Angwin,
January 23,
1893.
My dear Blanche,
I should have written you sooner; it has been ten whole days since the date of your last letter. But I have not been in the mood of letter writing, and am prepared for maledictions from all my neglected friends but you. My health is better. Yesterday I returned from Napa, where I passed twenty-six hours, buried, most of the time, in fog; but apparently it has not harmed me. The weather here remains heavenly. * * *
If I grow better in health I shall in time feel able to extend my next foray into the Lowlands as far as Oakland and Berkeley.
Here are some fronds of maiden-hair fern that I have just brought in. The first wild flowers of the season are beginning to venture out and the manzanitas are a sight to see.
With warmest regards to all your people, I am, as ever, your most unworthy uncle, Ambrose Bierce.
Angwin,
February 5,
1893.
My dear Blanche,