A Gentleman

by Maurice Francis Egan

In the old times, when there was no Civil Service and Congressmen made their appointments to West Point at their own sweet will, an applicant’s fate was often decided by his letters. There is a story told of Thaddeus Stevens, a famous statesman of thirty years ago, that he once rejected an applicant for admission to the military school. This applicant met him one day in a corridor of the Capitol and remonstrated violently. “Your favoritism is marked, Mr. Stevens,” he said; “you have blasted my career from mere party prejudice.”

The legislator retorted, “I would not give an appointment to any blasted fool who spells ‘until’ with two ‘ll’s’ and ‘till’ with one.” And the disappointed aspirant went home to look into his dictionary.

Such trifles as this make the sum of life. A man’s letter is to most educated people an index of the man himself. His card is looked on in the same light in polite society. But a man’s letter is more important than his visiting-card, though the character of the latter cannot be altogether neglected.

It is better to be too exquisite in your carefulness about your letters than in the slightest degree careless. The art of letter-writing comes from knowledge and constant practice.

Your letters, now, ought to be careful works of art. Intelligent—remember I say intelligent—care is the basis of all perfection; and perfection in small things means success in great. In our world the specialist, the man who does at least one thing as well as he can, is sure to succeed; and so overcrowded are the avenues to success becoming that a man to succeed must be a specialist and know how to do at least one thing better than his fellow-men.

If you happen to have a rich father, you may say, “It does not make much difference; I shall have an easy time of it all my life. I can spell ‘applicant’ with two ‘c’s’ if I like and it will not make any difference.”

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

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

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

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