Would I permit my visiting-card to be reproduced in the illustration of an article on “The Etiquette of Card-leaving”?
Had I two or three good specimens of opals from Querétaro for a correspondent who had twice read my Mexican book?
While another enterprising gleaner sought my help in gathering his sheaf as follows:
“I am endeavouring to collect the opinions of prominent ladies and gentlemen as to what is the ideal age for marriage. If you would be so good as to write a few lines, giving your opinion on this matter, from the lady’s point of view, and enclose them in the accompanying stamped addressed envelope at your earliest convenience, I assure you that I should esteem it a great favour. Sincerely hoping that you may see your way to accede to my request,” etc.
Another enquired if I thought widows should remarry.
Lastly, among begging letters that visit the working-woman’s desk like so many buzzing flies, one covering many pages may be taken as a specimen. A youth, a French polisher by trade, wrote that he had given up his situation: taken to writing: failed and become a tramp. After many hardships, having only one penny left, he bought a postage-stamp and hoped to find a Who’s Who in his inn. He was unsuccessful, but discovered a Literary Year-Book, which he opened by chance, and his eyes fell on my name; therefore he sent me a most lengthy appeal for help, adding a promise of repayment as he had a prospect of work.
Truly strange epistles drift into the working-woman’s letter-box, and each steals a little time from her busy day.
Once an unknown person, chancing to read an article of mine on Lourdes, sent me sixteen closely written pages in French, betraying a profound anxiety on the writer’s part to convert me to Roman Catholicism.
Then come letters of a different kind requesting loans. They may be from the Royal Geographical Society, or the Earl’s Court Exhibition, or a lace collection, or perhaps some clergyman in the East End, but the letters come and the letters have to be answered.