When directing a letter to "a woman of letters," it is not considered polite to insert the word "Authoress" after her name. And yet we have seen this done by persons who ought to know better. If you are unacquainted with the number and street of her residence, direct to the care of her publisher; whose place you may always find, by referring to the title-page of one of her last works, and by seeing his advertisements in the newspapers. The booksellers always know where their authors are to be found. So do the printers—for their boys convey the proof-sheets.
Observe that the term "learned lady" is not correctly applied to a female, unless she has successfully cultivated what is understood to be the learning of colleges—for instance, the dead languages, &c. Unfortunately, the term is now seldom used but in derision, and to denote a woman whose studies have been entirely of the masculine order. You may speak of a well-informed, well-read, talented, intellectual, accomplished lady; but call her not learned, unless she is well-versed in the Greek and Latin classics, and able to discuss them from their original language. Even then, spare her the appellation of learned, if gentlemen are present. In the dark ages, when not every lady could read and write, the few that were entitled to the "benefit of clergy," frequently "drank deep in tasting the Pierian spring," and proceeded to study the learned languages with great success; for instance, Lady Jane Grey and Queen Elizabeth.
In desiring the autograph of a literary lady, do not expect her to write in your album "a piece of poetry." Be satisfied with her signature only. There is a spice of meanness in requesting from her, as a gift, any portion of her stock in trade. As well might you ask Mr. Stewart, or Mr. Levy, to present you with an embroidered collar, or a pair of gloves. For the same reason, never request an artist to "draw something" in your album. It is only amateur poets, and amateur artists, that can afford to write and draw in albums. Those who make a living by their profession, have no time to spare for gratuitous performances; and it is as wrong to ask them, as it is to invite public singers to "favour the company with a song" at private parties, where they are invited as guests. It is, however, not unusual for professional musicians to kindly and politely gratify the company by inviting themselves to sing; saying, "Perhaps you would like to hear my last song." And sometimes, if quite "in the vein," a real poet, when modestly asked for merely his signature, will voluntarily add a few lines of verse. But do not expect it.
There are pretty little books of fine paper, handsomely bound, that are used for the purpose of containing signature autographs; one on each page. A lady owning such a book, can send it to any distinguished person of whose hand-writing she wishes to possess a specimen.
When the name at the bottom of a letter is shown to you as an autograph, it is rude to take the letter into your own hand, and read the whole, or even to glance your eye over it. It is not intended that you shall see any thing but the signature.
We will now address a few words to beginners in the art of writing, with reference to their intercourse with women of well-established literary reputation. If these ladies of decided standing in the republic of letters have sufficient leisure, they will generally be very kind in assisting with their counsel a young aspirant, who shows any evidence of talent for the profession. Unluckily, too many novices in the art, mistake a mere desire to get into print, for that rarest of gifts—genius. And without genius, there is no possibility of gaining by the pen, either fame, or fortune.
Long manuscripts are frequently sent for the revisal "at leisure" of a person who has little or no leisure. Yet in the intervals of toiling for herself, she is expected to toil for some one else; probably for a stranger whom she does not know, in whom she can take no interest, and who has evidently "no writing in her soul." If, however, the modest request is kindly complied with, in all probability the corrections will only give offence, and may perhaps be crossed out before the manuscript is offered to the publisher, who very likely may reject it for want of these very corrections. We have known such incidents.
The least talented of the numerous females pretending to authorship, are generally the most conceited and the most obtrusive. They are frequently very great annoyances to women "well-up the ladder," who are expected, in many instances, not only to revise the manuscript, but immediately to find a purchaser for it—a purchaser of high rank among publishers—one who will bring it out handsomely, ensure it an immense circulation, pay promptly, and pay as much as is given to the standard authors. And besides being desired to "get it published," the reviser of the manuscript will, perhaps, be requested to correct the proofs; that is, if the literary novice should chance to know what proof-sheets are.
The work thus arrogantly thrust upon the time and attention of a deservedly-popular writer may be a book of "sweet poetry," on weak, worn-out, common-place subjects, done into feeble, halting, ill-rhyming verses, such as few read, and none remember. Or the aspirant after fame, may have chosen the easier path of prose, and produced a fiction without fancy, a novel without novelty, "a thrilling tale" that thrills nobody, a picture of fashionable life after no fashion that ever existed, or "a pathetic story of domestic life," neither pathetic nor domestic.
Yet if a practised and successful author ventures to pronounce an unfavourable verdict on such productions, because the writer desired her candid opinion, she will probably light up a flame of resentment, that may never be extinguished, and make an enemy for life; the objections being imputed to "sheer envy," and to a malignant design of "extinguishing a rising star."