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 EBOULEMENT.

J'Y PARVIENDRAI, NOM DE NOM DE NOM! But it's a long look forward.
- Ever yours,

R. L. S.



Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL



[BARBIZON, APRIL 1875.]

MY DEAR FRIEND, - This is just a line to say I am well and happy.
I am here in my dear forest all day in the open air. It is very be
- no, not beautiful exactly, just now, but very bright and living.
There are one or two song birds and a cuckoo; all the fruit-trees
are in flower, and the beeches make sunshine in a shady place, I
begin to go all right; you need not be vexed about my health; I
really was ill at first, as bad as I have been for nearly a year;
but the forest begins to work, and the air, and the sun, and the
smell of the pines. If I could stay a month here, I should be as
right as possible. Thanks for your letter. - Your faithful