to achieve what Englishmen know so well
how to accomplish, the building up of palaces
from the rudest materials.

THE INCOMPLETE LETTER-WRITER

THERE is a movement just now, and very
desirable it is that such a movement should
be made, for facilitating, by reduction of
cost and regularity of transmission, the
correspondence that passes between our
soldiers and sailors on active service in
the Black Sea and Baltic, and their
relations in this country. Seeing what has
been accomplished in the way of cheap and
rapid postal arrangements, for purposes
commercial and social, it is scarcely too much, to
ask for their extension, when the claim upon
our sympathy is so much more widely spread,
and when the many for whom the boon is
prayed are those to whom we are likely to owe
the political security of the country. But,
leaving this subject, which, I trust, is being
treated in a satisfactory way by the authorities,
who can, if they please, do good, without
detriment to Her Majesty's Service, I wish to
consider the general question of
letter-writing amongst the illiterate: illustrating by
authentic specimens the way in which the
operation commonly takes place.

The natural tendency of man has been defined
a hundred times over, according to the whim
or impression of the definitionist. By some
he has been called a cooking animal, by
others a thinking one, by others again, an
animal of pugnacious or locomotive or
colonising propensities,—and so on—and I
think it will not be denied that, among his
attributes, he may fairly lay claim to be
called a letter-writing animal. The myriads
of additional letters which have passed
through the general post-office every year
since the penny stamp was substituted for
the former heavy charges, show how strong
the general desire for writing must be. But
this does not exactly prove the uncontrollable
impulse; facility for correspondence only
brings it out; it is the want of facility that
demonstrates its strength and declares it to
be an inherent principle. Gentlemen and
ladies who have nothing to do, may very
well afford to fill up some part of their
precious time, and occupy—advantageously
or not, as it may happen—a good deal of the
time of others, by inditing reams of gossip;
the proverbial ready-writer may flourish his
pen at his ease; but what is their employment
to the serious occupation, the intense
labour—I do not say of the merchants' or
lawyers' clerk, who do a little in that way,
and against the grain too—compared with
the tremendous effort made by him—or her
—who not being able to spell, nor possessing
the remotest idea of grammar, sits
doggedly down with the resolute
determination to write a letter; in many
instances without there being any
particular necessity (as far as appears from
the context) for him—or her—to do so at all.

As Sterne took his captive to describe
him, let me take my letter-writer. He
shall be a sturdy, thickset fellow, a good
deal freckled, with hair not over-well combed,
—disturbed, perhaps, by his fingers—and of a
yellowish hue, or decidedly red, if you prefer
it. He shall have taken off his coat, waistcoat,
and neck-handkerchief, and be attired
simply in corduroys, ribbed worsted stockings,
and highlows; he shall have seated himself
at a kitchen-table, with plenty of elbow-room;
one huge hand shall be spread out before him,
which, like Macbeth 's, shall occasionally
clutch at nothing, fancying it the object of his
thoughts, when not engaged in scratching the
back of his head; his tongue shall refuse to
remain in his mouth, but shall traverse that
feature from side to side in a finely-pointed
condition; there shall be a tea-cup on the
table, with a very small quantity of ink in it;
a saucer, near it, shall hold two large wafers,
one red and one yellow; and he shall despairingly
brandish a pen which, when brought to
the scratch, shall splutter forth a letter like
the following, which he, a huntsman, addresses
on the subject of his professional avocations to
his master the Squire.

                                S——, Oct. 23, 1845.
SIR—Monday the 20 kernall found A Brace of
foxis Run one thir for hour and Alf And kild him
then went to Nut Grove Drue it Blank then the Long
Cops Drue it Blank then to Park Cops Drue it Blank
then to Boldens Drue it Blank then Went home—
Wensday 22 hampstead Beech wood found A old fox
.And away he went to Park Cops then to Loner Cops
And i lost him then i went Back to hampstead Beech
Wood And found A nother And he Gave hus A Ring
Round thir And then Away hee Whent [the spelling
shows here that our friend was getting excited] threw
Park Cops then threw Norgate Wood Bark threwgh
Long Cops then Back to Norgate wood And Run him
in a Rabit ole a Dughim hout in A bout in A Bout
forty Minits And thin Come hom the horses is hall
quit well An the houns. I Remain
               your humble survent
                             And Obedient survent,
                                                                    J G

May we not still further picture our huntsman
taking a very long pull at something in
a very large jug, after he has brought this
run to a close? It has been no blank with
him, as he thinks, though he would have
looked blank enough had he known that his
letter would one day find its way into print.

In what guise does imagination pourtray
the writer of the next letter? Was a fine
frenzy rolling in her eye, or did a tear subdue
its brightness? There was cause enough,
perhaps, for both these moods, for she writes
from the C—— Union, and another kind of
union was probably in her thoughts.

My DEAR MIKE— I felt very much concearned
about you looking so down this morning, i should
like to know Wethcr i have affronted you in anything
or Wether miss reed as tikin your fancy insted of me
that you are so altred towards me. i Wich to see you