London, July 10, 1857.
I was too ill, my dear friend, to go to you yesterday. Dr. Ferguson tells
me that I have been doing too much, and prescribes perfect rest.
I have already read half your journal of 1857. It is very curious; but I
am glad that you have disguised me.
It is terrible to be in London, and to see so little of you; but the
force of circumstances is greater than the force of wishes.
Ever yours,