_New York_ [_September_ 1887]
MY DEAR LAD,—Herewith verses for Dr. Hake, which please communicate. I
did my best with the interviewers; I don’t know if Lloyd sent you the
result; my heart was too sick: you can do nothing with them; and
yet—literally sweated with anxiety to please, and took me down in long
hand!
I have been quite ill, but go better. I am being not busted, but
medallioned, by St. Gaudens, who is a first-rate, plain, high-minded
artist and honest fellow; you would like him down to the ground. I
believe sculptors are fine fellows when they are not demons. O, I am now
a salaried person, £600 a year, {66} to write twelve articles in
_Scribner’s Magazine_; it remains to be seen if it really pays, huge as
the sum is, but the slavery may overweigh me. I hope you will like my
answer to Hake, and specially that he will.
Love to all.—Yours affectionately,
R. L. S.
(_le salarie_).