“December 9, 1873.
“I am going to bed now (eight o’clock), and hope to be better for a night’s rest.
“Here I am again a prisoner in my room! A sore throat is the main cause....
“But I am generally out of sorts. I am learning that I cannot do as I used, and that body will dominate mind and will.
“I fear you are no better. You had my news? It seems to me quite foolish for me to be ill and unable to do my work when the path became suddenly clear, and all so quiet too!...
“Dearest Annie, my love to you. Lately I have often seemed to want you, but I have never been so long and so completely broken down—except there was organic disease, when I had fever—as I have this term, and therefore unable to go to you.
“There is a lecture at the College of Preceptors to-morrow night, on ‘English as a Means of Philological Instruction,’ by Dr. Morris—the Morris. 7.30. Could you go? If so, could you join me here a few minutes before seven? Only Miss Fawcett is going.
“I am better in myself, but cannot yet stand upright or walk about. Patience is teaching me a great lesson, and I hope I am learning it, in part, at least.
“... I really think there have never been so many petty worries crowded together.
“It is all very well for men to say ‘never mind.’ However, what is to be will be, and strength comes with the need.