|ONE of the peculiarities of correspondence is witnessed at this office
every day, to which we desire to call the attention of our growing girls
and boys, who ought to know that there is a long way and a short way of
saying things on paper; a right way and a wrong way to express thoughts
on a postal card, just as there is in conversation. We all admire the
business man who is terse and to the point, and we dislike the man
who hangs on to the door knob as though life was a never-ending summer
dream, and refuses to say good-bye. It's so with correspondence. In
touching upon the letters received at this office, we refer to a car
load received at this office during the past year, relating to sample
copies. Still they are a good specimen of the different styles of doing
the same thing.
For instance, here is a line which tells the story in brief, without
wearing out your eyes and days by ponderous phrases and useless
verbiage. "Useless verbiage and frothy surplusage" is a synonym which
we discovered in '75, while excavating for the purpose of laying the
foundations of our imposing residence up the gulch. Persons using the
same will please fork over ten per cent of the gross receipts:
_"Bangor, Maine, 11-10-82._
_"Find 10c for which send sample copy Boomerang to above address. Yours,
etc.,_
_"Thomas Billings."_
Some would have said "please" find inclosed ten cents. That is not
absolutely necessary. If you put ten cents in the letter that covers all
seeming lack of politeness and it's all right. If, however, you are out
of a job, and have nothing else to do but to write for sample copies
of papers, and wait for the department at Washington to allow you a
pension, you might say, "Please find inclosed," etc., otherwise the ten
cents will make it all right.
Here's another style, which evinces a peculiarity we do not admire. It
bespeaks the man who thinks that life and its associations are given us
in order to wear out the time, waiting patiently meanwhile for Gabriel
to render his little overture.
It occurs to us that life is real, life is earnest, and so forth. We
cannot sit here in the gathering gloom and read four pages of a letter,
which only expresses what ought to have been expressed in four lines.
We feel that we are here to do the greatest good to the greatest-number,
and we dislike the correspondent who hangs on to the literary door knob,
so to speak, and absorbs our time, which is worth $5.35 per hour.