not get the Virginia Assembly to repeal a law which forbade inoculation,
and he had to urge his wife for over four years before he could bring her
to the point of submitting to the operation. One quality which implies
greatness is told by a visitor, who states that in his call "an allusion
was made to a serious fit of illness he had recently suffered; but he took
no notice of it" Custis notes that "his aversion to the use of medicine
was extreme; and, even when in great suffering, it was only by the
entreaties of his lady, and the respectful, yet beseeching look of his
oldest friend and companion in arms (Dr. James Craik) that he could be
prevailed upon to take the slightest preparation of medicine." In line
with this was his refusal to take anything for a cold, saying, "Let it go
as it came," though this good sense was apparently restricted to his own
colds, for Watson relates that in a visit to Mount Vernon "I was extremely
oppressed by a severe cold and excessive coughing, contracted by the
exposure of a harsh journey. He pressed me to use some remedies, but I
declined doing so. As usual, after retiring my coughing increased. When
some time had elapsed, the door of my room was gently opened, and, on
drawing my bed-curtains, to my utter astonishment, I beheld Washington
himself, standing at my bedside, with a bowl of hot tea in his hand."

The acute attacks of illness already touched upon by no means represent
all the physical debility and suffering of Washington's life. During the
Revolution his sight became poor, so that in 1778 he first put on glasses
for reading, and Cobb relates that in the officers' meeting in 1783, which
Washington attended In order to check an appeal to arms, "When the General
took his station at the desk or pulpit, which, you may recollect, was in
the Temple, he took out his written address from his coat pocket and then
addressed the officers in the following manner: 'Gentlemen, you will
permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray, but
almost blind, in the service of my country.' This little address, with the
mode and manner of delivering it, drew tears from [many] of the officers."

Nor did his hearing remain entirely good. Maclay noted, at one of the
President's dinners in 1789, that "he seemed in more good humor than I
ever saw him, though he was so deaf that I believe he heard little of the
conversation," and three years later the President is reported as saying
to J