sserts, a common and almost plebeian manner of writing, using words of
every-day stamp in his correspondence. In his view of letter writing,
its style and manner ought to vary with the complexion of its subject
matter, and be subjected to no abstract system of rules. Ho propounds
three principal kinds of epistles: first, that which merely conveys
interesting intelligence, being, as he says, the very object for which
the thing itself came into existence; second, the jocose letter; third,
the serious and solemn letter. And it was besides the opinion of the
great orator--an opinion sanctioned and ratified by all honorable
persons then and in our own day--that there is something sacred in the
contents of a letter which gives it the strongest claims to be withheld
from third persons. 'For who,' he exclaims, in his second Philippic,
'who that is at all influenced by good habits and feelings, has ever
allowed himself to resent an affront or injury by exposing to others any
letters received from the offending persons during their intercourse of
friendship?' 'What else,' he eloquently exclaims, 'would be the tendency
of such conduct but to rob the very life of life of its social charms!
How many pleasantries find their way into letters, as amusing to the
correspondents as they are insipid to others; and how many subjects of
serious interest, which are entirely unfit to be brought before the
public!'

Truly is it gratifying, in our treatment of this topic, to be able to
adduce such high, classical authority concerning the sacred and
inviolable character of all private correspondence. In our humble view,
not only is the seal of a letter a lock more impregnable to the hand of
honor than the strongest bank safe which the expert Mr. Hobbs might
vainly have tried to open; but even when that seal has already been
rightfully broken and the contents of the letter exposed, those contents
are to the eye of delicacy as unreadable as if written in that _Bass_
language which Adam and Eve are said to have spoken while in the garden
of Eden, and which, since the fall, none but angels have ever been able
to comprehend. Now, if Cicero thought it base for a third party to read
a private letter, what eloquent thunder would he not have hurled at the
head of that wretch who not only read, but printed and published it!
There is an epithet, which, in certain parts of New England, the folks
apply to the poorest of poor scamps--'mean.' Now who, in this ro