Punch (7.1844)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER.

LETTER IH.

FROM A GENTLEMAN TO A FRIEND, SOLICITING HIS ACCEPTANCE

and bund.

stamp are, to my mind's eye, Richards, the very types of our
kindred minds. Do not, however, fail to post the bill to-night.

There is—I believe lie calls it—a bond on my account for three
or four hundreds to which a troublesome attorney wants your name.
Come and breakfast with me on Monday, my dear boy, and it shall
be ready for you. Heaven bless you,

Your friend, to the Place of Tombs,

Montague St. George.

P.S. I have a putt de fiie gras, which I don't think you ever tasted,
from Paris, for Monday. It's made of geese's-liver. They put the live
goose before the fire and make it drink and drink. Rather cruel,
but there's no mistake in the liver.

My dear Richards,

LETTER IV.

THE FRIEND'S ANSWER, REFUSING BOTH ACCEPTANCE AND BOND.
My dear Montague,

Your letter has given me great pleasure. You know how
highly I have always thought of friendship : it is, as you say, a divine
thing. Indeed, to my mind so divine, that it should never, no never,
be mixed up with money.

Nevertheless, however we may differ on this little point, it is
impossible for me to speak as I feel on your letter. It is charmingly
written. There is a beauty, a fervour in your sentiments about
In~ t7,is"ou7fleeting life, how few are the friendship that convince me you have felt' its treasures, and are
A' h\^M opportunities afforded us of really testing the hearts therein, though poor in tne world s esteem, rich as an Emperor. My
T of our friends ! Sorry, indeed, should I be for my | dear friend> cultivate this style of writing : I am certain money is to
own nature, Avere I of the barren creed of those j ^e made by it. _ ,, . . , .

who, from the depths of their would-be wisdom, smile knowingly at ! 1 a/ree ;vlt 1 >'ou as *<> >'our °Pml0n of ?e i lfc Is a glorious

friendship, as though, like the word phoenix, it spoke of something I world-and glorious, indeed, are some of the people in it The
very fine, but very fabulous : a spicy monster, building in the clouds, friendship that has so long subsisted between us, must make me
and never known to descend upon our earth. No : I should be acknowledge this. \our simile of a friend and a fiddle is perfect
among the most insensible of my kind—a very savage of social life— j ^touchmg. What, indeed, are they both made lor, it not to be
did I fail to worship friendship in my innermost heart as a virtue
illustrated by one of the noblest of created men. Forgive me if I do
not name him; for true worth, like the rose, mil blush at its own
sweetness !

Truly, it is pleasant to hear men abuse the world, as though, for-
sooth, they themselves were the only shining exceptions from the
general selfishness they condemn. When I hear a man cry out, "It
is a bad world," I must of course lump him with the aggregate ini-
quity ; for how can he have the enormous vanity to select himself as
the one pure Adam from naughty millions ? No, Richards ; be it
my faith to think the best of the world ; be it my special felicity to
know that I hold the heart—ay, as though it were in my hand—of
the truest and the best of friends. But what, indeed, is friendship,
if it be not active ? What, but a harp, or the divinest of Cremonas,

played upon ?

Your picture of the unison of souls, when both the souls' hands are
to the same bill, is beautiful, affecting. I have read the passage over
twenty times. It has neither one word too many or too few. The
picture is perfect : a cabinet gem to be locked up in one's heart.
The unison of souls is a charming phrase ; but, unhappily, my friend,
it is too fine, of too subtle an essence to be acknowledged and res-
pected by the coarse men of the world. The sheriff, for instance,
cares not for souls, only inasmuch as they are in bodies. Now, unhap-
pily, so far as we know, disembodied souls do not draw or accept ;
otherwise, what felicity would it be to me to meet and mingle with
your spirit on a five-shilling stamp .'

I confess, too, that it is tempting to think that, by the alchemy of
a few ink-drops, I could put a hundred and fifty gold pieces (bating
the discount) in the purse of my friend. Alas ! if the ceremony

resting in silence-all^ the melodious, ravishing sounds that waft our [ began and ended with ink, I would spend a Black Sea upon you

You should have my name ten thousand times multiplied, with a good
wish in every stroke, hair and thick.

That you have eschewed so many acquaintance, all happy with
clean-nibbed pens to accept for you, and in the fulness of your friend-
ship selected me, is a compliment, nay more, it is an evidence of
your affection which I—I hope to deserve.

You know that /, as well as yourself, am apt to be imaginative.
Imaginations, however, fly not always together. You say, that by
accepting the bill, our souls would be united. My dear friend, for
three months, I should feel ourselves growing together, every day
strengthening the process. I should feel as if I breathed for two ; nay,
I should hardly turn in my bed unincumbered. I should, in my
fancy, become a double man with only single strength to bear about
my added load. You know the story of Sinbad and the Old Man
of the Mountain I That is a fine allegory, though not understood.
The truth is, the Old Man drew a bill, and Sinbad—guileless tar !—
accepted it.

You speak of the roses that wreathe about the stamp. They are,
indeed, very pretty. But, somehow, my eye fell upon the thistles ;
which I doubt not, the benevolence of Her Majesty causes to be
embossed there: thistles, clearly significant that the man who
accepts a bill, save for his own debt, is an ass.

spirits to the clouds, sleeping in their strings, a dumb sleep ? So is
it with the heart of a true friend until touched by the wants of his
companion.

My dear Richards, I enclose you a bill for a hundred and fifty
pounds. That bill, like the harp or fiddle I have spoken of, is now as
a dead thing. But only write across it " Accepted, John Richards,"
and it will have a voice of gold—yes it will ring with sovereigns.
Oh, friendship ! thou divinest alchemist, that man should ever pro-
fane thee ! Send the bill back by post, as I must have the cash
to-morrow.

I have many acquaintance, any of whom would have gone through
the little form (for it is only a form,) I ask of you. But no : I should
have thought such an act on my part a treason to our friendship.
You know, my dear boy, that I am apt to be imaginative ; and thus,
it is a sweet and peculiar pleasure to me to fancy both our names
linked indissoluble together—the union legalised by a five-shilling
stamp,—each adding value to the other by being paired. Thus, it
almost seems to me, that we merge two souls into one—that in very
truth, by the potent spell of friendship, we are no longer single, but
bound together by a bond unknown to those pagans of the ancient
time, Orestes and Pvi.ades, Damon and Pythias !

Yes ; with a slight flourish of the pen, we shall feel what I once
thought impossible, a greater interest in one another. We shall know-
that our names, written upon accredited paper, pass in the world as
symbols of gold ; you will have turned ink-drops into ready money,
r.nd / shall have received it. The roses that wreathe around the John Richards-

I am, on the contrary,

Your affectionate friend,