Scheff has mentioned his great desire that you join the Bohemian Club. I know he wants me to advise you to do so. So I'm between two fires and would rather not advise at all. There are advantages (obvious enough) in belonging; and to one of your age and well grounded in sobriety and self-restraint generally, the disadvantages are not so great as to a youngster like Scheff. (Of course he is not so young as he seems to me; but he is younger by a few years and a whole lot of thought than you.) The trouble with that kind of club--with any club--is the temptation to waste of time and money; and the danger of the drink habit. If one is proof against these a club is all right. I belong to one myself in Washington, and at one time came pretty near to "running" it. * * * * * No, I don't think Scheff's view of Kipling just. He asked me about putting that skit in the book. It _was_ his view and, that being so, I could see no reason for suppressing it in deference to those who do not hold it. I like free speech, though I'd not accord it to my enemies if I were Dictator. I should not think it for the good of the State to let * * * write verses, for example. The modern fad Tolerance does not charm me, but since it is all the go I'm willing that my friends should have their fling. I dare say Scheff is unconscious of Kipling's paternity in the fine line in "Back, back to Nature": "Loudly to the shore cries the surf upon the sea." But turn to "The Last Chanty," in "The Seven Seas," fill your ears with it and you'll write just such a line yourself. * * * * * God be decent to you, old man. AMBROSE BIERCE. [Aurora, West Virginia, September 12, 1903.] DEAR STERLING, I have yours of the 5th. Before now you have mine of _some_ date. * * * * * I'm glad you like London; I've heard he is a fine fellow and have read one of his books--"The Son of the Wolf," I think is the title--and it seemed clever work mostly. The general impression that remains with me is that it is always winter and always night in Alaska. * * * * * * * * will probably be glad to sell his scrap-book later, to get bread. He can't make a living out of the labor unions alone. I wish he were not a demgagoue and would not, as poor Doyle put it, go a-whoring after their Muse. When he returns to truth and poetry I'll receive him back into favor and he may kick me if he wants to. No, I can't tell you how to get "Prattle"; if I could I'd not be without it myself. You ask me when I began it in the "Examiner." Soon after Hearst got the paper--I don't know the date--they can tell you at the office and will show you the bound volumes.