Thank you for the book. I thank you for your friendship--and much besides. This is to say good-by at the end of a pleasant correspondence in which your woman's prerogative of having the last word is denied to you. Before I could receive it I shall be gone. But some time, somewhere, I hope to hear from you again. Yes, I shall go into Mexico with a pretty definite purpose, which, however, is not at present disclosable. You must try to forgive my obstinacy in not "perishing" where I am. I want to be where something worth while is going on, or where nothing whatever is going on. Most of what is going on in your own country is exceedingly distasteful to me. Pray for me? Why, yes, dear--that will not harm either of us. I loathe religions, a Christian gives me qualms and a Catholic sets my teeth on edge, but pray for me just the same, for with all those faults upon your head (it's a nice head, too), I am pretty fond of you, I guess. May you live as long as you want to, and then pass smilingly into the darkness--the good, good darkness. Devotedly your friend, AMBROSE BIERCE. [The Olympia, Euclid Street, Washington, D. C., October 1, 1913.] DEAR LORA, I go away tomorrow for a long time, so this is only to say good-bye. I think there is nothing else worth saying; _therefore_ you will naturally expect a long letter. What an intolerable world this would be if we said nothing but what is worth saying! And did nothing foolish--like going into Mexico and South America. I'm hoping that you will go to the mine soon. You must hunger and thirst for the mountains--Carlt likewise. So do I. Civilization be dinged!--it is the mountains and the desert for me. Good-bye--if you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think that a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico--ah, that is euthanasia! With love to Carlt, affectionately yours, AMBROSE. [Laredo, Texas, November 6, 1913.] MY DEAR LORA, I think I owe you a letter, and probably this is my only chance to pay up for a long time. For more than a month I have been rambling about the country, visiting my old battlefields, passing a few days in New Orleans, a week in San Antonio, and so forth. I turned up here this morning. There is a good deal of fighting going on over on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande, but I hold to my intention to go into Mexico if I can. In the character of "innocent bystander" I ought to be fairly safe if I don't have too much money on me, don't you think? My eventual destination is South America, but probably I shall not get there this year. Sloots writes me that you and Carlt still expect to go to the mine, as I hope you will. The Cowdens expect to live somewhere in California soon, I believe. They seem to be well, prosperous and cheerful. With love to Carlt and Sloots, I am affectionately yours, AMBROSE.