Why? That is precisely what I want to know." And this is what I have to
say to them. I have been advised to go to every place extant in and out
of England--to take every kind of exercise by every kind of cart,
carriage--yes, and even swing (!) and dumb-bell (!) in existence; to
imbibe every different kind of stimulus that ever has been invented. And
this when those _best_ fitted to know, viz., medical men, after long and
close attendance, had declared any journey out of the question, had
prohibited any kind of motion whatever, had closely laid down the diet
and drink. What would my advisers say, were they the medical attendants,
and I the patient left their advice, and took the casual adviser's? But
the singularity in Legion's mind is this: it never occurs to him that
everybody else is doing the same thing, and that I the patient _must_
perforce say, in sheer self-defence, like Rosalind, "I could not do with
all."
[Sidenote: Chattering hopes the bane of the sick.]
"Chattering Hopes" may seem an odd heading. But I really believe there
is scarcely a greater worry which invalids have to endure than the
incurable hopes of their friends.
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