No place, February 7, no year given. 1p., 12mo; light creasing along folds, slightly affecting signatures, some minor wrinkling. Framed. To an unnamed correspondent, [translated from the French]: “Your idea... is worthy of a great mind and a great work. You have the one, you are capable of the other. All I can do is applaud and shout Bravo! The critic will not die because it is poetry’s function to keep him alive. So, be a critic for the world, and for me you old scoundrel, be always a poet. We’ll meet again soon, I hope. Old scoundrel that I am, yours from the bottom of my heart.”.