It is good to have your letters again. If you will not let me teach
you my trade of writing stories it is right that you practice your own
of writing letters. You are mistress of that. Byron's letters to Moore
are dull in comparison with yours to me. Some allowance, doubtless,
must be made for my greater need of your letters than of Byron's. For,
truth to tell, I've been a trifle dispirited and noncontent. In that
mood I peremptorily resigned from the _Examiner_, for one thing--and
permitted myself to be coaxed back by Hearst, for another. My other
follies I shall not tell you. * * *
We had six inches of snow up here and it has rained steadily ever
since--more than a week. And the fog is of superior opacity--quite
peerless that way. It is still raining and fogging. Do you wonder that
your unworthy uncle has come perilously and alarmingly near to
loneliness? Yet I have the companionship, at meals, of one of your
excellent sex, from San Francisco. * * *
Truly, I should like to attend one of your at-homes, but I fear it
must be a long time before I venture down there again. But when this
brumous visitation is past I can _look_ down, and that assists the
imagination to picture you all in your happy (I hope) home. But if
that woolly wolf, Joaquin Miller, doesn't keep outside the fold I
_shall_ come down and club him soundly. I quite agree with your mother
that his flattery will spoil you. You said I would spoil Phyllis, and
now, you bad girl, you wish to be spoiled yourself. Well, you can't
eat four Millerine oranges.--My love to all your family.