For me, going out does me good—­reading, writing, and, what is odd,—­infinitely most of all, sleeping do me the harm,—­never any very great harm.  And all the while I am yours

R.B.

E.B.B. to R.B.

Monday.
[Post-mark, June 24, 1845.]

I had begun to be afraid that I did not deserve to have my questions answered; and I was afraid of asking them over again.  But it is worse to be afraid that you are not better at all in any essential manner (after all your assurances) and that the medical means have failed so far.  Did you go to somebody who knows anything?—­because there is no excuse, you see, in common sense, for not having the best and most experienced opinion when there is a choice of advice—­and I am confident that that pain should not be suffered to go on without something being done.  What I said about nerves, related to what you had told me of your mother’s suffering and what you had fancied of the relation of it to your own, and not that I could be thinking about imaginary complaints—­I wish I could.  Not (either) that I believe in the relation ... because such things are not hereditary, are they? and the bare coincidence is improbable.  Well, but, I wanted particularly to say this—­Don’t bring the ‘Duchess’ with you on Wednesday. I shall not expect anything, I write distinctly to tell you—­and I would far far rather that you did not bring it.  You see it is just as I thought—­for that whether too much thought or study did or did not bring on the illness, ... yet you admit that reading and writing increase it ... as they would naturally do any sort of pain in the head—­therefore if you will but be in earnest and try to get well first, we will do the ‘Bells’ afterwards, and there will be time for a whole peal of them, I hope and trust, before the winter.  Now do admit that this is reasonable, and agree reasonably to it.  And if it does you good to go out and take exercise, why not go out and take it? nay, why not go away and take it?  Why not try the effect of a little change of air—­or even of a great change of air—­if it should be necessary, or even expedient?  Anything is better, you know ... or if you don’t know, I know—­than to be ill, really, seriously—­I mean for you to be ill, who have so much to do and to enjoy in the world yet ... and all those bells waiting to be hung!  So that if you will agree to be well first, I will promise to be ready afterwards to help you in any thing I can do ... transcribing or anything ... to get the books through the press in the shortest of times—­and I am capable of a great deal of that sort of work without being tired, having the habit of writing in any sort of position, and the long habit, ... since, before I was ill even, I never used to write at a table (or scarcely ever) but on the arm of a chair, or on the seat of one, sitting myself on the floor, and calling myself a Lollard for dignity.  So you will put by your ‘Duchess’ ... will you not? or let me see just that one sheet—­if one should be written—­which is finished? ... up to this moment, you understand? finished now.