I suppose you are in Seattle, but this letter will keep till your
return.
I am delighted to know that I am to have "the book" so soon, and will
give it my best attention and (if you still desire) some prefatory
lines. Think out a good title and I shall myself be hospitable to any
suggestion of my daemon in the matter. He has given me nothing for the
star poem yet.
* * * * *
You'll "learn in suffering what you teach in song," all right; but let
us hope the song will be the richer for it. It _will_ be. For that
reason I never altogether "pity the sorrows" of a writer--knowing they
are good for him. He needs them in his business. I suspect you must
have shed a tear or two since I knew you.
I'm sending you a photograph, but you did not tell me if Maid Marian
the Superb already has one--that's what I asked you, and if you don't
answer I shall ask her.
* * * * *
Yes, I am fairly well, and, though not "happy," content. But I'm
dreadfully sorry about Peterson.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
I am about to break up my present establishment and don't know where
my next will be. Better address me "Care N. Y. American and Journal
Bureau, Washington, D. C."
You see I'm still chained to the oar of yellow journalism, but it is a
rather light servitude.
[Address me at 1321 Yale Street, Washington, D. C.,
December 20, 1902.]