To his friend, General Knox, he wrote: "Integrity and firmness are all I can promise. These, be my voyage long or short, shall never forsake me, although I may be deserted by all men; for of the consolations which are to be derived from these under any circumstances, the world cannot deprive me." This was the spirit in which he met the extraordinary honors which awaited him. "His progress to the seat of government was a continual ovation. The ringing of bells and roaring of cannonry proclaimed his course through the country. The old and young, women and children, thronged the highways to welcome him." Governors met him at the frontiers of their respective states. Cavalry assembled to escort him. The throngs gathered as he advanced until a mighty host followed him. Arches of flowers and evergreens, and triumphal arches of laurel, spanned the paths he travelled. When he reached the banks of the Delaware he must have recalled that midnight passage over the ice-bound river at Christmas,--a representation of which hangs in almost every humble hostelry in the country. How different his feelings then and now! Over the stream which flows through Trenton a bridge was decked with laurel, with the inscription, "The Defenders of the Mothers will be the Protectors of the Daughters." The matrons were there; and the young girls, crowned with garlands, strewed his way with flowers, singing of their love and gratitude. No king on his way to coronation ever received such a heartfelt ovation! [Illustration: Washington's Reception at Trenton.] And so--on and on--until at Elizabeth Point he entered the barge with white satin canopy, which was to bring him to New York. Parties of ladies and gentlemen followed the barge singing pæans of welcome. In his diary that night he records, "The display of boats, the songs, the instrumental music, the decorations of the ships, the roar of cannon, the loud acclamations filled my mind with sensations as painful (considering the reverse of this scene which may be the case after all my labors to do good) as they are pleasing." For, after all, he was a sad man. He had surrendered his soldier's dream of home and peace. He had parted with his aged mother, and knew that he could not minister to her in her last few months of life. He was too great a man to permit such things as these--applause, laurel, songs, salvos of artillery--to fill his heart or even his imagination with pleasure. She heard it all! Doubtless her mental commentary was her old refrain: "This is too much praise! George has only done his duty."