[_Edinburgh, August 1877._]
MY DEAR COLVIN,--I'm to be whipped away to-morrow to Penzance, where at
the post-office a letter will find me glad and grateful. I am well, but
somewhat tired out with overwork. I have only been home a fortnight this
morning, and I have already written to the tune of forty-five Cornhill
pages and upwards. The most of it was only very laborious re-casting and
re-modelling, it is true; but it took it out of me famously, all the
same.
Temple Bar appears to like my _Villon_, so I may count on another market
there in the future, I hope. At least, I am going to put it to the proof
at once, and send another story, _The Sire de Maletroit's Mousetrap_: a
true novel, in the old sense; all unities preserved moreover, if that's
anything, and I believe with some little merits; not so _clever_ perhaps
as the last, but sounder and more natural.
My _Villon_ is out this month; I should so much like to know what you
think of it. Stephen has written to me a propos of _Idlers_, that
something more in that vein would be agreeable to his views. From
Stephen I count that a devil of a lot.
I am honestly so tired this morning that I hope you will take this for
what it's worth and give me an answer in peace.--Ever yours,