But first—as published in the aforementioned Volume 11—Bierce in his column “Prattle,” which appeared in the San Francisco Wasp on March 5, 1881, contrasts two erstwhile poets, the Rev. W. H. Platt and Sands W. Forman, to William Wordsworth. Bierce writes:
    “I do not like to make invidious comparisons, but in my judgment the verses of Wordsworth are in some respects distinctly superior to the work of the other bards—an opinion which appears to be supported by the following epitaph of the writer. For it should be recollected that Wordsworth is now dead:

      Here lie the bones of one whose hat
      Was wiser than the head of Platt—
      Whose glove the lyre more sweetly thrums
      Than Forman’s hand with all its thumbs.
      Step lightly, ’tis a sacred spot,
      For Forman here, and Platt, are not.”

   This epitaph later appears in different form in Bierce’s The Devil’s Dictionary, which is found in Volume VII of his Collected Works:

      Here lie the bones of Parson Platt,
      Wise, pious, humble and all that,
      Who showed us life as all should live it;
      Let that be said—and God forgive It!

    Also in that 1881 column in The Wasp, Bierce cites another literary figure (not to be confused with Parson Platt): Donn Piatt, a member of a family of French Protestants known as the Huguenots, who, like Bierce, was born in Ohio. Piatt fought for the Union in the Civil War, and was later a lawyer, judge, Ohio state representative, and a journalist. He published several books of poetry, biography, and three stage plays, and founded a Washington, DC, newspaper, The Capital.
   Piatt, who had many friends and an equal number of enemies, was a noted humorist. Some of his witticisms:

   • The difference between Mormons and congressmen was that the Mormons married their mistresses.
  • The Democratic Party was the organized ignorance of the country, and the Republicans were the organized greed.

   It is impossible to know what set Bierce off on Donn Piatt, but Piatt was a great friend of Mark Twain’s, so perhaps that was enough. Bierce’s vitriol is in fine form. He writes: “Donn Piatt, of the Washington Capital, has been good enough to indicate the kind of epitaph that would make him happiest. It isn’t good enough; I prefer this one:

      Here lies lamented Donn Piatt,
      Divested of his lean and fat—
      Divested of his bones and skin,
      And all the viscera within.
      Of all his tissues, blood and brains,
      A wicked smell alone remains
      To wait the Judgment day. But that
      Is the essential Donn Piatt.
      Deal with him justly, God of Moses,
      If saints in Paradise have noses.”

    Some of the gems in Volume 11 of Bierce’s Collected Essays and Journalism, edited by David E. Schultz and S.T. Joshi. Available HERE