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MADE PLAIN AND EASY TO BEGINNERS,
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Entered according to act of Congreee, in the year 1834,
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of the District Court of t.bo Dutrict of !111l88&Chueelts.

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CAM BRIDGE:

PRINTED JlY CHARLES FOLSOl\f .

...

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ADVERTISEMENT.

difficulty which young persons feel
in writing letters is so great and so general, that any book, which promises them aid
in the performance of this task, is eagerly
sought ; and great hopes of assistance have
been entertained by the youthful purchasers
of the different works, published under the
enticing name of L etter-Writers.
THE

The numerous editions which the "Complete Letter-Writer" has passed through,
and the various forms in which it has, again
and again, been presented to the public, are
sufficient proofs of the demand for such help

vi

ADVERTISEMENT.

as is there promised ; whilst the glaring absurdities and gross faults, with which the
work abounds, would undoubtedly prevent
its circulation, if there were anything better to supply its place.
That models calculated to mislead the
rising generation, and pervert their taste,
should be so widely diffused, may be considered a serious evil, and one to be particularly guarded against, by those who are
entrusted with the education of youth. It
is with .a. yJ~v.: of c9~tributing something to
the removal of this evil, that I have prepared this little work for my young friends.
I am aware that it will not furnish all the aid
which they would like to hnve, in their early attempts at inditing a letter; but they
are apt to ask for IT!ore, than the nature of
the case admits of; and it is in attempting
to give them all they desire, that the writers
of otherw,.orks on the subject have failed.
Young ~r11ons wish to be told exactly what

ADVERTISEMENT.

vii

they ought to say when writing to theit
friends ; but this cannot be done, on account
of the peculiar circumstances that must always belong to each individual case. General directions, simple criticism, and good
examples, are all that can be safely offered
them ; and these are all that this volume
pretends to.
To relieve the subject from the dryness
which belongs to a detail of mere rules and
examples, the instruction, here offered, has
been woven into a slight sketch of domestic
life ; but the main purpose of the work has
never been made secondary to the story.
I have so often sympathized with my
young friends in the trouble and perplexity
they feel, when called on to write letters;
and nm, at the same time, so fully impressed
with the importance of such communication
with absent friends, as a social duty, that I
have had the subject very much at heart,
nncl have endeavoured to furnish as many

viii

.ADVERTISEMENT.

hints and directions, as appeared to me expedient. I now commend the result of my
labors to the test of their experience, and
await their judgment of my success.

CONTENTS.

E. F.
CHAPTER I.
rage

Conversation between Henry Moreton and his
Uncle on the Difficulty of Letter-writing.
- Henry's first Letter to his Parents .

.

~

'

CHAPTER II.
Criticism of Henry's first Letter. - The Duty
of Writing to absent Friends. - The Child
who corresponded with her Dolls. - Henry's
second Letter more concise. - Mr. Price's
Criticism. - Henry's Account of being run
away with told by Anna and by ·Himself.

14

CHAPTER III.
Henry's third Letter. - Punctuation; Para.
graphs; Place of Beginning 1 Margins; Foldings.

.

27

x

CO NT E NTS.

CONTENTS,

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IV.

4S

Folding, Sealing, and Directing Letters.

CHAPTER V.
An original Letter. - Remarks upon Dating
Letters. - M odes of Beginning Letters. Franklin. - Cicero. - Cowper.

Jane Moreton' s Letters. cisms.

Henry's

5S

Criti67

CHAPTER VII.
Schoolboys' Difficulties in writing Letters. List of T opics. -Proper Attitude in Writing.
Manner of Holding the Pen. -Directions
for Sharpening a Penknife, and for Making
• Pen.

.

-

Sacredness of a Seal. - Letter from a Midshipman to his Benefa ctor. - Criticisms upon it. - Choice of a Seal. - Use of the
word" Esquire.'' ,

93

C HAPTER IX.

CHAPTER VI.

j

xi

Mr. Price leaves H ome. -Account of Anna's
first L etter to her Father. - The best Way
of Opening a L etter. - Objection s to Models. - Acco unt of "Willi am Price's Letter
to hi s F ath er. - H enry 's D ifficulty in finding Subjects. - Ann a's Hints. - Henry
practises the Rules he has learned.
J 07

CHAPTER X.

75

Letter from I,ouisa Price to her Father. Anna's Observations upon it. - M ode of announcing Bad News. - Truth essen tial to a
Correspondence. - The Evils of False Accounts. - F olly of writing when angry.
)23

xii

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XI.
THE

.Anna's Lessons in Letter-writing to a Boy on
134

her Father's Fann.

YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

CHAPTER XII.
Retum of Mr. Price. -

Notes of Invitation. 144

CHAPTER I.
CONVERSATION BY.TWEEN HENRY MORETON AND HU
UNCLE ON THE DIFFI CULTY OF LY.TTER-WRJTING,
-

ERRATUM .

Page .IO, line 14, f or W ednesday read Friday

...

HENRY'S FJRST LltTTJr.R TO HIS PARENTS.

'How I do hate writing letters! ' wns th e exclamation of a youth of fourteen years of age, as he sat
down before a sheet of fine letter-paper, prepared to
do what he considered th e most difficult of all his
duties. With an excellent pen, just made for him
by his unel e, and good ink, and lin es under his
paper, arnl plenty of thoughts in his head, tli crc he
sat like 011e stupefied ; and after scrawling o\'er his
blotting.paper, trying his pen again arul again, and
waiting so long between eac h trial that the inlc dried
in the nib, he threw it down in despair, muttering
the fooli sh wish that the art of writing letters had
never been invented •

THE YOUTH'S LETTER -WRITER.

The name of this perplexed youth was Henry
Moreton 1 he was now on a visit to his uncle, Mr.
Charles Price, and having been absent from.home
ten days, end made n j ourn ey of several hundred
miles, from his father's to his uncle's house, it was
highly necessary nnd proper, that he should send his
parents a full account of himself since he parted
from them. The dreaded task had been deferred
till his conscience smote him for the delay, and he
had now sat down, resolved to write home, but had
proceeded no farther than ' My denr parents,' when
he gave up in despair, and expressed the inconsiderate
wish above mentioned, loud enough for his uncle
to hear. Mr. Price had been observing Henry's
dilemma with mingled feelings of amusement and
compassion. Th at a fin e, bright hoy, who did every
thing else well for hi s age, arnl was full of conversation, an<\ loved his family dea rly , should be so
puzzl ed to writ e a letter, seemrd to him nt first
rather ludicrous 1 hut us Mr. Price saw H enty's ·
fa ce become clouclerl, and observed how troubl ed
th e poor fe llow really wn~, he sym pat hiz ed very
kindly with . him, and resolved to help .him over hi s
difficulty.
. •That is a stran ge wish of yours, H enry.
Have you neve r refl ec terl upon the greut benefits
derived from letter. writing '? Imagine for a mo-

...

THE YOUTH'S · LETTER-WRITER.

3

ment what a doleful change it would make in all
our intercourse with our fellow beings, if we we re
deprived of this mode of curnmunicnting with them.
W e will nut now stop to co nsider th e stng nati <J n in
comm erce, or the total dera ngenw nt of publi c :rffairs,
whi ch would tnk e pla ce ; we will only renrnrk the
effect of such a ch ange upon famili es nucl fri ends.
What would you, and you r broth e rs :111d sisters,
have kn own of your cousins here, or of rn e, without th e interrn urse of letters? W e should have
seemed like strangers to ·you, in stead of ne:rr relations. I doubt whe ther you would have wi shed to
pay us this visit, hut for head ng the letters read that
passed hetween the families ; for we have seen each
other hut seldom for the last dozen yea rs . '
' It was cousin Anna's letters to my sister Marin,' said Henry, ' which made me wish to come
nnd see you; she described you all so n:rturally. and
told us how pleasantly you pa ssed yo ur even ings,
and what the boys did in winter, nnd of th eir making
molasses cn ndy in th e Hudy nml ove rse lling tlic
skillet. I fan cied I co ul1l see it ri ll, a nd longed
to he one of the party ; an1l when you r invita ti on
came, I was all ready to accept it.' .
'Tl1is is n case in point !'ertainly,' replieil Mr .
Pri ce 1 'yoQ can judge of th e happiness whi ch ou r
letters give your family 1 and I can tell you, that

4

TllE YOUTH'S l.E'l'Tl':R-WRlTER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

here the receipt of n letter from your parents or
sister, mnkes every individual in the house happy 1
even N1>ptune wags his tail, and perceives thnt there
is joy among the children. Now if letters, writt~ n
under ordinary circumstances, give so much plenB·
ure think what it must be to a wife, to hea r from
'
.
her husband, wh en absent from her on somt> perilous enterprise; or to ' a , father, to receive tidings
from a beloved family.
Young men who leave
their pl easa nt homes, to earn a living in some remote region, or to go on long voyages, consider a
letter from a brother or sister as one of the greatest blessings 1 ~vhilst those they leave behind are
equally indebted to this admirable art. Even when
letters do not convey joyful tidings, when they tell
us (lf the sorrows and trials of those we love, there
is still a satisfaction in knowing all that ha·s befallen
Anything is better than ignorance and
them.
uncertainty respecting the fate of our friends.
y our parents are, at this moment, suffering the pain
of uncertainty as t6 your safety ; they know you
were to make a long journey, and that you were
liable to many accidents by t.he way, and they
must feel anxious to hear of your arrival here.'
'I know that, uncle, and have felt very uncomfortable on that acco unt; but I do not like to write
only this, that I am here, safe and sound, and I do

.

'

..

not know how to make up a good letter, that will
tead well, and tell th em all th ey wish to know.'
' If your father,' saill Mr. Price, 'were lo walk
Into th e room this minute, should you be at any Joss
what to say to him? •
'Oh 110 ! • ex claimed Ti cnry; ' I should tell him
every thing' that had happened since we parted; he
would ask me ques ti ons, :11ul I shonhl cl1at tn on,
not minding how I told it, but just sayi ng what
cnme uppermost. But in writing a letter, I have no
questions to help me, nnd I must mind how I make
my sentences, and say something proper for the
beginning of a letter, and h~v e n good ending ; and
that's what I !.:now nothing about. I never could
write a letter, and I fear I never shall lea rn.'
At this, his uncle could not help laughing; but he
. went on to assure Henry that the great difficulty he
found in letter-writing arose from his notions about
having a proper b~ginni11g and en<ling , fo rming set
phrases and fine sentences, all which notions were
erron eous.
'You ca nnot,' he co ntinued, 'begin with anything better than a plain statement of the fact which
your fri ends most wish to hea r, · or end with r.nything better than messag es of love lo your family,
nnd an offoctionate farewell to your parents. The
best letters are the most like the best conversation 1

6

THE VOUTlf'il J,F.TTBR -W RITER.

and if you will only fancy yourself talking to your ·
father . and moth er, in a limite1I portion of time, and
therefore consider what they must most wish to hear,
you mny venture to write exactly what you woul<I
say to them, and there ·woulcl be an encl of all your
difficulties.'
H enry's countenance now began to brighten, r.nd
he felt encouraged by what his uncle said. He had
always fan cied th ere was something peculiar in the
composition of n letter, nnd that it must be as different as possible frc•m conversotion ; but if he might
tnlk to his parents on paper, he thought he could do
that, though he should feel the want of their questions to lead him on.
'You must proceed in this as you do in oth er
things,' said Mr. Price; 'you must put yourself
in the place of others, and think what would Le
most agreeaLle to them. You know that the predomin ant feeling of your parents about you now
must be anxi ety to hear whether you performed your

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long journey without any accident; so you can begin
with telling them, that you arrived here safely.
Then they will wish to .know, how long you were on
the road, what incidents occurred, and who were your
stage companions; and if anything happen ed to you
that would be particularly interesting or amusing to
your family, tell them that 1.,y all means. When

-·-- - - - · - - - - -.. : sase!) 1euonda:lxa ·-

...

THE YOUTH'S LETTF.R-WR!TF:R.

7

1atisfied as to your journey, their thoughts will naturally turn to those you are now with, and they
will like to hi?ar how you found us all, and how you
have passed your time since you arrived. Now try
what you can do at talking on paper.'
' Thank you, dear uncle ; I feel now as if I knew
what I was going ahout., and could fill a whole sheet
with the greatest E'ase.'
Henry wrote a good running hand for a Loy <Jf his
age; but it wns rath er large, and •ure enough he was
not long in filling up his paper. Il e hnd written upon
one of the foldings, and had only the other one left,
when he found to his surprise, that he had not tolcl
ha]( what he hncl to say. He was so full of the
idea that. he might lolk nn 71ope1·, that he forgot that
he could not put as mnch into a letter as he would
say in conversation ; he had therefore run out into
minute c:l etails of his coach companions, which were
not very interesting, and had no room for th e most
amusing of his adv e ntures, for any arcount of his
uncle's family, or of how he had spent his time
since he arrived; so he concluded his Jetter very
abruptly, saying he had not told the b~st part of his
story, because he had not room, Luthe would put
it in his next letter. On reading it over, he was
very much dissatisfied with his performance, and
complained to his uncle that in this way of talking

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

on Jlllper, he could 111y so little 1 he even doubted
whether a well-written Jetter could be anything like _
conversation, becnuse his own nppeared so poor to
him. His uncle encouraged him by saying that his
letter would give his parents much great"r pleasure
than a more studi ed production, and that the reason it
did not satisfy him was because he had not attended
to one essential part of his directions, which was to
fancy himself talking to his absent fri ends in a
limiLed J>ortion qf time, and not run on with trifling
particulars which would fill up his paper too fast.
'Remember,' continued his uncle, ' I said that the
l>est letters were like the beit conversation; there
may be a fault in your manner of talking, which;
when put upon paper, appears doubly conspicuous.'
Upon this hint at his wny of talking, Henry
smiled am\ said, ' I am oft en told at home, that I
talk too much and too fost, n11d that I say th e same
things over too often 1 th erefore, uncle, it will ne,·er
do for me to write as I talk.'
'You must correct the faults. of both,' said Mr.
Price 1 'a little practice in writing upon this plan
will help you to improve your conversation and
your letters too. This is a very good beginning;
the next time you try, you will choose among your
facts, and tell the most interesting only: but you
have· labored enough for the present in this new kind

i

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'

....;

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..

..

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1guo11d:;Y.l')(Q__

THE YOUTH 'S LETTER-WRITER.

9

of exercise 1 10 you had better join your cousins,
who are playing ball in the fi eld next the barn, nnd
leave your letter with me lo fold and direc t. It
shall go by to-morrow ' s mail, and you may be sure
it will be a welcome messenger to all the dear ones
at home.' H enry ran out to pl ay, much pleased :it
the thought of having done something that would
add to the happi ness of t!iose he loved so well. ·
Mr. Charles Price was the father of seven children who had been left motherless, whrn th e eldest
was but ten yea rs old; and, in performing as far as
he could, the duties of both parents, he had learn ed
to give his ready sympathy to tl1 e troubl es and
, , pleasures of childhood, to understand the workings
"'' ~of tl•eo"°"lhful mind, and to minister lo it in th e
happiest way. All children who knew Mr. Price,
loved and revered him.
His conversation was
always instructive, nnd he die\ hi s young fri ends
good as much by calling forth th eir powers, as
by what he imparted of his ow n stores of wi sdom
and knowledge.
H e knew just how far to tax a
chilcfs powers without pressing him too hard 1 he
smiled on every worthy effo rt, however unsuccessful;
and, though very direct and sincere in his crit icisms,
he always chose a · time for imparting them when
they could I.est be born e. He fe lt that the moment
when H enry Moreton had just fini 11hed his letter

10

THE YOUTH'S LP.TTER-WRITER.

and was himself dissatisfied with it, when his mind
was tired by the unusual effort he had made, was
not the best time for pointing out its numerous defects 1 but he knew he coulrl give him some instruction in lett er-writing by criticising this fault y production, and th erefore he took the pains of copying
it, before he sent it off, that he might, at some
future opportunity, give his nephew the benefit of
his criticisms, and make him learn by his own mistakes . Henry's letter was as follows, except that
we do not copy his verbal inaccuracies.

wns very kind to me nll the way ; I mean all the
wny that he was with us, for we die! not take him in
till the last day's journey. Ilut I lik e1l him very
mudi, he wns so kin1l to me, ancl told so many
funn y stori es. Th ere were two h 1li ps in th e stage
who .would not lnu gh at any of th em, but were so
silent and prim that every body di sliked them, at
least, I am sure I di1l, and so dicl Mr. Smith.
Th ey only went a little way. But, clear me! I am
telling the last part of my story fir st ; this all happened the last day of my journey . I ought to go
back to the beginning, and tell it all in order.
W ell then, to begin with what happened when I first
left you. Nothing particular happened, except that
. I di e! not like riding in the clark with so many strangers, and as we passed by a lamp, I tried to see
what th ey looked like; but could only see that they
were nll men, nnd mos t of tl wni were fa st asleep.
One great fellow kept lollin g down upon me till he
almost crushed me, and I pin ched and poked him,
hut still he kept on, till ut last I remembered th e
pincushion I had in my pocket, arnl I rnanagecl to
get a pin out of it ; and after a few pri cks with that,
he waked quite up, and th en he fixed himself in a
better way, up in th e co rner . and did not fall down
on me any more. I was pack ed into the back seat
with a whole row of backs before me, which is

'Oakwood, May-, 18S-.
(. '
' I arrived here safe and ~veil, on ~ay
last. I was three days getting !~ ere, becaus~ I did
not arrive here till ten o'clock nt night; and ns I left
you at four o'clock on 'Veiln esclay morning, th at mny
fairly be callee! three days ; and as I was one night
on boa rel th e stea m -boat, I may say that my journey
took up three days and one night. The last part
of the roacl was very bnd, up to th e hubs of th e
wh eels. I lost my hat, looking out of the wind ow
to see how ilPep the wh eels s.1nk. I got it agai n
though, by that kind gentl eman's stoppirlg the stage,
and getting the driver to pick it up. But I forget
that I have not told you about that gentleman 1 he

• l\Iy dear Parents,

...

JI

Tiii': YOUTH'S T.ETTi':R-WRITF.R.

!J.

l!J

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

what I do hate; I wish there were no back seats in
a stage, for they always make little fellows like me
sit in them, and there I am half smothered, and I
cannot see anything. But let me see, where was
I before I told about not liking to ride in the back
seat? 0 I was describing the first part of my
journey. Well, there we wefe in the dark, as I
said before 1 but by d eg ree~ it became ligl1.t er, and
long before we stopped to breakfast, it was broad
daylight. I ate my breakfast and paid for it like
the other passengers. There was an old gentleman
there who offered to pny for me; now I don't know
whether he meant to give rne the money for mv
breakfast, o~ whether he meant to pay the master ~(
the inn and let rne pay him; which do you · think he
meant, father? I thanked him, and told him I
coulcl as well pay for myself. I went to the bar
and hundetl. up half a clollar, which was what I saw
others pay 1 and after doing that, I was turning away,
but the rilnn called out to me encl said, "Here, my
son, half of this is enough for your brend-nndrnilk breakfast." I don't know how he knew that
I had eaten only bread and milk, but that is what he
said, and he return ed me half my money 1 and I think
that was very fair and honorable of him, don't you ?
Then we all got into the stage again, and this time
I got B forward seat, and could look out and see the

THE YOUTH'S

LETTER-Wl~!TER.

13

country. There was a farmer in the stage who
knew all the forms by the roa1l-side, and he told us
who owned them ancl how they were cultivated, and
he said the season was more backward than he had
ever known it, that every thing was three weeks
behind hand.
He showed us one farm, that there
had been a law-suit about, and told a very long story
about it, and he was call ed upon ns a witness, and
th ere wns nn nppcnl, and he had to travel a great
many miles about it ; but I could not understan<l
what the law-suit was about, and so I cannot tell
you. J3ut I have no more paper, and so I cannot
tell you the best part of my journey. I will write
that in my next letter. Love to all.
' Your affectionate so n,
' H e nry :M oreton.'

, I

14

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOIJTll'S T.F.T1'1':R -WRIT8R.

CHAPTER II.
CRITICISM OF HENRY'S FIRST LETTER. -THE DUTY
OF WRITING TO

ABSENT FRIENDS. -

THE CHILD

WHO

CORRESl'ONOED WITH HF.R DOLLS. -

Rv's

SECOND

U ". ITER

PRICE'S CRITICISM, -

MORE

CONCISE. -

HEN-'
MR.

HENRY'S ACCOUNT OF BEING

RUN AWAY WITH 'l'Ol,D BY .\NNA AND BY HIMSELF.

A few days after Henry's first letter was despatched, he began a second, wli ich was to supply
the deficiencies of the first ; and, as he was really
desirous of improving, he asked his uncle how he
should avoid the faults he had before committed.
Mr. Price now pro<lu ced his copy of Henry's
letter, and asked him, if he could bear to have it
thoroughly criticised , for th e sake of learni ng what
thf! faults were, and how to avoid th em in future.
Henry assured his uncle he could bear it pe rfectly
well, and said he had been wishing he could see
what he had written. He th ought his un cle hacl
taken a great deal of trouble, to copy out such stuff
for the sake of <loing him good. With this sense
of obligation, his mind was in an excellent state to
listen to criticism ; so Mr. Price thus began.

,
I

!

·~·- - -

·~QSQ!) IRUOlld~XQ_,_.,.

..

).')

'Your first st~tem ent is very good, but all that
follows about the time your journey took, is super~
fluous. If you had merely ndtled to your fir st sentence, "at ten o'clock nt night," it would ha\'e tole!
the whole, for your paren ts kn ew as well as you
when you set off; so here we will strike out five
Jines. As your arriving so late was occasio ned .by
the stnte of the roads, it is very well to speak of
that next ; but instead of s:iying," the rucu/s were tlJI
10 the hubs," I should prefer saying, " the mud was
11p to the hubs." Th e loss of your hat comes in here
very naturally, but if you harl said, "a kind gentle-,
man," instead of "thlll kind gentleman," you mig ht
have sp'!red the next sentence altogether. That he
travelled one day with you, was very kind to yo u,
nn<l told funny stories, is nil proper enough. J'hat
every body dislilo:ecl the silent ladies, is too general
an assPrtion ; the next lin e seems to be intended to
<1ualify it, and comes nearer th e truth, I dare say.
What follows is very well, j ust like an exclamation
in conv ersation; but after saying, "I oug ht to go
batk to the beginning and tell it all in order," there
is no need of the nel< t sentence. To sny," Well
then, I will begin with what loappenrd when I first
left yo u," and then to say, "nothing parti"ular happened, &c." is ruther Aat 1 I would omit all between
the word " order " and " I did not like riding in the

'·

,,i
'

THE YOUT11'3 LETTEll-vVlllTF.R.

dark, &c."
The account of the sleeping scene,
is very good ; and since you were barbarous enough
to spoil the man's nap, you have told it very well.
Your dislike of back seats is properly expressed,
though not very interesting lo any one but yourself. The next few lines are quite superAuous, and
would be so in conversation; so we will 1trike
them out. The account ·of your paying for your
breakfost will do well enough, though it might have
been gi,·en in fewer words ; for instance, you might
leave out "after doing that, I," und say merely,
. "and was turning away." Your selling off again,
and getting a forward seat, is all very well ; but
that tedious old farmer and his law-suit deserve to
be stricken out altogether.
He must have been
tiresome enough in reality, and I am sure I would
not put him into a letter.'
'I wish,' said Henry, ' that I had left him out
entirely, and then I sh ould have had room for the
tunawny horses, which were a much bette r subject.
I wish you hacl not sent off my letter, uncle, before
you criticised it, and then I would have written it
over again, and put a great deal more ·into it, and
made it much better.'
'To have done that,' repliell. Mr. Price, 'you
must have kept your parents twenty-four hour& longer in suspense as to your s~fe arrival. It wn1

much more kind n nd considerate, to send a very
faulty production at once, than to delny for th e purpose of attempting something better. Persons who
are not good letter-writers often treat their fri ends
Yery unkindly 1 and because they cannot do themseh•es credit by writing well, th ey cause n great
deal of pain and anxiety, by not writing at all ; this
is mere selfishn ess, and is more to th ei r dis credit
than the poorest letter would be, written from a kind
motive. There are many cases in which it is a real

a

sin to omit writing a letter ; and if
person is conscious that he could not writ e one, without being
mortified at th e badness of the performance, he should
make a busin e~ of lea rning to do it well.'
'That is just what I mea n to do,' said H enry ;
' anti now th at I am away from home, and among
such capital lette r-writers as you ancl my cousins,
I hope I shall improve. H ow did cousin Anna
learn to write.su ch e xcell ent lette rs?'
' By beginning very young, and practising a great
deal. H er first correspondents were her dolls.'
' H er dolls! How funn y ~ ' exclaim ed H enry.
' What could sh e write to her dolls? they co1Jld not
answer her.'
' Sh e imagin ed herself their mother, and aclclressed them as grown up daughters, am\ wrote the
answers from them herself. I recollect that lvhen
2

...

17

TJIE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

16

TJIE YOUTll'S J,ETTER-WRITER.

THE YOU'l'll'S LETTER-W RITER.

she was only six years olrl, she carried on a long
correspondence in this way, on the subjed of an
imprudent match th at one of her dolls wus inclined
to make. I used to find scraps of it lying about,
and I hnve often wished since, that I had preserved
them ; for it was nn extraordinary performnnce for
such a mere baby.'
• 0 I wish you had, uncle. I should be delighted
to see what sh e wrote then. Cannot you remember
any of it? Do try.'
•Yes, there was on e sentence whi ch amused me
so much I shall never forget it. 'Tis th e conclusion of ' one of the mother's letters, in which she
says, " I warn you, my dear child, tW.t if you persevere in this unhappy affair, you will bring my
grey hairs with Rorrow to the grave." '
'0 what a funny Jillie thing, to be talking of
grey hairs! But don' t you think she got that
out of some book? I am sure I have read it somewh ere.'
• Certainly, it is not original.
She had either ·
read it or heard it, for it is 11 hackni ed phrase; but
at six years of age, it is something to understand
nnd opply co rrectly th e phrnses of others.'
•To be sure it is,' said Henry, ' and I wish I hacl
done the same, or something lil.:e it, if that would
make me as good a lelter-wri fe r as cousin Anna ;

but I suppose she made som e mistakeR, before she
arrived at her present perfecti on.'
' She macle a g reat many ; and I sometimes criticised he r com po sit ions as severely as I have yo urs
now ; but her early nncl constant prac ti ce made her
write better at yo ur age 1!1an you do. Nothing Lut
prnctic~ will g iv e facility in com position; and if
yo ung per~ons a re so sit11a tcd that they have no
real correspomlencc, they hud be tter a tt emp t an im•ginary one.'
' 0 I co uld do th at easily enough ; I could imag-

18

...

...

19

ine fiv e hundreil things. I would fan ~y myself an
old gentlemJn with a prodigal son, and would write
him fin e lett ers of advice; or else I would be a
sailor, writing home to my fri ends from foreign
countri es, an d th ere I should fi nd plenty of things
to tell.'
lVIr. Price had no time to li sten to any more of
H enry 's imaginings; so he stopped him Ly say ing,
'It is easy e11oug h to imagine persons and circumstances, but not to say '.vhat would be natural
nnd proper for th em. Jf you were to try either
of the sul?iec ts you have named, I should soon find
you hangi ng O\'er your pnpcr in the sn mc state of
d~ s pnir th nt you so lat ely 111a11 ifes tcd.
You cann ot
have R better or an ea sier sul?iect, than th e journey
you huve just made; the facts are all fr esh in your

TUE YOUTH'S I.ETTER-WRITER.

memory ; you have only to choose, among them,
those which are best worth telling, to arrange them
in their natmal order, and to avoid the faults I have
just pointed out to you.'
Saying this, Mr. Price left Henry to wrile his
second letter. He was now so afraid of being diffuse, . and saying too much upon one subject, that he
fell into the- opposite fault.
His sentences were
short, stiff, and disjointed. He £lopped so long to
choose among his facts, that he lost all natural connexion between th em ; and, though he put a great
deal more into this second letter than he did into the
first, it was not, on . the whole, so pleasing a production. He was, however, Letter satisfied with it
himself, and he showed it to his uncle, as the family
were all sitting round th e table in the evening, with
some self-com placency~ Watching the countenance
of his friendly c ritic, as he read the lelter, Henry
perceived that it did not bear examination so well as
he expected, and he rtlmost held his breath with
anxiety to know what judgment awaited him.
After a pause, which seemed to i-Ienry intolerably long, his uncle looked up very smilingly and
said, 'I give you credit for the effort you have made
to control your mind ; you have evidently exerted
yourself very much to follow my directions, anil if
you have overshot the mark, 'tis partly my fault.'

l

'i

I

-

'fHE YOUTH'S I.ETTER-WRITER.

21

Thi~ figurative expression of ovenlwoting tl1e
mnrk was peculiarly appropriate, as all the young
folks hacl been shooting at a target with bows and
arrows that afternoon ; so H enry carriecl on the
figure in his answer, ancl said, ' I nm sure I thought
I hit the bull's eye as completely in that letter, as
I clid in the target to-day 1 where have I failed,
uncle? '
• Only hy being a little too concise, and taking too
much pains to say nothing superfluous. Now, ns
redunrlancy is n less fault in a young writer than
barren ness, it hoc! been better perhaps if I had suffered you to go on in y our exuberant style, instead
of criticising you so much. I wishecl to make you
perfect at once, and I have clone you harm instead
of good. '
Here Mr. Price's eldest daughter, Anna, joined
in the conversation. She knew her father to be
so candid, and so apt to take blame on himself
when be did not deserve it, that she could not help
defeniling him against himself.
' I c:.mnot helieve,' saicl she, 'that you have done
Henry the least harm; on the cqntrary you ha\•e
made him aware of his own powers 1 he knows now
that he can talk at length on paper, or write a concise statement of facts ; he has tried the two extremes, and has now only to hit the happy medium.•

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE VOUTII'i! LETTER -WRITER.

' True enough, that's nil I have to do,' said
Henry; 'but how to do that, is the thing. You
know well enough, Anna, and I wish you would
teach me.'
' Thnt ·,s well thought of; ·H enry; Anna can
teach you much bett er than I, how to write a letter.'
So saying, Mr. Ptice would have returned to the
perusal of his book; but his daughter assured him
that, although she c;iuld write n tol erable letter herself, sh e never could tell anoth er person how to do
it. ' I hav e no notion of any general rules such
as you have in your mincl,' she continued, ' and
though I have often been guided by your instructions, I can never recollect them sufficiently to repeat
them to another. So pray give Henry the benefit
of your remarks upon his second letter, and I have
no doubt the third will be vastly better than either.'
H enry joined in beggi ng his uncle to criticise his
letter ; though he was not so well prepared, as in the
first instance, to see his faults, because he had a
better opini on of this letter than of the former.
This was very natural; for people nre always disposed to think, that what has cost them the most
pains is the best.

redundancies ; th en turning to Henry he said,
' When you are sure that a thing is worth telling, I
would advise you to fan cy yourself in the situation
you are about to rlescribe, and enter into all the
particulars that naturally occur to you. Now you
knew that the adventure of the runaway horses was
worth telling, and, when you described it to us on
first arriving, you mad e a very spirited narrative; ~o,
when you came to write of it, you might have let
your mind run away with your pen, just as the horses
did witli the coach.'
' I remember,' said Anna, 'how well Henry described that incident 1 nnd, if he hns forgotten it, I
think I could call it to mi ml, just :is he th en; told it.
I am sure it would be well worth putting into 11is
letter, because it would divert hi s brothers nml ~is­
ters as it did us.'
H enry find no recollection how he llRcl told the
story ; so Annr1 very good naturedly left her nee1ll()...
work, and wrote th e followin;; pnragrnph for him.
'\Ve had one grand adventure just before we
stopped to dine the last day. The stage hod been
creeping along very slowly for some time, and
the passengers had been grumbling about it, saying
how hungry they were, nnd that they ought to be at
the dining-pince now, when all of a sudden we
started on nt a good rate. It was dow n hill, and

Mr. Price observed to A nnn, that, to criticise
such a letter 11s this, it would be necessary to rewrite· it 1 'twas not so easy a matter as to point out

'

...

THE YOUTll'S LETTER-WRITER.

'l'HE YOUTH'S I.ETTER -WRITER.

we thought the mon meant to make up now for
going so slowly before ; but we went faster and
faster, and the stage rolled from side to ~ide ; and
splash.dash we went through the mud 1 the fences
and trees seemed to be fl ying by us, and I was
enjoying it greatly, when some one said the horses
must be running away with us, and directly every
body was so frightened. Some called out to the
driver to know what was the matter, some punched
l1im in the back through the front windows, am\
one tried to open the door of the stage and talked
of jumping out 1 one lady s<:reameJ, and anoth er
fainted; heads were out on every side; the mud
flew in their faces, and stopped the mouths of s~me.
I was 10 amused, and so pleased at going •o fos~
that I clapped my hamls and laughed, which made
somebody give me a good shaking and scolding:
another told me lo prepare to be drowned, for we
were coming to a briilge, and we should ce r~ainly be
tipped over into the river. I was just beginning to
be frightened, like the rest, when the horses turned
into n farm.yard thnt was by the side of the road,
and carried the stage safe into a great barn, in the
midst of cl1ickens, geese, &nd pigs 1 and, what was
best of all, there we were close to the hou se
where we dined. The horses were in a hurry for
their dinners as well as we.'

When Anna hnd finished writing this, she read it
aloud, and all the young folks ngrceil that it was
almost word for word as H enry told it to them, the
Henry was mightily
morning after he arrived.
pleased with this account of his adventure, and
very much struck with the contrast between it and
the stiff narrativ e he had given in his letter, which
was as follows.
'We were run away with th e last day. I enjoyed
going so fast, bnt the rest of the passengers were
very much frightened; at last I was frig htened too.
There wa s a bridge before us; if the stage had got
upon that, we might have been upset into th e river 1
som e thought there was great danger of our being
We stopped before we ca me to the
drowned.
bridge, th e horses turned into a farm-yard by the side
of the road, and we arrived safe at our dining-place.'
H enry now consulted his co usin Anna, as to
whether he had better re-write his whole letter 1 he
said that if he did, he should copy her paragraph,
and put inverted commas, to show that it was not
his own composition, nncl should say that she wrote it.
' 0 but. it is your own il escripti on,' said William
Price, a boy a little oliler than H enry; ' Anna has
only remembered how you told it, and put it on
paper for you.'
Henry, who had very clear notions of what was

!M

~. ·-. ~....... -

...

..,

.. _

...

"""

~

"S:QS:Q::) IQUOlld~-XQ

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S I.ETTER-WR!TER.

right in such a case as this, replied, ' W ell, but as
I never could have put it upon paper as Anna has
done it, I ought not to have the credit of it.'
• Neither should I have the credit of it,' said
Anna, 'for the story is nil your own, Henry. I
will tell you how we will manage the matter. You
do not like the trouble of re-writing your letter, I
know, and yet you wish that this lively account
of your adventure shoul<\ go to your fri ends at
hom e ; so I will tnk P. th e sheet of paper, on which I
have written it, and fill it up as a letter to your
sister . Maria, to whom I was going to write this
evening, and r will explain to her what share you
and I had in the narrative.'
Henry looked his cordial assent to this kind
proposition, and a very sonorous kiss on his cousin's
cheek announced his sntisfnction to the family party
os well as to her. Wh en his happiness found words
as well as gestures, he declared his cousin Anna to
be the best girl that ever lived 1 that she alway s
knew what he liked and what he disliked, nnd th at
there was nothing he dread ed so mu ch as hnving to
re.write thnt letter. Having commissioned Anna
to tell the folks at home that he kn ew nil the faults
of his second attempt, nnd meant to do better next
tim e, he took n book and joined the qui et circle of
reaclers, whom he hnd disturbed so long hy his
epistolary troubles and difficulties.

27

CHAPTER III.
UENRv's THIRD
GRAPHS j

LETTER. -:--- PUNCTUATION;

PARA.-

PLACE OF BEGINNING j MARGINS I FOLD-

INGS.

Having discharged the duty of one who leaves
hom e, by faithfully narrnting to hi s family the events
of hi s journey and arrival, H enry now wnitecl, with
an easy conscience, till he shou ld recei ve a reply.
It was not lo11g before he had the pl easure of opening a folio sheet, containing letters from his fath er,
mother, and sister Murin, in which, th ough re ~
proached a little for not writing sooner, he was
thanked and praised for doing so well when he did
make the nttempt. ·
His first letter only had been receh'ed when this
foli o sh eet was despatched, and it had evidently given
his parents great pl easure, and encouraged th em to
believe that H enry would mak e a pretty good correspondent during his absence.
The consciousness of ha••ing gratifi ed those he
best loved, and the novel pl eas ure of exchanging
thoughts ancl feelings with his nLsent famil y, made
Henry fed th e importance of l e ttc r-writi11~ more
than he had ever done before ; and, when he folded

THE YOUTH'S LETT£lt-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

up this precious folio, he resolved to write home
every week, and to profit as much as possible by the
instruction of those around him, in the blessed art
of Jetter-writing.
After thoroughly enjoying hi1
letters himself, he shared them with his uncle and
cousins. The former advised him to reply to them
whilst he was still animated by thei'r contents.
'You may. t emember,' said Mr. Price, ' that you
tl1ought you should be more at a loss than ever,
how to begin your next letter, because you would
have no journey to tell of; but there cannot be a
better beginning to a letter than the acknowledgment of one just received, and of the pleasure it
has given. If you write now, what you sny will be
wann from your heart. I advise you to put down
just what comes uppermost, and above all don't think
of me or my criticisms 1 this tim e you muy trust
lo your feelings.'
Henry took this advice, and wrote as follows :

you a thousand times for writing me so much 1
whilst I wu reading it, I fancied myself at home,
talking with you ; and when I had done and found
I WHS here, so far from you, it gave me a choking,
aching feeling about th e throat, and I was almost
ready to cry. But I began and read it all over
again, and this time I rem embered it was only a
letter; and when I had done, I felt very happy, and
thought what blessed things letters are, and I determined to writt: to you every week, nnd I hope you
will do the sam e.
' Please to tell Maria that I am very much obliged
lo her for telling me all about her •lrawbcrry party,
and the walk in the woods ; and I am sorry my
puppy tore Jane's parasol, and I think sh e did right
to punish him for it. We have here a very handsome N ewfoundland dog, who does a great many
tricks, and is very good-natured; he is so large that,
if he were not good-tempered, he would be a very
dangerous playfell ow.
He was given to unde
Charles by the captain of a vessel whose life he
saved. This was th e way it happened. Th ey were
all cast a•hore on a little beach, and the cliffs were
so high all round them, th ey could not get up tl1 em ;
so there they were pent in, and they would have died
there, had it not been for this good dog, who swam
a1Yay to another part of the shore, and got upon the

' Oakwood, May - , 183-.
'My dear Parents,
' I have just received your two letters and Maria's. I am so glad to hear from you that I cannot
describe to you how I feel. As I never was away
from home before, long . enough to have a letter, I
did not know what a g~eat pleasure it is. I thank

...

29

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WlllTER.

'l'llE YOUTH'S LBTTER-WfllTER.

top of the cliff, and went to a farm-house a mile off 1
there he whined and bnrke<l till he made the people
notice him, and th e farmer perceived the dog was
in trouble arid determined to follow him. The dog
ran towards the coast where the sailors were, and
wagged his tail, and looke<l pleased when the man
followed him 1 hut 'in a little while the farmer wished
to turn back, and then the dog jumped up and put
his fore-paws on th e man's shoulders, nod growled
in his face, so that th e farmer was frightened, and
thought he h ad better follow the dog, and see where
he would lend him. So th en he went on till he
came to the edge of a cliff, and there he he.ire! the
voices of men underneath. The farmer called to
the sailors, and they an•wered, and he told them he
would bring some men and ropes and take them up.
Now that he had spoken with the sailors, the dog
was willing to let him go back to his farm, which
seems exactly ns if h2 knew what th ey had been
saying. Th e captain and his men were all helped
up th e cliff's, and th eir lives saved hy this good dog.
His name is Neptune; and th e captain, being under
great obligations to my uncle, gave him this dog as
the greatest present he could make him. I love
Neptune very much. I don't know which I love
most, Neptune or Jenny 1 but perhaps you don't
remember who J enny is. She i1 the black pony

that William used to write so much about. She is
1he smallest horse I eYer saw, and all black, with a
long mane and tail. She canters beautifully; and
when we are riding in company, whoever is mounted
on Jenny, is sure to be first, for she is so ambitious
she will not let any one go before her. William
has taug ht her 11 great many tricks, and he can ride
standing on her back, like th e riders at the C'ircus.
William has userl her for six years, and wh en he
was a little boy he used to call her his black angel.
She knows us all perfectly, and treats us differently;
she has thrown me several tim es, because I nm n
stranger, and she does not like me so well ns her ,
old fri ends.

30

3L

..'., I have just remembered und e Charles's rule
about letters, that we shoULl try to write of what is mos t interesting to our friends, and I am afraid I
have sai d too much about N eptune ·and Jenny to
please my d~ar paren ts; hut Jane, and Fanny, and
Willy will lik e lo hea r about th em, and now I will
try and tell something that you "ill like to hea r.
I get my lesso ns reg-uforly with my cousins, and
recite to my uncle, who devo tes two hours to us
e\·ery day. Cousin Anna sits with us in the schoolroom, and keeps order while we are studying, and
she attends to our writing r.nd geography. The
children here draw the outlines of countries on a

(

..

THE YOUTH'S J,F.TTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTll'S LETTER-WRITER.

black board from memory, and I make snd work
of it.
I firsl tried Mossnchusetts, because there
are so many straight lines in th at, and Cape Cod i1
so remarkable, th ey all thought I must remember
exactly how it went 1 but I did not do it at all right.
Then I thought I could do South America, because
it is shaped so like a leg of mutton ; but I made it
all slope the wrong way, and we had a good laugh
over my poor Cape Horn. But every li111 e I try, I
do a little better. William c~n draw almost any
country very exactly irnleed ; nnd unrle says, that the
best way of learning geog raphy is to get pi ctures of
the .countries fixed in your mind. I do like uncle
Charles's way of teaching every thing, and he says
he should like to have me stay here all summer, nnd
study with his boys I uut I should not like to stoy
away from home so long as that. I lik e being here
very much indeed, but still I lo\'e my own denr
home better, and sometimes when I go to Led, I wish
I could have a kiss of my dear moth er. I pity
my cousin s for not having a mother. Anna often
says she wishes she hnd a mother 1 th e younger
ones think their sister as good as a mother, but th ey
don't know how good it is to have both. N ow I
have filled my p;per, I will bid you good night.
Give my love to all.
·
' Your affectionate son,
' Henry Moreton.'

It must not be ~upposed that this letter was as
free from faults in H enry's mgnuscript, ns it is in
this hook. There were a grcnt many defects and
Llunders which we ha\'e here corrected. The composition we ha\'e eopied exactly ; and that was so
good, that it gaiu<:d him great praise from his uncle,
who said, that as he had now conquered the great
difficulty of putting his th ough ts on paper, in the
easy naturul way he would speak 'hem, it was time
for him to learn to be more accurate in the use of
capitals, in punctuation ·
1araora hs, &c.
IIen ry had learned to spell correctly, so that he
~ely made a mistake in orthography, and he always
wrote proper nam es with capitals; but sometimes
forgot to put th em at th e Leginning of a sentence.
Thou~h he knew that after a full slop, he should
alw ay~ use a capital, his uncle mark ed half a dozen
places, at least, where he haa beg un a sente n~i; \Vitli
a small letter, whi ch looked very badly. He ~!so
used capitals where they were not needed, as in the
words 'strawl:erry party,' 'farm,' 'cliff,' 'cousi n,'
'uncle. ' "\Vhere th e last two words o~curred alone,
he was told to write th em with small letters only,
Lut wh erever th ey were united with the nam e, as in
' Uncle Charles,' his capitals were allowed to stand.
H enry had a fondn ess for underscoring emphatic
words, which his uncle did not approve.
3

33

re--

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

• If you borrow n word from another language, it
is proper lo mark it by a line drown underneath ;
this may be done too, when you use a word in n
new sense, or with a particular allusion to something
not expressed 1 but, as a genernl rule, the less underscori ng the better.'
Henry had learned by rote the rules of punctua•
tion, ' but he' complained of his utter inability to
app1y them.
·
•Reason about it; that is better than learning
r11les by heart. Take the first paragraph of your
letter, and read it so as to make it intelligible to a
"you will find that you natur~lly make
heate'r ;'
pau8e# between sentences, and parts of sentences,
and that those between sentences are longer than
the others 1 where you make a long pause, put a
full stop, and where a short one, put a comma.'
- ~Well, uncle, you have the greatest knack of
making things seem easy, which I have always
I shall be able now to
thought very difficult.
InttnAge periods and commas I but then there are
the semicolons, I never know where to put th em.'
• After you have put commas nt nil the short
pauses, you will sometimes find that you have a great
many in one long sentence; then rend it over again
and you will perceive that there are places where the
sense requires a longer pause than at others, and

and

'

..

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

35

yet not long enough for n full Atop; there you must
put a semicolon. You will often find that a sentence is naturally rlivi1lcrl into two principal portions
by some ~uc-h word ns, "Lut," o r "altltouuh"
and th en it will be well to put a sernil'olon b;fo~e
such a word. Now rea1I over this first p:irngraph of
you r letter emphatically, as you would if you wished
to make a person understand it, and I will put the
commas and periods, where you make short and
long pauses.'

.

Henry. did so, and as he was a good reader the

~unctuat1on came right, as for as commas and pe-

nods went. Then his uncle told him to try to find
out where he should put a semicolon, instead of a
comma, and he very reatlily said, 'Before " whilst "
and '" and when.'' '
When his uncle pronounced it all properly punc.
tueted, Henry clappe<l his hands, with deli"ht and
exclaimed, ' There ! I have climbed a :ountain
which I th ought I should never g et up ; and all
thanks to your scaling.ladders, yo ur good exphnati ons, uncle.'
'I am much obliged to you, H enry, for that
compliment 1 !mt if you hacl not learned to read well
you could not profit so ren1lily oy my directions:
By attending to the stops in printed books, learning
to read correctly, and to drop your voice at the end

Tll E YOUTH'S LETTEll-WRITEll.

of each sentence, you can lenrn to punctuate _Your
own compositions. Stops are intended lo assist us
in understanding what we read ; to show what parts
of a para graph belong closely to each other, and
what are distinct propositions. Now when you are
yourself the writer, you know what is meant I nnd if
you read it well, your own pauses will suggest to
you the pla<"es for stops.
Whnt is the ~alter,
Henry? you look puz zled agoin , and as if you
were slipping ,!own the mountain, instead of standing firmly on its top.'
'I am puzzled about sentences and paragraphs,
I do not understand exactly what you mean by
them.'
' I call what is included between full slops, a sentence , a paragraph contains several sentences, and
may he of vari ous lengths. Some persons write a
whole letter without making any paragraphs; but
that is a very con fused wny, and if you wish to refer
to a particular. subject, it is very diffi cult lo find
where it is, and where it begins.
"Whenever you
enter upon a new subject, you should make a paragraph. You have made one very properly after,
"I hope you will do the same." There should be
another where you begin the account of Neptune.
Though his history was very naturally suggested by
the account of your own puppy, and comes in very

TIIE YOUTH'S LF.TTER -WRITER.

well there, still it is a new topic, ancl should begin
a new paragraph. Jenny and N eptune are so closely
interwoven, it seems, in your affi·ctions nnd de~crip­
tion, that they cannot well he made the sulij ects of
separate paragraphs. \\' he re you leave th em, and
spea k of my rul e, you hn,-e very properly mJde a
new paragraph 1 and what foll ows is so intimately
connec ted , one th ought being sugge•tcd by another,
that th ere is no need of cny further cli\'ision than
into sentence•, hy full stnps.'
Mr. Price looked over Henry whilst he read
aloud and punctuated the rest of his letter ; ancl
though some doubtful cases arose, which could only
be settled by Mr. Price's experience, Heury's rh etorical powers made it clear to himself, where most
of the commas and periods ~hould be put; when he
bad done, he had the satisfacti on of feeling that he
really understood what he har\ been about, and
knew something more of stops ancl parngraphs than
he had ever done before.
Henry also learnt that th e proper phce to date a
letter is the right-hand corn er, at th e top of the
sheet of paper, as it li es befo re one, with th e folrl ~d
edge to the left hnnd.
Ilis uncl e sairl th ere had
hem a fashion of dating letters at th e encl, but he
thought it a bad practi ce 1 for by that means people
often forgot to date them at all ; whereas, if a per-

_,_

...

37

THE YOUTH'S J,ETTRR-WRITER.
38

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

son makes it a regular practice to begin with the date,.
it will never be forgotien.
Henry, who was qnite in the spirit of learning all
about letter-writing, asked bow low down on the
~-teg~
tnr.~~~-.~~~~~~~

I

'That depen s a 1 e, sat<I Mr. Price, 'on how
much yoll are going to say, and whether it i11 a cerernonio11s or a familiRr letter.
I dislike to see a
great blank space at the top of the first page,
when the third pnge and the ends are crowded ; ancl ·
it would look still worse, to see a letter of a dozen
Jines only, begun at the top of the page. A short
Jett.er therefore of business, or ceremony, 5hould be
begun about a third of the way down the pnge, or a
little higher, if that will bring the signature exuctly
at tl1e bottom of the page. If a short letter O\"erruns one page, it shouh\ do so by several lines,
besides the 8ig nature; it i~ very awkward to turn
over a leaf, merely to write the signature, or that
and the line preceding.'
•Well then, to begin right, one must know beforehand ex~ctly how much one is going to say, and
how much room it will take up. That is pretty difficult, I think; can you always tell that, uncle?'
'A. person, accustomed to write a great dea~ can
judge pretty nearly ; in letters of business, or ceremony, I know beforel1and what I am going to say,

39

and can therefore tell how much room it win occupy.
In letters of friendship, we cannot be so exact, and
it is not necessary, for they generally overrun the
first page, and it matters not how much. If you
learn by experience, that when writing home, or to a
dear friend, you always fill up th e ends, and never
find room for nil you hnve to say, you should begin
near the top of your first page, Write the date on
the first line end at your right haud ; the address of
"My dear parents," or whatever it may be, two
lines below the date, ·at the leh hand a little way
from the folded edge of the paper ; then skip one
line end begin your letter a little further from the
edge than the address. So much for the beginning 1
then, for every paragrnph, you must begin the line
about nn inch further from the edge of the paper
than the lines generally are. In printing, it is a
rule lo begin a paragraplo with a space of two letten
only; b~1t that is not enough in manuscript, where
the space between words is often more than that.'
' Some peopl e begin every line an inch from the
eclge of th e paper; wo11ltl you, in that case, begin a
paragraph two inches from the edge?'
' Certainly 1 whatever is the width of your margin,
the beginning of a paragraph must be still further
off from the edge of the paper than the lines generally are, in order to mark it as such.'

s

11c11: ·-. .

40

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

'How wide should a margin be?'
' That is a matter of tnste or fashion. In business letters it is generally about an inch wide 1 but
in familiar letterR, so much room cannot well be
spared. Of late, young Indi es think it most genteel to have almost no margin, hut to begin as uear
the edge as they conveniently can. Young letterwriters, like you, are assisted in beginning their lines
at equal distances from the edge, by having a ruled
margin, and.therefore I recommend to you not to follow Anna's example, but to leave a margin half an
inch wide.'
On hearing her name mentioned, the gentle Anna
looked up from her book, and smilingly suid to
Henry, • You are having quite a lecture on lctterwriting, and you are such an attenti,·e pupil, I have
no doubt you will soon become an accomplished
letter- writer.'
•That is just what I want to be ; and as I did not
take it naturally, as y ou did, cousin Anna, I must
work at it, and ask questions, and be lectured into
it by degrees. I am afraid you think me a very
stupid fellow.'
' Far from it, I assure you,' said Anna; 'for one
who never wrote letters before, I think you do wonders, and papa"v teaching is to make you, at once,
what we ha;e become by long practice. I have

'l'llE VOUTll'S J.ETTF.R-WRITEJL

committed all the faults and blunders that papa has
been cautioning you against. I tried the fashio n of
dating letters at the encl, instead of th e beginning,
and wa~ reproached by my correspo11clents for not
dating them at all . I have bPgun low down and
then crowded the cn1ls, so tl1at tl1e contrast, on
opening the sheet, between the first and last page
was so great, I was alm ost asham ed to send it.
And what is more, I used always lo fold down the
ends, in order to see how much spJce I had, and
then to write on them when fol~ed, so that, upon
being opened, it was all topsy-turvy ; and this I did
without perceiving it, till I was plagu.ccl by you r
si ster Maria doing the sam e, and th en I thought
how much bette r it would be, to ope n th e le tter
again, after having fold ed down the ends, and write
on the fourth page, just as I did on the others,
only skipping over the part between the folds .
Maria has taken the hint and does the same ; so now
I read her letters in comfort.'
Henry sighed to think how many things must be
considered, in order to write a letter properly. Mr.
Price perceived what was passing iu his 111ind, and said,
' P.,ople who love to reason about things as well
as you do, Henry, generally like to find out the best
way of doing every thing, for there is always a reason why one way is better than another; there is a

J

...

41

-

4'l

TllE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.
THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

pleasure in doing things in the best way, which those
miss who think any way will do 1 and when these
little niceties are once learnt, they are easily vractised all the re8t of one's life. "When once you
know where to begin your letter, end where to elate
it, 'tis just as easy to · do it properly as otherwise ;
't is no more trouble to have margins and paragraphs, and to write upon the foldings, so that they
can be read like the rest of thll letter, than to write
lines of uneven length, and go on without any paragraphs, and make the faldings read topsy-turvy.
There is too a satisfaction in doing a thing well,
which would amply repay us, if it were more trouble.
A letter, in which then thingH are attended to,
loolct 10 .much better, that if there were no other
reason for doing it properly, that alone ought to be
sufficient.'
Henry agreed to all this, and only begged to
know if he had now been made acquainted with all
the particularities, that he should attend to.
. · 'All,' said his uncle, 'that are necessary for you
nt pre~ent 1 at IP.a8l, all that relates to the inside of
your letters ; fokling, sealing, and directing, are the
next thing• you have to learn, and I dare say Anna
will give you a lesson in that this evening. She
al-y• doe& such things very nicely.'
Anna cheerfully promised to attenil to it, when
they should gather round the table after tea.

43

CHAPTER IV.
FOl,DING, SEALING, AND DIRECTING LF.TTERS.

Anna had been told by her father, that in teaching Henry to fold, seal, and direct his letter, she
must not only do the thing before his eyes, Lut ,he
must t.111.: it over as she did it, calling his ettention
lo every part, by descriliing, as well as doing. So
w~en the lamps were lighted, and Henry appeared
wrth his letter in his hand, Anna began thus :
'Now, Henry, you must fold the paper so that
the top and Lottom of the sheet shall meet exactly
in the middle. That is a good rule for commonsized letter-paper; if it is larger, or if it is folio
paper, the edges must l>1p over.'
' I thought,' said Henry, 'you should fold one
half of the sheet lengthwise first.'
' .Many people do so ; but letters so folded are
generally of a Lad shape, and th ey open with diffi.
culty; therefore I ndopl a <lilfcrcnt method, unless
my paper is_ thin, anc\ I find the writing shows
through it, so as to be read on the outside ; in that
~ase ~ fold the first page twiee. If the third page
rs wrrtten over, there is no fear of its being read on
th~ outside; and if the paper i1 thick, thia way, that

f

I

THE YOUTH'S LETTF.R-WRITER.
44

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

45

two ends are foldeit very evenly, before you crease

to receive the seal, and that should come rather
below the middle of the letter. Th ere now, is not
that a pretty -slrnperl letter, I-I.1rry? •

it down sharply with a paper-cutter, or your thumbnail, thus. Now you see, I take the side where the

'Indeed it is, and it looks just like you. I always
know your letters, when they come to our house by

double edge of th e sheet is, and fold it down nearly of
the width, that I wish my letter lo have when finished.
In d~ing this, you must take great care that the
inn er part does not slip ; k eep it in its ph1 ce with
one hand, while you fold over with the other, and
get it all square a nd eve n before you crease it
down hard. Th en comes the last fold whi ch requires the most attention; you must hold the edges
from sl'pping as you turn them over, and fold this
part down as clo&e aa you well can over the other,
so that your letter may be a pretty oblong square
when finish ed . You must hold the edges tight till
you have creased down this last fold, and when you
are sure they will not press out at the end, rub down

their pretty shape, whC'n I am too far off to see your
hand-writing; and I om sure l\Ia ria will know this to
be your folding as soon as she sees it'

I am showing you, is much the best.

every side with your paper.knife.

See that the

Now you have

made your folds; well, the third fold must be tucked
under one edge of the fourth.
Persons, unaccustomed to letter- folcling, frequently make a great
mistake here, by tu cking the fourth, or last folcl, under
the clouble edge of th e third fold ; this makes the
seal come too near the edge of the letter, and causes
a large breach in the paper when the letter is opened.
One single edge of paper should be brought over,

'My way of folding was of great use to me
once,' said Anna ; 'for I very ca relessly put a letter
into the post-office, in our village, without any direction ; ancl wh en the pos t-maste r saw it, he kn ew it
was mine, and was oLliging enough to send one of
his Loys to the house with it, that if I recogni sed it
to be mine, I might direc t it, anti so save it from
being sent to the dead-le tter office. As it was a letter
to my brother R obert, who was on the point of
sailing <>n a long c rui se, I was very glad that it was
not detained.'
' Tnat was lucky incleed,' said Henry ; ' I should
think you woulcl not like to have any body imitate
your way of folding, for th en your letters would not

be known.

Now if I learn to fold as well as you,

you will lose all the advantage of having your
letters known.'
'As I do not int end to make a practice of sending letters to the post-office without l>eing directed,

_,---- .

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

I do not court that advantage, and shall be very
glad to see you fold a letter as well, or better than
I do. . Now suppose you tak e this sheet of paper,
and practi~e folding, whilst my dhections are fresh

of wax uniter the edge you are holding up with your
left thumb ; then press the edge down upon the wax.
Now set fire to th e w~x, and when ready ·to drop,
hold it over th e pla<'e wh ere th e sen! is to be ; let
it drop and l>la ze, till yo u have nearly enoug h wax,
th en stir it round a littl e, and blow out the flam e ; go
on moving the stick of wax round, without spreading what is on the letter, till all the black streaks
are worked out; then lift it up from the middle of
"the melted wax, so as to leave the most there; lay
down your letter on the table, and put your seal on
very deliberately, taking care that it is straight and
with the right side up, and that tl1e wax presses out
evenly all round it.'
'You are deliberate indeed!' exclaimed H enry ;
'do you believe that will be a good impression ? I
always thought I must be in a violent hurry, or it
woulcl not take the impression.'
' That is a common mistake; but ,if th e wax is put
on blazing, it will keep warm long enough for you
to make the seal, without being in any hurry. The
best impressions are made with the wax somewhat
cooled.'
This was new doctrine to H enry ; and though he
tried to ' believe it and prnctise upon it, still he fell

46

in your memory.'
Henrv folded and unfolded, measured and creased,
till he ~t last succeeded in imilating the size and
shape of the pattern letter ; but the paper was so
tumbled and had so many wrong creases in it, that
he groaned over the work of his 'clumsy fingers,'
Anna, however, said many
as he called them.
encouraging things, and told him he wanted nothing
but practice.
' · '
• Now for the direction,' said Henry; ' if you will
direet the real letter, I will direct this sham one.'
'No, . no,' said Anna; ' never .4irect a letter till
you hnve sealed it, for if you do, 'tis ten chances to one, you l>lot it; now see me seal this,
and then 1lo the same to the paper you have folded.
Hold the wax in you right hand, and the letter in
your left 1 with your left thumb, lift up the edge
that is . to be seqled 1 hold both the letter and the
sealing-wax near the lamp or taper; put the wax to
the side of th e flame ; never hold it at the top, for
that smokes it ; melt it enough to put a little dab •
• Some' person• put a wafer under a wax ooal ; but this

47

i!I altogether unnecessa ry, bc11 irl e~ hcing tlouhlo trouble,
making the seal too large, and iocrenHing the diflicully of
l!prouding tho wax evenly.

...,·-- ....

48

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

into the old way of hurrying, when he saw the wax
blaze, and he made his seal upside down, and nil
uneven round the edges, and left the wnx full of
black streaks, because he did not stir it enough . He
would have gone on, however, making seals all over
the •sham letter,' as he called it, hud not Anna
turned his attention to the finishing of his real
letter. That was now to be directed, anti hi s cousin
told him, that the good appearance of a letter dependerl as much on th•! direction being well placed,
as on the folding and se3ling.
• I suppose it does,' replied Henry, ' for I have
seen some letters look very queer with the direction
all crowded together in one corner, and some with
the words sprawled out all over them. My father
gets letters from his captains, that are written so.'
'If a direction does not occupy more than three
or four lines, I, who write a small running hand,
begin half way down from the top. and pretty near
the left hand ; having written the title and name
very legibly, - - '
' Title ! ' exclaimed Henry, ' I never expect to
write to a titled person.'
'By title, I mean the words Mr. or Mr~., Mis1
or Master, Honorable or Reverend. If your father
were a member of the Senate, I should write, " Honorable Henry M~reton," but as he is not, I write
plain "Mr. Moreton."'

..

THE YO:J1'll'S UnTER-WR!TER.

4!J

'I thought it would be "Honornhle Mr. Moreton," I think I have seen the word 1/onorable put
before llfr.'
' So l1ave I,' said Anna ; 'but papa says it is inrorrer! ; " Honorable " being a higher ti tie than
"J\fr.," it renders that worcl superfluous, in the same
way as when we use "Esr1uire " for a title, we do not
put "1Hr." also, but only th e name.
'"Well, why do you not write, "Henry Moreton
Esquire," my father's letters are generally directed
so.'
'I do not do it, beca use my fath er does not, and
he has his reasons, which he will give you if you
ask him at a proper time.•
'Then, write " J\fr. H enry l\Iorcton "; that looks
better than plain " l\Jr. Moreton." '
' I will do as you please about that.
'You see I hu"e written tl1e name near th e
left hand, and equally distant from the top and
the bottom. Oh the next line below, but much
farther from th e left hand, write the name of the
street, with the word " Street" after it, beginning
each word with a capital ; Lelow that write th e name
of the town or city, and below that the state. Begin each line of the address further and furth er from
the left hand, so that the last word shall reach quite
to the lower right-hand corr.er, thus : •
4

.
, . .ER WR ITER.
TllE YOUTH'S J,b1 1 " -

50

THE YOUTH'S J,ETTER -WRITER.

51

'Certainly, one line higher; and when an inexperienced writer directs a letter, he should rule the

- --- -- ------

paper with a lead pen<'il for the number of lines
requirer!, that he may be sure to mqke them at prop-

Jllr. Henry Jt[oreton
Tremont Street
]Joston
JI[ass.
.
.
, .
the worcl 8 tlown so,
'What is the use of strmgmg •
.
t
seen
sideways.
5
0f 8
ep
t
th er anrl yet
like a flight
r may Le near b oge
'
•It is that th e mes
· g accustomed
be cry di stinct ; am1 em
.
the words
v
.
.
laced we prefer it
·u n chrect10ns so 11 '
'
II
to see we -wn e
..
.
11 be very clear
r
Directions s1iou <
to any other iorm.
b
. -sent . and for
ti letters may e mis
'
and legible, or le
d .t
uld be better to
't a large han ' I wo
one who wn es
'
. with my hand,
p than half way '
.
begin J11g1ier u
f
for four distinct
..
I . 5 ivea plenty o room
wntmg, t 11 g
for all the post-marks
Jines ancl leaves ample space

'

.

on the upper half. put five lines, you wouhl Legin
, If you had to
higher up, I suppose.•

..

er distances 1 if the direction is not a familiar one
he would do well to write it in pencil first, to ascertain how much room each word will take up, that he
may string it out properly as you express it.'

'0 l C<>uld never take so much pains as all that
comes to! Girls may be so particular, but that will
never do for boys ; so pray excuse me from that, my
denr cousi n.'
'Then you must make up for your want of patience by superior judgment, nnd see that your
direction comes right at once, Ly apportioning in
your mind the space each word will take up.'
Whilst Anna was speaking, Henry scrawled his
fath er's address on the 'sh am letter,' and having
made the words come Vf'ry near their proper places,
he showed it in triumph to his cousin, saying,
'There it is, all in its place without any pendling. '
'Nobody need pencil nn address which they have
frequently see n written, or have written themselves,
for then they know how it will com e out 1 but if I
were going to write a new address, I should try it
first on another piece of pnper, or else pencil it.'

..

52

TUE YOUTIJ•S LETTER - WRITElt.

TTIE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

a most
· , Would you in dee d 1· Then
, you are
.
on I must sav.
paimlakmg pers • . . .
said William Price 1
• She is painstokmg mdee '
h t letter
full half hour over I a
'for she has been a
r Id seal and direct it '
111· ng you to 10 ,
•
with you, teac
~ I want her now to
d I hope it is done at last, or
'
an
.
fl • t fish with to-morrow.
help me in makmg a ) ' o

53

CHAPTER V,

d,

AN

ORIGINAL LEITER. -

l.E'ITF.RS. FRANKLIN. -

RF.MARKS

UPON

DATING

~fOOY.S OF DEGJN'NIJ<G LETTERS. CICl!RO, -

cowr1rn.

'Whose lette r is that you are smiling over?'
said Mr. Price to his daughter Anna, who wos read.
ing a letter which her father had just brought in.
' 'Tis from my clear little friend, Elizabeth Morris,
who ce rtainly writes uncommonly well for a child of
twelve y ears old. I should like to read it to you,
papa; can you listen to it now? '
' N ot very well; said J\I r. Price ; ' I have some
business to attend to before dinner ; but if you
would like to read it to the children ns well as •to
me, we can all hear it whe n we r.re ea ting our fruit
after dinner; and H enry is so inte rested in the subj ec t of letter-writing, that he ought certainly to
benefit by so good a specim en.'
Anna 11greed very readily to tl1is proposal, and
when dinn er was despat ched and 'h e had helped the
children . to ch erries and strawberries, she began as
foll ows.

54

.THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

• •My dear Anna,
' This is Saturday ftfternoon, and I am sitting down
to write to you all nlone in the third-story room.
Mr. K-- and papa are down stairs in the librnry
smoking their cignrs nnd talking, over a bottle of old
Sherry. I cnn hear Mr. K - - clap his hands very
plainly now and then; he talkH a great deal about

'·

you, Anna.
f
'We lament very much, as you do, the death o
Mr. L--, ~uch an awful stroke to his famil~ '. I
pity them very much, particularly Jane, who hvmg
. in the house with him must miss him very much, as
be was ·10 domestic in his habits.
.
.
• I have been to see Mra. F -·- once or tW>ce
with mamma. I like her very much, she is so sweet
and childlike, and does not seem like a grown up person. She speaks very affectionately of you and your
father and seems to value your fri endship very much.
The D octor has gone to Clrnrlcston, finding N~w
York unfnteresting to him now that you have left it,
but probably the other reason was that he feared our
damp spring. From what I hear the ~ream you had
about him and Miss B - will not come true I I am
sure he is too constnnt to you, though :Miss B-.has become serious, and has joined the .~~ ~:'.h,...:h1c~

* Thi1. is an exoct copy of nn origim11 lettor, written by
a chil<l twelve yea re of age •

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THE YOtJTn•s LETTER-WRITER.

55

will probably innuence his heart; as you know he is
very religious. We have had a long letter from the
Miss Johnsons, or rath er Miss H - - received it and
sent it to us to read. 111ey are at Havre, and had
a very long !lnd tedious passnge of sixty-one days.
They say that the voyage was unpleasant, the CaPtain wns n disagreeable man, and not one of the crew
could speak English. They were both very unwell.
"Mademoiselle plenty sick," · the cabin boy would
say. They both began to lea rn l;rench, but cousin
J en ny soon left it off ns too diffi cult, and tried to
make her Engli sh sound like French, which her ~is­
ter describes as v~ry amusing ; for when she wanted
water, she would ask for watiere, and when she found
she was not understood, she would elevate her voice
and repeat her request, and appear quite astonished
that they did not understand her.. When they arrived
nt Havre, they presented th ei r letters of introduction
to the E--s, by whom they were very kindly received so thnt I think they will be able to accomplish
th eir tour without a gentleman.
'We had a grand time here on Washington 's birthday. The procession was very paltry, but the illumination in the evening was beautiful. The City
H all, the Th eatre, and all the buildings around the
Park were lighted up, and it looked like a fairy scene;
and then the Park was covered with tar-balls which

56

. THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

TIJE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

threw n red light around, and the boys, seen by the
glare, looked like so many Jillie imps or fairies, os we
looked at them through the w'in~ows at uncle John's,
In front of the City Hall there was a revolving cylinder wilh the name of General Washington, composed of little lamps, on it. If you answer my letter
will you make it a crossed one ? I assure you I felt
very proud when I received your last. We still sit
up in the library, though we do not drink tea there.
Papa has given 11p the idea of being grand ancl lonelv. But good bye; I have a head-ache to day, or
j should have tried to make my letter a little more
interesting; We all love you very much and think
and talk a great deal about you.
' Your aflectionate
' Elizabeth.'
Anna was frequently interrupted, during the perusal of this letter, by marks of approbation fr om her
voun"' audience, and wh en she had finished it, the
"
wonls 'capital,' ' excellent,' 'very amusing, were
heard on every side ; but no one's praises were quite
so vehement Rnd extravagant as Henry Moreton's.
His late difliculties made him consider this as a most
wonderful performance; and when he was told that
the writer was two years y0u11ger than himself, lie
was only saved from despair by the assurance of his

.

.

~~

- --+.-

~

I

~~~<:"I"! ............ ~

' QSQ!l_/QUOIJd~XQ

"'

..

..,..__

:\
'

57

cousin William, that girls always hat! a knack at writing. Henry rleclared it was a kna!'k he envi<!rl them,
and begged Anna to let him rend Miss Elizabeth
Morris's letter over again. H e now remarked the
beauty of the hnncl-writing, th e proper distance from
the top at which it was begun, and that it was rlivi<led into paragraphs. Observing that th ere was no
margin to thi s letter, he decid erl that lett ers looked
much better without one. Every thing about it seemed to him perfection, and he only wished that he could
do as well. Anna asked him if he could see no rleficiency. No, he could see none, and could harrlly
bear that any should be hint erl at. William Price
was fond of criticism; so he pounced upon the letter
eager to find what his sister alluded to, and soon ex..
claimed, ' I know what you mean 1 th ere is no dnte
here at the top of the letter.' ;ilenry thought, as she
belonged to a foshionnble family, that she lrnd dntecl
her lett er at the en d, acco rding to th e new fashion 1
but on turning over the sh eet, there was no date to
be found.
H enry felt somewhat provoked with 'William for
finding a defec t in what he co nsidered so perfect ; and
he tried to prove that dating lett ers was always superfluous, as it was the postmaster's duty to do that, on
the outside of every letter.

/

58

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

Both boys were growing warm, when Mr. Price
interferetl, saying lo Henry, ' Do not Jet your generous admiration of that Jetter betray you into an encoirnter worthy of Don Quixote. I like the feeling
which lends you to praise it so heartily, and not to
reli sh its being criticisecl 1 but sin ce the writer has
made an essential omission, and that eriti cal Willy
has poitited it out, clo not be so unreasonable as to
defend it. It is no t a defect whi ch detracts from
the nbility of the littl e Indy; it is a mere accidental
omission, and only to be rem arked as a proof l1ow
important it is to adopt the practice of datiug n letter nt the top of the first piige: ·This custom should
recommend itself lo those whl> find some difficulty in
beginning ·a letter, because that is a part of the task
which is easily entered upon. To find out the clay
of the month, by askigg every body near you, consulting th e newspaper to be sure you are right, nnd
then putting clown th e date, is easily done anrl seems
very busin ess-like 1 it is n good way of trying the
pen, nnd flatters th e young writer with the belief thnt
he hns nctunlly begun the \Vork.'
' Ab, but the awful pause CQmes after thnl is done,
ar.cl the words," JWy dear somebody," are written;
that Is the sticking place, un cle.'
Mr. Pri~e hoped he would never slick th ere
again . H enry expressed a wish that his uncle would
give him a rule for beginning.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

59

•There are so many different ways,' replied Mr;
Price, 'thnt I cannot do that; but you may, when
engng ed in R regular co rrcspontlen ce, alway s beg in
with acknowle<lging th e receipt of a letter, or with
regret at not having hnJ ~ n e. A letter rcceivecl
gives rise to mnny things to be said in reply. If its
contents have given you pl easure, it is highly proper
to tell your corres pondent so ; for unless you clo, it
is impossible for him to kn ow that hi s seledion of
topics suited you. When we converse wi th our
friends fnce to face, we cnn easily see wh eth er th ey
are interested in wh at we are saying : but wh en absent from them, it is necessary to tell th em th at we
are so. If th e letter to be <!nswered convevs bail
tidings, or clescribes your fri ends ~s trouble<l about
any thing, you can !>egin with a full expression of
yuur sympat ~y. Nothing ca!1 be more proper or
kind than to comment upon what your friends write
you, and nothing can mnke n better beg inning to a
letter. To do this well, you should read over th eir
letters just befo re you answer th em, nnd picture to
yourself the situations described. N e1'er let timidity
or reserve prevent you r ex pressing fully and warmly
what you feel towards yo ur absen t fri end s. Letters
nre at hes! but poor substitut es for com·crsation ; and
ns they ca nnot convey looks of lo1•e, or the pressure
of a fri endly hand, th ey ought to contain a more ex-

60

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

plicit del'laration of our affection and interest than
we usually make in conversation. Having begun
with a cordial ex pression of your feelings on receiving
the letter you nre answering, and of you!"' sympathy
in the events described, you should next consider
what your correspondent would best like t~ hear
about. If there &re any questions in the letter received, they will be excellent guides for you, and you
can answer them at once. Wl~en you have proceeded ns far as that, the diffi culty of a beg inning is over.'
During this co nversati on, 'Villiam Price had been
l ooking OYer Eliznbeth Morris's letter, and pointing
out to his sister two places where paragraphs were
wanting ; but as this was done in a low voice, it did
not trouble Henry ; and when Mr. Price had done
speaking, Anna asked William if he remembered how
he used to begin nll his lr!tlers to his brother Robert,
some years ago.
' 0 yes,' said William, 'and a very good beginning I thought it was, till you laughed me out of it.'
Henry eagerly inquired wliat it was.
'Why I used to say, "Having nothing else to do
this rainy afternoon, I sit down to write to my dear
brother."'
'Well, but it was not always raining when you
wrote, so that could not always answer,' observed
Henry.'

THE YOUTH'S LETTER -WRITER.

61

'It was always hot, or cold, or rainy, or stormy, or
something of the kind whenever I wrote, and I used
to change that word acconli11gly ; but as I did not th en
like writing very well, I never did sit down to it,
wh en I had nny thing else that I could do, and
th erefore it was a tru e statement of th e c:isc.'
' Rath er more true th an civil,' sai<I his father.
'Who expects civility between broth ers,' exclaimed 'William.
'I do, my son,' said l\lr. Price very emphatically.
'I consid er civility, to be I! <l11 e attention to the feelings of others, manifested i11 all we 110 or say 1 and
that whid1 you ought to pny to all, you would not
surely refu se to a broth er.'
' C ertainly not,' said William ; ' but I should th en
call it kindn ess, not civility.'
' Kindness includes civility, for it means more than
that. Every body is entitled to civility, and our
friends to that and love loo, which is expressed by
the word kindness. Now it certainly was not eith er
civil or kind, to tell your alisent broth er that you
wrote to him because you had nothing else to do.
You had another and a better reaso n than that ; you
wrote to your brother because you loved him ; that
was apparent in th e course of your letter, and th ere fore his feelings were not hurt by your awkward way
of beginning. Many people, older and wiser than

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

TllE YOUTH'S T.t.:TT.ER-WHITER .

you, begin a letter by so;,e set phrase which does
n ot do justice to thei r feelings.'
' It was a great while ngo,' said Anna, ' that Willy maile use of that queer way of beginning. He
has long been such a good letter-writer as not to
need any set phrase for a beginning.'
• I still like to have a regular beginning though,'

the evening came, and the family were gathered
round the centre-table, with th eir books and work,
he bega n to read it ; and though th e matter was not
very interrsling, the manner was amusing enough.
H enry had been accustom ed to think of Franklin as
a great statesm~n and philosopher, and could hardly
believe that the same man wrote these familiar nnd
funny letters. In vain did he look over the pageR
for a formal beginning or ending ; and when he
came ton lette r that commenced thus, 'De.gone, business, for an hour at least, and !et me chat a little with
my Katy,' Henry laughed outright, nnd ca lled the
nttenlion of all hi s cousins to it, by reading it, in a
very loud whisper, lo Anna who sat next to him.
'0 yon are rending those Familiar LPlters of
]<'rn nldin' •.' sa i1l Willi am Price ; 'I do11't lik e th em,
I tliink th ey nr~ too famili ar, too undignified for a
great man to wri te.'
Ann a maintain ed that th ere wns no want of dignity in being easy ijnd familiar with on e's intimate
fri ends, and tl1 en she called upon li e r father to say
whether Franklin's letters of busin ess, and those addressed to great men, were not di gn ified and elevated
enough in th eir style, for a statesman and a patriot
to write.
Mr. Price assured li er they were; and
then he wen t on to convince William that the
greatest men of all ages had had their familiar friends

said William.
'Do good writers never begin with a set phrase?'
inquired H enry.
'Look over this volume of Franklin's Familiar
Letters," Henry,' said l\fr. Price, 'and see if you
can find any formal beginnings or endings. All
here is easy, flowing, and familiar. Now . that your
mind is occupiecl with th e su~ject of letter-writing,
you ca nn ot do better than read th ese letters ; they nre
fine models for you, and yo u may learn a great deal
by obse rving Franklin's happy manner of telling
things. Some of his expressions will strike you as
old-fashioned; but his style is admirable, and so simpl e that a child may take it a& a model.'
Henry had never been fond of reading printed letters ; but he took the book from his uncle, and when
• 1 A Collee lion of the Fnmiliar J,etten and Mi•ee llnneou• Papers of Benjamin Franklin now for tho firsL time

1•ubli•hed.' . ,

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THE YOUTTl'S I.ETTER-WRITER.

'l'HE YOUTH'S J.ET'l'I':R-WRITER.

with whom th ey were completely at ease, and · to
whom they had written as freely as they would speak.
'There is Cicero for example,' continuerl Mr. Price,
'the first of orators and statesmen ; no one ever
wrote more simple and familiar letters than he did.'
'Very true,' said Anna, 'I was lately reading
some of them in " Elegant Epistles," nnd admiring
their ease and grace, even in a translation ; in the

< 'There,' said Anna, 'that shows you Cicero's
opinion how letters should be written.
Now I
will read you a letter of hi s, which he began without
having nny thin~ to sny.'

64

original I dare say th ey are much more bea utiful.'
William had only become acquainted with Cicero
as a public man, anrl he was surpriserl to hear of his
writing familiar letters, Anna brought th e volume
of' Elegant Epistles' and pointed out to her brother
several examples of that kind of compositron. As
Henry was as much interested as William in knowing how Cicero wrote a familiar letter, Anna offered
to read aloud to both. Among other selections she
reacl the fol low ing passage.
'But tell me what sort of figure my letters make;
are they not written, think you, in the true famili ar?
Th ey do not constantly, however, preserve on e uniform manner, as this species of composition bears no
resemblance to that of th e oratorical kind ; though indeed in judicial matters, we vary our style according
to the nature of th e causes in which we are engaged.
But whatever may be the subject of my letters, they
!

I

still speak the language

9f

conversation.

Farewell.'

William and Henry knew so well what that predicarn ent was, that they expressed a lively desire to
kn ow what Cicero made of it; and Anna rend the
following extract from a letter to Varro.
'Though I have nothing to write, yet I could
not suffer Caninius to pay you a visit without taking
the opportunity of conveying a lelter by his hands ;
: and now I know not ·what to say, but that I propose
'being with you very ;oon, an information, however,
which I am persuaded you will he glad to receive.'
Here Anna paused to explain to her hearers that
· Varro had invited Cicero to j oin hi~ at Baire, a fashionalile watering-place, on the Bay of Naples, during
a time of great public commotion in Rome.
' But will it be altogether decent to appear in so
gay a scene at ·n time when Rome is in such a gen eral flame? Ami sh:11l we not furnish occasion of
rensure to th ose who do not kn ow that we observe
the same sober, philosopl1i cal life, in all seasons, nnd
in every pl ace ? '
' Then,' said Anna, 'he goes on to philosophize
about their occupations, and makes out a letter of ordinary length,'

5

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THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

She continued to turn over the leaves of the book
without finding much that would interest her young
auditors 1 but, recollecting the delight with which,
at their age, sh e had read the letters of Cowper, in
Hayley's Life of the poet, she· brought a volum e of
the~ from the library, and read aloud from it till the
boys' bed-time.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER WRITER .

CHAPTER
JANE MORETON·s J.Jo:TTEll S. -

G7

VI.
9

U E NRY S C RITJ CJSJ\fS.

H enry's absence from home was prol onged by
various circumstances ; and, a5 he mnde a poi nt of
writing to hi s family once a week, he was well cxerdsed in his new accomplishm ent. Co ntinued practice and judicious criticism will make any one, of
common abilities, a tolerable letter-writer; and the
amount of happiness conferred by such letters as
Henry's, was well worth all th e pains th ey cos t him.
As his judgment and taste improved, he was less
satisfied with his own performan ces, and used to
consider longer what he should say next.
His
greatest difficulty WIUI now in finding subjects ;
when every thing around him was new to f1im ;md.
his correspondents, he co uld easily find suffi cient
matter to fill a letter ; but, now th at J enny and N eptune were old acquaintances, am! th e scenes of his
amusement had been all tlescribed, he was oft en at
a loss what to say. In th ese emergencies, his amiable cousin Anna oft e n helped him, am! by her sug.
gestions proved that th ere was no want of materials
for a letter, only he did not know how to wor!.:
them up.

68

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

B y writing a letter lo his younger sister, Jane,
H enry hacl induced her to make her first attempt i~
that way. She began wit!1 adding a few lines to
her si.st er Marin's lettc>rs, then she wrote half a
page, nod at last a whole sheet full.
Though
Jane's communications were ill spelt, ill put together, and so incoherent ns to be sometime~ scarcely
intelligible, th ey appeared to hn,·e been written with
ease, anrl were welcome messengers to Henry from
his" merry little sister.
.lane was of the sa me nge w\th her cousin IAnis:t,
but so different in charn cte r, th at H enry could hardly
believe that his soher little cousin was not olller thnn
his ln~ghter-loving sister. Jane wns very simple
and childlike for her years, full of spirits, and very
good-natured. Could she have put some of her
sunny smiles and hea rty laughter on paper, her lette rs would have been more like herself; but as thal
coultl not be tlone, she oft Pn complain ed, that, let her
be C\' er so merry when she sat cl own to write, she
always became· as grave as the old cnt, before she
had written half a page.
•
B eing a new exe rcise of her mind, the effort
wl1iC'h it cost her, sobered her ; but occasior.ally she
would put son1e of her funn y th oughts on pape r, and
make Henry la11gh nloud whil e rendmg them. Her
blunders too in spelling, and in the arrangement of

...

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THE YOUTll'i'! LETTER.WRITER.

69

her matter, were often very amusing. Knowing
how very good-humored June was, Henry ventured
to give her some of the rules whi('h he had himself
received, and recommended to her to write her lett er
first on her slate, and ge t her mother or Maria to
correct the spellihg. The ouly notice she took of
his hints, was to add ress l1im as, her "dear preceptor," in one lette r, and her'' tlear C' riti c ,, in another,
and to sny in a postsc ript, "no time for slutl's."
After this H enry gnve her up as incorrigible, but
her letters were always a great !rent to liim.
Henry deRcribed to Jan e n mo"k tri al which he
11.nd his cousins had got up in th e school-room, to
amuse themselves with one rainy afternoon, in which
he ncted the part of jurlge, and gave a very wise decision. In Jan e's reply, she called him "My dear
second Darlie1," \Yhich so- puzr:lecl Henry, he could
make nothing of it till he rend on, and found that ·
she hncl Leen to the th entre, and had seen Master
Burke in Shylo<·k, a11Ct thought that l'·;rtia, di sl!uised
as the Doctor of Laws, look e1l lik e her brother Henry.
This fancied resemb lan ce, with th e ncc n1111t of Henry
playi11g the P"rt ·of judge, mad .. her apply to hini the
words of Shylock, "a second Daniel come tO judg.
ment ! "
William Price never coul1I see nuy tl1ing to laugh
at in Jane's letters , to him they appeared utter non-

70

THE YOUTH'S LETTER·WRlTEil.

sense; but Mr. Pri ce !ind Anna were highly enter~
tained by them, and told Henry that J ane would
make 'a letter-writer yet. H er fault s were those of
a very active m!ncl, and a merry spirit, not brought
under the co ntrol of judgment.
Anua said that
Jaue's matter was often good, but, for want of
arrangemen t, it appeared poo rer than it really was 1
and she advised Henry, as a useful exercise to himself, and by way of doing justice to Jane, to rewrite one of her SC(lil er-wille<l letters, and see how
it would read, when put into some form and order.
Henry made the attempt, and we will give, as a sample of the whole, one page of the original letter and
hi~ correction•.
Extract.from Jane Morelon·s Letter.

''Ve went to see gra ndmammn and had such a
funny time, last we<!k, scampering in am\ out. Pray,
H arry, get some of that moss for me, it will look so
pretty under my shells. I don't like shells for bordering half so well as box ; there it was all round
the flower-beds, so stiff and ugly. Grandmamma
thinks it beautiful. I have named my new black
kitten J enny, after William's pony. I forgot to tell
you that grandmamma gave me a black kitten. She
had presents for every body, mine was the only live
one, and yet no, the plants were all alive, - &0 that

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THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

71

was a mistake. We went in Rn open wagon, a torn
parasol was of little use in keeping off the fiun, it
. was convenient for bringing home things. Grandmamma had some fin e geraniums and myrtles, all
rea dy for us, in clean, re<l pots ; as soon as we arrived, she made us carry them from th e garden to the
fron t door, to be ready to go home with us five
hours after. Down wen t 011e of the pots, out of
my slippery fingers, and broke in the entry. Plenty
of noise and dirt then. Old Sarah and I scratched
it up. The firing at independence broke several
panes of glass. Did you have any independence.
You might bring me som e of that other kind of moss
too.
How deep do you plant mignonette seeds ?
None of min e has come up.
' There it goes, crack, t'rack ! So now 'tis all spoiled, that is, a mould I made for General 'Vashington.
I want you to come home aml help me 1 I miss you
very mul'h, anrl so does grandmother. She sent
her love to you, and ha s a myrtl e for you when you
come 1 but she says you must go and fetch it yourself. Dcwa re of slippery fingers.'
The whole letter was as ill put together as thi1
specimen ; it was besides very badly spelt, without
any stops, and had some small letters where capitals
should be. Yet Jane had been a regular attendant

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

at school ever since she was four years old, and had
she been tried in a spelling-book, she would have
spelt column oiler column, without missing a letter.
It was want of practice in writing, whi ch ?C<'asioncrl .
hei· being so incorrect ; not being accustomed to see
how words look when properly written, sh e did not
perceive by her e~ f', when sl1e wrote wrong ; no
conning .ofa spelling-book will supply this deficiency.
Henry found it more difficult than he expected it
would be, to put Jane"s thoughts into proper order;
but after several attempts upon the passage we have
quoted, he produced the following paraphrase of it.
· ·· ' We '\vent · f6 • see· grandmamma last week 1 ·she
delighted to ·see ui, and 11s &oon as we arrived;
she took us into her garden to 11ee the alterations.
She had had all her pretty box borde rs taken up, and
rows of shells put in their place, whi ch she thinks
Lcautiful 1 but I think they look very stiff and ugly.
Grnnclmamma had some fine geraniums and myrtles
all rently for us, in clean, red pots 1 and she made us
carry them from the garden 'to . the front door, to
be ready to take home with us, five hours afterwards.
Down went one of the pots out of my slippery fing er~, and broke in the entry; there was plenty of
tiolse nnd dirt there then. Goo.J old Sarah helped
me 'gathet up the fragments and the earth.

ns

.

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THE YOUTH'S I.ETTER-WRITER.

73

'Grandm11mma had.presents for nll of us. To
me, she gave a black kitten, which I have named
Jenny, after William's black pony. Mine was the
only live prese nt, 1111lcss pl;iut s may he c al~ e< I ali••c.
There is a myrtle at grnmlmamma's for you, which
sh e says you must g·o and g et wlH'll you come home.
Sh e sernls li er lul'e to yo u, and wants to see you
very much, :incl so do I. I want your help in making casts. I made a plaster mould fur the medal of
General Washington, but it cracked so, it was spoiled;
HolV deep do you plant mignonette seeds?
None of mine have come up. I wish you would
bring me some of each kind of moss that you find
about Oakwood. It will look very pretty under my
shells.
' Did you ha\"e any celebration of Independence
where you are? We had the usual grand doings, aud
the firing broke some of our window-glass.'
Henry finished th e al.Jove, without perceiving that
he had left out all about the open wag on , and the
torn parasol, and now he could not possibly tell
wh ere to put it in. H e bail connected the other
parts so closely together that he co uld not find an
But as the parasol had Leen lorn
opening fur this.
by his dog, and he had long ago expressed his sorrow for it, he thought that it might as well be omitted, and that Jane's letter would be better without

I

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74

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THE YOUTH'S LETTF.R-WRITER.

that and the wagon. On showing this exe;cise of
his ingenuity to his friend and orarle, Anna Price,
she perceived the omission immediately, because she
had been so much amusetl by Jane's way of mentioning the parasol, that 'it was very ronvenient for
bringing home things ; ' Jane meant to say that of
the wagon, but it referred to the parasol. Anna
told Henry that this was a common fault of young
. writers, and ad,·ised him always to observe whether
his pronouns stood for the nouns lie intended them
to represent. 'The rule is, for a pronoun to refer to
the person or thing last mentioned; so you must be
sure that that i1 what you mean, or you may say
something aa absurd, u that a tom parasol is very
convenient to carry home green-house plants in.'
Henry laughed, and confessed that he had not
perceived that error of Jane's. He knew so well
what she meant, that he overlooked the manner of
her saying it.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

75

CHAPTER VII.
SCHOOT.BOYSt DlFFICUJ.TIF.~ JN WRJTJNO LE'M'ERS. LIST OF TOPICS. -

'.ft.1-4.NNER OF

PROPER. ATTITUDE JN WRITING.

HQl..DlNG THF. PEN. -

DlllF. CT ION9

FOR. SHAl<PENlNG A PltNKNlFJ!, AND l'OR. MAKINO

A PJtN •

There was n boarding-school for boys in the neighbourhood of Oakwood ; and as some of the pupils came
from the city of New York" and were the children
of persons known to Mr. Price, th ey were occasionally invited to eat a Sunday dinner at his house, or to
pass Salunlay afternoon with his sons.
During one of these visits, the subject of writing
letters was mentioned, and - the young visitors freely
expressed th eir extreme repugnance to the task.
On inquiry, it wns found that the great difficulty
consisted in the want of topics. Ilcnry and 'VilJiam agreed with their guests that, at school, it must
be very difficult to find anything lo sny; whilst Mr.
Price nnd Anna mnintained, that even the monotony
of n school-boy's life was no excu~e for not writing
to his friends.
•What can we find to sny, sir,' nske1l one little
boy, 'when we do the same things e\'ery day?'

..

1,.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

TllE YOUTH'S LP.TTER-WRITF.R.

' The same things in the main, but not in all the
details,' replied · Mr. Price; 'you sometimes say ·
your lessons well, and sometimes ill ; you sometimes
have diflicolties with your teachers, ·when you con·
ceive ' yourself to be aggrieved, at others you have
done wrong ; now parents like to know all such J>articulars:' · ·· .. · ·

with any of your companions, you should tell the
particulars, and state the whole aff;iir, and how you
feel about it. If you meet with an ar citl ent, such as
sprnining your ank le, or rutting yourself badly, or if
you have a had fall, you should always mention it ;
tell how it occurred, how much you suffered, and
how you feel at the time of writing. If any inter•
esting event happens in the family of your teacher,
you should tell it to your fri ends; any unusual indulgence, nny visits that you pay, should be communicated to them. If you read anything that interests
you, write nbout it, and tell what is your opinion of
it. A long walk in th e country rnny always furnisJ;
a page or two, if you have ryes to sec :11111 hearts lo
feel the beauty of nature. Now have I not suggested a good .numher of topics, on each of which you
would feel quite at home, and could say a good deal?'
The boys all ncknowleclgecl that Mr. Price had
named more things to write about th an they thought
existed ; and one saicl, he wished he had noted !hem
down as Mr. Price sp.oke, for he should not be able
to remember them all.
Here Anna offerecl her services, and said that if
the young gentlemen really wish ed for a li st of topics
to assist th eir memories, she would make out one
for them at once. Th e proposal wns glnclly ncrepted
and she wrote the following memorandum •

76

' 0 but I should not like to tell such things no
that ! ' exdaimed the same little boy.
· 'Well then, th ere are your amusements which '
vary with the different seasons, and the little accidents and incidents which occu r on the play-ground ;
thei<Mnight furnis'h matter for a letter.'
' -"But· they 'do not wtint tO hear about such trifles '
Mid another school-boy.
'
'Thete is your great mistake, my dear boy ; nothing that concerns an absent child is a trifle to a
parenl. Your lessons and ·your plays nre the great
business of your lives, and your characters and dispositions are as much shown on the play-ground, as·
those >Of ' men lite in the Senate or on the Exchnn&e.
The giimes that ar!! in ' season, an e1·dotes of what oc~
curs to yourself or others, with the behaviour of
your companions, would be very good subjects for a
letter at any time. If you form any intimacies, you
should describe your friend and the particular qualities for which you like him 1 if you have any quarrel

...

77

78

TJIE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

Li.st of ToJ>icsfor a School.boy writing lo
al home.

hi~

F1iencb

'General progress in studies, with any new one
lately begun.
' Interest in any pa~ticular exercise or preference
of one to another.
-- • Difficulties with teachers, or with yourself.
· •Amusements, what games are in season.
'Anecdotes of the play-ground. Feats performed
by yourself or others.
' Characters of your school-fellows, in and ottt of
school.
•.
'De.cription of your most intimate friend at
school, with the reasons of your preference.
' Accidents that befall yourself, such as sprains,
bad cuts, falls, &c.
'Any remarkable state of the weather, or of the
country.
• Acridcnts by fl oods, or thunder and lightning, or
unusual cold or heat.
' Events in the family of the gentleman who keeps
the school.
' Books that you have read out of school hours.
' A long walk, or any ex traordinary indulgenre.
' A visit to any of your fri ends 1 when made, how
long you ahyed, who was there, and what they said
wortl1y of note.

I

"'

..

THE YOUTH'S LETTEll-WRITF.R.

70

'Observations on birds, insects, nnd plants.
If
you have a taste for any branch of natural history, it
will furni sh you constant amusement, and interc-•;.,"
matter for letters.'
'Vhilst this obliging girl, Anna Price, was r
out the important list, nil th e boys were er
around her, and reading aloud every line
wrote it, and many discussions were held
over the different heads as they were note
but all the school-boys agreed that it wo
them some help, and that they were much
Miss Anna ; and she, never tired of
things, actually made n copy of the list for
her young guests.
Whilst this copying was going on, Mr. Price con.
yersed with his young visitors upon the suhject of penmanshil', and enforced upon them the importance of
early forming a good legible hand.
One of the
boys now declared that he always found enough
to say to his fri ends nt home, but th e trouble of
writing was so grea t that he never put clown a
quarter of what he had in his mind; he said th at it
tired him all over to write half a pnge. On hearing
this, Mr. Price obsefl' ecl, that bad habits in holt!ing
the pen, and sitting at th e desk, often produced this
difficulty 1 and he requested his you ng guest lo show
him how he sat when writing·, and how he held the

80

\'
I.

I

THE YOUTH ' S LETTER-WRITER.

pen. A desk being brought, and pen, ink, and paper presented, th e good-natured, curly-headed Frank
V anrle rspruck prepRred to show how he perf.nmed
th e diffi cult task, of whi ch hi: had <·ompl ain ed. He
grasped hi s pen ns if it were something alive, that he ·
feared would run away from him, and held it as near
as possible to the nib 1 he drew up his shoulder,
twisted his body and neck as if he were cramped all
over, leaned very hard against the table, and, spread~
ing out his elbows on ench side, placed his paper side..
ways, and hegan to scratch away, in lines of small,
cramped writing, that were actu ally perpendicular lo
the baclc of the chair on which he was sitting.
Mr. Pdce saw, at a glance, why writing was so hard
a task to this youth, and took great pains to convince
him, that there was no need to exert a tenth part of the
muscular force he was then us1ng 1 and that it was this
unnecessary exertion, together with his constrained
position and bad way of holding th e pen, which
made it so laborious. Frank was sure that he could
not write at all in any other position.
'-So my son William · once thoug ht,' said Mr.
Price. ' D uring a long ahsence from home, he fell
into the same had habits th at you have, and thought
he could not alter them ; but I reasoned with him till
I convinced·him of his mistake ; he made the effort to
correct him.elf; and succeeded. Here, William 1 can

THE YOUTH'S LETTF.R-WRITER.

81

you show us how you used to sit and hold your pe n,
wh en you cam e home from l\'T r. N. ' s scl(ool? F rank
will underst•rnd me better, if he sees another person
Bit as he does.' William had nea rly forgotten how
it was, but with a little help from his fath er he put
himself in the position ; not, however, before his attempt had called forth a g ood laugh from nil the boys.
William found th e attitud e so constrained and unpleasant that he wondered how he co uld ever ha ve
adopted it. Mr. Price now sh owed them how such
a p:isition hindered the free moti on of th e ltan<I, and
rendered the effo rt to write labori ous ; he pointed out
the di sach•a ntages of hohling th e pen very near th e nib,
BG it obliges the fin gers to move mu ch more th a n
when held farth e r off; and th at is a co nsideration of
so me importan ce to short fin ge rs. vVilliam was next
told to sea t him self at the table as he now did when
writing.
H e ncconlingly placed his chair a little
slanting, so that wh en sittin g s11uare upo n it, hi s left
side would be nearer th e tabl e th an his right, but
not so as to lean ag ain st it. His weig ht was e ve nly
balanced upon the chair and on hi s fee t, which we re
flat on the flo or before him. His left arm, from
the elbow down, rested lig htly on th e table, three
inches fr om th e edge. His paper was opposite his
right shoulder, and held by his ieft hand.
His
right arm rested on the table from a little abnve the
(j

,,

THE YOUTil'S J,ETT.ER-WRITEIC

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITE!t.

wrist, with the elbow neat his side, and hanging free·•
Jy from the shoulder.
In this position William-

is the best preparation for the act of writing. You
must be aware that it requires no strength, b•it merely a correct guidance of the pen, acconling as the
eye ·directs; and th e more lightly you hold your pen,
the more readily you can g uide it. On fir st trying

8!l

wrote his fine, legible hand.
Frank · was n<"Xt persuailed to imitate William's·
attitude, and to sit without leaning against the table 1 '
hut he was sure he could neYer make a letter in
thnt position.
'-Well,' sairl Mr. Price, 'never mind making any
lettet~, but take this pend! nnd hold, it us Willinm ·
do~

his pen, between your thumh ancl two first fin-

a new position, you will of course find it difficult, and
will write worse than ever; but, if you will persevere
only a few days, or a week, you will hegin to pe~­
ceive tile advantages to be derh· cd from it.

How

long rli1l you practise the proper way of sitting, Wil-

gers, whilst th e third nm\ fourth are donhle1l un-

liam, before it became easy to you? '

der and slide upon the nails along the paper ; holrl
it an ·inch from tire point. · Now move your haml ·

'I promised to try for a week, father, to please
you, and fully expect ecl to give it up at the enrl of

along, ma·lting-marks '1h11t mean- nothing, and see how ·

that time, as hopeless; hut before th e week was out,

easily, in that position of the body, the hand can ·
move over the pnper. · Don't Jenn at nll against the·
table; let your body balance its weight on the chair;

it became so easy, th~t I found I could write better

let your right nrm hang easily without any muscular
motion at all about the shoulder. You are not nearsightet1, then hold your head upright; for when it is
balanced upon the neck, no muscles ache with holiling it. , Sitting thus pmectly at ense, you see how
easily your hand moves.
'Easily enough,' said Frank, 'when I am not trying to form letters and words.'
'I do assure you,' said Mr. Price, 'that having
your body well placed, and all your · muscles at ease,

...

-

83

...

than ever ; and so I went on till it hecame natural to
me, and now I w~nder how I could ever have written
at all in that awk"·ard posture.'
The e \·irl cnce of one ouly a little older tl1an himself, was very convincing to Frnnk Vand erspruck,
and he voluntarily engngeil to try the attitu<l e, so recommcndecl, for a week. Th e nth er school - boys present sat down at the desk in turns, to s how ll'h~t their
habit wos of sitting a nil hnl1Jin[! th eir pens; and Mr.
Price kindly pointed out their sl'vernl faults. The one
cnmmon to all, wns lr'aning th eir wcig l1t 11pon tl1 cir
arms

1

and a good deal wJs said, to com•ince them how

84

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

unfavorable it was to the free and easy motion of the
hand.
Whilst this su\iject was under discussion,
Anna stopped writing to mend her pen, and one of the
boys €Xpressed his su rprise at her being able to <lo it I
he never before saw n lady make or me nd a pen 1
he wished he could learn, but he thought it must be
very difficult.
. Anna assured him it was n very easy and simple
thing; she said her father taught her lo do it in fiv_e
minutes, when she wns only twelve years old, and 1t
had made her so independent, that, ever after, she
was fonc\ of writing. Before that, she was oft en so
vexed and tormented by bnd pens, thnt it would
make her write her French exercise incorrectly; she
was thinking so mu ch of her pen, she could not attend to all the rules 1 but after she could make her
own pens, she had no more trouble abou t writing.
All th e boys were now eager to learn of Miss Anna
to make n pen 1 but she called on her father to give
the necessary instruction.
Mr. Price asked if they all bad penknives ; nnd
foWJd that only two or three had them, and th ese were
so dull, that they were wholly unfit to make a pen.
•Here is the beginning of the difficulty,' said Mr.
Price; ' few boys or girls have sharp knives, and
without such an in strum ent, it is impossible to
make a pen. I have taught all my children, as soon

..

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRTTER.

ns they were old enough to use a knife, how to sharpen one. Bring me my oil-stone and strop, William, and I will show nil our young friends how to
set their penknives.'
Whilst William was gone on his father's errand,
a query went round among th e boys, as to wh ether
]Wiss Anna could sharpen her own k11ife, nm! great
was their surprise, wh en they found that she was in
the lrnbit of doing it.
Mr. Price said it was n delicate little job, requiring only dexterity of hand and ;i nice eye, and there
could be no ol!iection lo nny ln1ly's lea rning how to
do it. He alw;,ys reco mm ended it lo nil th e young
ladies he knew, and hail himself taught many, and
been very much thanked, after th ey had fu utHf out what
a valuable acquisition it wns. William now appeared
with a nice Turkey- stone, set In a box and prope,rly
oilt:<I, and his father's razor-~trop. Mr. Price took
one of the boy's dull knives, and having a <"ircle
made round him, of bright eyes an<I eager faces, he
showed them how to hold the knife nat on the stone,
and rub it round with a ci rcular movement, bearing
He pointed
down gently and eq ually upon it.
out the two evils to be avoided, that of a round edge
ancl a.feather edge ; the first made by not holding the
knife flat enough, the other by grinding till th e edge
was too fine; he said the right medium could only

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

86

be obtained by · practice. He explained to them
the necessity of grinding both sides exactly alike, for
if'the l>evtl were too much on the side of the lrnife
n ext the quill, in cu tting , it would not teke hold of
i{ well, arid tllat w11s cal led wtting out; if on the
other side, it would cul in, 11S it is termed ; and in~
stend of pnririg the nib of a pen, it would cut it off.
Whilst givirig ' these directi ons,' Mr. Pri<'e rubbed
away very pati ent:y on both sides of the knife, hold.
ing it up in th e li g ht and looking at it freque ntly, as
he we nt on. At last' he announced th at the edge
was even nnd fine e nough. A pen was handed to him
that he' might tty'i t; but he said it' must be strop~
ped first, for if used 'liefore; the edge would be a'pt t-0
turn ; bit!lides the stone left it rough though sharp,
and the strop was n ecessary to smooth it, and to
tal<e off th e very fin est part of th e edge. 'Now,
!.nowing what is lo be done, you must be very careful not to overclo 'it, anrl so lose nil yn ur lahor ; a
knife may be made blunt agai n, a fter it is well honed,
by being' imprhperly shop)..e<f~ ~ -y nu ·m ust hold the
knffe very ffat, and nni press too hare! , partirulaoly if
)'our str op iS a soft one, for'in th ~ t ense th e edge woulil
rub tho mueh· ngainst the leather. You must take
pains ancl do it slowly until you are master of the
orf ; thim··a quick 'm otion does the business better.'
Mr. Price lnt>ved the knife along the strop, first on
0

I

'

.

'I'll}~ YOUTJl•fl T.ETTrm -WRITER.

87

one sirle and then the other, with a drawing m~
tion from th e handle to th e point, and, after about a
dozen strokes, he was rra1ly to try it. It cut well,
·and th e elder boys desired lo try th eir skill in whetting the oth er dull k11il'cs in the company. 'Vith
their kind instructer standing civer th em, and reiterating his direc tions whenever they were forgetting
th em, they perfor med very well ; and all resqlvec! to
have hon es and strops of th eir own, and to practise
sharpening th eir knives.
Mr. Pri ce tolrl th em it was as necessa ry to know
how t o k<'e11 their knives shnrp, as to mnke th em so,
or else th ey wnuld foil them at th eir utm os t need.
'You see th at it requires ti rne lo ~harpe n n knife, an1l
you cannot do it at th e mom ent ynu want it to make
a pe n ; therefo re my rul e is never to use a pen-knife
for anything else hut to cut a pen. Never cut paper
with it, for nothing turns a tine edge sooner; ne\'er cut
your nails with it, for if th ey arc hard and brittle, they
will turn it. If you cut a pencil , use th e part of l11e
blade next th eJian<lle. Do tb e sam e, when you beg in
to cut a quill; for the first t wo cuts into a hard quill
often turn the eclge of a kn ife, and make it useless.'
Mr. Price now desired William to give each of
thei r guests a quill imd a penknife, and he would
teach th em , in a few minutes, how to make a pen.
Henry Moreton begged that he might take a lesson

I

THE YOUTH'S LETT8R-WRITER .

TUE YOUTH'S LETT8R-WR!TER.

too ; for he had never been taught this important art
properly, though he had contrived to make pens af.
ter a fashion of his own. No sooner were the boys
furnish ed with knives and quills, than some begau
to cut at random.
• Stop, stop,' cried Mr. Price; • th ere is a right
and a wrong way of trimming a quill ; so wait till I
&how you how to do it. Instead of beginning hy
cutting off the top, leave that to hold it hy, whilst
you strip off the fea ther on the broad side. That
done, take off about an inch of the lower part of the
barrow feather, as it is apt to be rumpled; then
chung.e your hold to· the ·other end, and cut off the
top in a slanting direction corresponding to the narrow feather edge, 10 as to make a handsome point.
Now holcl the quill between the forefinger and
thumb of the left hand, with the palm upward, and
the second finger bent under it to support it ; give a
small cut slanting downwards, very near the end of
the quill, on the upper side; then turn the quill
round and cut a long gash in the undjlr side, beginning an inch and a half from the end, and m e~ ting the
small cur, so as to separate the round end and drnw
out the little shrivelled membrane found inside of a
quill. These are the two cuts that so often turn the
edge of a knife, and they &hould be made carefully
without using the part of the lllade near the poinL

'Now turn the quill so that the feather edge may
be next to you, and hold the other end on the inside
of your forefinger and scrnpe- th e part where the
slit is to be.' Several of the boys asked the use of
that scraping. 'It is to get rid of a fine net-work,
with which th e quill is cove red, on purpose to secure
it against being accid ent ally split, in the living uird ;
I never scrape a quill without a1lmiring the co ntrivance, a11<I thinking of th e wisdom ancl goodness
of th e Being who contrived it.'
This explanation interested the young pen-makers
very much ; and having scraped tl; eir quills :is directed with th e back of th ei r knives, th ey exam ined the
flue scr&pings, lwping to see th ei r tex ture; uut Mr.
Price told th em it requ ired a microscope to see their
fiurous nature.
Ha,•ing scraped more than enough, as the inexperienced are apt to do, they came to making th e split,
which rec1uires to he done very carefully, or much of
th e quill may be wasted. Th ey were now told to
hohl the pen in the first position, and make a little
cut into the qui ll lengthwise ; th en, fi xi ng the
thumb-nai l of th e left hand on the place where they
wished th e slit to end, to give the quill a smart fillip
with th e thumb of the right hand. Mr. Price <lid it
first, and then they all followccl with various success ;
sortie slits were too long, some too short; one was

89

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITl':R.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

not in the middle, because the beginning made by
the knife hncl n ot been made straight. The first
fault was remedie<I by beginning to shape the pen
proporti onably higher up, th e second by anothpr fillip
of the thumb, the third by cutting off the quill and

not strong enough tb hold the quill steadily, or their
fingers' were too clumsy 1 so these were advised to
slip another pen unde r the new one, • and cut down
upon th at, instead of upon th e thumb-nail. "\Vl1en
all hnd their pens placed ready for nibbing, Mr.
Price told them to consider how much of the tapering point should be cut orf to make a proper-sized
nib. If they were going to write a large, round
hand, it must be broader than for a smal l, running
hand. At any rate, it was safest not to cut off too

90

making a new slit.
•Now,' said Mr. Price, •hold your quill as at
first, only farther from the point, that the thumb of
your right hnnd may surport it, whilst you cut th e
shoulders. These shoulil be about the leng th of the
slit.• H e cut on e siile for a pattern , anil it WiJ.S
Jrnnded round th e circl e to bt! copied; tl ;en, laying
his blade acro'is the quill, as n guide ·to begi n tl1e
'Shoulde~s at an equal height, he eut the other side, and
that was also ,hown round. They saw how nicely and
evenly the shoulders tapered off to a point, with the
slit exactly in the micklle, and die\ their bes t to imitate it. Mr. Price nnd William helped these novices by their criticisms, and the shoulders were pared again and again, till they would c\o. Last came
the finishing stroke, and that was of great importance, :is the best pen mig ht be spoiled in the nibbing.
•Take the pen now between your first and second
finger, with the point resting on your l eft thumbnail; pl Kee your fingrrn so as to hold the quill stencli ·
Iy by pressing hard with the fore-finger on the quill.'
This was tried in voin by some; their hands were

\

..

91

much at once, RS they could nib it a second time, if
the first nib did not prove good. He th en made a
slanting cut, that the nib might be fin er than the
thickness of the quill would make it if not sloped off
like a wedge, and after that a perpendicular one.
These two finishing cuts were given, and nil who
had never made a pen before, were eager to try
th ese of their own forming.
One spattered, and
showed that the two parts of the nib were of unequ al length; another scratched, nnd needed to be
nibbe1l again, and so made blunte r. Frank declared
that his wrote large hand admirably, Lut would not
do for small; and he w.1s told that his niL was too
broad, nnd th ,1 t it must be pared down narrower ancl
niLLcd ngni n ; it being necessary to nib nfter paring, in
order lo have a smooth point lo write with. After
some alt~ration, the pens nil wrote pretty well ; and

THE YOUTH'S LE'l'T!:R-'WRITER.

THE YOUTrl'S LETTER-WRITER.

the young pen-makers were much obliged to Mr.
Price, and sufficiently enl'oura ged to resolve to
practise, believing they should soon learn.
Th ose who had no penknives, determined tq supply themselves at once, out of their pocket-money.
l\!r. Price advised th em to buy th ei r pen-blades in
handles by themselves, not connected with other
Nades, and to keep them in their desks; then they
would be less \empt ed to use them upon improper
things, am\ would always ha,·e th em at hand when
writing. \Vh en you grow up, and have occasion to
write away from you r desk, it will be proper to carry
your penknife alway• in your pocket: but now, when
you ne,·er write but at your desk, it is better to keep
it safely deposited th ere. '
By the time the lesson on pen-making was ended,
Anna had fi nished copying th e li sts of sultiects 1 and
the young visit ors departed, with feelings of gratitude to their kind fri ends at Oakwood, nnc\ 1lisposed
tn profit by all they had heard and seen during their
pleasant visit.

I
!

I

93

CHAPTER VIII.
SACREDNESS 01" A SEAL. -

J, ET'J'ER FROM

SHIPMAN TO. HIS BENEFACTOR. IT. -

CHOICE 01" A. SEAL, -

A

MID·

CR ITI CISMS UPON

USE OF THE

WORD

" ESQUIRE."

Mr. Price's country-seat was situated in one of
the rich and picturesque valleys, which abound in the
s~ate of New York; and as he was possessed of a con11derable fortune, acquired in commerce by hi s father
he could .affo rd to indulge in the ex pensi ve pleasure:
of a gentleman form er. H e usua lly spent a g rea t
part of the morning on horseback, superi nteudin " his
~ari~us forming operations, an cl generully incl:ded
m Ins rounds th e village post-office, whi ch was a few
miles from his mansion.

~iving at a distance from all th ei r relations, and
liavmg a brother in the Navy, gave l\Ir. Price's family a great interest in the contents of the mail-bag ;
and th ey often ran clown the ave nue, to meet their
father on his return from his morning ride, and inquire what le tters he had found at the post-office.
On such occasions, li e would generally dismount
and, giving his horse to one of the boys to lead t~
the stable, distribute the letters to the expectant

THE YOU'J"!l'R J.F.TTF.R-Wl!ITER.

Tim vnr 1· 1·11 · ~~ l.ETTf:ll -\\' ltlTRlt.

group, and read his own as lie walke1\ slowly up the
shaded gravel road that Jed to tlie house. When he
alone hncl letters, the young folks were not wholly
disappointed, for they usually shared in whatever
tidin<TS he received. A letter from the absent mido
.
shipman wa.s th e greatest prize thl'y could obtain,
andi to whomsoever nddressed, was considered the

Mr. Price said thnt he consi1l cred n sealed letter
as a sncred thing; an '.l thoug h, as a pnreni, he had a
rig ht hi open and rend th e lettns of his children, while
un1ier age, it wa~ a thing he should never do, unless he
hnd rea son to IJelieve th at hi s interfe rence was necessary to gave them from harm.
' Among brothers
and sist ers, or betwern husband and wife,' continued
Mr. Price, 'I co nsidc>r it ve ry improper for one to
brenk R sen! belonging to another, or to rend a letter
without leave to do so, nfl er the seal is 1'roken. It is
a trespass on th e rig hts of oth ers, which no intimacy
can justify, and wloi ch may cause a great deal of
suffe ring.•

94

;,.

,I,

property of all.
No great man, surrounded by his guard of. honor,
ever looked so happy in his escort RS Mr. Price did,
wh en walking his horse np his avenue, surrounrled by
the blooming nod laughing fa ces of his childr.en. Returning home thus attenrled, he one day announ ced
a largr double letter fn•m - their · brother Robert, ndclressed to Anna. Anna was gone to spr nd I.he day
in the neighbourhood, and would not be home till
evening; the chil<lr en bl'ggcd their father to open
the Jetter and tell th em th e news; for th ey could
not wait till Anna return ed, to know how Robert
was. To th eir great surprise, Mr. Pri ce refused to
gratify them 1 he thotfght it right that Anna should
have the privilPge of liteaking the seal of her own
packet.
William con~idered this mere ceremony,
and observed that; as Anna always showed Robert's
letters to every one of them, she could have no objection; tu th eir reailing this one first, when she hnp•
· pened to be- out of tlie way •

...

!)5

Willinm agrceol with hi s fath er, thnt between
fri ends it wns very 1li si1on o rabl e to hreak th e seal
of an oth er pr rso n's letter; hut in a family that
had no se1·rds, and wh ere the letter was from an absent broth er, nnd th ey were su re to re;1d it all wh en
Annn hnd opr ned it, he thou g ht th ere could be no
harm in looking into it now.
Mr. Price shook hi s head, and cleclared he sh ould
feel that he had don e very wrong, if he hroke the
seal; he then went on to reminol W illiam ; that a letter might contain a private communication, the secret of anoth er ; and however sur'e he was, that Anna
hnn no se~ ret s of hr r own, she mi g ht be intrusted with
one at any mom ent, and would have no right to

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

TllE YOUTH'S J, ETTER-WRITER.

communicate it even to n brother. 'I hnve known,'
continued Mr. Price, 'great trouble and heart-burnings to arise in families from this cause; and I should
wi sh my children to regard a sealed paper as n sacred thing. I would have you shrink from the idea
of breaking open another's letter, as .you would from
listening at a door or window to hear conversation

were of 11 private nature '; ann Anna, for th~ first time
in her life, hacl a secret to keep from William. The
packet co111ninen a letter lo a gentleman of high station, to whom Robert Price was under great obligation s, nnrl n memori al for th e Navy Boal!) which the
young midshipman wi shed his fath er to present, and
lo keep its contents pri\'ate ; it also containecl a Joveletter to Anna from a fellow offi cer, who had seen
.li er in N ew York, ann now made his sen tim ents
known through l1er brother, who was his intimate
fri end.
Neither the memorial or the love-letter
could be mentioned to the children 1 and as there
were allusions to both in Robert's lette r, that could
not be shown to the m.

96

o

I

that is not meant for your ear.'
The party had now reached the house, and Anna's
letter was put in a conspicuous place on the mantelpiece; but not till it had passed from hand to hand,
and its size and thickness hall been variously commented' ~on. The younger · child~en were sure that·
brother Robert had written to 'each one of them, anti
thought it very hanl th at papa could .pot just open
the letter nnd take out the enclosures for them, even
if he did not read a worn of R obert's letter to Anna,
for they should all be in bed befo re she came home.
As the hour of Anna's return approach en, William Price watched impati ently for the sound of the
carriage in the avenue; and when she arrived, he put
the letter from her brother into her hands as she en.
tered the door. He, gained nothing, however, by
his haste; for she ran up stairs to tnke off her bonnet
nnd ilhawl, carrying the letter with her, which she
opened in the retirement of her own room. It was
well that she happened to do so 1 for the enclosure$

Anna fell much embarrassed by th ese novel circumstances, and wish ed to be able to communicate
with her father before she saw William; so she went
down stairs very sofily, in hope8 of finding her fa.
!her in the study, ancl was not disappointed. This
confiding chilcl and affeclionatc parent consulted tog eth e r on th e contents of th e packet. It wa• soon
resolved thnt J\fr. Price shoul<l g o to Wa,hington
with the memorial ; that Anna should write a very
polite but de<'id ed refusal of th e officer's ndclresseR •
and that William should be told th at the packet con:
tnined secrets which belonged to others, and mu st be
honorably kept, even from him.

7

........... .... ~-~

...

"' ,...

97

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\

98

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

\

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

· William could hardly believe that he heard aright,
when informed that he could not see the whole con•
tents of his brother's packet. Passages were read to
him, and the letter to the man in power, being left
open for his father's approval, was shown to William.
This soon fixed his attention, and he pondered !Ong
over it. He was struck by the grave and manly tone of its composition. Being accustomed to
his brother's family letters only, which v.·ere full of
lively sallies and cant phrases, and written with the
utmost freedom of confiding affection, he ct>uld
hardly believe that the same mind dictated this serious and respectful epistle. At length William asked his father how he liked that piece of formality,
pointing to the following letter.
'U.S. S h i p - , May-, 18-.
' Honored and dear Sir,
' I was much flattered by the wish you so kindly
expressed, to hear from me on my arrival on this
station ; and I take the first opportunity of a home.
ward bound vessel, to tell you that we arrived at
Gibraltar on the 25th ultimo, after a fine run of only
twenty days.
' The ship is in very good order ond excellent sailing trim, as you will judge by the shortness of our
passage. We have a fine, healthy erew, and as
agreeable a company of officers as ever trod a quarter-

99

deck. The Chaplain is a very good fellow and
keeps a school for the younger micfs., and I m:an to
pursue my sturfies, so as to do myself credit at the
next examinat ion.
'Your letter of introduction to the Commodore
~as very useful to me, and I thank you heartily for .

it, as were also your letters to th e fo lk s in New
York. They saved me a great deal of trouble, and
enabled my inexperienced head to profit by the wisdom of others. I shall ever remember with gratitude the good advice you gave me, when I had the
h_onor and the pleasure to be a guest at you r mansion, and I trust my whole life will prove ll1at it was
not thrown away.

' If your amiable family condescend to inquire
after me, I beg to be most respectfully remembered to
them ; and if there is anything I can obtain f
th
. h'
or
em in t is part of the world, I shall feel honored
by their commands.
'I am, Sir,
' with the high est respect and consideration
•your obedient humble servant, '
•
'Honorable W-- C - . •

' Robert Price.

' Is it not altogether too stiff and respectful?'

asked William.

THE YOUTII'S LETTER-WRITER.
100

101

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

' Far from it, my son; it is hardly respectful
enough. Let H eri ry Moreton read it, and then I
will tell you what I think _of it.'
Henry's politeness ha'il kept him from casting
n.ny gJanceR nt his Cousin's Jetter, as it Jny open
upon the table ; but t.is curiosi ty had been excited
by the comments upon it, am! he readily availed
himself of his uncle's permission.
When he had read it, he said it was a letter fit for
a commoilore to write, just like a ~rinted letter in
a book, and he wondered how R obert could have
written ·80 w,ell.
'Robert;' said Mr; Price, • WllS always deficient in
respectful behaviour and language towards his superiors; and an improvem ent in that point was one of
th e benefits whi ch I hoped for, from the strict discipline of the Navy. I dare say Robert did his
best to be respectful, in this Jetter to his benefactor;
but the old deficiency may be perceived in several
places.'
' ·Can it?' said William ; • I am sure I thought it
was over resp~ctful.'
Both boys now looked over the letter, whilst Mr.
Price thus criticised it.
' The address is very proper. In a ceremonious
letter like this, it is better to put the name of the
person addressed, at the end, rather than at the be-

ginr1ing, because it interferes Jess with the nd<lress ;
but in letters of business, it is customary to place
the name first, and th en put under it " Sir." , \Vhen
you address a firm, write J.1essrs. suclt anrl such
persons, and Gentlemen underne:ith. A letter looks
better without this; I like to see Sir, or J.fodam,
or Ge11tlen1rn; stan1l by itself nea r th e lop of the
page, and tl1 e refore I generally put the rrnmc at the
end, even in a letter of busin ess. The first paragraph will rlo pretty well ; and so will th e second,
until we come to this expression concerning the
chaplain ; to call a man of such a profession, "a
very good fell ow," shows a want of proper respect
for the office, as well as for th e man who fill s it, and
for the person adilresse<l. Th en, to write the familiar contraction, mid~ . for mid.<hipmrn , is taking a
great liberty with a man like Mr. C-- ~ if you
wish to write respe<'lfully, you should never use any
contractions, or any cant phrases. In speaking of
Mr. C--· 's letter of introduction, Robert should
not say "the Commodore," but put the name out at
leng th ; nP.ither should he say " the folks in New
York ; " that is the most fnmiliar way of expressing
himself, anil very much out of pla ce here. What
follows, is well enough to the end of the paragraph.'
• Do you like, father, that Robert should say " the
honor and the pleasure to be a guest at your man-

sion"?•

10'2

THE VOU1'Tl'S LETTER-WRITER.

'Certainly I do,' replied Mr. Price; 'it wu an
honor and a pleasure to be the guest of such a man,
and I like that he should call it so. Where there
is a just foundation for the feeling of vene~ation, I
like a free expression of it. But I do not lake what
comes next. It is a freedom to &stow the epithet
Between
" amiable," on Mr. C--'s family.
equals in age and station, it would be . all. very
proper; but from a youth, like Robert, 1t 1s too
great 8 liberty to pronoun<'e an opinion on the family by calling them "amiable." '
•Well, the won\ " condescend " sounds humble
enough . ~or anything.'
• Ye., that is a little too much 1 he should have
said, "If any of your family do me the favor to
"er me 1 " but I suppose he felt that the
·
· a..
•
mqu1re
word "amiable" was not just right, so he put 1:1
"condescend " to turn the balance the other way.
But true respect is equally removed fr om too gre at
freed~m anil too great homage.'
•"Honored [,y th ei r commands,"' read William,
and added, ' is not that too much? '
• No,• .said Mr. Price; 'that is a common phrase
of civility, and is not taken literally, any more than
a person's subscribing himself " your obedient humble servant" ; these are words of course, at the conclusion of a ceremonious letter, and it is very con-

..

THE YOUTH'S LETTER -WRITER.

103

venient to have a form that is in general use, and
which every body understands to be a mere form of
civility. "Your obedient humble servant" really
means so littl e, that R obert was quite right to put
something more before it, and he has chosen his terms
very well.'
When Mr. Price had done speaking, he continued
to look at his son's letter with an expression of dissatisfaction, which made William ask him if he intended to forward it to Mr. C--- .
' Certainly,' replied his father 1 'imperfect as it is,
it is much better than no letter at nil. However ill.
written a letter may be, it only reAec ts upon the
head of the writer ; whereas, not to write at all, in
such a case as this, would reAect upon his heart 1
the letter must go by the next mnil, so I will seal
and direct it now."
William brought his father a box of wafers and
the wafer-cutter. "r'Walers, said M r. Price, 'do
well enough for mere letters of business ; hut n letter
like this, from a gentleman of th e navy to a man
high in office, •hould be sealed with wax.' Anna
brought some sealing-wax and a box full of seals,
with mottoes and devi<'e5, for her father to choose
from. To each one that she proposed, he made
some objection, and begged her if she had a seal
with only a head on it, to give him that. 'It always

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

seems to me,' continued Mr. Price, 'a great freedom
to use a fancy seal when writing to a person older
than one's self, or in a higher station.'
The young folks all wondered that such a meaning could be 'given to the use of a seal, and Mr.
Price added ;
'It is much th e same thing ns if you sh ould propose a riddle or repeat ·a proverb to a grave states·
man, on being introduced to him. Your letter pre.
senls itself with some quaint device, or enigmatica1
motto, to b~ solved, if attended to at all. Now real
modesty would lea<\ a young writer to use.such a
seal a·s would attract the leaat attention, and not call
upon the wits of n great man to explain its meaning.
The initials of the writer are a proper seal for all
occasions; now, as we have no seal wiih Robert's
initials, we had better put on the head of some hero
or philosopher. That head of Bacon will do very
well, and you can make the seal Anna, as you are
expert in all such thing s.'
Anna took 4he letter, and prepared to make her
seal according to the rules she had given H enry 1
she su cceeded to th e admiration of both th e boys,
encl then handed th e letter to her father to Le directed, He hml meanwhile been trying his pen on a
piece of waste-paper, and had written the whole
address which he was going to put on the letter,

' See,' B!lid Anna to Henry, 'what papa has been
doing. You thought it too much trouble to write
a direction twice over, and said none but girls wo.ukl
take so much pains to get it right ; but y ou see now
that it is not beneath a man to take this precaution.'
H enry playfully tapped with his fingers on the
under side of th e tabl e, and said, ' I kn ock under, fair
cousin, and will promise that wh enever I correspond
with so great a man as Mr. C - - , I will practise
writing the direction ns my uncle has done.'
The directing of this letter reminded Henry of
what had passed between Anna and him, concerning
the use of the word Esquire, and he nskecl his uncle
why he never put it on his fath er's letters.
'Because your father is not entitled to it. He is
neither a magistrnte, nor one of the profession of the
law; and in our country, those are the only classes
of citizens, to whom the title legally belongs.
Plain Mr. is g ood enough for any one ; it is applicabl e to men of all trades and professions, and suits
my republi can feelings better than nny more distinguishing title.'
' But, fath er, said "William, 'you have just put
"H onorabl e," before Mr. C - - ' s name.'
' Yes, he has a legal right to it; ancl since our
ancestors chose to distinguish certain stati ons in that
way, I follow the custom. - Dut it is time for all

104

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105

106

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I

THE YOUTI-I'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

young eyes to be closed, and I wish you good night
young gentlemen.'
The boys went off to bed so full of Robert's
letter (o Mr. C--, that they forgot to be very
inquisitive ab<>ut the rest of the contents of the
packet which Anna had received.

107

CHAPTER IX.
MR. PRICE LEAVES

HOME. -

ACCOUNT

FIRST LETTER TO HER FATHER. OF OPENING A LETTER. -

OF AN?H's

THE !!EST WAY

OB.JECTIOllS TO MODELS.

ACCO UNT OF WILUAM PRICE'S LETTER TO . HIS
0

FATHEIL. -

HENRY S

SUBJECTS, -

ANNA'S HINTS. -

DIFFICULTY

JN

FINDING

HENRY PRA CTISES

THJC R.ULF.9 HE HAS LRARNED.

Mr. Price determined to be himself the bearer of
the memo ri al to the Navy Boarcl, which Robert hnd
forwarcl e<l, and as he hacl business to transact in New
York and Philadelphia, he made arrangements for an
absence of several weeks. He bad so rarely left
his little Aock of motherless children, that his present
undertaking was a remarkable event in the family, and
to the younger ones it seemed a perfect myst ery how
the common business of life was to go on without papa.
Among various oth er directions, given on 't he
occasion, was Qne very seri ously urged upon all his
children ; and th at was, to write to him very often
and to tell him what th ey did, and th ought, and felt.
He invited H enry to do the same, assuring him he
might write about anything that came into his hcn<l;
nothing could come amiss to a father, when away

108

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.
'l'IIEJ YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

from such a dear home. To William's question,
when they should begin to write; his father an' So soon as that?' the
swered, 'To-morrow.'
children exclaimed,
'Yea,' eaid~ Price 1 'if you ·write ·to-morrow,
it will be m11ny days before I receive it 1 and when I
do, I shall like very much to know something about
you the very day after I left you. When persons
are absent for a short time, as I shall be, those left
behind should \Vrite very soon, end not wait to heitr
from the travell er; for, by so doing, their first letters
may not reach him at all till his absence is half over.
I wish-Anna to ·w£ite to-morrow, ·end send her.Jetter
otf ·the ·next morning;- ·after' that, let each one write
in turn, and send off a letter every third day. When
the little ones cannot fill a sheet, I hope Anna's ready
pen will supply the deficiency. If any one is at a
loss what to tell papa, let him write a journal 1
give the history of one day, from the time you rise
till you go to bed 1 that will be easily done, and I
shall lik«i t<r hear . it all, even tha~ you ate, drank,
and "Slept well ·in my abaence. From you, William,
I shall expect a full act'ount of the· farming operations, from Anna a repurt of how your studies go

\

on, and from Henry domestic scenes.'
·• o ·uncle ! you have given the hardest task to
the poorest writer,' exclaimed Henry.

..

109

'That shows what hope I have of you,' replied
Mr. Price, ns he cheerfully took leave of his children, and stepped into the clearborn that was waiting
to convey him and his trunk to a neighbouring village, where he was to meet the stage for Albany.
The young folks at Oakwood hardly realized the
departure of Mr. Price, till they assembled round
the dinner-table, and then the loss of that presiding
friend threw a gloom over th e whole party. In the
evening too, he was greatly missed ; nnd William and
Henry rejoiced that Anna was to write the first
letter, because there w'ould be nothing to say but to
tell how stupid they all were. The next day however their elastic young spirits rallied; their studies
and sports were pursued as usual ; and in the evening Anna wrote a letter of three pages to her
father. Those around her wondered what she could
finrl to say, and, at the requ est of nil, she read the
letter aloud to them. William and Henry listened
in silent admiration, and then agreed that there was
a great advantnge in writing the first letter, as in
that so much might be said about their regret at his
father's absence and the dull evening they hod spent
without him.
Louisa Price now reminded her
brother that he was of a different opinion the night
before, and thought their dull evening would be a
dull subject for a letter•

....

110

\

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER •

'I \mow it,' replied William ' 'but I believe Anna
could make 11 good lett er ou t of anything.'
Henry begged to read hi• cousin's le'.ter ov~r . by
himself, and pondered over it a great while, denvmg
real instruction from every sentence. He was surprised to find what an agreeable letter could be
written upon the ordinary occurrences of two days,
and the feelings of the young party, of which he
formed one. There was no formal beginning, no
set phrases ; all was simple and easy. Anna began
with stating the effect of her fath er's absence upon
the spiri.ts of them all, when they met ~t dinner,· and
alao when they assembled in the _e vening; she told
what they did, am! what they left undone, i~ consequence of bis not being there. She described the
uneasiness of Neptune at his master's absence, and
that after searching for him in vain, the dog laid
himself down before Mr. Price's lolling-chair and
remained there all the evening. Then followed a
more lively account of the occupations of tl~e next
day in which her brothers, sisters, and cousin were
affe~lionately mentioned 1 and something so characteristic tole! of each, as called forth a smile from
Henry, even on a second peruS!!l. Anna finished
by expressing her interest in her father's jo~rney,
wishing him much pleasure in the sight of old friends,
and hoping soon to hear from him.

..

,

THE YOUTH'S J,ETTER-WRITER.

Ill

The more Henry examined Anna's letter, the
easier it seemed to him lo write such a one ; but
still, as it was agreed that they should write in the
o.-der of their sgep, he hoped some novel incident
would occur Lefore his turn came.
William at length asked Henry what he was
poring over that letter for; 'Are you trying it by all
the rules that have been laid down for you?'
' No,' said Henry ; 'I am attending only to the
composition.'
' Well then, ha11d it to me; I will criticise it by
Anna's own rules.'
' I dare say it will be found wanting,' said the
modest writer; 'for I do not always do as well as
l know.'
' Well, I will see,' rejoined her brother. ' Here
is the date in the right place, to begin with 1 then,
on the left 1ide of the paper, is put, "My deac
father," with a Slnall f, according to the most ap.
proved modern fashion. You did not expect to fill
your sheet, so you have written these words three
inches from the top. Then comes a pretty, ladylike, little flourish of the pen which I do not understand, and then the letter Lei;ins with a capital letter
of course. Now, Harry, you must help me about
the punctuation, for that is a thing I know very
little of.'

11!1

'II

\

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

Anna was nmused by these good-natured criticisms upon her unstudied performance 1 and when
nppealed to by her brother, to say whether she h~d
iut commas enough, she acknowledged her om1~­
1
si ons and ndded severnl.
She callro Henry s
attention to th e mnrk she had made on th e outer
edge of the thirrl page for the seal, nnd said he had
better do so in future 1 for unless he did, his letter
could not be opened without interfering with the

writlng.
• D oes th e hole made by the seal come there?'
said Henry; 'I thought the seal came somewhere
th'e page. I always tear my
nearer ·the middle
letters sadly, a~d further in than that.'
• That is because you do not open them in the
best way,' replied Anna. 'If you leave a place for
the seal, as I have done, on this outer edge of the
third page, and the Jetter is properly opened, t~ere
will no~ be a word lost, or any hole but in th at little

of

place that is mark ed off.'
'Well,. Anna,' exclaimed Henry, 'you <'lo seem to
have a peculiar way of doing every thing. Who
would ever have thought of there being n right way
to open a letter ? '
Anna to 0 k ont of her bag a letter she had lately
received, and showed Henry how she had cut the
paper close to the senl, and so disengaged the e<lge

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

that was held down hy the seal; and that by leaving
the seal fast to the other part of the letter, there
was no break made in til e writing. ' .Many persons,' continued Anna, 'try to break the seal in
halves, and separnte it from th e paper, by which
means they generally tear the paper in two places.
I always cut round the seal with a pair of scissors,
or tear it with a pin ; but a knife is Letter than either
Harry ; so you need not look as th ough the thin~
w~ ul<l Le. impracticaLle to you, because you carry
neith er scissors nor pins. The first letter I reeeive
I will borrow your knife, nnd show you the best wa;
of opening it ; but now I must seal mine, and fiaye
it ready for the post to-morrow morn ing.•
Letters, like conversation, must vary acco rding
to the diflerent characters of the writers ; and a written form, for a boy of fourt een years of age to use,
wh en writing to an absent parent, woul 11 be as unnatural as a set form of speech, with which to address
him on his return.
Besides all the different circumstances which
attend each. young person, when writing a letter,
'.here are differences of character whi ch should appear
111 each performance; and what would be very proper and natural in one, would be affected, or out
of place, in another.
W e can, therefore, only
assist our young fri ends, by pointing out faults to
8

,.

113

114

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

_

be avoided, aml by directing tl1em a little in the
choice of su~jects, nnd the manner of treating them ;
all the parlicu1 ar expressions lo be used, must be
left to their own discretion. The rule of most universal application is this; Write as you would speak,
if you were limited for time, and must say at once,
and in a given period, all you wish most to convey
to an absent friend. If you are haliitually considerate of the feelings ancl wishes of others, you will,
when writing a letter, be guided more by what your
friencls would like lo know, than by your own propensity to tell this or that thing ; but if yoµ are selfish ot conceited, those trait.II of character will necessarily influence . your choice of subjects, and it is in
vain to think of preventing it by any written rules

of composition,
The characters of William Pike and Henry Moreton were so different, that, had they written on the
same subjects, and to the same pPrson, th eir letters
would have been very unlike. William was a Ind
of fine abilities; he had ari acute 'and independent
mind; but the good opinion which he entertained of
himself, made him too positive in his opinions, anil
his independent spirit produced a bluntness of man.
ner and speech, which was often offensive. H enry
had bright parts, and a more lively imagination than
his cousin,·, but he had less independence ; diffident

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

IJ5

of himself, he cared more for the approbation of
others, and his manners were, in consequence more
obliging and conciliating. Both these boys h~d very
warm affecti~n~ ; but it was much easit>r for Henry
than for W 1ll1am, to use expressions of love and
confidence. All these differences of character, affected their mode of writing letters, and both would
ha~e been injured by attempting to follow any prescribed forms, such as are found in " The Complete
L etter-writer," of ancient date, and octavo size,
now out of print, or in a little duodecimo volume with
the same title, which is still in use, though it• page 11
are fill et! with absurditi es, vulgarisms, and th e flatt est
no~sense that was ever offered to the publk-, as a
gmde to letter-writing.
Believing that all such guides are mischievous,
and have a tendency to mislead the rising generation
on the important subject of letter.. writing, we confine
ourselves, in the present undertaking, to a few examples and illustrations, whi ch are meant to show
our ~oung fri ends, that the most natural and simple
effusions are ,the best, and lo encournge th em to express their thoughts on paper, as freely as they
would in conversation,
William Price w~s a methodical boy, and therefore he always began a story at the beginning, and
always observed the order of time in the events he

116

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.
THE YOUTH'S J.ETTER-WRr'l'£R.

related. Though it was several years since he gave
up the use of the same set phrase for the commencement of all his letters to l1is brother Robert, he still
had a fancy for what he called a regular beginning
to a letter;' when; therefore, he wrote to his father,
he began thus ; " According to the desire you expressed that I should keep you informed of the work
done on the farm, I now take up my pen to tell
you what has happened since you left us."
Then he went on to give a detailed account of the
farming operations of each day; he also offered his
opinion upon some matters, that had already' been
decided~·~p(in · diffe.:e~tty by - the heaa man on the
farm, a~d asked son:ie· questions ·as to future arrangeThis was a characteristic performance,
ments.
thrown off with great ease to the writer. Henry,
who was watching the progress of this letter from
the opposite side of the table, could not perceive that
William was once at a loss what lo say next. One
thing followed another in the order of their °".Currence, and William had filled his paper with his own
business-like communications, before he was aware
that he should disappoint those around him of sending various messages of love and inquiries, that they
had been silently preparing. William gave the love
of all in one short sentence, and finished bis letter
in.the most summary ·manner.

...

117

Henry sighed to tl1ink that he had no such definite
subject to write upon as that given to William and
puzzled himself continually as to what his ~ncle
meant by 'ilomestic scenes,' for he could not fix
upon. anything worthy of the name. When the
evenmg came, on which he was to write, he ialked the
matter
over with Anna ' and found ' to 1.
.
h
11s surprise,
t at eve11 their quiet mode of life would afford her
~any topics for a letter. She advised him to tell
his uncle ab~ut the little girl whom Neptune fright.
ened, of their long wallc in the woods, and of the call
they had received from those strangers.
'To. be sure,' said H enry, 'those may be called
domest1e scenes, and I will gl:idly put th em all in m
letter l but they will not take np one page.'
y
' Not one pa ge 1. ' exc1aimed
•
Anna; •you must be
very laconic indeed, if they do not almost fill your
sheet ; I should find those three topics enough for
a long letter.'
'Wh Y JUS
· t consider,
•
Anna, how little room it will
:alee to tell, that as a little girl was going awa\' from
~e house'. Neptune ran ofter her, and frighte~ed her
hll she cneil ; anil that whilst you comforted her, the
dog ran off with the good things she had in her basket, 11nd you gave her more. That ·s the whole of
the story, end I am sure that it cannot occupy more
than five or six lines.•

i~' ,~ I

I'

' f·
.i~

l

1

THE YOUTll'S LETTER-WRITER.
118

•Told ·in that way,· i~ would not, I suppose, fill up
much of your letter 1 but if I were going to tell it,
r shoultl describe the pretty little girl 88 she came to
the houst!{<With-her-·smiling .face,and· nice clean fro.~k,
9 nd her 'hnppiness in having her basket filled with
good things for her sick mother. Then I should
tell how Neptune'• approach frightened her, and
mad~ her hold her basket up over her head, which he
mistook for play, anrl whkh made him jnmp up and
frighten her still more. Then .she scrambled up the
stile, leading into the long meaclow; but th~ dog was
on the other-aide.:o the:.fellce. ao<ine~. thau she was,
and barl{ed -111rd -junlped ' so,>-that' ahe was afraid to
move either way, and begnn to sr.ream at the top of
her voice. On hearing this, Hannah ran out of the
back-cloor, and· instead of calling off Neptune, she
remonstrated with the child on the unreasonableness
of her fears; the poor little girl was too much fright·
enecl to listen to Hannah's assurances that the rlog
would not hurt her; there was the great animal, barking and jumping" up · at her heels, which she expected
every mmnen.t would be bitten. The noise mode by
8 11 three at length renche<I the school-room, and we
all ran out to see what was the matter. Then you
can tell how I comforted the child, and that Neptune
g.Uloped off with the cold fowl out of her basket,
and the boys all ran after him till he dropped it in a
mud-puddle, - and as much more as you please.'

••

119

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

Henry was very much surprised to find how
much could be made of this d~mestic scene; and
Anna told him that, in describing such an incident,
he should tell enough of the particulars, to place the
scene as it were before the eyes of the render ; the
bare fact being far less entertaining than the accompaniments. Henry was now satisfied that the story
of the frightened child would fill up nicely ; but he
still despaired of making much of the walk in the
woods, till Anna reminded him of numerous little details that gave it interest.
•If you merely say that we took a long walk and
foun<I several beautiful flow ers, it would not interest
papa much; but if you tell him how we lost our way,
and of the presence of mind which William showed
in finding the right path, and of the interview we had
with that set of travelling Indians, n'nd that the poor
woman offered to g'ive ine her pappoose, he will be
extremely interested.'
• I forgot about our losing our way, and I did
not know that the woman offered you her child ;
but these are r~ally quite romantic incidents, and will
fill up capitally.'
Anna now begged Henry to suggest some other
points worth mentioning in that walk; but he could
not, he firmly believed that the suluect was exhausted ; he could only add that they nil came home very
much tired.

THE YOUTII'B LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

•Why, Henry ! how can you forget that Louisa
lost her shoe in crossing the marsh, and that Nep.'
tune found it and brought it to her. The last incident too of catching Jenny· in the meadow, ond
making ber carry -the tired little ones up the Inst
hill, home, is well worth telling 1 because her being
frisky when you or Willy lead her, and submitting
so quietly to me, shows her sense in a remarkoble
manner.'
Henry was quite enchanted by Anna's knack at
making every thing interesting, and wi&hed he could
remember the very word& in which she had described
the wall.;, th11ot he.-might.-write it just 8-0 in his .letter.
Anna assured him that this wu not desirnble ; she
only wished to bring to his mind the incinents which
belonged to the subject ; but he must clothe them in
his own language, or it would not be his own performance. • Each person,' she added, ' has a way
of writing which is his own 1 and your letter would
not be half so acceptable to papa, if he could not see
Henry Moreton in every line .ofit.'
• Well then, I will do my best,' said Henry; ' I
have now two good topics, but what was the tloird
you mentioned? Oh, I remember; it was the ca·ll
those folks made here, by mistake. What more cnn I
say about them, than that they were all shown in,
supposing it to be Mr. B-'• hou.s.e, and that they

all looked very foolish when they found out their mistake; but having sent away their carriage, we were
obliged to lend them the dearborn. •
'You could describe the ladies and gentlemen
being in full dress, and entering the room as if they
were paying a ceremonious dinner visit, and their
amazement at finding children playing battledore, and
one girl practising on the piano, whilst another was
hopping round the room on one foot , that was a
scene, I am sure, worthy of Hogarth. You can
tell how they stood stock-still as if petrified, till I
went forward to meet them, and offer some explana-

lW

121

tion.•

'Yes, dear Anna, and I can tell how kindly and
politely you relieved them from their embarrassment,
and made it all e;isy to them, and sent us to order
the dearborn ; Oh yes, I can tell a good deal about
you in this domestic 'scene, that I am sure my uncle
will like to hear.'
Saying this, he ran off to get his writing-materials, and apply himself at once to the task, while
his mind was full of the matter.
H enry made a great point of observing, in this
letter, all the directions which his uncle had given
him. as to the mechanical execution of it. He put
the date up at the right-hand corr.er, and began with
the words 'My dear uncle,' full three inches from

..

THE Y\lPTll'S T:!':TTEIT ii' HlTl,l\ .

the tOjl Qf the \'RgPl hrC3USe he had f~l\TS ~h-at his
subjeds "'""''l not holtl out to fill 1111' encls .. tte con-

CHAPTER X.

sult~tl Anna, frmn tin1e to time. n.hont ma1\n ig rrir~­

and he rukd a. ti1Argh1, that hls letter mi ~ht
· n.+ tihrlook as neat as pn~~lble. i \ ::na JP!1ii11LkL~ 1;1n:
o \ut'e tor tlte :;1,;al, ara1 lie n 1a(}· :n1 1rnr1r> ~r'n".\,.;r,.lf' Rt
crnii1iis,

1.J'~'!''l'YP..

b

~1·~ r~• fl 1 Lhiirn1 r.rlac of the thln1 p;-,g'"' 1

wl1kh

filkJ lit:f«re hr h;"?ri tlnhl1ni the

topit:.

•

~

~

t)

Vt:1S

th~t

~hnul1l

hP

SP\orn1

a::.su:cJ. Llui. L•_:

uol

iiavc

rooin

'J'O

Ht-~ R

Ero~ IT. -

!''A'I'H~R .

-

.HO.DE ·:--·!'.AN ~

COl'N'TS . -

w i'\1t1 11: \ \"(' 'r\ 100
I

'

srrr d ii o pf'.s li 1:-1t ;;;0 nwt hi ng

had, were fulfilic,t.

1
-'

\vritc

\\' l lF;o.;

i.\' ot1 !il

'

!\"S!:!tY .

lHlll ~JI

o c ('1trJ

mnkr ns gnn1~ n snl'.jrt't frfr a if'ttrr :1~

'

tii

W!i!TISr~

her

th at wo u~ (1

Henry h1!l

tant d1tH1ge in ti;e fan1il_v to announce.

i· i\ g(' that

wf'll t

11 1 111 Hle r

\\T1ttrn .

tli al lit' nin~t he rn.rcful nnt tn rut'"" much there, or

hims-t->1f, und even condescended tf'

wr?lP

the R•l 11rPRli

over ,f:veral times, tJn n p1ece of wn~tf'!. pAper ~ b~forP.
he put it on the letter, that he might be sure to place

it well .

f'n1dc1

.;

Bv Anria's advico0, hi> <Paled nnd tlireeted hi~ letter

:. ... i. ~ t

.'\hr Wrl~ of'trn ~rrn cnrnpm•inpr lt!t tr> rs

u pnn to st'nd t hem t o h im, o r to s linw w ha t she liad

writ(' ~ n: \tl

it would show when lt1e letter was seaie.J.

i

Loulsa was

t o lit ·r 1il1.i.; e n t l )r ntl1f' r, L1 1t r 111 11i1 c;i''.d un 1 ~11~ J>r·c,· :ii li ·d

w!iidt pe;.__·~-· h~ :.;o\l! c li111cs

".i

! : '

. L.::

a silt.,n t , t!in11g!itful chil d, dcvn t. rd to honks, ~11 Hl 1o h1'r

Uj Hl !l

own rPVf'rif> ...:;.

mi

f'

I' r

frorn her fatl1er tu a . . kuowkdgl.', a11 d a rnos t in: _por ..

~p11 ilt'd Jii~ 1t• tt c r, wii" ll :\ 11nn :-.:l1!Y'iYf'rl hTm d1,:tl it \~rt!-1
the other,

~

"l'!wrc was a dear long kllcr

thr~ h<.:t t~.,d, whi{'h rnrpe~ t•ut oitlP, nnd \\"oulJ lio.v~
1\i;it p;i r t wlth thl' 1\!ltll...)k

"

;. ;...i ll

rnnn:~h for thnt. pn(l

I- -I 1· w;is j11st ;1 l 1nut

P F"

It was now L ou isa' s turn lo write,

upun her merits, in treating the third sulLl...ct, that_ h~
-t•(udd not. get all intu the. c11L1s ~ :in d h ;i.s\u'i\ if
thPr'-' w;is n ot a pia.cc urnlPr the Bf'.'Ri wlwrf~ he could
little more .

}" (11,T.Y

f ur

'soo
.'.'"ttlb' C'S• o'°in\'C ten . ht> hnwPVPr diiated so 111uch

J()f IJ)t,

:1

Pkl{'F

hnlf

IIcnry·

for all he wish ed to say a\JOut llie !lli c;t;il<P, Lut Ar;na

add

t1 -, C l":l:'\

OBSERVATION S

.......

no'\V fr:urrl

r

:t"RO~t
1

A.NNA S

i

Sr;C> -.•.-;1~ pa:nf11lly a1i'l.'P. to criticism,

it! ?"J r:ir

speeC'h~

of her

thr

awl

frrr di~r1;~sions nnd off-- lrnnrl

brother~ ;ir11i

sisters.

8l1e liHtl been

~

known to write poetry, but the least observ::itinn nf

.i

lier burn or efface her line&. She kiic'-v that her let ..
ter to her father \vould be regarcletl ns public proper-

J

t•lht•rs upon what she had Leen doing-. would make

ty, in the lillle community at Oakwood, because An -

..

!· ~

;

~ ~I~ r~~
;, l

124

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

na's, William's, and Henry's had been; and therefore,
she had made a great effort to conceal her repugnance to showing it, and to write 1uch a one I I ahe
would liL:e that William should pee. He. waa the
, lion in her path• 1 there 'was nothing th~t 1he
dreaded like Willy's criticism, except that he should
find out how much she cared for it.
.
Nobody knew when Louisa wrote her letter ; .but
on the third evening after Henry"s epistle was finished, this quiet little girl put hers into her sister'•
hands, and nsked her to seal nnd direct it. • I
•
· too, • 18,1"d .n.nna.
•
'Oh
y.0....
,....d
suppose I !Il•Y ~d 1t
•
•
it aloud for the good of all,' added Wilham 1. Louisa
blushingly assented, and Anna read as follows :
'My dear father,
•We were all made very happy by the receipt
of your entertaining letter from New York. We
all tho~ght that you would write from Albany 1 but
as you took the night-boat, that \Vas impossible. I
would say more about your letter, were it not for a
great family misfortune, which occurred yesterday, ·
and which has made us all so miserable that I cannot
write of any thing else.
'It falls to my Jot to inform you of this aad
event ; •o without further preface, I will tell you, at
once, 'II· hat the terrible atrol.:e is. Our beloved Neptune has been taken away from ua. He is gone,

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

125

never to play with us more 1 and when you come
home, that good dog will not be here to welcome
you. Yet he is not dead 1 he still lives to amuse
others. He has been torn from us by the hand of
man. Cuptnin J - - has given up bei ng a farm er;
he is going to sea again, and he sent a man here for
Neptune, who said that the captain gave him to you
on this condition, that he should have him back
again whenever he we nt to sea. It was n l1 ard condition, I think; nnd we wish now that lie had never

given N eptune to us at all. To have such a dear
dog with us long enough for us all to become p"-'<sionately fond of him, and then to lose him! It is
too bad; don't you think so, fath er? \Villiarn thinks
that the captain had a right to take the dog, but
that it was very unkind of him to do it. Anna says
we ought to feel more for Captain J--, and judge
of his feelings for the dog, by uur own. \Vhat do
you think about it, papa? You will feel for us children, I am sure; and as you often ••y, that the happiness of n great many ought to be considered before
the happiness of one, you will decide against the captain, and in favor of your unhappy children.
' As this one event engrosses all our thoughts
and feeling's, you will not expect me to write of anything else; so, with love from all the mourners,
' I remain your affectionate daughter,
Louisa Price.'

126

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER•

The children

an felt

80

much nbout the

1011

THE YOlJT fl' S LETTF.ll-WRITF.R.

' I do not admire it so much as 1'f do some children's letters, Henry.
Some of the expressions
are too womanly. Louisa's lette rs are not simple
enoug-h to p1Pnse mp; h11t p:1p;i s;iy~ th~t lwr faults

of the

dog, that they were not at all aware of the e:xtrava•
gance of Louisa's languagf!; neither did they perceive
that there wa• n little affectation in the style, nor that
the manner in which the loss of N eptune was announced was likely to alarm their father extremely.

Dre those of a fi11 e mimi prirtially 1k•,·elope1l, that
Lnuisri must be let en tirely alone, nml never criticised, nnd that when she grows up she will write Letter
than nny of us.'
'"\Vell, I like her letter very much,' Enid I-I cnry;
• her mnnner of announcing the loss of Neptun e is:
fit f6r 11 novel, it prrnlures a sort of startling effect.'
'Yes, quite too much sq,' rejoined Anna; 'it is

All this 'was, however, appnrent enough to Anna 1
and it required great self-command on her part, to
read the lt!tter through gravely, and keep her
thoughts to herself, when William &nd H enry were
praising it. Knowing the sensitiveness of Louisa.
and that it was as murh as the poor child could bear
to show her letter •&t &111· •lie·· refrained from mil ·comment upan and orily considered · within · herself,

enough l o frighten p::1pa, and make him think th a t one

1t:

of us is dead at least.

how she should prevent her fnther from being nlarmffi by Louisa's way of an nouncing thP. rP.moval of
Neptune.

I wo11ltl not on nny nc<·ount let

it go so; but fortunately Louisa has Lcgun her lctt~r on the wron~ page; I cnn therefore fold it the
othe r w!ty, and so put all her writing on the two in-

As there was a good deal of blank paper

left, the asked Louisa if ohe might f\11 it up.

IZ7

ner pages, a nd write myself on that one wliirh p::ipa
will read first. In this way, I shall save him from

Thi1

request was readily granted 1 and as soon as Anna
was thoroughly engaged in writing, and all fear of
further attention being paid to her letter, was over,

being u11n ecessarily alarmed. I have heard him say
a great deal about th e impr0]niety ·of fri g htening

Louisa slipped off to bed,
Henr)' had watcht!d his cou•in Anna's looks, and
observed that she did not join in the praises bestowed
on LOuisa's performance; and therefore, whPn the
timid girl was gone, he asked Anna if she did not
think that a very womanly letter, and remarkably
well written for a child of twelve years of age.

people unnecessarily Uy a st:1rtli ng w<1y o f telling or
writing a piece of news ; I shall like to know what
he will say to Louisa's doing it ; whether he will
think it b<ost to tell her of that fault, or let it alone to
cure itself, ns he does all the rest of hers. I beg
that yo n and Willy will not say a word tq her about
her letter. '

l

128

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

the particulars, nod tell, the whole truth about it.
Papa does not approve of keeping fri emls ignorant
of the true stale of the healtl1 of those they love.
Did you never hear him tell th e story of l he sipge
of Dunkirk,,.,,,] the false lett<ers whiclt tlie gcnllerucn
there wrote lo~ their nbscnt u·i~e&? •

when her father was thrown from his horse and broke
his· arm, ·b.,,mede her write the account of it to 'her
uncle Moreton three times over, before he was satis-

fied that it was so worded as to give the least pos&ible alarm and anxiety.
•How was it worded al last ? do you recollect,
Anna?'
•Yes, I shall never forget it. I began in this +ay.
' " I write nt the req11es£ of my fath e r," - he ~a.de
me .ay· 1het, to ~1howothato he"Wila· alive ·md in his
• ~n•es, -

'.No, never,' snid Henry 1 • I have heard my mother
tell about the siege, but she neve r said a word auout
any fnl~e le tters; what were ll11-•y? •
'They we re letters written by the gentlemen who
remained in tbe besieged city, to tb eir wives, who
fled tD Calu i.s, to he .out - .o f d;u;J~(-·r. Tho~e who
were nfrnic1 liif'ir wi\'<'~ w011!d return un:uh·iscd!y,
sent tlum1 terrific accounts of tli c siege, irntl rqnt".

" to tell you of an accident he met with

yesterday, Jest you 111houJd h~nr of it in 1ome indirect

senle<l tliiugs a·& for worse than they really were.

and alarming way." - " Yesterday " was put in to
show that se,•eral hours he.d elapsed since the event;

~ml

Otht>r g '•nt lrmf'TlJ who li:11~ ti n1 i11 \\'iY c.s . am! li;.<1! 110
fear of their coming 1.i:u:k, wrote that all was ns l'iafe ..

!Htying thnf Wf" wrotf" to J"W?'Fn/ his l"'i"J!, n!'trm -

fttHI quiet as if th e enemy were a tho11sand miles of[

ed, showed that what we should tell, would not al:irm

When th~· ladies met, they compared th ese nrcounts.
nnrt fmmrl thPm !'i"n r rintrnnirtor:1:, tl1at th('_v knf'w !Hil

him. '
''Vl1y <lid not you say "u trifling M:d dent." ? '
• •hil H"nrY.
' H~~aus; that would not have been lrue1 antl ~1 f1U
l..:nvw L! 1at pa.µa is truth itsclL
lt ""·a_.. a WJ fracture, and he was o:ery mudi hn J.i:wd aiid hurt besi•!es..
After breaking the ncu~s in thi;i;: r:mtinu~ w:i.y, at the

IJ,,ginning of the letter, he allowed me to go into oil

129

-.

The boys pr~ised not to speak of it. Henry
begged leave to read it again, and then he Raw how
alarming her beginning was. Anna told Henry, that

Wft:.tt .to bl:liCVC, Uild lost
bnnris' · letters .

an (:uJitidetlt°I"! i11

.

J

.i;. iJ!i
j

I

''.

ihP

nnly

FH'<'01 n1 's

wPrP hPl.f,,.vf><l by th(;' r';fu!fec:ir; nnd th!'y u.c;c ,!

~'.i:::it

!1\ .<;, .; f

in Frt=>nrh, '"Ttil us, .l\1adam l'rice, w!:~ t t l;fJ lirave
9

il
;,

tJ1Pir iiUS-

;]Vlf"'nnw·hile, our grnndfother nlw nys

1l'Hcrs she _·received \\ CT? sonn

i

' I '

. \ t,,

wr0t"e the c-~r't t r nfh. t n c.ur g r ;\1 1, !1~! 1 · ! ln ' r , :11:il ~ hi'
1

=

1-:; j,i J

' :

i· ~

~·
I

:...

''

I

.

130

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WltITER.

THE YOUTH•s LETTER.WRJTE/t.

m

•1 t

American ":rites, for our husbands 1end us nothing
but lies."'
_
·
• To be sure in surj> a case as that,' saitl Henry,
•where there . were so many together, . any false
account would be immediately dPtertPtl, nnd then
they wotild not know what to believe. I won•ler the

wa1 ill and my father was in New York, nnd I l.:ept
him informed every day of her stale?'

'0 yes, I remember it; and I recollect too, that
Dr. Smith ndvised you not to tell my father anything about her illness, as he could nul leave his

husinc88 to return to her.'
' I knew better whnt hP would lilre.

husbands had not thought of tl1at.'
'Some · '""" perhaps in the habit of deceiving
their wives, and never thought of being detected.

I w!'Ote hi,..
every p•rtirnlnr 1 and the <onfidence fie hnrl in me
thst I would do so, saved him n great deal of suffer-

TI1.1t lii wi iting, as in spea1dng, it ii: nnt oni:;_ the
best policy to slate the exact truth, but it is 01'.r ~uty.
to do 00 , In al! our in~erc<mrs~ with otl_1ers, 1t 11 of
the uh••~8t importanc~ 1o ·preser ve their · confi1le11rP.,
and tl1is cannot be done unless truth is scrupulousiy
al\hered to, in writing ns well as '!peaking·. !

i ng . !Ic Irns often said, that if he had l1at.1 Hny stJ-3piclon of
trying to conceal the worst, he shonl.!
h~ve been rn!sernb!c, :rr:cl shou1<l have bet!n iernptr.rl
to return, though it would 11ave ruined his aflhirs; but
feeling e\Jre that he knew the whole truth, from dny
to day , enoblcd him to <'ontinue in New York, an;!
pP.rform the urgent <luties t?iat detained him tl1ere.
Uh there is nothing lilrn tr1_1th; in aH things! But

•But there are s0me c:-nM"~, Anna,' said \ViHiam,

" in wl•i<'h we are not obliged to tell thl'! whole truth ~
we may hold our tongues, an<\ so I suppose we may
someti mes avoid mentioning: a ~ulLJ1~f'.t in n lelter.'
'Ccrtuinly,' replie<l Auna; 'there ere many such
. <"ases; lmt where our friends are sick or in danger,
we have a right to be informed of it, and pnpa eays
it is :i. rnistnkcn n.uempt at kinrlr1Po;"'; tu wld1ju1l1i i.l1e
trnrh; fo~ :r li! t l-:::a-st s1Js;•i.--i.-.n roni::M'~ t!:e: ~in~~

tn:r

now I must leave off talking with you, nnd make
If you w•nl some1hing to read, Henry, JOU wm find two v;;.ry good
fictitiou• letters in this exrellent little bo0k, ••A
Visit to the Sea-Side." '

rny additlmi• lo L<>ul!ia's letter.

"

1! .
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Henry tock th e bec k an<l w.:ut suoii wi1vHy en ...
;:n··.\5~et1

lry iL

i.liai ~!f t: al\.! 1wl i11fu111n.:d ui the \\Ul~t, our l 111 :1g 1-

J\s the tu rns of the y oung.,.r chiJ(lren came, to

nalions torment us far more than any ~nown evii
could. Do you remember, WiHiam, when Louisa

write to their fother, the •latP• in the school-room
were frequently filled with nttempt• al Ppistolory

;,
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'f•i· '

TIIE. YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

composition; and some which were written without
any intention of forwarding them, were oo much
better than the more elaborate attempts, that Anna
encouraged the writers to copy them fairly on
paper, and let her send them. ' She always pursuaded those younger than Louisa to write their
letters on slates' then •he corrected the spelling ond
rectified other mistoke•, •o thot when they c•me to
write them out fairly, they had only to attend to the
penmanship; and ns their father was very particular
.about hi s children's h andwriting, they took grent
pains to write legi~ly and without any blots.. Many
' were-the sheets ~un and condemned, on account
of some ncciclent with the ink, or because the writing was not good enough : but as the letter supplied
the place of a copy, the children persevered, till
they sati sfied themselves with doing their very

warilness of Jem, and the obstinacy of the l1 r ad
man, who would put him to work that he was not fit
for . Anna expressed her regrets, and tl1t>11 rt" mi11.Je<l
'Villiam of Ct'rlai11 tl1i11gs wl1id1 he bad to do then,
and ndvi~t·t.I his cleff~ rring his lt'tter till ev1Jni 11g-, when
they shoul<l be all 1p1idly l'tnµlnyed 1ou1nl die t.dile,

132

best for dear papa.
William had so much lo say about the farming
.operations, that he could not wait for his tum to
come round, but wrote' much oftener. Once, he ap. peared with a flushed face . and kindling eye, prepared to write a letter to his father, on the spur of
tl1e moment, having just witnessed something on
the farm which he disapproved. Anna gently inquired what had happened, and William told her
that a certain colt had been lamed through the awl.:-

133

nnd he could write 'vith I1·ss i11terruptio11 from tlie

yo uuger children. Though thi s imp~.. tnnus y1>11th was

much excited, there was nothing in Anna's geutle
way of speaking, to arouse opposition, and he immediately acceded to her prop<••al,
\Vhen the f!ven ing came, William had Lecome
calm, and, on talking the matter over ngai11 with
Anna, he was less <lisposf'd to Llame the farmer or

J em, and wrote a very <liflerent U<'count of the ncei-

dent from whnt he woulJ have done, l1ad he written
in the morning. This was just what his judicious
sister wi shed , for she knew tli e Jang er of writing a
letter under the effect& of a temporary cliullition of
feeling. It is very unwise lo speak in a passion,
beca~1se we always say that which we a re sorry for,
when the excitemen t is over; but it is sti ll nwre
foolish and in excu~a bl e to write under such an influenc·e , as there is then time e noug h to think twice
of what we are •Lout, and to repress the written
words, before it is too late.

134

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

TllE YOUTH'S LETTER. Wlll1'F.IL

CHAPTER XI.

length was hardly recognised ; when, however, it
was ascertained that the letter was for l1im , John
Price ran off with it to him, encl, on his re turn,

.UOl.A.'s Ll!SSONS IK

•··•

t:ITrs•-wilmKG TO .... .BOY 01'1

·-· iQ:a ·r.A.Tna's r.A.aH. ·

It was a rule o{ Mr. Price's house, 'that all letters 1hould be carried to and from the post-office
in a sinall leathern bag or wallet, with a spring-lock
to it, provided for the purpose. When it was brought
home, and its contents distributed, it was l1ung up
in the hall, to receive the letters of the family which
were going-to-thi!~malfr'iind t 'ai "the business of
one o{ the fanning men fo carry it every morning',
at on early hour, to the post-office, where if wao left
till the arrival of the next mail, that it might be
ready to receive th e next budget for Oakwood. In
consequence of this arrangement, ]\fr, Price escaped
the trouble of lost letters, of which he often heard
his neigl1bours complain,
During hi1 father .. absence, it was William'•
priYilege"to go for the letters ·ond distribute them,
a business which he very \•ell liked.
One day there
wos found, in the leathern w•llet, a lette r directed to
James Williams. This was a boy of fourteen years
of nge, who worked on the farm ; he was so familiarly known as boy Jem, that his name at full

he told every one that it was a letter from Jem'1
mother, and though very badly written, and full
of bad spelling, he had helped .Tern to make out
the gre11ter part of it, and J em wns so pleased to
hear from home, that he coultl not help crying
for joy. H e said lie had been away from home
the greater part of a year, and had not heard
II word . about any of them till now.
J ohn had
hardly finished his acrount, when th ey saw J em
approaehing the house with rnpid strides,
Anna
euspecletl tlint he was <'oming to g e t further aid in

deciphering the precious letter he held in liis linnd,
She was the
and kindly put herself in his way.
very person whose help and sympathy he most 1le1ire<l, nnrl they were soon to be seen standing under
the shade of a •preading elm tree, Anna reailing, and
.Tern looki ng earnestly In her face. Nothing could
be more incorrect than the composition, orthogrnphy,
and p~nmnnsl1ip of this ldter, and yet, as n'mesf\en-

ger of love arnl good ti.lings, it was a valuable and
respec table performance 1 it certainly gave more
real happiness than many a more elaborate composition . It must have cost the writer • great effort ,
hut, rould she have seen the countenance of li er son

133

THE YOU T H'S LETTER-WRITER.

TH,E YOUTH'S LE1"fER-WRITER.

on hearing its contents, she would have felt amply.
repaid.
None, therefore, should omi\ writing to
their friends because they cannot do it well 1 any
lette r is be tter than none, but all who have had any
education ought to ernlepour to acquire a facil_ity in
writing letters.
Anna found, on inquiring, that Jem had never
written to his family since he left them ; and ye t he
had had education enough to enable him to read
with ense, and to write a tolerable hand. He said
he had often wished to write, but thought it too
great an unde rtaking for him.
Anna offered to
assist him, and enci.turaged_him to reply immediately
to hi1 mother's letter. She· perceived that his heart
full of feeling for his family, which he would
find it extremely difficult to put on paper, in any

'!••

intelligible form 1 and, therefore, she proposed that he
should tell he r wh at he wished to say, when she
would write it down for him, and he could copy it in
his own hand-writing. Anna felt so much for the
mother's anxiety for her son, that she appointed an
hour that very evening for writing Jem'1 letter.
She had him alone with her in the school-room, and
with a great deal of drawing out, questioning, anrl
B11ggesting, slu~ rontri\'etl to m11k e him speak out !llomP

of the affectionate things he hnd in hi s lienrt; nntl
lo tell how he was •itualed, and wl1at be had done

1

I

137

ever since he left his father's house. When he wna
quite 1luck fast, and could not think of anything
else to say, Anna advised him to shut his eyes, and
think how th ey nil looked nt home, to fancy himself
there talking to tli em, and th en he migh t think of
something more to tell them in his le tte r.
Afte r
pondering a long while with his ha nd over his eyes,
he said he could not think of anything to ••y, only
questions lhat he should put to them if he we re really
with th em.
' Very well,' said Annn 1 'tell me the questions,
and put them nll in your letter 1 perhaps your m other
will answer Lli cm ."
That was a new idea to J em ; J1e went on very
flu e ntly on this new tra<'k, an,! soon made hi s le tt er
quite long e nough, conside ring he had lo ropy it ull.
Anna had written his sentences very plainly, and
arrang ed his matte r as it should lie in a letter; and
having put a •heel of ruled pape r before him, and
given hiin a good pen, she left him to make a literal
copy of he r manu script. It wns slow work for such
cl umsy, unpractised fingers i nnd wh e n Anna returned
to the school~room, At the end of an hourt he had
but half completed liis task, and was very much
tired; so she ach ised l1irn to leave the res t till
another timf'.'.
She promised to Like rnre of hi .c;
unfinished letter, a nd not let any one SP!! it, ns thal
wa• a poin t on which he was very scnsiti1·c.

138

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

On looking over her pupil's letter, Anna w11 sur•
prised to find how many blunders he hacl contrived to
make, notwithstamling he had hers before him RI a
model. He had paid no attention at all to her parngTaphs, but nad WTitten 'ft all close together. He did
not know that words should be divided according to
their syllables; so he put in a. many letters of a word
as he could crowd in at the end of n line, and added
the remainder at the beginning of the next, whether
thev made n svllable or not 1 ·sometimes he joined
sev~ernl words ~together, ftS if they were one; frequently lie wrot e th e s:i.me wo Hl twi ce over, he put
in ond left out syllables, and what looked wont of
all, he wrote the pronoun I with A small letter.
Anna felt rather discouraged at the sight of so
many mistnkes ; but her benevolent wish that the
boy'• mother sl1ould hear from him, made her resolve not to damp his energies by any criticisms,
but encourage· him to finish and despatch this letter,
an1\ afterwards try to improve liim in the art of
letter-writing. Accordingly, the next evening, .Jem
finished copying -out his Jetter 1 Anna sealed and
directed it in his presence, and it was safely deposited
in th e family letter-bag. She found he was aware
of having made numerous mistakes in copying from
her manuscript; and on his expressing a wish that he
knew how to write a letter, Anua offered lo instruct

THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

139

him, and appointed a meeting with him in the schoolroom, at the same hour the next evening.
On Anna's return to the parlour, the boys were
eager to know all about .Jem"s letter, hia mistakes
and difficulties. Anna told them he had the same
fondness for a regular beginning, that William had; for
his first sentence was, 'This comes to inform you
that I am well, and hope you are the same.•
William approved of this beginning, H enry
thought it very stiff and old fashioned, Anna objected to it as altogether superfluous.
'Every letter,' she .aid, 'come• to infonn one of
lttmething 1 nnJ th e refore it is 11nnccessnry to sny

that it does 1 and unl ess you had been ill, and there
were great anxiety about your health, th ere is too
much egotism in making that your first topic. J cm
ahoulc1 have begun with saying, that he hail just received his mother"s Jetter, and that it had made him
very happy.'
After describing .Tern's numerou1 difficulties to
the boys, Anna told them of her promi se to i11struct
him in the art of letter-writing, and conS11lt cr1 with
them on the best means. J em's imperfect education
in the first rudiments of lea rning, and his want of
familiarity with books, made it necessary to teach
him very differently from a well-educated boy. llis
ignorance of orthography wa• the first great diffi-

a11d u 1 h.:ss <H l~ ...iul;Jge thu11

ot

\.Vli e n at lasl th e task wa s at.:co111pli s lH·d, \Villi a 111

correct monuocript 1 by copying which, other things
might be ·learned at the oame time, ouch ao where to
use capitals, how to divide ' words, &c. When, by
this exercise, he had acquired some facility in
putting words and sentences together, site would aet
him to writing original matter, in the shape of a diary
of his own life. Noting down, each evening, what
he had done during the day, was the easiest of all
compo1ltioD;'-'ln wou ct~~rg'e<>d · ntroductlon to
Jetter-writing. All were of opinion that it would be
pleasanter to Jem, to copy from manuscript, than
from print 1 and as Anna's hand-writing was. such
an one as he could not hope to imitate, it was decided that he should copy one of the boys'. As
William was willing to lend his aid, and his writing
was very g ood, he wrote about ten lines in his best
manner, making the farming · operations of the day
his theme. His manuscript was criticised, altered,
and re-written, that it might be as correct as possible,
and Anna said J em should copy it till he could do it
without a fault.
The pupil liked his lesson very much, and did his
best to imitate his model; but he was obliged to copy

wrote ten lines more in the same leg ible an<l correct
manner, and these were copied with ratl1 er more
facility than the first, which was encouraging to all

w1 1l 111 g

lru111 a

v11 1o1.,

l

parties.
By the end of a week's instruction, Jem's progress was considerable; and he even lengthened his
exercise, by adding a sentence of his own to the
forming journal. The moment, however, that he
attempted to go alone, he failed ; th e very worcls
which be had written properly, when copying, he
spelt in a totally different manner, when he wrote
from his own head. Tliis convinced him of the aclvantage of continuing still longer to copy from
"°rrect models; so, besides writing William's journal,
he made long extracts from books.
\Vhen, by long practice, J em had at last acquired
some facility in writing and spelling, he Legan original composition under Anna's guidance, arid soon
learned to write a very g11od account of his da.~/s
occupations. He became fond of keeping a diary,
and never failed to note down in the evening, what
he had been doing during the day. Bein;:: a yo uth
of good abilities, he by degrees added a few reflec-

I

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fir
,I

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THE YOUTH'S LETTEll.-WlllTEJl.

TllE YOUTH'S LF.TTER-Wnt'l'ER.

lions to the fach he recorded. The atep fro~ thl1
sort of composition to letter.writing waa a TeTy
'1nsy one 1 and what J em had dreaded as the molt
difficult task, proved 'iO"."•greeable" to. him, that he
"'8-rin" da"rigH .'o f inaking · liis •'friends ')af toll' ""much
pllstllge, and tiring them ·with long details of what
could interest no one but himself.
His kind instructress warned him against these errors, and he
readily profited by her hints. It was mpre difficult
to correct him of the fault which he next committed 1
that of writing in a flourishing, bombastic style, which

with . Anna showed it to 'Villiam, und it provc<l a
good warning to him. · Thi1 specimen of J em's
composition did more townnls curing \Villiam of his
fotuln css fo r formal hegi11ning s, thnn all the criticism
he had heanl on the sultiect. Anoth e r of J e 111's
errors was; fancying I.bat he showed his learning hy
using long words, and expressing himself in a roundabo"ut way. Being troubled once by an inflammation
in his eyes, he was informing his mother of it; and
in stead of saying in a simple w•y that his eyes we re
wenk, and would not allow of his writing much nt a

is most especial~ to be avoided by young penona.
hlglr-BDunding
beginning to his letters, such as the following ,

timf', he wrote thus: 'At presrnt, If I were to
demonstrate on behalf of my eyes, I sliouhl say

111!2

J'eni" now··ai0i'dd"1rmaliift'?'a-"'fi~e,
' My dear brother,

'My pen, which has lain so long in idleness, has
now commenced its important task. It being my
duty, and I trust, my interest to inform you of my
circumstances, I shall lead you to underatand that I
·am in good health and prosperous condition. I have
·b.,en," and still am;· work.on Mr. Price'• farm.•

at

It was in vain that Anna hinted to her pupil that
•he thought all, but the last sentence of the above
paragraph, superfluous.
He valued himielf very
much upon it, and did not like to have it found fault

143

they were very poor.'
IIe wns very much surprised when Anna told him
that he hnd writt en absolute nonsense, in trying to
write elegantly, nnd that if she had occasion to mention such a thing, she should express herself i11 the
plainest way.
It was long before J em could be convinced thnt
the simplest ex pression is the best. Many young
persons err in this particular; but th ey need only
examine the best mo<lels, to become sensible of its
truth.

144

1'1fE YOUTH'S J.ETTER-WRITEIL

THE YOUTH'S.LETTER-WRI'fER'.

CHAPTF.R 'XTI.
RETURN or .Ha. ·raro.s~· ;_ iolo'r11:s OJ' IHVIT~TION,

'·

-:·

· During Mr. Price'1 absence from home, he wrote
constantly to hi• children, adapting his letters to
their different age• and characters, and setting them
excellent example• of the familiar epistolary 1tyle.
The children often observed that a Jetter from pnpn
was just like heari ng him talk. Henry wns loud in
hi s uncle's praise; every le tter was a st.mly to him.

William 1<>metime~-tried~tO- c'ritici~e, ·bul found little
on which to exercise his abilities.
At last there
cations, that which announced !he day of his return
home. This news caused so much joyous excitement
throughou t the family, and made the younger chil -

•topped.
It was a pleasure which all desired, hut
which only three <'ould have. William mn•t. rm t n
drive, Henry, to jump out and open gates, nnJ Anna
thought the female part of the family should be
represented by Louisa. 'Il1e younger chiltlren were
reconciled to stnying at home, by the promise or
·meeting their father al the bottom of the avenue,
and being the first to show him certain new plants
that were just in flower.
Happily for 'tl1 ese impatient young spirits, Mr.
Price made his appearance among them at the time
he wn1 expected 1 each, in turn, shared his affectionate
cares•es, and the day was devoted to showing him
('very domestic no,•elty, tnlking over nil that had
pA!!M !n h!!!! ~b!!!en~e, .e:nrl hc~rir.g his ac~vtmt ot
what he line! seen and heard.

In the c'•ening

1\'lr, l'rice looked over and nr-

r1n1~.,.~ the f!'P('fS Which he h:id brought

!ii)ll U! \\

;\n wng th('8C were all the f' nrds :rn d 11ntf'~

i/11

tlrt"u so wilJ wi th delight, lltat no lt: s~1111!-l t.: ouhl lie

him .

thought ol, 11o r ;rn~·t! 1 i11g ntt1•nded to hut what was

inYilnt!1111 that lie Ii.id rf'ccin·d, and which lw

cn n:ii !_ierc<l as prr.par:!liou fur l11e ir LeluY ed father's

p rc seryi::·d, in u r dcr to :rntti.<.:e Iii., (')i\!dr,~n . nnd re-

reception.

IL \\· as wd1 t-l1at the

I.

'

f

J1ad

in!cn~l. l1tlwc1:n iiie

e.rr iYt·d of th~ i~tt er and that of ;\Ir.

J\11 .·\111Hl's r\rrn1k!"S nn 1t

0

; )i
'.

P ri n ", wa·~

g(• n!l 1~ n1' s<.: \u'•rP

fP r:lll"i r h1

nnd iint:-- , wr;r nmY .::-r;f'cEl rm t 11r1-1 n r1 11"" ('f'n t re uit , :1~.
\\' ii!; :11 11 (' ,1ill j1:1r•'( t ii•<' dilf ·u•r:t !i:indw::: : n:.:,- .s :
\'.1 rir r.·. ~~ r (•x iirf'.'' i111; 1.. , · "!'

in srttting \\·ho should go in t he dcnrborn . t o meet

..'\n n:i. rh:ir-rYrd

thr..:ir fatber at the tilat:t! where ll11.:

tlie .s:J.rn e iLit.:a ~ J.rnl tli !.!r c was some d:scu .• :.io;i ..... . ~1;

5t;,1gt:· CUJ.ch

!111'

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14~

THE YOUTH'S U:TTER-WlllTER.

TrtE YOUTH'S LETTEll-WltlTEll.

which w88 beat. William o~jecte<l very much lo
any one"s aski11g the ho•ivr of a person"& company,

such an invitation ns that.'
Both Willi"m nrul
Henry acknowledged their ignorance, a111l lll'gged to
know what Mr. Price hn<l written in reply.

because it must so often be written, where the visitor
conferred no honor nt all.
Mr: Priee approved Wllliam'• nice llft!INI of truth 1
but told him that the more a certain form of word•
was used, thP, less it implied.
' If every one usea
the word honor in that ceremonious way to every
one, It cannot be supposed ' to mean anything
particular, it is a mere form of ci vility. Whereas, if
we con tinuall y vary the expression ucconling to the
person athlressetl, and cal\ th e company of one
vi•itOI' all li6nor; ' 11Dd tllat of ·another a .fsvor, or a

147

I
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ing, and, if we mi suse them, we may convey a false

'I wrote in this Wily; ., Mr. Price accepts, with
mnel1 pleasure, the honor of !\Ir. Smith's i11vitation
to dine, on Mond11y, the 12th in~tnnt, ut four
o'clock," making my answer, as nearly ns possible,
an echo of the invitation. Many people say u·ill
accept "•ilh ntuch plt•rrsure, making the nccPptance
future instead of present, which is a grcnt niistake.
Some woulcl answer l\'Ir. Smith's invitation thus;
"l\Ir. Price will do himself the honor of waiting
upon Mr. Smith, n<'corcli11g to his polite invilatiun
for Monday next." But I do not like this positive
a.~sertion that he will go.
A thousand things may

Now I think, that, for a ceremoniou•

occur to prevent the fulfillment of an engagemen t ;

·11

dinner invitation from one gentleman to another,
there cannot be a better form lhan this; ' and he

bnt we may speak positively of areeptin:.; the
invitation, and th erefore r prefer my mode of -reply.

i:

pointed tu the following note :
•"Mr. Smith re<JueRts the honor nf Mr. Price's

I ol~ect also to the latl~r part of this note ; it is
always better to repeat, in an answer, the very words

pleasure, the choice between these terms has n meanimpression.

company at dinner, on Monday, tl1e I 2th instant, at
four o •clock."
'
'For a less ceremonious dinner,' continued Mr.
Price, ' it may be well to use the word fiu •or, instead
of honor, and a lady sl>0uld never me the lntter
word in a oote to a gentleman. Now I think of it,
boys, Jet me ask you, if you know how to answer

used. in th e invitation, to c!e nu te the day, ho nr, und

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!

nature of it. Then, if the re is any mi slak e, it will
be corrected. If I had mis.read, and supposed the
hour lo he.five instead of four, an nr1swer, worded ns
mine was, would lead to my being corrected.
'}! ere, ' rontinued .l\tlr. Pri ce, pointing to another
note on the table, ' is a pleasant, familiar way of
asking a frien d lo dine,' nnd he rend a• follow• ,

,!
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148

THE YOUTll'8 I,ETTER-WRITE!t.

' "My dear Sir,
'"Will you do me th e favor lo dine with me

TlltJ YOUTll'8 LETTER-WRITlm.

'°"'

morrow, :ti three o'clock, in company with Col.
T--, and a few fri~ nds ~
'•• Your~ VPry truly,

.. , J - -

c -·-- w- -.

J

•"Washington, June 20th."

it

'111is should be ans11•ered, in the fi rst person, ""
written, thus:

i~

ly in the third person, and therefore it is best to
begin in the first person, as .you do in a letter, when
you have more than n few lines to write.'
Henry begged to know how a I.Joy of' his age
Shou]d rppJy to a llOI P. writtPtl in the tJiinl pe rSf'fl;
'Ough t I to call n1y~elf J\Ir. J\1urdun 7 • 'No ;
during your boyhood, it is most proper to ca ll yourself plain Henry M oreton, however other penple
mey c hoose to eddress yo u. If yo u sl1 01ild, Ly uny
chnnce, receive a formal invitati on to din e, your
answer RhoulJ be

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1-Je nry JV[oreton a(.'<.'ept s with

much plen1ure the favor of Mt. - ' a invitation," &c.
arnl tl1 f._> n ~ ·)P~' ti !~ Wt•nJs •_•f th~ in v i!nti~'!!. •

' " My dear Sir,
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'" It wm g!ve me great rl~!l!U~ t0 din~ wit1! y00
k•· morrow. 11t thr~ o'<'1ork, a~ you kimll y propo~.
• u Youn~, very truly,

\'\'hil st l\1r . P1i ce had hfle n

lulkinu to

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Anna had been looking over the notes on th e table,

'" C. Price."

and os she lrnd bre 11 thor ough Iv rlri lletl in tl1e li11si11f'.<;: s
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'There is one great mistak e, into which pPople are
npt to foll, who ::ire not necustornerl to wrHe nvtes,
aml th at is, beginning in th e th ird person, and c11anging to the ffrsl; as if I should begin, " Mr. Price
present. his complim ents to J\Tr. such-on-one, and
"'ishes to know &c.," and then went on .to say.
"I hdpe this affair will soon be settlerl." Some
make a similar blunder in rpga nl to the person addressed, and say yon inst ead of he, in the cou rse of
the note. Jt is rlifficult to write a lo11g note correc t-

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of note.writing, hy nn Accomplishetl nnd tafildonnble

fri ernl, whom she visited in New York, she was nlile
to point out to her younger sister, ns well ns to th e
boys, th e fault• aud excellence• of \he vorious
specimens before her. She showed th em how much
better those noleR 100ked, in wlii r l1 tl1 e writing wn~
80 plac~tl as lo 0('\'1111.Y lla! et·11Lre nf tl1 t> p~1pl' r, and
to fill out the lines even ly nt eRc h end.
One note,
on pink pnper, W(tS writte11 so singularly as to at.
trac t pn1ti cular attentk1n; it was fournl, o n exarnina.
tion, tha t the un equal length of th e lines was occa-

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THE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRITER.

'l'llE YOUTH'S LETTER-WRl'l'.ER.

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sioned bY' the writer's having scrupulously avoidf'd
dividing the syllaliles of a word ; when there was nol
room fo~ the whole word, sh~ .wo~M not write any
part of it. All ngrei;d th~t tbis ~was mor:e nice than
wise, and that It ·~pnile'il 'th~ appearan<'e ~{- ihe note.
Anna s~id she hud been taught . ne\'er to divide the
syllables of a proper name, 01' to separate the title
from the name. A litlle consideration would enable
any one to avoid it, and it was better to write a note
twice over, than to do any thing so awkward.
' Such notes as th ese,' continued Anna, 'are so short,

quests the pleasure of :Mr. Price's company, on
Thursday e vening, the 17th inst., 9 o'clock." Here
is another, equally well written,
an occasion less
ceremonious.

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'" Mrs. J --- S ·- -expects a few frienJs at her
house on Saturday eveni ng next; and hopes it will
be agreeable to Mr. Price to join them, and hear a
little music. 8 o'clock.
' " Chestn ut Stree t,
'" We<l., June 10th."

and so ea~ly ::t! tt~pJ ~t t]1_erfi _is no ~~x~use for any
erasure, or interlining, or blot; whe~ such occur,
they should be re-wr itten.
' City notes should always have the name of the
street or avenue, and country notes, the name of the
place in whi ch the writer lives, prefixed to the date.
Unlike a letter, th e date of a note sho uld be at the
left hand lower corner of the page; and th e day of
the week is gen erally put before that of the month.
To prevent this line from r.e aching too far across the
page, and looking too much like th e other lines in the
note, th e place of residence should be put above the
date. Here is one note, on fine, hot-pressed paper,
that seems to be perfectly well arranged, well written,
and well expressed. I suppose it is an invitation to
a ball, for it is simply, "Mr. G-- W - re-

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'\Vas this really a small party, as the note implies?' asked Anna, ' or was it one of th ose silly
deceptions which are too common, when a la<ly
asks a house-full of people, and says to each one,
" to meet a few friends " ? '
' It was,' said Mr. Price, 'what the note announced, a small assemblage of people with some fine
riiusic, and I was much obliged to Mrs. S - - for so
wording her note, as to let me know what sort of
entertainment I might expect; for had she not named
th e musie, I should not ha\'e g one, and should have
missed the pleasantest evening I spent in Philadelphia. I wns glad to find it so much the fushion to
name the hour at which guests are expected to come ;
for that is so different at different }Jlaces, that a
stranger is often at a loss, and this settles the matter

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THE YOUTH'S LETTE!l-WRITER.

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at once, and in the best "way.
When a -time is
fixed, I think It is due to the lady of.the house, to go
as nearly as possible at the hour named 1 so I went a
few minutes after eight, and found many there before
me. The musi ~ began at half past eight and lasted
till half past ten, ).Vhen we had a very pretty supper,
that detained us till a little after eleven o'clock.'
Anna asked her fath er how he replied to Mrs.
S--'s note, and he said, 'In these words, "l\fr.
Price has much pleasure in accepting Mrs. J - S--'s invitation for Saturday evening, at t'-ight
o'clock." Was that right, my clear daughter? You
know more about · these,.thing.r than I do.'
Anna approved entirely of her father's note, and
was going to disclaim knowing more about it than
he did, when she was interrupted, by H enry's inquiring how notes of invitation should be answered, when
we wish to refuse them.
' When you have a previous engagement, yon
have only to plea<\ that, and say, "Mr. Moreton
regrets that a previous engagement prevents his
having the pleasure of accepting," &c. If you have
business that interferes, you can sny " regrets that
his engRgements are such, he cannot have the .pleasure," &c. If you have no hindrance, but want of
inclinati'on, you can say "you are much obliged by
Mrs. 1ucl1-an-one'1 polite invitation, and regret that
you cannot have the pleasure of accepting it." '

Henry now arranged the more .friendly notes,
according to the degrees of intimacy_implied hy their
manner of address, and begged his uncle to see if he
were right 1 th e se ri es ran thus, 'Sir,' 'Dear ·Sir,'
'My dea r Sir,' ' My dear Mr. Price,' 'My dear
friend.' Mr. Price said that was a very good crescendv, • and told him to ~rrnnge them now according
to their terminations; so he began ~ith ' Your ob't
serv't,' as the most formal and cold of all; then he
put, ' I am, with the higllest respect, your oli't
serv't,' as meaning rath er more than the first 1 'Yours
very faithfully,' seemed more friendly, and 'Yours
very sincerely,' more familiar still ; but he could not
tell when~ to place ' Yours truly,' and 'Yours very
truly.' Mr. Price said, therein consisted the convenience of those terms ; they were so vague, th ey
might mean any degree of friendship, and he did not
wonder that Henry was at a loss where to put them
in his series. ' These expressions are very useful
in writing notes 1 they mean very little, and yet are
sufficient for any one, except such as we wish to treat
with great ceremony and respect.'
Henry inquired how a youth of his age should
conclude a note lo n grown up person.
• A word u•ed in mu1ic to denolo a grarlunt in crease of
Hound.

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THE YOUTif'S LETTER-WRiTElL

• If it is an intimate friend or relation, you may
say, "Yours very affec ti ona tely," or "Yours with
great respect and affection." If the note is a reply
to a favor conferred, you can say, " Yours very
gratefully 1 if there is no reason for expressing atiy
thing more, respect is always due from the young to
their elders and superiors; therefore it is always safe
to write, "Yours respectfully." There are words
enough in use, to express every grade of feeling, and
they should be carefully selected for this purpose, os
the conclusion of a letter or a note makes a great
impression o~ t~e -~:so:__:e; ~ing it. If you wish
to recommend yourself' to your ,elders, be sure to
close with a respectful salutation ; and never indulge
in the careless and impolite way of concluding, practised by some ; wh o, instead of choosing n proper
expression, think to cut the matter short, by saying, " Yours, &c. " '
\Villi a 111 1ww Legged Henry not to pore OYCr those
nn \t>s nny long<' r, liut to play a gam~ of chess with
him, adding, ' It will Le lime enough. some years
hence, for you auJ me to learn how to write notes ;
l'oys net:d not know about such things.'
•Time slips nway so fast,' observed Mr. Price,
• that you will be young men, before you nre aware
of it 1 and when you are first obliged to answer a
ceremonious note, with no one at hand to consult,

THE YOUTH 'S LETTER-WRITER.

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you will be glnd to call up all you can recollect of
what has passed this evening 1 and it will be well for
you if you cnn remember enough of it, lo. preserve
you from the awkwanl predicament of being utterly
at a loss how to respond to a civility.•
Soon after Mr. Price's return, Henry was summoned home; and his letters to his kind fri ends at
Oakwood showed how much he had profited, by their
example and instruction, in the epistolary art. A
painful duty had become an .agreeal>le occupation,
and the facility he had acquired in three months,
proved a fruitful source of pleasure to him all the

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