question I am tasked to find an answer that does full justice to my own conceptions and feelings. It is easy to run over the heads of such a contemplation; to enumerate the sterling qualities which he possessed and the defects from which he was free; but when all is said in this way that can be said, with whatever justice of honest eulogy, and whatever sympathy of appreciation, we feel that there is a depth which we have not sounded, a latent power we have not measured, a mysterious beauty of character which you can no more describe in words than you can paint a blush with a patch of red paint, or the glance of a sunbeam from a ripple with a streak of white paint thrown upon the canvas; a moral fascination, so to express it, which we all feel, but cannot analyze nor trace to its elements. All the personal traditions of Washington assure us that there was a serene dignity in his presence which charmed while it awed the boldest who approached him.”