Here is the way a paper manufacturer puts convincing argument into his letter, making it original and personal:
"Take the sheet of paper on which this letter is written and apply to it every test you have ever heard of for proving quality. You will find it contains not a single trace of wood pulp or fillers but is strong, tough, long-fiber linen. Take your pen and write a few words on it. You will find the point glides so smoothly that writing is a pleasure. Then erase a word or two and write them again—do it twice, three or four times—repeated erasures, and still you will find the ink does not blot or spread in the least. This proves the hard body and carefully prepared finish."
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Even if a person felt sure that this same letter went to ten-thousand other men, there would be an individuality about it, a vividness that makes the strongest kind of appeal.
In a town in central Indiana two merchants suffered losses from fire. A few days later, one sent out this announcement to his customers:
"We beg to announce that temporary quarters have been secured at 411 Main Street, where we will be glad to see you and will endeavor to handle your orders promptly."
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The second firm wrote to its customers:
Dear Mr. Brown:
Yes, it was a bad fire but it will not cripple the business. Our biggest asset is not the merchandise in the store but the good-will of our customers—something that fires cannot damage.