to Sidney Colvin

February 8, 1875.

MY DEAR COLVIN,—Forgive my bothering you.  Here is the proof of my second Knox.  Glance it over, like a good fellow, and if there’s anything very flagrant send it to me marked.  I have no confidence in myself; I feel such an ass.  What have I been doing?  As near as I can calculate, nothing.  And yet I have worked all this month from three to five hours a day, that is to say, from one to three hours more than my doctor allows me; positively no result.

No, I can write no article just now; I am pioching, like a madman, at my stories, and can make nothing of them; my simplicity is tame and dull—my passion tinsel, boyish, hysterical.  Never mind—ten years hence, if I live, I shall have learned, so help me God.  I know one must work, in the meantime (so says Balzac) comme le mineur enfoui sous un éboulement.

J’y parviendrai, nom de nom de nom!  But it’s a long look forward.—Ever yours,

R. L. S.