
In your "Specimen Days" you tell us you once "tried to read a beautifully printed and
scholarly volume on 'The Theory of Poetry' . . . . but gave it up at last for a bad job."
What I at present fear is that you may give up this note as a bad job, though I hope,
in your kindliness of heart, you may see your way to grant my request. Though but a humble individual, and
nearly half-a-century younger than yourself, yet I have always had great regard for
poets. Well, I have just been reading in one of our English papers a brief notice
about yourself, in which, among other matters,
it is stated that your books are
still sold at your home in Mickle Street. What I would humbly ask of you is to
send me one of your books—any you like, though personally I should prefer
one of your poetic ones—and kindly write for me, and sign in your own
handwriting, a brief note on the fly-leaf. The price of the book I will send
by reply mail. But I should not care for one of your expensive editions, and
for this vital reason, alas!—I am but a poor man and have a wife and five wee
weans. Mr Halkett Lord, Hawthornden, Scotch Plains, N.J., would, I think, express
his opinion that I am not likely to prove a defaulter. Dear Poet, in your own words,
and at this sacred time, may I affectionately send "Love to you, and best wishes and remembrance"
from all "British friends." May God ever bless you!


