My dear Blanche,
I am glad you will consent to tolerate the new photograph—all my other friends are desperately delighted with it. I prefer your tolerance.
But I don't like to hear that you have been "ill and blue"; that is a condition which seems more naturally to appertain to me. For, after all, whatever cause you may have for "blueness," you can always recollect that you are you, and find a wholesome satisfaction in your identity; whereas I, alas, am I!
I'm sure you performed your part of that concert creditably despite the ailing wrist, and wish that I might have added myself to your triumph.
I have been very ill again but hope to get away from here (back to my mountain) before it is time for another attack from my friend the enemy. I shall expect to see you there sometime when my brother and his wife come up. They would hardly dare to come without you.
No, I did not read the criticism you mention—in the Saturday Review. Shall send you all the Saturdays that I get if you will have them. Anyhow, they will amuse (and sometimes disgust) your father.
I have awful arrears of correspondence, as usual.
The children send love. They had a pleasant visit with Carlt, and we hope he will come again.
May God be very good to you and put it into your heart to write to your uncle often.
Please give my best respects to all Partingtons, jointly and severally.Ambrose Bierce.