Part 7

This is a very foolish idea. The richer you are, the greater will be your responsibilities, the more will you be criticised and found fault with, and you will find it will take all your ability to keep together or to spend wisely what your father has acquired. The late John Jacob Astor worked harder than any of his clerks; in the street he looked careworn and preoccupied; and he often lamented that poor men did not know how hard it was to be rich. His hearers often felt that they would like to exchange hardships with him. But he never, in spite of his sorrows, gave them a chance. It is true, however, that a rich man needs careful education even more than a poor man. And even politicians have to spell decently. You have perhaps heard of the man who announced in a letter that he was a “g-r-a-t-e-r man than Grant.”

Usage decrees certain forms in the writing of letters; and the knowledge and practice of these forms are absolutely necessary. For instance, one must be very particular to give each man his title. Although we Americans are supposed to despise titles, the frequency with which they are borrowed in this country shows that we are not free from a weakness for them. You have perhaps heard the old story of the man who entered a country tavern in Kentucky and called out to a friend, “Major!” Twenty majors at once arose.

You will find that if you desire to keep the regard of your friends you must be careful in letter-writing to give each man his title. Every man over twenty-one years of age is “Esquire” in this country. Plain “Mr.” will do for young people—except the youngest “juniors,” who are only “Masters;” everybody else, from the lawyer, who is rightly entitled to “Esquire,” to the hod-carrier, must have that title affixed to his name, or he feels that the man who writes to him is guilty of a disrespect. A member of Congress, of the Senate of the United States, of the State legislatures, has “Honorable” prefixed to his Christian name, and he does not like you to forget it. But a member of the British Parliament is never called “Honorable.” When Mr. Parnell and Mr. William O’Brien, both members of Parliament, were here, this rule was not observed, and they found themselves titled, much to their amazement, “Honorable.”

Except in business letters, it is better not to abbreviate anything. Do not write “Jno.” for “John,” or “Wm.” for “William.” “Mister” is always shortened into “Mr.,” and “Mistress” into “Mrs.,” which custom pronounces “Missus.” If one is addressing an archbishop, one writes, “The Most Reverend Archbishop;” a bishop, “The Right Reverend;” and a priest, “The Reverend”—always “The Reverend,” never “Rev.”

Titles such as “A.M.,” “B.A.,” “LL.D.,” are not generally put on the envelopes of letters, unless the business of the writer has something to do with the scholarly position of the person addressed. If, for instance, I write to a Doctor of Laws and Letters, asking him to dinner, I do not put LL.D. after his name; but if I am asking him to tell me something about Greek accents, or to solve a question of literature, I, of course, write his title after his name.

To put one’s knife into one’s mouth means social exile; there is only one other infraction of social rules considered more damning, and this is the writing of an anonymous letter. It is understood, in good society, that a man who would write a letter which he is afraid to sign with his own name would lie or steal. And I believe he would. If he happen to be found out—and there are no secrets in this world—he will be cut dead by every man and woman for whom he has any respect. If he belong to a decent club, the club will drop him, and he will be blackballed by every club he tries to enter. By the very act of writing such a letter he brands himself a coward. And if the letter be a malicious one, he confesses himself in every line of it a scoundrel. A man capable of such a thing shows it in his face, above all in his eyes, for nature cannot keep such a secret.

Another sin against good manners, which young people sometimes thoughtlessly commit, is the writing to people whom they do not know. This is merely an impertinence; it is not a crime; the persons that get such letters simply look on the senders as fools, not as cowards or scoundrels.

Usage at the present time decrees that all social letters should be written on unruled paper, and that, if possible, the envelope should be square. An oblong envelope will do, but a square one is considered to be the better of the two; the paper should be folded to fit under. The envelope and the paper should always be as good as you can buy. Money is never wasted on excellent paper and envelopes. It is one of the marks of a gentleman to have his paper and envelopes as spotless and well made as his collar and cuffs.

A man ought never to use colored paper, or paper with a monogram or a crest or coat-of-arms on it. If you happen to have a coat-of-arms or a crest, keep it at home; anybody in this country who wants it can get it. White paper and black ink should be used by men; leave the flowers and the monograms and the pink, blue, and black paper to the ladies. It is just as much out of place for one of us to write on pink paper as to wear a bracelet.

Bad spelling is a social crime and a business crime, too. No business house will employ in any important position a young man who spells badly. He may become a porter or a janitor, but he can never rise above that if he cannot spell.

In social letters or notes, one misspelled word is like a discord in music. It is as if the big drum were to come in at the wrong time and spoil a cornet solo, or a careless stroke ruin a fine regatta. When dictionaries are so numerous, bad spelling is unpardonable, and it is seldom pardoned.

One of the worst possible breaches of good manners is to write a careless letter to any one to whom you owe affection and respect. Nothing is too good for your father or mother—nothing on this earth. When you begin to think otherwise, you may be certain that you are growing unworthy of affection and respect.

There is a story told of one of the greatest soldiers that this country ever knew, who, though he happened to fight against us, deserves our most respectful homage; this brave soldier was the Confederate General Sidney Johnston. A soldier had been arrested as a traitor on the eve of a battle. The testimony was against him; there was no time to sift it, and General Johnston ordered him to be shot before the assembled army. A comrade who believed in him, but who had no evidence in his favor, made a last appeal. When the soldier was arrested, he had been in the act of writing a letter to his father. He begged this comrade to secure it and send it home, giving him permission to read it. The comrade read it and took it to General Johnston. It was an honest, loving letter such as a good son would write to a kind father. It was carefully written. General Johnston read it, expecting to find some sign of treason there. He read it twice; and then he said to the comrade: “Why did you bring this to me?”

“To show you, general,” the soldier answered, “that a man who could write such a letter to his father on the eve of battle could not have the heart of a traitor.”

“You are right,” General Johnston said, after a pause; “let the man be released.”

He was released, and later it was discovered that he had been wrongly suspected. He was killed in that battle. Such a son would rather have died a hundred times than have such a father know that he had been shot or hanged as a traitor.

The letters we write home ought to be as carefully written as possible. There is nothing too good for your father or mother. They may not always tell you so; but you may be sure that a well-written and affectionate letter from you brightens life very much for them. Have you ever seen a father who had a boy at school draw from his pocket a son’s letter and show it to his friends with eyes glistening with pleasure? I have. “There’s a boy for you!” he says. “There is a manly, cheerful letter written to me, sir, and written as well as any man in this country can write it!” If you have ever seen a father in that proud and happy mood, you know how your father feels when you treat him with the consideration which is his due. Your mothers treasure your letters and give them a value they do not, I am afraid, often really possess. If you desire to appear well before the world, begin by correcting and improving yourself at school and out of school. A young man who writes a slovenly letter to his parents will probably drop into carelessness when he writes formal letters to people outside his domestic circle.

It is a good rule to answer every letter during the week of its receipt. It is as rude to refuse to answer a question politely put as to leave a letter without an answer—provided the writer of the letter is a person you know.

Some young people are capable of addressing the President as “Dear Friend,” or of doing what, according to a certain authority, a young person did in Baltimore. This uncouth young person was presented to Cardinal Gibbons, Archbishop of Baltimore. “Hello, Arch.!” he said—and I fear that his friends who were present wished that he were dead.

“Dear Sir” is always a proper form to begin a letter with to anybody older than ourselves, or to anybody we do not know intimately. And if we begin by “Dear Sir,” we should not end with “Yours most affectionately.” “Yours respectfully” or “Yours sincerely” would be the better form. To end a letter with “Yours, etc.,” is justly considered in the worst possible taste; and it is almost as bad as to begin a letter with “Friend Jones,” or “Friend Smith,” or “Friend John,” or “Tom.” The Quakers address one another as “friend;” we do not. Begin with “Dear John” or “Dear Tom,” or even “Dear Jones” or “Dear Brown,” if you like, but do not use the prefix “friend.” In writing to an entire stranger, one may use the third person, or begin with “Sir” or “Madam.” Suppose, for instance, you want some information from a librarian you do not know personally. You may write in this way:

“Mr. Berry would be much obliged to Mr. Bibliophile for Dr. St. George Mivart’s book on ‘The Cat,’ which he will return as soon as possible.”

Or Mr. Berry would say:

“SIR: I should be much obliged if you would lend me Dr. St. George Mivart’s book on ‘The Cat.’

“Yours respectfully.”

No man in decent society ever puts “Mr.” before his own name, except on visiting-cards. There, usage has made it proper. A married lady or a young girl always has “Mrs.” or “Miss” on her cards, and, of late, men have got into the habit of putting “Mr.” on theirs. No man of taste ever puts “Mr.” before or “Esq.” after his own name when signing a letter.

Footnote 1:

The title Esq. really belongs only to those connected with the legal profession, but republican usage has much extended it.

Another fault against taste is a habit—prevalent only in America—of writing social letters under business headings. Here is an example: