Thank you for the Moody book, which I will return. He pleaseth me greatly and I could already fill pages with analyses of him for the reasons therefore. But for you to say that he has you "skinned"—that is magnanimity. An excellent thing in poets, I grant you, and a rare one. There is something about him and his book in the current "Atlantic," by May Sinclair, who, I dare say, has never heard of you. Unlike you, she thinks his dramatic work the best of what he does. I've not seen that. To be the best it must be mighty good.
Yes, poor White's poetry is all you say—and worse, but, faith! he "had it in him." What struck me was his candid apotheosis of piracy on the high seas. I'd hate the fellow who hadn't some sneaking sympathy with that—as Goethe confessed to some sympathy with every vice. Nobody'll ever hear of White, but (pray observe, ambitious bard!) he isn't caring. How wise are the dead!
* * *
My friend Howes, of Galveston, has, I think, nearly finished compiling his book of essaylets from my stuff. Neale has definitely decided to bring out "The Monk and the Hangman's Daughter." He has the plates of my two luckless Putnam books, and is figuring on my "complete works," to be published by subscription. I doubt if he will undertake it right away.
Au reste, I'm in good health and am growing old not altogether disgracefully.
Sincerely yours, Ambrose Bierce.
The Army and
Navy Club,
Washington,
October 30,
1906.
Dear George,
I'm pained by your comments on my book. I always feel that way when praised—"just plunged in a gulf of dark despair" to think that I took no more trouble to make the commendation truer. I shall try harder with the Howes book.