How have you the heart to point out what you deem an imperfection in
those lines. Upon my soul, I swear they are faultless, and "moonlight"
is henceforth and forever a rhyme to "delight." Also, likewise,
moreover and furthermore, a ---- is henceforth ----; and ---- are
forever ----; and to ---- shall be ----; and so forth. You have
established new canons of literary criticism--more liberal ones--and
death to the wretch who does not accept them! Ah, I always knew you
were a revolutionist.
Yes, I am in better health, worse luck! For I miss the beef-teaing
expeditions more than you can by trying.
By the way, if you again encounter your fellow practitioner, Mrs.
Hirshberg, please tell her what has become of her patient, and that I
remember her gratefully.
It is not uninteresting to me to hear of your progress in your art,
albeit I am debarred from entrance into the temple where it is
worshiped. After all, art finds its best usefulness in its reaction
upon the character; and in that work I can trace your proficiency in
the art that you love. As you become a better artist you grow a nicer
girl, and if your music does not cause my tympana to move themselves
aright, yet the niceness is not without its effect upon the soul o'
me. So I'm not so _very_ inert a clod, after all.
No, Leigh has not infected me with the exploring fad. I exhausted my
capacity in that way years before I had the advantage of his
acquaintance and the contagion of his example. But I don't like to
think of that miserable mountain sitting there and grinning in the
consciousness of having beaten the Bierce family.
So--apropos of my brother--_I_ am "odd" after a certain fashion! My
child, that is blasphemy. You grow hardier every day of your life, and
you'll end as a full colonel yet, and challenge Man to mortal combat
in true Stetsonian style. Know thy place, thou atom!
Speaking of colonels reminds me that one of the most eminent of the
group had the assurance to write me, asking for an "audience" to
consult about a benefit that she--_she!_--is getting up for my friend
Miss * * *, a glorious writer and eccentric old maid whom you do not
know. * * * evidently wants more notoriety and proposes to shine by
Miss * * * light. I was compelled to lower the temperature of the
situation with a letter curtly courteous. Not even to assist Miss * * *
shall my name be mixed up with those of that gang. But of course all
that does not amuse you.
I wish I could have a chat with you. I speak to nobody but my
chambermaid and the waiter at my restaurant. By the time I see you I
shall have lost the art of speech altogether and shall communicate
with you by the sign language.
God be good to you and move you to write to me sometimes.
Sincerely your friend,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[First part of this letter missing.]
* * * * *
You may, I think, expect my assistance in choosing between (or among)
your suitors next month, early. I propose to try living in Oakland
again for a short time beginning about then. But I shall have much to
do the first few days--possibly in settling my earthly affairs for it
is my determination to be hanged for killing all those suitors. That
seems to me the simplest way of disembarrassing you. As to me--it is
the "line of least resistance"--unless they fight.
* * * * *
So you have been ill. You must not be ill, my child--it disturbs my
Marcus Aurelian tranquillity, and is most selfishly inconsiderate of
you.
Mourn with me: the golden leaves of my poplars are now underwheel. I
sigh for the perennial eucalyptus leaf of Piedmont.