My Dear Blanche,
I thank you many times for the picture, which is a monstrous good picture, whatever its shortcomings as a portrait may be. On the authority of the great art critic, Leigh Bierce, I am emboldened to pronounce some of the work in it equal to Gribayedoff at his best; and that, according to the g. a. c. aforesaid, is to exhaust eulogium. But—it isn't altogether the Blanche that I know, as I know her. Maybe it is the hat—I should prefer you hatless, and so less at the mercy of capricious fortune. Suppose hats were to "go out"—I tremble to think of what would happen to that gorgeous superstructure which now looks so beautiful. O, well, when I come down I shall drag you to the hateful photographer and get something that looks quite like you—and has no other value.
And I mean to "see Oakland and die" pretty soon. I have not dared go when the weather was bad. It promises well now, but I am to have visitors next Sunday, so must stay at home. God and the weather bureau willing, you may be bothered with me the Saturday or Sunday after. We shall see.
I hope your father concurs in my remarks on picture "borders"—I did not think of him until the remarks had been written, or I should have assured myself of his practice before venturing to utter my mind o' the matter. If it were not for him and Gertrude and the Wave I should snarl again, anent "half-tones," which I abhor. Hume tried to get me to admire his illustrations, but I would not, so far as the process is concerned, and bluntly told him he would not get your father's best work that way.
If you were to visit the Mountain now I should be able to show you a redwood forest (newly discovered) and a picturesque gulch to match.
The wild flowers are beginning to put up their heads to look for you, and my collection of Indian antiquities is yearning to have you see it.
Please convey my thanks to Richard for the picture—the girlscape—and my best regards to your father and all the others.
Sincerely your friend, Ambrose Bierce.
Angwin,
February 21,
1893.