Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/115
I do no more than about six hours a day for the schools. The rest is given to exercise, talk, and a very little to Wilhelm Meister. I shall have an exam at the end of the term in Divinity - an important and difficult exam, which I must pass. It means an intimate minute knowledge of the Acts of the Apostles, St John's Gospel and St Luke's, and also the Greek of all three. I wonder who will pay the fee (about £2)? and who will pay for the tips at the end of term?
You didn't tell me the date of father's birthday, by the way.
I often meet Miss Lucas, but of course merely salute her.
One of this this years freshers is a socialist, Roman Catholic named F.W Curran, who once knew Maud and Lance [illegible], which is curious. He is a very thoughtful, earnest man and we have had some good talks. He condemns me and my

NEW PAGE
22.x.99
My dearest friend,
I have lately been quite incapable of writing a letter to any one, least of all to you. Everything has combined to make me restless, dissatisfied. You see, the work before me is appalling, and so far my efforts to attack it have been vigorous but fitful and bad tempered. I am rather out of sorts, despite the glorious weather, and I have wanted you - the sight of you, the touch of your lips and hair and limbs. Then again the sense that I cannot write when I should like to, and cannot settle down to pleasant reading, is painful; and the result is I am the
prey of emotions and fancies that only a long sitting of composition would relieve. Also I am rather friendless. Neither MacAlister nor Fyfe go for walks, they are both surrounded by friends. Davies is at the boats. Morgan is surly, for his interest in Boers has become a boor. I found him dozing the other afternoon, and he scarcely tried to keep himself awake during my short stay. Not seeing much of him, again, keeps me from revisiting my other Balliol acquaintances, such as Aubrey Herbert. So I generally only saunter half heartedly about in the afternoon and return to tea and books and solitude. Still, I have spent two long afternoons in the country and one on the river: so my recreation is more ample at least than in town. Just now the weather is silent and misty, and perhaps when it clears up

an angel will visit me and I shall lose my depression. As it is my only comfort is your letters. They are a great comfort, but then you are far away, but then I want sensations and flesh and blood. Nevertheless it is a source of great quiet joy to learn that you are happy and well. - You don't tell me enough about Bigg's visit. What have you to do to ensure milk for the child? And it seems unnatural that you should give up cold baths. Tell me more; and will you still be able to enjoy embraces with me when I return I wonder. I hope so for your sake as well as mine.
I have no news at all from Speaker or Literature, but hope for some.
Irene has not written. But if you see her ask her to send back my photograph (between cardboard); then I will send her one like Mary's - for there is a copy owing to me, and I shall have it tomorrow.
You need not be afraid of my over working
scheme of life altogether, but still he is inclined to cultivate my acquaintance. He is a stoic, a philanthropist, a man of action: and regards me as an Epicurean, an unconsciously selfish person, and a vegetable.
What of your essay? How does it progress? For I presume you are going to show it to me when it is finished: and I am most eager to see it.
Give my love to father and Mother. Remember me to Dosie and Ernest. Irene and Mary. Please
write soon and at length.
With embraces and blessing, my own sweet little one. I am ever and wholly yours,
Edwy
Adieu