I've given away my beautiful sailing canoe and shall never again live a life on the ocean wave--unless you have boats at Carmel.

Sincerely yours, AMBROSE BIERCE.

[Washington, D. C., Easter Sunday.]

DEAR GEORGE,

Here's a letter from Loveman, with a kindly reference to you--that's why I send it.

I'm to pull out of here next Wednesday, the 30th, but don't know just when I shall sail from New York--apparently when there are no more dinners to eat in that town and no more friends to visit. May G.o.d in His infinite mercy lessen the number of both. I should get into your neck o' woods early in May. Till then G.o.d be with you instead.

AMBROSE BIERCE.

Easter Sunday.

[Why couldn't He stay put?]

[Washington, D. C., March 29, 1910.]

DEAR GEORGE,

I'm "all packed up," even my pens; for to-morrow I go to New York--whence I shall write you before embarking.

Neale seems pleased by your "permission to print," as Congressmen say who can't make a speech yet want one in the Record, for home consumption.

Sincerely, AMBROSE BIERCE.

[Guerneville, Cal., May 24, 1910.]

DEAR GEORGE,

You will probably have learned of my arrival--this is my first leisure to apprise you.

I took Carlt and Lora and came directly up here--where we all hope to see you before I see Carmel. Lora remains here for the week, perhaps longer, and Carlt is to come up again on Sat.u.r.day. Of course you do not need an invitation to come whenever you feel like it.

I had a pleasant enough voyage and have pretty nearly got the "slosh"

of the sea out of my ears and its heave out of my bones.

A bushel of letters awaits attention, besides a pair of lizards that I have undertaken to domesticate. So good morning.

Sincerely yours, AMBROSE BIERCE.

[The Key Route Inn, Oakland, June 25, 1910.]

DEAR GEORGE,

You'll observe that I acted on your suggestion, and am "here."

Your little sisters are most gracious to me, despite my candid confession that I extorted your note of introduction by violence and intimidation.

Baloo[13] and his cubs went on to Guerneville the day of their return from Carmel. But I saw them.

[13] Albert Bierce.

I'm deep in work, and shall be for a few weeks; then I shall be off to Carmel for a lungful of sea air and a bellyful of abalones and mussels.

I suppose you'll be going to the Midsummer Jinks. Fail not to stop over here--I don't feel that I have really seen you yet.

With best regards to Carrie.

Sincerely yours, AMBROSE BIERCE.

[The Laguna Vista, Oakland, Sunday, July 24, 1910.]

DEAR GEORGE,

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.]

I go back to the Inn on Sat.u.r.day.

DEAR GEORGE,

It is long since I read the Book of Job, but if I thought it better than your addition to it I should not sleep until I had read it again--and again. Such a superb Who's Who in the Universe! Not a Homeric hero in the imminence of a personal encounter ever did so fine bragging. I hope you will let it into your next book, if only to show that the "inspired" scribes of the Old Testament are not immatchable by modern genius. You know the Jews regard them, not as prophets, in our sense, but merely as poets--and the Jews ought to know something of their own literature.

I fear I shall not be able to go to Carmel while you're a widow--I've tangled myself up with engagements again. Moreover, I'm just back from the St. Helena cemetery, and for a few days shall be too blue for companionship.

"Shifted" is better, I think (in poetry) than "joggled." You say you "don't like working." Then write a short story. That's work, but you'd like it--or so I think. Poetry is the highest of arts, but why be a specialist?