(_Concerning the verses that follow._)
Dear B. L. T.:
You know my "pomes." Well, old man, I was pretty young when I got them
out of my system, and they seem rather raw to me now--I'm getting along,
you know; so I've been thinking that I'd do 'em over again, file 'em
down, as we used to say. Enclosed is the result of my labors.
I presume you are wondering why I have done them into United States; but
you know perfectly well that a poet as much alive as I am to-day must
not only keep up with the procession, but choose a thought-vehicle that
has good springs to it--"beaucoup resiliency," I s'pose you'd call it.
I hope you will like these new lines of mine better than their
prototypes.
Yours regardfully,
Q. H. F.
_Helngon, November 15._
I