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,