and succour the profession? Next, of course, to the baneful publisher
and the hopelessly indifferent public, most authors suffer more from no
one than from the unknown correspondent. The unknown correspondent is
very frequently of the fair sex, and her bright home is not unusually in
the setting sun. "Dear Mr. Brown," she writes to some poor author who
never heard of her, nor of Idaho, in the States, where she lives, "I
cannot tell you how much I admire your monograph on Phonetic Decay in its
influence on Logic. Please send me two copies with autograph
inscriptions. I hope to see you at home when I visit Europe in the
Fall."

Every man of letters, however humble, is accustomed to these salutations,
and probably Lord Tennyson receives scores every morning at breakfast.
Like all distinguished poets, like Scott certainly, we presume that he is
annoyed with huge parcels of MSS. These (unless Lord Tennyson is more
fortunate than other singers) he is asked to read, correct, and return
with a carefully considered opinion as to the sender's chance of having
"Assur ban-i-pal," a tragedy, accepted at the Gaiety Theatre. Rival but
unheard-of bards will entreat him to use his influence to get their
verses published. Others (all the world knows) will send him "spiteful
letters," assuring him that "his fame in song has done them much wrong."
How interesting it would be to ascertain the name of the author of that
immortal "spiteful letter"! Probably many persons have felt that they
could make a good guess; no less probably they have been mistaken.

In no way can the recipient avoid making enemies of the authors of all
these communications if he is at all an honest, irascible man. Mr.
Dickens used to reply to total strangers, and to poets like Miss Ada
Menken, with a dignified and sympathetic politeness which disarmed wrath.
But he probably thereby did but invite fresh trouble of the same kind.