The San Francisco call., 1895-12-22
AMBROSE B|ERCE, THE
PHYLLOXERA IN LITERATURE.
BY WILLIAM GREER
HARRISON.

Of the ancient satirist, and who dares to
thrust himself in with Homer, Sappho,
Plato, Virgil, Horace, Seneca, Catullus,
Lucian and Longinus, to say nothing of
Bacon, Shakespeare, Marlowe and Milton.
Bierce has taken the trouble tc preserve
the line ''In amber" so that generations
yet to come may quote it as the work of
the immortal Caliban Bierce. The mag
nitude and importance of the information
conveyed cannot De lightly regarded. How,
In thousand years from now, scholars
will rejoice to know that, in the year of
grace 1892, of two local statesmen "One
ate his bacon, t'other one his beef.'
/ am obliged to Mr.. Bierce for de-
scription of himself:
provincial censor, all untaught in art,
With mind indecent and indecent heart,
DO you not know-nay, why should explain?
Instruction, argument, alike were vain
III show you reason when you show me BRAIN"
Now, Ambrose, having borrowed your
lines, / thank you kindly for the loan. L
have spanked you in all decency. and you
may put on your trouseretteS and sit down
if YOU can. ! must, however, give you q
little lecture. In your small back talk you
named many very bright boys, but there
are great many equally bright boys of
whom you do not seem to have any
knowledge and as these are Christmas
times and everybody is giving away every
thing l will make you a present of my
Enchiridion in which you will find q big
roll of illustrious names (Which down the
steady breeze OF honor sail" and here are
some of them: Plutarch, Richard de
Bury, Petrarch, Chaucer, Erasmus, Machia-
velli, Luther. Ascham, Montaigne, Daniel.
Locke, Addison, Johnson, Gibbon, Goethe,
Wordsworth. Lamb, Southey, Hazlitt,
Landor, De Quincy, Leigh Hunt, Bulwer,
Macaulay, Herschel, Carlyle, Emerson,
Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell
Lowell, Ruskin, and some two hundred
other good little boys. Amby, not one OF
these was ever known to use the naughty
little words of which you are so fond. So
take my little book, Mandy, you will find
it Infinite riches in a little ROOM" and
remember what Horace says, "Lectio qua
placuit, decies repetita placebit," so the
more frequently you read the little book,
Pamby, the better.
But I see a tear in your big eye, my
little man, and l would not have you "fray
or maculate" your pretty face, so come
along, my little Eusebius, and we will
knock brick or two out of this old wall
that divides the jolly past from the dull,
dry present; and look, Amby, look through
this peephole and see yonder, in the far-off, !,
the old homestead, for we are back in the
long, long, ago, when you and were boys,
Ambrose, for, though you are very old in
to have forgotten that you were once a
very small boy. And see, there is the big,
generous hearthstone, and the great yule
log cracking forth its Christmas song, and
there. in the yellow, red glare, how you
and | made pictures of the future that
never. never came, Ambrose. There is the
good mother and the dear old dad, and the
big and little brothers, and the sisters, and
the coy sweethcarts, and the holly berries
and the mlstletoe, and the fun and the iol-
lity, and the heart-warming, and the glad
ness of it all, and how we dreamt,
Am mbrose, of great deeds to fill up our big
ambition and how we hoped and made
plans, Ambrose, and dreamed again and
again, and how it all came to naught. And
you and look back over the waste of years
and forward across the great desert that is
still before us and wonder what is beyond
the marge thereof. All, we were happy in
those young days, Ambrose; we had not
tasted of sin then, nor drunk OF the streams
that turn generous thoughts into selfish
hopes and sweet dreams into fierce tight
for existence. But there, funny along, my
little Seneca. You and / may have been
boys at the same time, but not boys to-
gether, Ambrose; not together for any
length of time; but remembering that we
were boys you may now take your holi-
days, mbrose, and take Funnymede with
you, my little Sophocles. 1t will not in
crease your knowledge-that is impossible,
my small Pliny, but it may improve your
manners, my little Diderot, and when you
return from your vacation, my gentle
Schopenhauer, the rod comes out of pickle,
and should you offend again, why, then,
of course, the same old process will have
to be gone through. But should you come
back intent on good, why, Ambrose, We'll
join the Salvation Army, you and I, and
you can 'tambourine the circum]acency"
/ pon nh ~ rlfQ
thus do penance for your sins, Ambrose.
If you come back the same naughty little
boy l wish you to con the lines, Lay on,
Macduff, and damnd be he that first cries,
Hold, enough" and shout them in your
best palpitating treble. and I'll answer
you, Am brose. Meanwhile. with the old
fashioned courtesy of gentleman, 1 bow
to you and wish you Merry Christmas
and Happy New Year, and when the
ashes turn white and the yule log has
turned black, come to me, Ambrose, for
love to whack you.