claim your confidence."
"I have heard of the 'son of a gun,'" replied she, evidently making a
strong effort to recall the natural sprightliness that seemed so
singularly to have deserted her of late; "I don't see why I am not the
_daughter of a gun_, at this moment, and so entitled to be very brave!
But about this Mr. E----, Colonel," she almost whispered, bending her
head so as to screen her face from my observation. "You know Mrs. M----
called for me the other morning to go and walk with her alone, because,
as she said, she wanted to talk a little about old times, when we were
in the convent school at C---- together. Well, as we came to a little
"shop," as she styled it--a hardware store, _we_ should say--she begged
me to go in with her a moment, while she gave some directions about a
hall-stove, saying, with an apology: "We wives of government officers
here, do all these things, as a matter of course." While she walked back
in the place, I very naturally remained near the door, amusing myself by
observing what was passing in the street. Presently, a fine horse
arrested my eye, as he came prancing along. His rider seemed to have
some ado to control him, as I thought, at first, but I suddenly became
aware that he was endeavoring to stop him, in mid career, and that, when
he succeeded--he--I--there was no mistaking it--his glance almost
petrified me, in short, and I had only just power to turn quickly in
search of Mrs. M----."
The slight form of the speaker quivered visibly, and she paused
abruptly.
"Why, my poor child," said I, soothingly, "never mind it! How can you
allow such a thing to distress you in this way?"
"If anything of the kind had ever happened to me before, I should have
thought it my fault, in some way; but when I got back to our hotel, and
reviewed the whole matter, and--but there come the rest of the
party"--she added, hurriedly. "Do you wonder now at my manner at the
dinner? I knew his face the moment the man entered the dining room; and
when Mr. M---- introduced him, and requested him to conduct me, the
burning glow that flashed over his swarthy brow convinced me that he,
too, recognized me. I would sooner have encountered a basilisk than your
elegant, parliamentary Frenchman!"
* * * * *
"Doctor, what may I eat?" inquired a dyspeptic American, who had just
received a prescription from Abernethy--the eccentric and celebrated
English physician.
"_Eat?_" thundered the disciple of Galen, "the poker and tongs, if you
will _chew them well_!"
* * * * *
What a commingling of nations and characters there was in the little
party of which I made one, on a serene evening, lang-syne, at
Constantinople! We floated gently over the placid bosom of the
sunset-tinted Golden Horn, rowed by four stout Mussulmans, and bound for
that point of the shore of the Marmora nearest the suburb of Ezoub
where horses awaited us for a brisk canter of some miles back to the
city. There were, Lord ----, an English nobleman; a Hungarian refugee; a
Yankee sea-captain; a dark-eyed youth from one of the Greek Islands; and
myself--men severed by birth and education from communion of thought and
feeling, yet united, for the moment, by a similarity of purpose;
associated by the subtle influence of circumstance, into a serene
commingling of one common nature, and capacitated for the interchange of
impressions and ideas, at least in an imperfect degree, through the
medium of a strange jargon, compounded originally of materials as varied
as the native languages of the several individuals composing the group
in our old Turkish _Caique_, which may have been, for aught we knew, the
identical one that followed Byron in his Leander-swim!
The conversation naturally partook in character of the scene before
us:--Near, towered the time-stained walls of the Seraglio--so long the
cradling-place of successive Sultans, and then furnishing the embryo of
the voluptuous pleasures of their anticipated paradise. Beyond, rose the
ruin-crowned heights, the domes and minarets of old Stamboul, rich in
historic suggestions, glowing now in the warmly-lingering smile of the
departing day-god,
"Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!"
Before us, in our way over the crystal waters, loomed up the gloomy,
verdure-draped turrets of the "Irde Koule" of this oft-rebelling and
oft-conquered seat of Oriental splendor and imperial power. As with the
"Tower" of London, the mere sight of this now silent and deserted
castle, conjured up recollections replete with deeds of wild romance,
and darker scenes of blood and crime. Around us flowed the waters whose
limpid depths had so oft received the sack-shrouded form of helpless
beauty, when midnight blackness rivalled the horror of the foul murder
it veiled forever from mortal ken. Argosies and fleets had been borne
upon these waves, whose names or whose conflicts were of world-wide
renown--from the mythical adventurers of the Golden-Fleece to the
triumphant squadrons of the Osmanlis, all seemed to float before the eye
of fancy!
From the broken sentences that, for some time, seemed most expressive of
the contemplative mood engendered both by our surroundings and by the
placidity of the hour, there gradually arose a somewhat connected
discussion of the present condition of the Ottoman Porte.
It is not my purpose to inflict upon you a detailed report of our
discourse; but only to relate, for your amusement, a fragment of it,
which somehow has, strangely enough, floated upwards from the darkened
waters of the past, with sufficient distinctness to be snatched from the
oblivion to which its utter insignificance might properly consign it.
"There is not," said the British noble--a man curious in literature, and
a somewhat speculative observer of life--"there is not a single purely
literary production in the Turkish language, written by a living author;
not a poem, nor romance, nor essay. The Koran would almost seem to
constitute their all of earthly lore and heavenly aspiration. What an
anomaly in the biography of modern peoples!"
This last sentence was addressed especially to the sea-captain and me,
the _idiomatical_ English in which the passing fancy of the speaker
found expression being wholly unintelligible to all except ourselves.
"Their total want of a national literature," said the American, "does
not so materially affect my comfort, I must confess, as the utter
absence of decent civilization in their renowned capital. For instance,
they have not an apology for a night-police in their confoundedly dark
streets, except the infernal dogs that infest them. The other night,
returning to my quarters, with my 'Ibrahim' pilot in front with a
lantern, I was persuaded, as one of these 'faithful guardians' fastened
his glistening ivories in my boot-top, that, like one of your 'lone
stars' at New York, Colonel Lunettes, he had 'mistaken his man,' and
supposed me to be the returned spirit of some one of the countless
throng of infidel dogs, upon whom his public education had instructed
him to make war to--_the teeth_!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Greek, in tones as musical as his dress and
attitude were picturesque, from the pile of boat cloaks upon which he
reposed in the bow of the boat, and opening his dark eyes till one saw
far down into the dreamy depths of his half-slumbering soul through his
quick-lit orbs. He had caught enough of the _sense_ of the captain's
nonsense, to imagine the joke to the full. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed he,
again, and the shadowy walls of the blood-stained "Chateau of Seven
Towers," by which we were gliding, gave back the clear, clarion-like
tone; "but, while this brave _fils de la mer_[6] thus sports with the
terrors of my country's enslaver [here a frown, deep, dark, threatening,
and a quick clenching of the jewelled handle of the yataghan he wore in
his belt], the gates of fair Stamboul will close, and nor foe, nor
Frank, nor friend, be given to the dogs."
[6] Son of the sea.
"By thunder!" shouted the American, shaking himself up, as if at sea,
with a suspicious sail in sight, "he is more than half right. Would you
have thought it so late?"
"Even a Yankee, like Captain ----, a fair representative of the
'universal nation,' learns to dream and linger here," responded the
Englishman, good-humoredly.
Upon this, I made use of the little knowledge I possessed of the
Turkish, to interrogate our _Caidjis_ respecting the time further
required to reach our landing-place.
"Allah is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet!" was all I could fully
apprehend of his slowly-delivered reply.
It was now the captain's turn to laugh, and as his sonorous peal
rippled over the Marmora, he quietly insinuated his fore-finger and
thumb into the disengaged palm of the devout Mussulman I had so
touchingly adjured.
The only response of the devotee of the Prophet was a gutteral
repetition of "Pekee! good! pekee! pekee!" But by an influence as
effective as it was mysterious, our swan-like movement was exchanged for
a most hope-encouraging velocity.
"Bravo!" exclaimed my lord.
"Bravissima!" intonated the Hun.
"Go it, boys!" shouted the "old salt."
"By the soul of Mithridates and the deeds of Thermopolae!" chimed in the
scion of the "isles of Greece," catching the instinctively-intelligible
contagion of the sportive moment.
"And what said Uncle Hal?" you wonder, perhaps. Oh, I was listening to
the low, melancholy, semi-howl in which the imperturbable Moslems were
slowly chanting "_Guezal! pek guezal!_"[7] as they turned their dull eyes
lingeringly towards their fast-receding mosques and minarets.
[7] My beautiful! my most beautiful!
But, meeting the questioning glances of my companions, as their mirth
began to subside, I contributed my humble quota to the general stock of
fun by saying, with extreme gravity of voice and manner:
"When will wonders cease in the Golden Horn! At first, even its
unquestionable antiquity did not redeem this vessel from my
contempt--now I consider it an '_irresistible duck_!'--and I wish,
moreover, to publish my conviction that, though barbarous in matters of
literature and art, the Turks impressively teach their boastful
superiors a _religious respect for cleanliness_."
* * * * *
I remember to have been singularly impressed, when I read it, with an
anecdote somewhat as follows:
As too frequently happens on such occasions, a discussion in relation to
some insignificant matter, into which a large party of men, who had
dined together, and were lingering late over their wine, had fallen,
gradually increased in vehemence and obstinacy of opinion, until
frenzied excitement ruled the hour.
"From words they almost came to blows,
When luckily"
the attention of one of the most furious of the disputants was suddenly
arrested by the appearance of one of the gentlemen present. There was no
angry flush on his brow, no "laughing devil" in his eye, and he sat
quietly regarding the scene before him, serene and self-possessed as
when he entered the apartment hours before. His astonished companion
inquired the cause of such placidity, in the midst of anger and
turbulence.
The gentleman pointed, with a smile, to a half-empty water-bottle beside
him, and replied: "While the rest of the company have been industriously
occupied in endeavoring to drown the distinctive attribute of
man--reason--I have preserved its supremacy by simply confining myself
to a non-intoxicating beverage."
* * * * *
I trust you will not think the following somewhat quaint verses, from
the pen of an old and now almost forgotten poet, a _mal-a-propos_
conclusion to this letter:
THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER
A Grecian youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had formed for Virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,
Would often boast his matchless skill
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;
And as he passed the gazing throng
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they expressed,
Was praise and transport to his breast.
At length, quite vain, he needs would show
His master what his art could do;
And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' sacred shade.
The trembling grove confessed its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the sight;
The Muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire.
Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the Sage, and mounts the car;
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gathering crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal returned,
With nobler thirst his bosom burned;
And now along the indented plain
The self-same track he marks again;
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement seized the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glowed;
E'en bearded sages hailed the boy,
And all but Plato gazed with joy.
For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the triumph of the field:
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flushed with hope, had caught his eye,
"Alas! unhappy youth," he cried,
"Expect no praise from me," (and sighed);
"With indignation I survey
_Such skill and judgment thrown away:
The time profusely squandered there
On vulgar arts, beneath thy care,
If well employed, at less expense,
Had taught thee Honor, Virtue, Sense;
And raised thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men, and guide the state_."
One seldom finds a nicer selection of words than those of the last lines
of these admonitory stanzas. With the wish that they may gratify your
literary acumen, I am, as ever,
Your faithful friend,
HARRY LUNETTES.
LETTER VIII.
LETTER-WRITING.
MY DEAR NEPHEWS:
There is, perhaps, no form of composition with which it is as desirable
to be practically familiar, and in which all educated persons should be
accomplished, as that of _letter-writing_; yet no branch of an elegant
education is more frequently neglected. Consequently, the grossest
errors, and the utmost carelessness, are tolerated in regard to it.
Rhetorical faults, and even ungrammatical expressions, are constantly
overlooked, and illegibility has almost come to be regarded as an
essential characteristic.
Following the homely rule of the lightning-tamer, that "_nothing is
worth doing at all that is not worth doing well_," you will not need
argument to convince you of the propriety of attention to this subject,
while forming habits of life.
Different occasions and subjects require, of course, as various styles
of epistolary composition. Thus the laconic language adapted to a formal
business letter, would be wholly unsuited to one of friendship; and the
playfulness that might be appropriate in a congratulatory
communication, would be quite out of place in a letter of condolence.
While it is impossible that any general rules can be laid down that will
be always applicable in individual cases, a few directions of universal
application may, not inappropriately, be introduced in connection with
our present purpose.
The principal requisites of _Letters of Business_ are,
_intelligibility_, _legibility_, and _brevity_. To secure the first of
these essentials, a clear, concise, expressive selection of language is
required. Each word and sentence should express _exactly_ and
_unequivocally_ the idea intended to be conveyed, and in _characters_
that will not obscure the sense by doubtful _legibility_. A legible hand
should certainly be as essential as intelligible utterance. We pity the
man who by stammering, or stuttering, not only taxes the time and
patience of his hearers, but leaves them, at times, uncertain of his
meaning, despite their efforts to comprehend him. What, then, is the
misfortune of those who, like the most genial of wits, 'decline to read
their own writing, after it is twenty-four hours old!' Do not, I pray
you, let any absurd impression respecting the excusableness of this
defect, on the score that _genius is superior to the trifles of detail_,
etc., lead you either into carelessness or indifference on the subject.
Few men have the excuse of possessing the dangerous gift of genius, and
to affect the weaknesses by which it is sometimes accompanied, is
equally silly and contemptible. A man of sense will aim at attaining a
true standard of right, not at caricaturing a defective model. Depend
upon it, a _good business-hand_ is no small recommendation to young men
seeking employment in any of the occupations of life. The propriety of
_brevity_ in letters of business, will at once commend itself to your
attention. Time--the wealth of the busy--is thus saved for two parties.
But remember, I repeat, that, while this precious treasure is best
secured by expressing what you wish to communicate in as few words as
possible, nothing is gained by leaving your precise meaning doubtful, by
unauthorized abbreviations, confused sentences, or the omission of any
essential--as a date, address, proper signature, important question, or
item of information. Let me add, that _rapidity of mechanical execution_
is of no mean importance in this regard.
_Letters of Introduction_ should be so expressed as to afford the reader
a clue to the particular purpose of the bearer in desiring his
acquaintance, if any such there be. This will prevent the awkwardness of
a personal explanation, and furnish a convenient theme for the
commencement of a conversation between strangers. Thus, if it be simply
a friend, travelling in search of pleasure and general information, whom
you wish to commend to the general civilities of another friend, some
such form as the following will suffice:
---- ---- ----
MY DEAR SIR:
Allow me the pleasure of introducing to you my friend, Mr. ----
----, a gentleman whose intelligence and acquirements render his
acquaintance an acquisition to all who are favored with his
society. Mr. ---- visits your city [or town, or part of the
country, or, your celebrated city, or, your enterprising town, or
your far-famed State, etc.] merely as an _observant traveller_.
Such attentions as it may be agreeable to you to render him will
oblige
Your sincere friend,
and obedient servant,
---- ----.
To Hon. ---- ----
When you wish to write a letter of introduction for a person seeking a
situation in business, a place of residence, scientific information, or
the like; briefly, but distinctly, state this to your correspondent,
together with any circumstance creditable to the bearer, or which it
will be advantageous to him to have known, which you can safely venture
to avouch. (No one is in any degree bound by individual regard to impair
his reputation for probity or veracity in this, or any other respect.)
A letter introducing an Artist, a Lecturer, etc., should contain some
allusion to the professional reputation of the bearer--thus:
---- ---- ----
MY DEAR WILLIAMSON:
This will be presented to you by our distinguished countryman, Mr.
---- ----, who proposes a brief visit to your enterprising city,
chiefly for professional purposes. It affords me great pleasure to
be the means of securing to friends whom I so highly value, the
gratification I feel assured you and Mr. ---- will derive from
knowing each other.
With the best wishes for your mutual success and happiness, I am,
my dear sir,
Very truly yours,
---- ----.
To ---- ----, Esq.
In the instance of a celebrity, occupying at the time a space in the
world's eye, something like this will suffice:
BOSTON, _August 1st, 1863_.
MY DEAR FRIEND:
It gives me pleasure to present to your acquaintance a gentleman
from whose society you cannot fail to derive high enjoyment. Mr.
---- [or the Hon. ----, or Gen. ----][8] needs no eulogy of mine
to render his reputation familiar to you, identified as it is with
the literature of our country [or the scientific fame, or the
eloquence of the pulpit, etc.] Commending my friend to your
courtesy, believe me, my dear Jones,
Truly your friend and servant,
---- ----.
Rev. ---- ----.
[8] Always be scrupulously careful to give _titles_, and with
accuracy. The proper designation of a _gentleman_ not in office,
is--_Esquire_. (This, of course, should not be given to a tradesman,
or menial.) That of a judge, member of Congress, mayor of a city,
member of a State legislature, etc., etc., is--_Honorable_; that of a
clergyman--_Reverend_; that of a bishop--_Right Reverend_. You are,
of course, familiar with the proper _abbreviations_ for these titles.
In writing the address of a letter, it is desirable to know the
_Christian_ name of the person to whom it is to be directed. Thus, if
a physician, "Charles Jones, M. D.," is better than "Dr. Jones." So,
"Dr. De Lancey," or "Bishop Potter," are obviously improper. The
correct form to be used in this instance, is:
"_To the "Right Rev. Alonzo Potter, D. D._"
The proper address of a _Minister_ representing our government
abroad, is--"the Honorable ---- ----, Minister for the U.S. of
America, near the Court of St. James, or St. Cloud," etc. That of a
_Charge d'Affaires_, or Consul, etc., varies with their respective
offices. A _Charge d'Affaires_ is sometimes familiarly spoken of as
"_Our Charge_," at such a Court--or as the "_American Charge_."
A clergyman may be addressed as "_Rev. Mr._ ----," if you do not know
the first name, or _initial_, and so may a doctor of divinity; but in
the latter case it would, perhaps, be better to write--"Rev. Dr.
James,"--though the more accurate mode will still be, if attainable,
"Rev. William James, D.D."
Gentlemen of the Army and Navy should always be designated by their
proper titles, and it is well not to be ignorant that a man in either
of these professions, when
"He hath got his sword ...
And seems to know the use on't,"
may not like to be reminded that the _slow promotion_ he has attained
is _unknown to his friends_!
Letters of introduction should always be _unsealed_, and, as a rule,
should relate only to the affairs of the bearer, not even passingly to
those of the writer or his correspondent. When it is desirable to write
what cannot, for any reason, be properly introduced into the open
letter, a separate and _sealed_ communication may be written and sent,
with a polite apology, or brief explanation, with the other.
When letters of introduction are delivered in person, they should be
sent by the servant who admits you, together with your card, to the lady
or gentleman to whom they are addressed, as the most convenient mode of
announcing yourself, and the object of your visit.
When you do not find the person you wish to see, write your _temporary
address_ upon your card, as "At the American Hotel"--"With Mrs. Henry,
22 Washington-st."--"At Hon. John Berkley's," etc. Should you _send_
your letter, accompany it by your card and _present_ address, and
inclose both together in an envelope directed to the person for whom
they are designed. When your stay is limited and brief, it is suitable
to add upon your card, together with an accurate _date_--"For to-day,"
or, "To remain but two or three days." And in case of any explanation,
or apology, or request being requisite, such as you would have made in a
_personal_ interview, write _a note_, to be inclosed with the letter of
presentation. Every omission of these courtesies that may occasion
trouble, or inconvenience to others, is ill-bred, and may easily serve
to prejudice strangers against you.
Sometimes it is well to make an appointment through the card you leave,
or send, with a letter, or for a stranger whom you wish to meet, as--"At
the Globe Hotel, _this evening_," with a date, or thus--"Will pay his
respects to Mrs. ----, to-morrow morning, with her permission."
A letter introducing a young man, still "unknown to fame," to a lady of
fashion, or of distinguished social position, may be expressed somewhat
in this manner:
_To
Mrs. Modish,[9]
No. 14 Belgrave Place,
Charleston, S. C._
ASTOR HOUSE, NEW YORK, _Jan. 27th, 1863_.
DEAR MADAM: