Your letter was mighty welcome—& as coincidences never cease in this world of chance, we received one by the same mail from your brother-in-law in the Boston Custom House.

We have just read of the big battle, whose name begins with a V., & I write, now with the gravity becoming a person who is possibly addressing himself to a corpse. I have written to corpses, before, unwittingly, but I find a peculiar grandeur in addressing a corpse that may be decorating a field of battle.

There was a time when I would have liked to be there with you & Forbes, Macgahan, & Jackson, but that time has gone by. I haven’t done any corresponding since I went to Ostend to receive the Shah & the Herald folks rung some very vile & offensive sentences into my account of that matter.

We are all extravagantly well, & all send love to our old friend mouldering among the other decaying heroes upon the field of blood. Bay does some gaudy recitations, now, & Susie grows musical apace. Neither of them has forgotten you.

The play of “Ah Sin” which Bret Harte & I had just finished when you came to our house, was produced at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, a week ago, & was received with great enthusiasm by a large & brilliant audience. I made a speech, among other things. The weather is very hot, but the play draws like a blister, nevertheless. I’ve just finished another play. It has some good points in it; but I shan’t bring it out for some months yet—maybe a year. It won’t hurt to let it ripen under correction.

Joaquin Miller has written a play, which is to be produced at Wood’s Museum, New York, the 27th of this month. I’ve forgotten the name of it.

Howells has written a play for Lawrence Barrett. Howells made good pecuniary terms with him, & Barrett says is vastly pleased with the play.

Petroleum V. Nasby wanted me to write a play with him, but I didn’t believe we’d amount to anything together, & I see by the papers he has got another collaborateur. All the world’s a stage & everybody is writing plays for it.

I never hear of Prentice Mulford now-a-days. Bierce is in San Francisco.

Mrs. Clemens says please don’t fail to send your photograph according to promise. We recognize the “famille de coeur”—& there’s no lie about that, in your case, depend upon it.

Charley Stoddard hasn’t turned up yet. So I suppose he must still be on the other side.

Well, good fortune & God be with you!