Yes, I got and read that fool thing in the August Critic. I found in it nothing worse than stupidity—no malice. Doubtless you have not sounded the deeper deeps of stupidity in critics, and so are driven to other motives to explain their unearthly errors. I know from my own experience of long ago how hard it is to accept abominable criticism, obviously (to the criticee) unfair, without attributing a personal mean motive; but the attribution is nearly always erroneous, even in the case of a writer with so many personal enemies as I. You will do well to avoid that weakness of the tyro. * * * has the infirmity in an apparently chronic form. Poets, by reason of the sensibilities that make them poets, are peculiarly liable to it. I can't see any evidence that the poor devil of the Critic knew better.
The Wine of Wizardry is at present at the Booklovers'. It should have come back ere this, but don't you draw any happy augury from that: I'm sure they'll turn it down, and am damning them in advance.
I had a postal from * * * a few days ago. He was in Paris. I've written him only once, explaining by drawing his attention to the fact that one's reluctance to write a letter increases in the ratio of the square of the distance it has to go. I don't know why that is so, but it is—at least in my case.
* * *
Yes, I'm in perfect health, barring a bit of insomnia at times, and enjoy life as much as I ever did—except when in love and the love prospering; that is to say, when it was new.
Sincerely yours, Ambrose Bierce.
Washington, D. C.,
December 8,
1904.
Dear George,
This is the worst yet! This jobbernowl seems to think "The Wine of Wizardry" a story. It should "arrive" and be "dramatic"—the denouement being, I suppose, a particularly exciting example of the "happy ending."