Pray for me, my dear friend, that I may not pass such another night as the last. While I am awake and retain my reasoning powers, the pang is gnawing, but I am, except for a fitful moment or two, tranquil; it is the howling wilderness of sleep that I dread. I am most reluctant thus to transplant the thorns from my own pillow to yours, but sooner or later you must know it, and how else could I explain to you the incapability I am under of answering your letter? For the present (my late visitation and sorrow out of the question) my anxiety is respecting your health. Mr. Gillman feels satisfied that there is nothing in your case symptomatic of aught more dangerous than irritable, and at present disordered, organs of digestion, requiring indeed great care, but by no means incompatible with comfortable health on the whole. Would to God! that your uncle lived near Highgate, or that we were settled near Clapham. Most anxious am I--(for I am sure I do not _over_rate Gillman's medical skill and sound medical good sense, and have had every possible opportunity of satisfying myself on this head, _comparatively_ as well as positively, from my intimate acquaintance with so many medical men in the course of my life)--I am most anxious that you should not apply to any medical practitioner at Clapham, till you have consulted some physician recommended by Gillman, and with whom our friend might have some confidential conversation.--The next earnest petition I make to you,--for should I lose _you_ from this world, I fear that religious terrors would shake my strength of mind, and to how many are you, must you be, very dear,--is that you would stay in the country as long as is _morally_ practicable. Let nothing but _coercive_ motives have weight with you; a month's tranquillity in pure air (O! that I could spend that month with you, with no greater efforts of mental or bodily exercise than would exhilarate both body and mind) might save you many months' interrupted and half-effective labour. If any thoughts occur to you at Clapham on which it would amuse or gratify you to have my notions, write to me, and I shall be served by having something to think and write about not connected with myself. But, at all events, write as often as you can, and as much as (but not a syllable more than) you ought. Need I say how unspeakably dear you are to your, you must not refuse me to say in heart, S. T. COLERIDGE. T. Allsop, Esq. LETTER 182. TO ALLSOP August 8th, 1820. My very Dear Friend,