of letters. When they are of an entirely ceremonious character, or
addressed to superiors, usage requires an elaborate address and
subscription; but the style of familiar epistles permits throughout
every variety of language that good taste and good feeling may invent or
sanction. Only let there be a general harmony in your compositions. Do
not fall into the inadvertency of the person who addressed a missive
full of the most tender expressions of regard to his mistress, and
signed it--"Yours respectfully, Clark, Smith & Co."
_Legibility_, _Intelligibility_, and _Accuracy_ are requisite in the
_direction_ of all epistolary compositions.
Correct taste demands some attention to the subject of
_Writing-Materials_. It is now becoming the practice to use small-sized
paper for communications of ceremony and friendship, continuing the
contents through several sheets, if necessary, and numbering each in
proper succession. It is, also, usual to write ceremonious letters on
but one side of a sheet, and to leave a wide margin upon the left hand
side, and a narrower one on the opposite edge of the paper.
The finest, smoothest paper should always be used, except for mere
business matters; and, though some passing fashion may sanction tinted
paper, pure white is always unexceptionable. All fancy ornaments,
colored designs, etc., etc., are in questionable taste. If ornamental
bordering, or initial lettering is adopted, the most chaste and
unpretending should be preferred.
Except for _mailing_, envelopes should correspond exactly with the sheet
inclosed. Envelopes sent by post should be strong and large-sized.
Sometimes it is well to re-enclose a small envelope, corresponding with
the written sheet, in a large, firm cover, and to write the full
direction upon that.
Sealing wax should always be used for closing all epistles, except those
of an entirely business nature. _Stamps_ and _seals_ may vary with
taste. A plain form with an unbroken face, suffices; or initials, a
device and motto, one or both; or hereditary heraldic designs may be
preferred.
Letters intended to go by mail on the continent of Europe, should be
written on a single, large sheet of _thin_ paper, and _not enveloped_.
_It is as ill-bred not to reply to a communication requiring an
acknowledgment, or to neglect proper attention to all the several
matters of importance to which it relates, as it is not to answer a
question directly and personally addressed to you._
_Promptitude_ is also demanded by good-breeding, in this regard.
Necessity only can excuse the impoliteness of subjecting a friend, or
business-correspondent, to inconvenience or anxiety, occasioned by delay
in replying to important letters.
Tyros in epistolary composition may derive advantage from noting the
peculiar excellences of the published letters of celebrated authors and
others; not for the purpose of servile imitation, but as affording
useful general models, or guides. Miscellaneous readers may note the
genial humor and patient elaborateness characterizing the letters of the
"Great Unknown," the felicities of expression sometimes observable in
the familiar missives of Byron, and of his friend Tom Moore (when the
latter is not writing to his much-put-upon London publisher for
table-supplies, etc.!) amuse himself with the gossiping capacity for
details exhibited by those of Horace Walpole, and con, with wondering
admiration, the epistolary illustrations of the well-disciplined,
thoroughly-balanced character of the great American model, of whose
writings it may always be said--whether an "order," written on a
drum-head, or the draught of a document involving the interests of all
humanity is the subject--that they are "_well done_."
Among the collections of letters I remember to have read, none now occur
to me as offering more variety of style than those included in the
"Memoirs of H. More." They are a little old-fashioned now, perhaps; but
some of them, both for matter and manner, are, in their way, unsurpassed
in English literature. Some of those of _Sir W. W. Pepys_, I recollect
as peculiarly pleasing.
Several of the published letters of Dr. Johnson, and one or two of those
of our own Franklin, are to be regarded as among the curiosities of
literature, rather than as precedents which circumstances will ever
render available, or desirable. Johnson's celebrated letter to Lord
Chesterfield, declining his proffered patronage, for instance--and
Franklin's, concluding with the witty sarcasm--
"You are now my enemy, and I am
"Yours,
B. FRANKLIN."
At some future time, perhaps, the literary treasures of our country will
be enriched by specimens of the correspondence of such of our
contemporaries as inspire the highest admiration for their general style
of composition. Who could fail to peruse with interest, letters from the
pen of Prescott, who never makes even such a physical infirmity as his,
a plea for inaccuracy, or carelessness of expression? And who would not
hail with delight any draught presented by the bounteous hand of Irving,
from,
"The well of English undefiled,"
whence he himself has long quaffed the highest inspiration!
* * * * *
"There they are!" shouted James.
"Here they come!" exclaimed Miss Mary Marston.
"They have made good time, the lazy dogs, for once!" said I.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" echoed the silvery cadences of Nettie Brown, who
seemed about to dance to the music of her own merry voice.
"I hope"----began the dove-like murmur of a fair invalid: she ceased,
and her dewy eyes told all she would have said.
"God grant us good news!" said our venerable _compagnon de voyage_,
fervently, a shade of anxiety clouding his usually benignant
countenance.
"Ladies, excuse me! I beg you to remember that they may not bring
anything--let me prepare you for a disappointment!" These words were
uttered, with apparent reluctance, by a young man, whose pale face and
dark melancholy eyes seemed to lend almost prophetic emphasis to his
warning tones.
Nettie ceased to clap her little hands; "Jovial James" looked as grave
as his usually rollicking, fun-twinkling eyes permitted; the stately
Mary could only look fixedly towards the approaching Arabs, the serenity
of our patriarchal friend was more than ever disturbed; sweet Isidore
grew marble pale, and leaned heavily back upon the sculptured pillar
against which we had secured her camp-seat, and your uncle Hal--well!
he is a "proverbial philosopher," you know!
There we were, amid the solemn magnificence of the ruined palaces and
temples of once-mighty Thebes.
Our little party was gathered in front of the great Propylon of the
famous Temple of Luxor, whose mysterious grandeur we had come many
thousands of miles to behold. Massive pillars, covered with
minutely-finished picture-writing and mystic hieroglyphics, sufficient
for the life-long study of the curious student; enormous architraves,
half-buried colossi, far-reaching colonnades, "grand, gloomy and
peculiar;" the world-famed Memnon; the grim, tomb-hallowed
mountains--all the wonders of the Nile, of _El Uksorein_, of Karnac,
surrounded us!
But humiliating reflections upon the mutability of human greatness and
human power, the eager speculations of the disciples of Champollion,
sarcophagi and sculptured ceilings, and scarabaei and Sesostris, alike
sunk into matters of insignificance and indifference when compared with
the expectation of _Letters from Home_!
That most amiable and hospitable of Mussulmans, Mustapha Aga, _the
traveller's friend_, had engaged the Sheik (heaven spare the mark!) of
one of the squalid Arab villages, whose mud walls cluster upon the roofs
of the grand halls and porticoes of ancient Thebes--reminding one of
_animalculoe_ by comparison--to accompany my servant and one or two
of our dusky satellites to a point in the vicinity, to which the
American and English consuls at Cairo had engaged to forward our
letters, etc.
Our motley band of couriers was now seen advancing along the low bank of
the river, and all was eager anticipation and impatience.
The ceremony of distribution was speedily accomplished, and an observer
of the scene, like our calm, silent host, the kindly Mustapha, might
almost read the contents of the different letters of the several members
of our little group reflected in the faces of each.
"Jovial James" sunk down at once at the feet of the fair Nettie, who had
sacrilegiously seated herself upon the edge of an open sarcophagus, with
a lap full of treasures, before which her hoarded antiques--and she was
the most indefatigable _collector_ of our corps--relapsed again into the
nothingness from which her admiration had, for a time, redeemed them.
Something very much like a tear glistened in the bright eyes of the
frolicksome youth as he murmured, half-unconsciously "Mother," and
sunshine and shadow played in quick succession over the mirroring
features of the fair girl.
The usually placid Mary Marston fairly turning her back upon us, beat a
retreat towards a prostrate column and half-concealed herself among its
crumbling fragments; and our sweet, fast-fading flower, for whose
comfort each vied with the other, the beautiful Isidore, clasped her
triple prizes between her slight palms, and folding them to her meek
bosom, lifted her soft eyes toward the heaven that looked alike on Egypt
and on her native land, and whispered "_Home!_ Oh, father take me
_Home_!"
"Not one word does Frank say about _remittances_--the most important of
all subjects!" cried James, with his elbows on his knees, and a
half-filled sheet held out before him in both hands. "He is the most
provoking fellow!--just look, Nettie, how much blank paper, too, sent
all the way from Manhattan Island to Upper Egypt," he added, with a
serio-comic tap on the paper.
"Good enough for you!" retorted his frequent tormentor; "you wouldn't
write from Rome to him, as I begged you to"----
"But, most amiable Miss _Consolation 'on a monument_, smiling at grief,'
don't you recollect that _you_ favored him with three 'great big'
sheets, crammed, crossed, and kissed"----
"Do go away, James Wilson! you are a regular _squatter_, as they say at
home; really, if you are not established on my skirt!" laughed his merry
companion, reddening, however, at his skillful sally.
James, well used to repulses, made not even a pretence of removing his
quarters; but, tracing with his forefinger in the sand, began to tease
his pretty neighbor for news from home, protesting that _men_ were the
poorest letter-writers, and that _his_ correspondents in particular,
_never said anything_!
But what had become of the thoughtful friend whose warning voice had
checked too eager expectation in his companions, whilst
----"thou, oh Hope, with eyes so fair,"
made wild tumult in each eager breast? I marked his face, as he stood
apart from the excited group gathered about the bearer of our
dispatches. It was almost as immobile and coldly calm as those of the
polished colossi around us, save for the burning eyes that seemed
actually to devour the several directions that were glanced over, or
read aloud by others. His hands, too, were tightly clutched, as though
he were thus self-sustained.--Poor fellow! I had frequently noticed his
manner before, where the happiness of others arrested attention; it
indicated, to me, a serenity like that of the expiring hero who waved
his life-draught to another, hiding, with a smile, the outward signs of
tortured nature! Almost before the last package was unfolded, he was
advancing with rapid strides along the majestic avenue leading from our
stand-point towards the ruins of Karnac, and was soon lost to sight amid
its massive ornaments. How easily might some friendly hand have shed
balm upon his sad and solitary spirit, on that memorable day in far-off
Nile-Land, when so many hearts were gladdened with the sweet sunlight
enkindled by _letters_!--so many faces illumined with smiles reflected
from the ever-glowing altars of COUNTRY and HOME!
* * * * *
Sir Walter Scott, as his son-in-law informed me, despite the vast amount
of intellectual labor he otherwise imposed upon himself, with as little
flinching, apparently, as though his mind were a powerful
self-regulating steam-engine, had the habit of _always answering letters
on the day of their reception_! Mr. Lockhart told me that, during the
researches he made among the private papers of his immortal friend,
while preparing materials for his biography, he almost invariably
remarked, from the careful notations upon them, that when any delay had
occurred in replying to a letter, it arose from the necessity of some
previous investigation, or the like. My astonishment upon perusing the
long, elaborately-written epistles that Mr. Lockhart subsequently gave
to the world, was augmented by my knowledge of this fact, and by my
remembrance of the innumerable demands made upon his time by social and
public duties. But "we ne'er shall look on his like again!" Well might
his pen be styled the wand of the mighty Wizard of the North.
* * * * *
A gentle tap at the library-door interrupted the after-dinner chat of my
old friend and myself. A fair young face presented itself in answer to
the bidding of my host, and, upon seeing me was quickly withdrawn.
"Come in, my daughter, come--what will you have?"
I rose immediately to withdraw, as the young lady, thus encouraged,
somewhat timidly advanced towards her father.
"Pray, do not disturb yourself, Colonel Lunettes," said she; "I only
want to speak to pa one moment; don't think of going away, I beg"----
My host, too, interposed to prevent my leaving the room, and I,
therefore, took up a book and re-seated myself.
"Excuse me for interrupting you, pa, but may I"--here a whisper, and
then so audibly that I could not help overhearing--"do please, dear pa!"
"Well, we'll see about it--when is the concert?" rang out the clear
voice of the father.
"But, pa, I ought to answer the note to-night or very early to-morrow
morning--it would not be polite to keep Mr. Blakeman"----
"A note, eh?" interrupted the old gentleman, "let me see it--go bring it
to me."
I thought I could not be mistaken in the indication of reluctance to
obey this direction evinced by the slow step of my usually
sprightly-motioned young favorite.
"Come, Fanny, come," said her father, when she re-entered, "you have no
objection to showing _me_"----
"Oh, no, indeed, pa,--but you are so critical," the young lady began to
protest.
"Critical! am I though!" exclaimed the parent, with some vivacity,
"perhaps so--at least I judge somewhat, of a man's claims to the
acquaintance of my daughter by these things." And, adjusting his
spectacles, he opened the note his daughter offered. "Bless my soul!" he
cried, at the first glance, "what bright-colored paper, and how many
grand flourishes--really, my dear!" There was a brief silence and then
the father said mildly, but firmly, "Fanny, I prefer that you should not
accept this invitation."
"Will you tell me why, pa?"
"Because the writer is not a _gentleman_! No man of taste and refinement
would write such a note as this to a lady, with whom he has only the
ceremonious acquaintance that this young man has with you. He is
evidently _illiterate_, too,--his note is not only inelegantly
expressed, but it is mis-spelled"----
"Oh, pa"----
"I assure you it is so. Your own education is more defective than it
should be with the advantages you have had, if you cannot perceive
this--read it again, and tell me what word is mis-spelled," said her
father, returning the production under discussion to Fanny.
The young lady sat down by the lamp to con the task assigned her, and my
host said to me--"It is unpardonable, now-a-days, for a young man to be
ignorant in such matters as these. When _we_ were young, Hal, the means
of acquiring knowledge generally, were limited by circumstances; but who
that wishes, lacks them at present?--Well, my daughter"----
"Yes, pa, I see,--of course it was a mere slip of the pen"----
"A slip of the pen!" retorted the father, "and is that a sufficient
excuse? Proper respect will teach a young man of right feelings towards
your sex, to take good care that no such carelessness retains a place in
his first billet to a lady--it is an _indication of character_, my
child! Depend upon it, that the man who writes in this way,--encircling
some of his words with a flourish, abbreviating others, mis-spelling,
and all upon mottled paper, with a highly _ornate_ border, does not
understand himself, and will be guilty of other solecisms in good
manners and good taste, that will be very likely to embarrass and shock
a young lady accustomed to"----
"The society of _gentlemen of the old school_, like pa and Col.
Lunettes!" exclaimed Fanny, in her usual laughing manner, snatching up
the condemned missive, and flying out of the room.
In the course of the evening, my old friend and I joined the ladies in
the drawing-room.
A merry group around a centre-table, attracted me, and as the fair Fanny
made a place beside her agreeable little self for me, I was soon settled
to my satisfaction in the midst of the fair bevy.
"What are you all so busy about?" I inquired, as I seated myself.
"Oh, criticising!" cried one.
"Acquiring knowledge under difficulties," replied another.
"Accomplishing ourselves in the Art Epistolary, by the study of models!"
returned a third.
And sure enough,--the table was strewed with cards, and notes, and an
empty fancy-basket told where these sportive critics had obtained their
materials. I soon gathered that the scrutiny Fanny's note had undergone
in the library, was the moving cause of this sudden resuscitation of
defunct billet-doux and forgotten cards.
"Only look at this one, Col. Lunettes!" exclaimed a pretty girl opposite
me, handing across a visiting card, with the name written with ink, in
rather cramped characters, and surrounded with a variety of awkward
attempts at ornamental flourishes. "Isn't that sufficient to condemn the
perpetrator to 'durance vile' in the _paradise of fools_?"
"Well, here is a beautiful note, at any rate," exclaimed the eldest
daughter of the house, "even papa would not find fault with this"--
"What are you saying about papa?" inquired the master of the mansion,
pausing in his walk up and down the room, and leaning upon the back of
his daughter's chair.
"Won't you join us, sir?" returned the young lady, making a motion to
rise; "let me give you my seat."
"No, no, sit still, child--let us hear the note that you think
unexceptionable."
"It is as simple as possible," said she, "but though it only relates to
a matter of business, I remember noticing, when I opened it, the elegant
writing and"----
"Well, let us hear it, my daughter."
Thus impelled, the fair reader began:
"Henry Wynkoop presents his respectful compliments to Miss Campbell,
and begs leave to inform her that the goods for which she inquired, a
few days since, have arrived, and are now ready for her inspection.
"240 MAIN ST.,
_Wednesday Morning, May 22d._"
"I should have said," added Miss Campbell, "that I had simply requested
Mr. Wynkoop to send me word about some shawls, when any of the family
happened in there, and did not think of troubling him to send a note."
"Let me see," said her father, taking the paper from her hand, "yes!
just what one might expect from that young fellow--fine, handsome, plain
paper [a glance at poor Fanny] and a neat modest seal--all because _a
lady_ was in question; and one can read the writing as if it were print.
Look at it, Lunettes! A promising young merchant--a friend of ours,
here. An _educated_ merchant--what every man should be, who wishes to
succeed in mercantile life in this country."
"Yes," returned I, "ours is destined, if I do not greatly mistake, to be
a land of _merchant princes_, like Venice of old, and I quite agree with
you that American merchants should be _educated gentlemen_!"
"This young Wynkoop," continued my friend, "is destined yet to fill some
space in the world's eye, unless I have lost my power to judge of men.
He seems to find time for everything--the other evening he was
here--(the girls had some young friends)--and, happening to step into
the library, I found him standing with one of the book-cases open, and
just reaching down a volume--'I beg your pardon, sir, if I intrude,'
said he, 'but I was going to look for a passage in the "Deserted
Village," as I am not so fortunate as to possess a copy of Goldsmith.'
Of course I assured him that the books were all at his service, and
apologized for closing the door, and seating myself at my desk, saying
that a rascally Canadian lawyer had sent me a letter so badly written
that I could scarcely puzzle it out, and that his bad French was almost
unintelligible at that. I confess I was surprised when he offered to
assist me, saying very modestly, that nothing was more confusing than
_patois_ to the uninitiated, but that he had chanced to have some
experience in it. So he helped me out very cleverly, in spite of my
protestations at his losing so much time, and when he found he could not
aid me farther, looked up his lines, put back my book, and quietly
bowing, slipped out of the room. When I went back to the girls, later in
the evening, I heard my young friend singing with some lady, in a fine
clear voice, and, soon after, discovered him in another room dancing,
'_money musk_' with my own wife for his partner!"
While this little sketch was in progress of narration, the inspection of
the miscellaneous display upon the table had been silently progressing.
And each pretty critic had made some discovery.
"Here is a 'regret' sent for the other night," said Fanny, "what do you
think of that, Col. Lunettes?" And a large sheet of note paper was put
into my hand, clumsily folded, and containing only the words "Mr.
Augustus Simpkin regrets."
"A good deal is left for the imagination," I replied, "regrets what?"
"_That he is a numskull_, perhaps, but I fear there is not that
encouragement for his improvement!" broke in the Chairman of this
Committee of Investigation.
The general laugh that followed this spicy comment had no sooner
subsided, than another note caught my eye, by its handsome penmanship.
Glancing it over, I handed it to one of the young ladies without
comment. She 'looked unutterable things,' as she quietly refolded the
missive, and was about to slip it out of sight; but the dancing eyes of
the lively Fanny had caught the whole movement, and she insisted upon
what she called _fair play_. So the paper was again subjected to
perusal--this time aloud.
BALTIMORE, _July 24, '61_.
"William Jones takes this means of making an apology for not calling
for Miss Mary last evening. I assure you no offence was intended, and
hope you did not take it so.
"Yours affectionately,
"P. WILLIAM JONES.
"The MISS CAMPBELLS."
"How did that get into the card-basket?" exclaimed Miss Campbell, in
consternation, "it ought to have been destroyed at the time"----
"It has risen up in judgment against the writer now," said Fanny, "but
he is much improved since then. He knows better now than to say 'the
_Miss Campbells_', or"----
"Or sign himself 'Yours affectionately,' to a document commenced in the
third person. So he does, child, and he proved himself essentially
polite by writing the note--the hand is really very commendable. I have
no doubt the young man will yet acquire considerable _note-ability_!"
And throwing the tell-tale paper into the fire, the charitable
commentator proceeded in his walk.
"_A propos_"--"_A propos_" was echoed round the merry circle, as a
servant handed a note to Miss Campbell.
"Miss Fanny Campbell," read her sister, and resigned the billet to its
rightful owner.
Every one protested that it should be common property, unless its
contents were a secret; and the blushing, half-pouting beauty was
constrained to open and inspect her note where she sat.