Bessie's friends heard of her proposed book on the blind with interest. Mr. Browne, the Rector of Pevensey, wrote in warm approval, and offered when in London to consult books for her at the British Museum. The late Colonel Fyers wrote from Dover Castle, enclosing an account of the life of a blind doctor, Rockliffe, of Ashley in Lincolnshire. Her brother Tom writes from Trinity College, sending notes on the life of the blind professor, Sanderson of Cambridge, who died in 1739. He speaks of a picture on the stairs of the library, of which he thinks she might make use. Her own note-book is filled with accounts of the lives of Holman, Gough, Huber, Laura Bridgman, and others. Many letters sent to her at this time have been preserved; one from a blind man, Elisha Bates, interested her greatly:-- ELISHA BATES. I am thirty-three years of age. I was born at Coburn near Richmond, Yorkshire. My parents were agricultural labourers. I was born quite blind. I was always fond of horses. I used as a little boy to drive the horses in Mr. Fryer's threshing machine. I began this about nine years of age. I went daily to the ploughing fields, and although so young I was allowed to drive the horses for the ploughman. I could very early find my way about the village and to the different fields of the farmers. Up to eleven years of age I went with the other boys of the village to seek birds' nests, and often found my way to and from the neighbouring villages. I always had an excellent memory for recollecting the turns in the road and the variations of the surface, by which I was guided. I never had a stick up to this time, and up to the present time I rarely use one. I went to the Liverpool Blind Institution at twelve years of age, and learnt to read in the characters for the blind, and was taught the trade of ropemaking. I was so good in finding my way at Liverpool that I used to take charge of an old man [Hewell Kennedy] in our walking excursions. He was lame, deaf, and blind, and I used to take him about three miles up the London Road to the Old Swan Inn. I never forget a road I have once travelled over. I have no difficulty in avoiding obstacles. I think I do so from the acuteness of my hearing; I listen attentively to my footfall, and when approaching any object which may intercept my progress, even a lamp-post, I can discover a slight difference in the sound. If I have any doubt I tread a little louder, so as to satisfy my ear. I never fail in making it out. The difference in the sound is difficult to describe; but if I am near a wall or any object in my path I feel the sound to be more confined and not to extend itself as in an open space. It comes quicker to my ear. I left Liverpool at the age of seventeen and returned by railway to my native village.