Transcription:
Home, Sunday, Mar. 15th, 1874. My dear Mr. Muir: I hardly know where to address this letter, as your last to me was written
in such distress of mind at leaving the Valley, and as I have not heard of your being in Oakland from any of my friends, am
rather lost in wondering of your whereabouts. A faint whisper came from somewhere (whether magazine or newspaper I cannot
tell) of your name in connection with book writing, but it was so faint that I cannot exactly recall it. We have been very
quiet this winter, with the exception of a little trip to New York for a few days, and have amused ourselves talking over
our good times in California and looking forward to another visit there before long, perhaps next fall, but that is almost
too far off to make plans for. I have devoted my whole winter in mending, and studying many things that had grown rusty,
and to my horror, find I have taxed my little strength too far, was warned yesterday by a protracted fainting fit, that I
am not as strong as the rest of the world, which fact I seem to forget whenever I am very much interested in anything. I
have not written you, I believe, since Charlie Stoddard made us a little visit - what a jolly time the boy is having, just
what he needs. There seems to me a very slight improvement in his last letters. His contact with the literary world ought
to do him good. Do you never feel weary of life? If not, what is your receipt? Perhaps after all a good sound body has more
to do with it than anything else. Father sends regards. He has been nicely until the March winds began to blow, and has been
housed for a week or more. With kindest regards and hoping to hear from you soon telling us all about yourself and your doings,
I remain, Truly your friend, Anne W. Cheney