LETTERS.
The practice of inclosing letters in envelopes is now universal;
particularly as when the letter is single no additional postage is
charged for the cover. The postage now is in almost every instance
pre-paid, it being but three cents when paid by the writer, and five if
left to the receiver. Therefore, none but very poor or very mean people
send unpaid letters. Letter-stamps for the United States post should be
kept in a little box on your writing-table. You can get them always by
sending to the post-office—from a dollar’s worth or more, down to fifty
or twenty-five cents’ worth, at a time. In a second box, keep stamps for
the city or penny post, which transmits notes from one part of the town
to another. And in a third, stamps to go on the covers of newspapers.
Sealing with wax is found to be very insecure for letters that are
carried by steamers into warm climates—the wax melting with the heat,
and sticking the letters to each other, so that they cannot be separated
without tearing. Wafers are better.
It would be very convenient to use the post-office stamp as a seal, but
the clerks in that establishment charge extra postage for the trouble of
turning the letter to mark the stamp. This subjects the receiver to the
payment of two additional cents.
In writing upon business exclusively your own, for instance to make a
request, to ask for information, to petition for a favour, or to solicit
an autograph, it is but right not only to pay the postage of your own
letter, but to enclose a stamp for the answer. This is always done by
really polite and considerate people. You have no right, when the
benefit is entirely your own, to cause any extra expense to the receiver
of the letter—not even the cost of three cents to pay the postage back
again. It is enough to tax their time by requiring them to write to you
and send off the reply. Also, in corresponding with a relative, or very
intimate friend, to whom even a small expense is of more importance than
to yourself, you may enclose a stamp for the answer. Do so always in
writing to poor people. Be careful not to allow yourself to get entirely
out of post-office stamps. Replenish your stock in time. If the gum on
the back seems too weak, go over it afresh with that excellent cement,
“Perpetual Paste.” Embossed or bordered envelopes are not often used
except in notes of ceremony—or when the acquaintance is slight. The same
with ornamented note-paper. Intimate friends and relatives use paper
that is handsome, but plain. Letters of business are generally enclosed
in yellow or buff-coloured envelopes. Some of these yellow envelopes are
large enough to contain a folio sheet when folded. Notes _not_ to be
sent by post, are usually sealed with wax—the seal very small. But a
_small_ wafer is admissible—a white one looks best for a note. In
folding your note or letter, see that it is not too large to go into the
envelope. It is customary to write the direction on the envelope only.
Nevertheless, if the letter is to go a long distance by post, the
envelope may be worn off, or torn off accidentally, or get so damaged in
the letter-bag as to be rendered illegible. The surest and safest way is
to put the address on the letter also; or if the sheet is full, to find
a corner for the direction, either at the beginning or end.
We have seen no _good_ letter-paper at less price than twenty-five cents
per quire; and for that it ought to be _very_ good. If of lower cost,
you may find it soft and fuzzy, so that the pen will not move freely,
(the nib wearing out directly,) or so thin that you cannot write on both
sides of the sheet. In paper, as in most other things, the best is the
cheapest. If the tint is bluish, the writing will not be so legible as
on a pure white. The surface should be smooth and glossy. For letter
writing _ruled_ paper is rarely used, except by children. In writing for
the press, no other is so convenient. A page of ruled lines to slip
beneath, is indispensable to those who cannot otherwise write straight.
They are to be had for a few cents at every stationer’s. It is well to
get three different sizes. If you write a small hand, the lines should
be closer together than if your writing is large. If you are addressing
a friend and have much to say, and expect to fill the sheet, begin very
near the top of the first page. But if your letter is to be a short one,
commence lower down, several inches from the top. If a _very_ short
letter of only a few lines, begin but a little above the middle of the
page. Crossing a letter all over with transverse lines is obsolete. It
is intolerable to read, and there is no excuse for it now, when postage
is so low, and every body pays their own.
Write the date near the right-hand side of the first page, and place it
about two lines higher than the two or three words of greeting or
accosting with which letters usually commence. Begin the first sentence
a little below those words, and farther toward the right than the lines
that are to follow. It is well in dating _every_ letter to give always
your exact residence—that is, not only the town you live in, but the
number and street. If your correspondent has had _but one_ notification
of your present place of abode, she may have forgotten the number, and
even the street. Your letter containing it may not be at hand as a
reference, and the answer may, in consequence, be misdirected—or
directed in so vague a manner that it will never reach you. We have
known much inconvenience (and indeed loss) ensue from not specifying
with the date of _each_ letter the exact dwelling-place of the writer.
But if it is _always_ indicated at the top of _every one_, a reference
to _any_ one of your letters will furnish your proper address. If you
are in the country, where there are no streets or numbered houses, give
the name of the estate and that of the nearest post-town; also the
county and state. All this will occupy a long line, but you will find
the advantage. If your letter fills more than one sheet, number each
page. Should you have no envelope, leave, on the inside of the third
page, two blank spaces where the seal is to come. These spaces should be
left rather too large than too small. Lest you should tear the letter in
_breaking_ it open, it is best to _cut_ round the seal. We have seen
letters that were actually illegible from the paleness of the ink. If
you write from your own house this is inexcusable, as you ought always
to be _well_ supplied with that indispensable article; and in a city you
can easily send to a stationer’s and buy it. It is still better to make
it yourself; than which nothing is more easy. The following receipt _we
know, by experience, to be superlative_. Try it.
Buy at a druggist’s four ounces of the best blue Aleppo nut-galls; half
an ounce of green copperas; and half an ounce of clean, white
gum-arabic. These three articles must be pulverized in a mortar. Put
them into a large, clean, white-ware pitcher, and pour on a quart of
boiling water. Stir the whole with a stick that will reach to the
bottom, and set the pitcher in a warm place; covering it lightly with a
folded newspaper. In about an hour, stir it again very hard; and repeat
the stirring several times during the day. Let it remain in the pitcher
several days, or a week, till it becomes an excellent black; the
blackening will be accelerated by keeping the pitcher in the sun; for
instance, in a sunny balcony. Stir it, down to the bottom, two or three
times a day—always with a stick. Use nothing of metal in making this
ink. When it is very black, and writes well, pour it off carefully from
the bottom, (which must have rested undisturbed for two or three hours
previous,) passing it through a funnel into pint-bottles. Before you
cork them, put into each a large tea-spoonful of brandy, to prevent
moulding, or a few drops of lavender. A small tea-spoonful of cloves,
(slightly broken,) placed in the bottom of each bottle, before the ink
is poured in, will answer the same purpose. Scouring the pitcher with
soap and sand, after throwing away the dregs of the ink, will completely
clear off the stains.
Ink-stands should be washed out, before they are filled anew.
There is no ink superior to this in blackness or smoothness. You can
make it at less than half the cost of that which you buy in the shops.
It looks blacker the next day after using, and never fades. If it
becomes rather too thick, dilute it slightly with water, and stir it
down to the bottom.
Never use _blue_ ink. If the letter chances to get wet, the writing will
be effaced. Serious losses have resulted from business letters being
written in blue ink.
If you make a mistake in a word, draw your pen through it, or score it
so as to be quite illegible, and then interline the correction, placing
a caret beneath. This will be better than scratching out the error with
your penknife, and afterward trying to write a new word in the identical
place; an attempt which rarely succeeds, even with the aid of
pouncepowder, which is pulverized gum-sandarac.
At the end of the letter, somewhat lower than your signature, (which
should be very near the right-hand edge of the page,) add the name and
address of the person for whom the letter is designed, and to whom it
will thus find its way, even if the envelope should be defaced, or torn
off and lost. Write your own name rather larger than your usual hand,
and put a dot or dash after it.
Some of the ensuing paragraphs are taken (with permission of the
publisher) from a former work of the author’s.
In folding a letter, let the breadth (from left to right) far exceed the
height. A letter folded tall is ridiculous, and one verging towards
squareness looks very awkward. It is well to use a folder (or
paper-knife) to press along the edges of the folds, that they may be
smooth and straight. If one is looser than another, or if there is the
slightest narrowing in, or widening out, toward the edge of the
turn-over, the letter will have an irregular, unsightly appearance.
Pieces of ruled lines may be so cut that you can slip them under the
back of a letter after it is folded, and then you will be in no danger
of writing the direction crooked, or uneven.
Write the name of your correspondent about the middle of the back, and
very clearly and distinctly. Then give the number and street on the next
line, a little nearer to the right. Then the town in _large_ letters,
extending still nearer to the right. If a country-town, give next (in
letters a little smaller) the name of the _county_ in which it is
situated. This is very necessary, as in some of our states there is more
than one town of the same name, and “Washingtons” all over the Union.
Lastly, at the very bottom, and close to the right, indicate the state
or district by its usual abbreviation,—for instance, _Me._ for
Maine[14]—_N. H._ New Hampshire—_Vt._ Vermont—_Mass._ Massachusetts—_R.
I._ Rhode Island—_Ct._ or _Conn._ Connecticut—_N. Y._ New York—_N. J._
New Jersey—_Pa._ or _Penna._ Pennsylvania—_Del._ Delaware—_Md._
Maryland—_Va._ Virginia—_N. C._ North Carolina—_S. C._ South
Carolina—_Ga._ or _Geo._ Georgia—_Ala._ Alabama—_Miss._
Mississippi—_Mo._ Missouri—_La._ Louisiana—_Tenn._ Tennessee—_Ky._
Kentucky—_O._ Ohio—_Ind._ Indiana—_Ill._ Illinois—_Mich._
Michigan—_Ark._ Arkansas—_Wis._ Wisconsin—_Io._ Iowa—_Tex._ Texas—_Flo._
Florida—_Cal._ California—_Or._ Oregon—_Minn._ Minnesota—_Utah_—_D. C._
District of Columbia.
To these may be added the abbreviations of the British possessions in
North America: _U. C._ Upper Canada—_L. C._ Lower Canada—_N. S._ Nova
Scotia—_N. B._ New Brunswick—_N. P._ New Providence.
In directing a letter to a foreign country, give the whole name, as
France, Spain, Belgium, England, Ireland, Scotland, &c. We have towns in
America called after all manner of European towns. For instance, a
letter directed to our Havre-de-Grace, might, if Maryland was not
designated, find its way to Havre-de-Grace in France; Rome in the state
of New York might be taken to Rome in Italy,—York in Pennsylvania to
York in England, &c. We know an instance of a gentleman directing an
important letter to Boston, and, forgetting to add _Mass._ (for
Massachusetts) at the bottom, the letter actually went from Philadelphia
to the small town of Boston in Lincolnshire, England. In writing _from_
Europe, finish the direction with the words _United States of North
America_.
When you send a letter by a private opportunity, (a thing which is
already almost obsolete since the days of cheap postage,) it will be
sufficient to introduce very near the lower edge of the left-hand corner
of the back, simply the name of the gentleman who carries it, written
small. It is now considered old-fashioned to insert on the back of such
a letter—“Politeness of Mr. Smith”—“Favoured by Mr. Jones”—“Honoured by
Mr. Brown.” If the letter is to cross the sea, by mail or otherwise,
write the name of the vessel on the left-hand corner of the outside.
When a letter is to go to New York city, always put the words New York
_in full_, (and not N. Y.,) written large. Much confusion is caused by
the name of this state and its metropolis being the same. It has been
well-suggested that the name of the state of New York should be changed
to Ontario—a beautiful change. In directing to any of the towns in the
state of New York, then put N. Y. after the name of the town, as Hudson,
N. Y.,—Syracuse, N. Y., &c.
In sending a letter to the metropolis of the Union, direct for
Washington, D. C.
In directing to a clergyman, put _Rev._ (Reverend) before his name. If a
bishop, _Right Reverend_. To an officer, immediately after his name put
U. S. A. for United States Army, or U. S. N. for United States
Navy—having preceded his name with _Gen._, _Col._, _Capt._, _Lieut._,
according to his rank.
The title Hon. (Honourable) is always used in directing to a member of
congress, a member of the cabinet, a judge of the supreme court, an
ambassador, or the governor of a state. For the Chief Magistrate of the
Union, you may direct simply to the President of the United States. The
term “Excellency” is now but little used.
For a gentleman holding a professorship in a university, preface his
name with _Prof._ or _Professor_. The title of “Professor” does not
really belong to all men who teach any thing, or to every man that
exhibits a show—or to mesmerists, and spiritual knockers. Do not give it
to them.
For sealing letters no light is so convenient as a wax taper in a low
stand. A lamp, or candle, may smoke or blacken the wax. To seal well,
your wax should be of the finest quality. Red wax of a bright scarlet
colour is the best. Low-priced wax consumes very fast; and when melted,
looks purplish or brownish. When going to melt sealing-wax, rest your
elbow on the table to keep your hand steady. Take the stick of wax
between your thumb and finger, and hold it a little above the light, so
that it barely touches the point of the flame. Turn the stick round till
it is equally softened on all sides. Then insert a little of the melted
wax _under_ the turn-over part of the letter, just where the seal is to
come. This will render it more secure than if the sole dependence was on
the outside seal. Or instead of this little touch of wax, you may slip
beneath the turn-over a small wafer, either white or of the same colour
as the wax. Then begin at the outer edge of the place you intend for the
seal; and move the wax in a circle, which must gradually diminish till
it terminates in the centre. Put the seal exactly to the middle of the
soft wax, and press it down hard, but do not screw it round. Then
withdraw it suddenly. Do not use motto seals unless writing to a member
of your own family, or to an intimate friend. For common service, (and
particularly for letters of business,) a plain seal, with simply your
initials, is best.
For a note always use a very small seal. In addressing one of your own
family, it is not necessary to follow scrupulously all these
observances. In writing to persons decidedly your inferiors in station,
avoid the probability of mortifying them by sending mean, ill-looking
notes.
Remember also (what, strange to say, some people calling themselves
ladies seem not to know) that a note commenced in the first person must
continue in the first person all through. The same when it begins in the
third person. We have heard of invitations to a party being worded
thus:—
Mrs. Welford’s compliments to Mrs. Marley, and requests the pleasure
of her company on Thursday evening.
Yours sincerely,
E. WELFORD.
Notes of invitation should always designate both the day of the week and
that of the month. If that of _the month only_ is specified, one figure
may perhaps be mistaken for another; for instance, the 13th may look
like the 18th, or the 25th like the 26th. We know instances where, from
this cause, some of the guests did not come till the night _after_ the
party.
There are some very sensible people who, in their invitations, tell
frankly what is to be expected, and if they really ask but _a few_
friends, they at once give the names of those friends, so that you may
know whom you are to see. If you are to meet no more than can sit round
the tea-table, they signify the same. If they expect twenty, thirty, or
forty persons, they say so—and do not leave you in doubt whether to
dress for something very like a party, or for a mere family
tea-drinking.
If it is a decided music-party, by all means specify the same, that
those who have no enjoyment of what is considered fashionable music, may
stay away.
Always reply to a note of invitation the day after you have received it.
To a note on business send an answer the same day. After accepting an
invitation, should any thing occur to prevent your going, send a second
note in due time.
Do not take offence at a friend because she does not invite you every
time she has company. Her regard for you may be as warm as ever, but it
is probably inconvenient for her to have more than a certain number at a
time. Believe that the omission is no evidence of neglect, or of a
desire to offend you; but rest assured that you are to be invited on
other occasions. If you are _not_, then indeed you may take it as a hint
that she is no longer desirous of continuing the acquaintance. Be
dignified enough not to call her to account; but cease visiting her,
without taking her to task and bringing on a quarrel. But if you _must_
quarrel, let it not be in writing. A paper war is always carried too
far, and produces bitterness of feeling which is seldom entirely
eradicated, even after apologies have been made and accepted. Still,
when an offence has been given in writing, the atonement should be made
in writing also.
Much time is wasted (particularly by young ladies) in writing and
answering such epistles as are termed “letters of friendship,”—meaning
long documents (frequently with crossed lines) filled with regrets at
absence, asseverations of eternal affection, modest deprecations of your
humble self, and enthusiastic glorifyings of your exalted correspondent;
or else wonderments at both of you being so much alike, and so very
congenial; and anticipations of rapture at meeting again, and
lamentations at the slow progress of time, till the extatic hour of
re-union shall arrive—the _postscript_ usually containing some
confidential allusion to a lover, (either real or supposed,) and perhaps
a kind enquiry about a real or supposed lover of your friend’s.
Now such letters as these are of no manner of use but to foster a
sickly, morbid feeling, (very often a fictitious one,) and to encourage
nonsense, and destroy all relish for such true friendship as is good and
wholesome.
A still worse species of voluminous female correspondence is that which
turns _entirely_ upon love, or rather on what are called “beaux;” or
entirely on hate—for instance, hatred of step-mothers. This topic is
considered the more _piquant_ from its impropriety, and from its being
carried on in secret.
Then there are young ladies born with the organ of letter-writing
amazingly developed, and increased by perpetual practice, who can
scarcely become acquainted with a gentleman possessing brains, without
volunteering a correspondence with him. And then ensues a long
epistolary dialogue about nothing, or at least nothing worth reading or
remembering; trenching closely on gallantry, but still not quite _that_;
affected flippancy on the part of the lady; and unaffected impertinence
on that of the gentleman, “which serves her right”—alternating with
pretended poutings on her side, and half or whole-laughing apologies on
his. Sometimes there are attempts at moralizing, or criticising, or
sentimentalizing—but nothing is ever elicited that, to a third person,
can afford the least amusement or improvement, or excite the least
interest. Yet, strange to say, gentlemen have been inveigled into this
sort of correspondence, even by ladies who have made a business of
afterward selling the letters for publication, and making money out of
them. And such epistles have actually been printed. We do not suppose
they have been read. The public is very stubborn in refusing to read
what neither amuses, interests, or improves—even when a publisher is
actually so weak as to print such things.
No young lady ever engages in a correspondence with a gentleman that is
neither her relative or her betrothed, without eventually lessening
herself in his eyes. Of this she may rest assured. With some men, it is
even dangerous for a lady to write a note on the commonest subject. He
may show the superscription, or the signature, or both, to his idle
companions, and make insinuations much to her disadvantage, which his
comrades will be sure to circulate and exaggerate.
Above all, let no lady correspond with a married man, unless she is
obliged to consult him on business; and from that plain, straight path
let her not diverge. Even if the wife sees and reads every letter, she
will, in all probability, feel a touch of jealousy, (or more than a
touch,) if she finds that they excite interest in her husband, or give
him pleasure. This will inevitably be the case if the married lady is
inferior in intellect to the single one, and has a lurking consciousness
that she is so.
Having hinted what the correspondence of young ladies ought _not_ to be,
we will try to convey some idea of what it ought. Let us premise that
there is no danger of _any_ errors in grammar or spelling, and but few
faults of punctuation, and that the fair writers are aware that a
sentence should always conclude with a period or full stop, to be
followed by a capital letter beginning the next sentence; and that a new
paragraph should be allotted to every change of subject, provided that
there is room on the sheet of paper. And still, it is well to have
always at hand a dictionary and a grammar, in case of unaccountable
lapses of memory. However, persons who have read much, and read to
advantage, generally find themselves at no loss in orthography, grammar,
and punctuation. To spell badly is disgraceful in a lady or gentleman,
and it looks as if they had quitted reading as soon as they quitted
school.
To write a legible and handsome hand is an accomplishment not
sufficiently valued. And yet of what importance it is! We are always
vexed when we hear people of talent making a sort of boast of the
illegibility of their writing, and relating anecdotes of the difficulty
with which it has been read, and the mistakes made by its decipherers.
There are persons who affect bad writing, and boast of it, because the
worst signatures extant are those of Shakspeare, Bonaparte, and Byron.
These men were great in spite of their autographs, not because of them.
The caliph Haroun Alraschid, who was well imbued with Arabic learning,
sent an elegantly written letter to Charlemagne, with a splendid cover
and seals; not being aware that the European emperor’s signature was
made by dipping his thumb into the ink and giving a smear—sealing with
the hilt of his dagger.
The “wording” of your letter should be as much like conversation as
possible, containing (in a condensed form) just what you would be most
likely to talk about if you saw your friend. A letter is of no use
unless it conveys some information, excites some interest, or affords
some improvement. It may be handsomely written, correct in spelling,
punctuation, and grammar, and yet stiff and formal in style—affectedly
didactic, and therefore tiresome—or mawkishly sentimental, and therefore
foolish. It may be refined, or high-flown in words, but flat and barren
in ideas, containing nothing that a correspondent cares to know.
Read over each page of your letter, as you finish it, to see that there
are no errors. If you find any, correct them carefully. In writing a
familiar letter, a very common fault is tautology, or a too frequent
repetition of the same word—for instance, “Yesterday I received a letter
from sister Mary, which was the first letter I have received from sister
since she left.” The sentence should be, “Yesterday I received a letter
from my sister Mary, the first since she left us.”
Unless you are writing to one of your own family, put always the pronoun
“_my_” before the word “sister.” Say also—“my father,” “my mother,” and
not “father,” “mother,” as if they were also the parents of your
correspondent.
To end the sentence with the word “left,” (for departed,) is awkward and
unsatisfactory—for instance, “It is two days since he left.” Left what?
It is one of the absurd innovations that have crept in among us of late
years, and are supposed to be fashionable. Another is the ridiculous way
of omitting the possessive S in words ending with that letter; for
instance, “Sims’ Hotel” instead of “Sims’s Hotel”—“Jenkins’ Bakery” for
“Jenkins’s Bakery.” Would any one, in talking, say they had stayed at
Sims’ Hotel, or that they bought their bread at Jenkins’ Bakery. This is
ungrammatical, as it obliterates the possessive case, and is therefore
indefinite; and moreover, it looks and sounds awkwardly.
Many persons who think themselves good grammarians put on their cards
“The Misses Brown,”—“The Misses Smith.” Those who _really_ are so, write
“The Miss Browns”—“The Miss Smiths”—the plural being always on the
substantive, and never on the adjective. Would we say “the whites glove”
instead of “the white gloves”—or the “blues ribbon” for the “blue
ribbons.” Does any lady in talking say, “The two Misses Brown called to
see me?”
It is also wrong to say “two _spoons_ful,” instead of two _spoon_fuls.
Thus, “two spoonsful of milk” seems to imply two separate spoons with
milk in each; while “two spoonfuls of milk” gives the true idea—one
spoon twice filled.
Avoid in writing, as in talking, all words that do not express the true
meaning. We are sorry to say that sometimes even among educated people,
when attempting smartness or wit, we find a sort of conventional slang
that has, in truth, a strong tinge of vulgarity, being the wilful
substitution of bad words or bad phrases for good ones. When we find
them issuing from the lips or the pen of a _lady_, we fear she is
unfortunate in a reprobate husband, or brother, from whom she must have
learnt them. Yet even reprobates dislike to hear their wives and sisters
talking coarsely.
Unless you know that your correspondent is well versed in French,
refrain from interlarding your letters with Gallic words or phrases.
Do not introduce long quotations from poetry. Three or four lines of
verse are sufficient. One line, or two, are better still. Write them
rather smaller than your usual hand, and leave a space at the beginning
and end; marking their commencement and termination with inverted
commas, thus “ ”.
One of our young relatives when seven or eight years old, tried her hand
at story-writing. In finishing the history of a naughty girl, much
addicted to falsehood, the terminating sentence ran thus:—
“Arabella did not cure herself of this fault; but when she grew up, and
became an authoress, she never marked her quotations.”
If your letter is longer than can be comprised in one sheet, number the
pages, placing the number near the upper corner. If engaged in a regular
correspondence on business or other things, or in writing from a foreign
country to your family at home, number not only the pages, but the
letter itself, putting that figure in the centre at the top of the first
page. Thus, if your friend, having received No. 10, finds the next
letter that comes to hand is No. 12, she will know that No. 11 is
missing, and will tell you so in her reply. Keep a memorandum of the
letters you have sent, that you may know how to number the next. Before
commencing a long letter, it is well to put down on a slip of paper, a
list of the subjects you intend to write on.
Unless to persons living in the same house, do not inclose one letter in
another. And even then, it is not always safe to do so. Let each letter
be transmitted on its own account, by mail, with its own full direction,
and its own post-office stamp. We know an instance where the peace of a
family was entirely ruined by one of its members suppressing enclosed
letters. Confide to no one the delivery of an important letter intended
for another person. It is better to trust to the mail, and send a
duplicate by the next post.
To break the seal of a letter directed to another person is punishable
by law. To read _secretly_ the letter of another is morally as
felonious. A woman who would act thus meanly is worse than those who
apply their eyes or ears to key-holes, or door-cracks, or who listen
under windows, or look down from attics upon their neighbours; or who,
in a dusky parlour, before the lamps are lighted, ensconce themselves in
a corner, and give no note of their presence while listening to a
conversation not intended for them to hear.
We do not conceive that, unless he authorizes her to do so, (which he
had best not,) a wife is justifiable in opening her husband’s letters,
or he in reading hers. Neither wife nor husband has any right to entrust
to the other the secrets of their friends; and letters may contain such
secrets. Unless under extraordinary circumstances, parents should not
consider themselves privileged to inspect the correspondence of grown-up
children. Brothers and sisters always take care that their epistles
shall not be unceremoniously opened by each other. In short, a letter is
the property of the person to whom it is addressed, and nobody has a
right to read it without permission.
If you are shown an autograph signature at the bottom of a letter, be
satisfied to look at _that only_; and do not open out, and read the
whole—unless desired.
Some years ago, in one of our most popular magazines, were several pages
containing fac-simile signatures of a number of distinguished literary
women—chiefly English. We saw an original letter, from a lady, who
complained that some mischievous person had taken _her_ magazine out of
the post-office before it reached her, and shamefully _scribbled women’s
names_ in it, disfiguring it so as to render it unfit for binding;
therefore she desired the publisher to send her a clean copy in place of
it.
In putting up packets to send away, either tie them round and across,
with red tape, (sealing them also where the tape crosses,) or seal them
without any tape. If the paper is strong, the wax good, and the contents
of the parcel not too heavy, sealing will in most cases be sufficient.
Twine or cord may cut the paper, and therefore is best omitted. Never
put up a parcel in newspaper. It looks mean and disrespectful, and will
soil the articles inside.
Keep yourself provided with different sorts and sizes of wrapping-paper.
A large packet requires more than one seal; the seals rather larger than
for a letter.
Put up newspapers, for transmission, in thin whitish or brownish paper,
pasting the cover, and leaving one end open. Newspaper-stamps cost but
one cent, and are indispensable to the transmission of the paper.
Avoid giving letters of introduction to people whose acquaintance cannot
possibly afford any pleasure or advantage to those whose civilities are
desired for them, or who have not leisure to attend to strangers.
Artists, authors, and all other persons to whom “time is money,” and
whose income stops whenever their hands and eyes are unemployed, are
peculiarly annoyed by the frequency of introductory letters, brought by
people with whom they can feel no congeniality, and whom they never
would have sought for. Among the children of genius, but few are in a
situation to entertain strangers _handsomely_, as it is called, which
means, _expensively_. Many are kept always in straitened circumstances,
from the incessant demands on their time and attention. And in numerous
instances, letters are asked and given with no better motive than the
gratification of idle curiosity.
We advise all persons obtaining an introductory letter to a painter, to
ascertain, before presenting it, what branch of the art he professes. We
have been asked whether a certain artist (one of the most distinguished
in London) painted “figures, flowers, or landscapes.” Also, no one
should presume to request an introduction to an authoress, if they are
ignorant whether she writes prose or verse. Not that they are expected
to talk to her, immediately, on literary subjects. Far from it; but if
they know nothing of her works, they deserve no letter. In America,
books, or at least newspapers, are accessible to all who can read.
Bores are peculiarly addicted to asking letters of introduction, in
accordance with their system of “bestowing their tediousness” upon as
many people as possible. We pity the kind friends from whom these
missives are required, and who have not courage to refuse, or address
enough to excuse themselves plausibly from complying.
We have known instances of stupid, vulgar persons, on preparing to visit
another city, obtaining letters to families of the really highest class,
and receiving from them the usual civilities, which they knew not how to
appreciate.
On the other hand, how pleasant it is, by means of an introductory
letter, to bring together two kindred spirits, whose personal
intercourse must inevitably produce mutual satisfaction, who are glad to
know each other, glad to meet frequently, and grateful to the friend who
has made them acquainted.
Letters of introduction should not be sealed. To do so is rude, and
mean. If you wish to write on the same day to the same person, take
another sheet, write as long an epistle as you please, seal it, and send
it _by mail_.
It is best to deliver an introductory letter in person, as the lady or
gentleman whose civilities have been requested in your behalf, may thus
be spared the trouble of calling at your lodgings, with the risk of not
finding you at home. This is very likely to happen, if you _send_
instead of taking it yourself. If you _do_ send it, enclose a card with
your residence. Also, it is more respectful to go yourself, than to
expect them to come to you.
As soon as you are shown into the parlour, send up the letter, and wait
till the receiver comes to you.
When a letter is brought to you by a private hand, the usual ceremony is
to defer reading it till the bringer has departed, unless he desires you
to read it at once, which he will, if it is evidently a short letter. If
a long one, request him to excuse you a moment while you look at the
beginning, to see if your correspondent is well.
On farewell cards, it is usual to write with a pencil the letters “t. t.
l.,” “to take leave”—or “p. p. c.,” “pour prendre congé.” A lady
complained to us that an acquaintance of hers, about to leave town, had
left a card for her with “p. d. a.” upon it. Not understanding the
meaning of these letters, she had applied to a friend for explanation,
who told her they meant “poor dear adieu.” “Now,” continued she—“I
cannot understand why a mere acquaintance should be so familiar as to
call me ‘poor dear;’ why am I a poor dear to her?” We relieved her by
explaining that “pour dire adieu” was French for “to bid adieu.”
To conclude—let nothing induce you to give a letter of introduction to
any person whose moral character is disreputable.