newspapers caught up the cry, and public sentiment seemed all in favor of this selection. But Maury steadily declined the honor, and thus speaks of it in the following letter:—
| My dear Parents, | Fredericksburg, Va. Jan. 26th, 1841. |
I do not think there is much danger of my having a Cabinet appointment inflicted upon me. The newspapers continue to discuss the subject, though, with much earnestness. That I should be thus brought forward and commended is, of course, exceedingly gratifying to me, as I am sure it must be to you also. In these times of party rancor and bitter political strife, high places in the State edifice are far from being desirable to those who value peace of mind.
In another letter to the same, he thus refers to his affliction:—
The leg gains strength slowly. I can walk now with the assistance of a stick only; but a walk of two or three hundred yards breaks me down. A terrible calamity is this, indeed, to me.[1]
For several years subsequent to this, his correspondence is full of sweet allusions to his little children, his family, and surroundings. To his parents he writes:—
The boy Richard Launcelot [Maury] grows apace. He is a fine little fellow, and I think he is the pet with both his aunts.
Little Betty has just skipped in, and says, "Tell ganpa to come and see us, and the son too, and that's all." She can read understandingly, and is quite proud of it.
Little Nannie [Diana] is only in her "A, B, C's" as yet, under little Betty's tuition. She has a good memory, and can repeat several hymns and verses, standing on the table and accompanying herself with appropriate gestures. She, every night and morning, "Pays to God to bless her dear
- ↑ This event, which, at the time, he considered the greatest calamity of his life, as he thought it put an end to his professional distinction, was but a blessing in disguise. For though for many years his maimed body was considered unfit for active service, his mind turned and grasped the scientific part of his profession, and then found a broad field for his labour.
