to Dr. Alexander Japp

Châlet Buol, Davos, April 1, 1882.

MY DEAR DR. JAPP,—A good day to date this letter, which is in fact a confession of incapacity.  During my wife’s illness I somewhat lost my head, and entirely lost a great quire of corrected proofs.  This is one of the results; I hope there are none more serious.  I was never so sick of any volume as I was of that; was continually receiving fresh proofs with fresh infinitesimal difficulties.  I was ill—I did really fear my wife was worse than ill.  Well, it’s out now; and though I have observed several carelessnesses myself, and now here’s another of your finding—of which, indeed, I ought to be ashamed—it will only justify the sweeping humility of the Preface.

Symonds was actually dining with us when your letter came, and I communicated your remarks. . . . He is a far better and more interesting thing than any of his books.

The Elephant was my wife’s; so she is proportionately elate you should have picked it out for praise—from a collection, let me add, so replete with the highest qualities of art.

My wicked carcase, as John Knox calls it, holds together wonderfully.  In addition to many other things, and a volume of travel, I find I have written, since December, 90 Cornhill pages of magazine work—essays and stories: 40,000 words, and I am none the worse—I am the better.  I begin to hope I may, if not outlive this wolverine upon my shoulders, at least carry him bravely like Symonds and Alexander Pope.  I begin to take a pride in that hope.

I shall be much interested to see your criticisms; you might perhaps send them to me.  I believe you know that is not dangerous; one folly I have not—I am not touchy under criticism.

Lloyd and my wife both beg to be remembered; and Lloyd sends as a present a work of his own.  I hope you feel flattered; for this is simply the first time he has ever given one away.  I have to buy my own works, I can tell you.—Yours very sincerely,

Robert Louis Stevenson.