I am sending you by this mail a copy of my book “The Circus and Other Essays,” which our friend Laurence has just published. I had intended to dedicate it to your father and yourself, but I suddenly discovered that I had never dedicated a book to my own father. So I have dedicated this one to him, and will dedicate to your father and yourself one of the two books coming out in the Spring--either the poems or the interviews. At any time you wish, I will buy you a drink. Yours sincerely, JOYCE KILMER. * * * * * _To Sara Teasdale Filsinger_ NEW YORK TIMES. February, 1916. Dear Sara: I don’t know that POETRY could use a Valentine poem, but if it could do so, it ought by all means to use it long after Valentine’s day, for timeliness, the greatest curse of our much cursed magazines, is certainly not one of POETRY’S vices. And how do you like it? It’s the first free verse I’ve written since free verse made a special label for itself--it’s a highly artificial poem, and yet passionately sincere. I’ve quit being a critic, thank God! I resigned from the _Bookman_ and _Book News Monthly_, and I no longer review poetry for the _Times_. I still run the _Digest’s_ “Current Poetry” department, but that’s not criticism, it’s just an exhibition. I merely hold up for admiration the best poetry I can find, saying nothing about inferior stuff. And I can do that without losing my self-respect. But criticism of poetry is no task for an enthusiastic poet, however little he may deserve the title. Aline is still in hospital, impatient for the new baby. She likes to receive letters. Yours, JOYCE. * * * * * _To Katherine Brégy_ THE NEW YORK TIMES, Times Square. November 6, 1914. My dear Miss Brégy: It is delightful to find on my desk this morning your letter telling me of the honour in store for me. Of course I am reading with enjoyment the “Opera” in _America_; how valuable a friend Catholic poetry, that is poetry, has in you! A verse-maker, I suppose, is an unskillful critic of his own work. But in reply to your question, I will say that I am greatly pleased when people like “Trees,” “Stars” and “Pennies,” when they see that “Folly” is a religious poem, when they praise the stanza fourth from the end of “Delicatessen,” and understand stanza three of section four of “The Fourth Shepherd.”