Supposing you to have gone home, I write to send the poem. Of course
it is a good poem. But I begin to want to hear your larger voice
again. I want to see you standing tall on the heights--above the
flower-belt and the bird-belt. I want to hear,
"like Ocean on a western beach,
The surge and thunder of the Odyssey,"
as you _Odyssate_.
I _think_ I met that dog * * * to-day, and as it was a choice between
kicking him and avoiding him I chose the more prudent course.
I've not seen your little sisters--they seem to have tired of me. Why
not?--I have tired of myself.
Fail not to let me know when to expect you for the Guerneville trip.
* * *
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[The Laguna Vista,
October 20, 1910.]