SOME LETTERS

“There’s no art,” said the doomed Duncan, “to find the mind’s construction in the face,” nor after a somewhat extensive acquaintance with men and their letters am I inclined to think there is very much to be found of the true individuality of men in their letters.  All men, and especially literary men, seem to consider themselves on dress parade in their correspondence, and pose accordingly.  Ninety-nine persons out of a hundred are more self-conscious in writing than they are in talking.  Even the least conscious seem to imagine that what they put down in black and white is to pass under some censorious eye.  The professional writer, whether his reputation be international, like that of a Lowell or a Stevenson, or confined to the circle of his village associates, never appears to pen a line without some affectation.  The literary artist does this with an ease and grace that provokes comment upon its charming naturalness, the journeyman only occasions some remark upon his effort to “show off.”  If language was given us to conceal thoughts, letter writing goes a step further and puts the black-and-white mask of deliberation on language.

Eugene Field was no exception to the rule that literary men scarcely ever write letters for the mere perusal or information of the recipient.  He almost always wrote for an ulterior effect or for an ulterior audience.  But he seldom wrote letters deliberately for reproduction in his “Memoirs.”  If he had done so they would have been written so skilfully that he would have made himself out to be pretty much the particular kind of a character he pleased.  For obvious reasons most of the communications that passed between Field and myself were verbal, across a partition in the office, or by notes that were destroyed as soon as they had served their purpose.  That Field had other correspondents the following request for a postage stamp will testify: 

  THE GOOD KNIGHT’S DIPLOMACY.[1]

  One evening in his normal plight
  The good but impecunious knight
      Addressing Thompson said: 
  “Methinks a great increasing fame
  Shall add new glory to thy name,
      And cluster round thy head.

  “There is no knight but he will yield
  Before thy valor in the Field
      Or in exploits of arms;
  And all admit the pleasing force
  Of thy most eloquent discourse—­
      Such are thy social charms.

  “Alike to lord and vassal dear
  Thou dost incline a pitying ear
      To fellow-men in pain;
  And be he wounded, sick, or broke,
  No brother knight doth e’er invoke
      Thy knightly aid in vain.

  “Such—­such a gentle knight thou art,
  And it is solace to my heart
      To have so fair a friend. 
  No better, sweeter boon I pray
  Than thy affection—­by the way,
      Hast thou a stamp to lend?”

  “Aye, marry, ’tis my sweet delight
  To succor such an honest knight!”
      Sir Thompson straight replied. 
  Field caught the proffered treasure up,
  Then tossing off a stirrup-cup
      From out the castle hied.