My dear Mack,

I send you a somewhat antiquated Presse, with a lurid murder trial in it which seems to make for the great glory of a chap wyo [sic] I think was a friend of yours.

Drop me a line and tell me how things go, won't you? I am anxious to hear how the Boundless West strikes you. There is nothing new here. Walsh has just published his English letters in the form of a pamphlet in which they are no more convincing than formerly. Hartley joined the News staff yesterday. My neighbor Miss Taylor is charming, and has just acquired a sister from Nebraska. You were a lobster of an advanced variety to show her that letter. In future I shall put my epigrams at the top.

As Arthur Stringer remarks in his new novel, "The defeated heart has the habit of burying its own dead." Or as the Rev. J. A. Macdonald more modernly puts it, "The bartender of today is the Barnacle of tomorrow."

Prosit:

B. K. Sandwell