In 1857 he was offered the Presidency of the Royal Society. A painting preserved in the rooms of the Royal Society records the scene when Lord Wrottesley, Grove, and Gassiot waited upon him as a deputation from the Council, to press on him his acceptance of the highest place which science has to offer. He hesitated and finally declined, even as he had declined the suggestion of knighthood years before. “Tyndall,” he said in private to his successor, “I must remain plain Michael Faraday to the last; and let me now tell you, that if I accepted the honour which the Royal Society desires to confer upon me, I could not answer for the integrity of my intellect for a single year.” He also declined the Presidency of the Royal Institution, which he had served for fifty years. His one desire was for rest. “The reverent affection of his friends was,” said Tyndall, “to him infinitely more precious than all the honours of official life.”
Allusion has been made to Faraday’s tender and chivalrous regard for his wife. Extracts from two letters, written in 1849 and 1863 respectively, must here suffice to complete the story:—
Birmingham, Dr. Percy’s:
Thursday evening, September 13, 1849.
My Dearest Wife,—I have just left Dr. Percy’s hospitable table to write to you, my beloved, telling you how I have been getting on. I am very well, excepting a little faceache; and very kindly treated here. They all long most earnestly for your presence, for both Mrs. and Dr. Percy are anxious you should come; and this I know, that the things we have seen would delight you, but then I doubt your powers of running about as we do; and though I know that if time were given you could enjoy them, yet to press the matter into a day or two would be a failure. Besides this, after all, there is no pleasure like the tranquil pleasures of home, and here—even here—the moment I leave the table, I wish I were with you IN QUIET. Oh! what happiness is ours! My runs into the world in this way only serve to make me esteem that happiness the more. I mean to be at home on Saturday night, but it may be late first, so do not be surprised at that; for if I can, I should like to go on an excursion to the Dudley caverns, and that would take the day....
Write to me, dearest. I shall get your letter on Saturday morning, or perhaps before.
Love to father, Margery, and Jenny, and a thousand loves to yourself, dearest,
From your affectionate husband,
M. Faraday.
* * * * *
5, Claremont Gardens, Glasgow:
Monday, August 14, 1863.
Dearest,—Here is the fortnight complete since I left you and the thoughts of my return to our home crowd in strongly upon my mind. Not that we are in any way uncared for, or left by our dear friends, save as I may desire for our own retirement. Everybody has overflowed with kindness, but you know their manner, and their desire, by your own experience with me. I long to see you, dearest, and to talk over things together, and call to mind all the kindness I have received. My head is full, and my heart also, but my recollection rapidly fails, even as regards the friends that are in the room with me. You will have to resume your old function of being a pillow to my mind, and a rest, a happy-making wife.