I enclose a proof of the poem[3]--all marked up. The poem was offered
to the Journal, but to the wrong editor. I would not offer it to him
in whose department it could be used, for he once turned down some
admirable verses of my friend Scheffauer which I sent him. I'm glad
the Journal is _not_ to have it, for it now goes into the Washington
Post--and the Post into the best houses here and elsewhere--a good,
clean, unyellow paper. I'll send you some copies with the poem.
[3] "Memorial Day."
I think my marks are intelligible--I mean my _re_marks. Perhaps you'll
not approve all, or anything, that I did to the poem; I'll only ask
you to endure. When you publish in covers you can restore to the
original draft if you like. I had not time (after my return from New
York) to get your approval and did the best and the least I could.
* * * * *
My love to your pretty wife and sister. Let me know how hard you hate
me for monkeying with your sacred lines.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
Yes, your poem recalled my "Invocation" as I read it; but it is
better, and not too much like--hardly like at all except in the
"political" part. Both, in that, are characterized, I think, by decent
restraint. How * * * would, at those places, have ranted and chewed
soap!--a superior quality of soap, I confess.