Guys, Take Note
Do not ever employ the following techniques, which I quote from a book that my mother thoughtfully brought me back from her trip to the Newport Mansions (whence she has just returned, and there is much rejoicing). The book is called The Essential Handbook of Victorian Etiquette, which is the sort of thing that she knows and I know that I like. The following is an excerpt which I have so far read aloud to four family members today, and all were much amused. It is entitled...
A Gentleman Makes a Frank Acknowledgment, Gushing with Sentiment, and Running Over with Poetry:
My Dear Mary:
One by one the brown leaves are falling, reminding us that thegolden summer that we have so delightfully loitered through approaches its close. How thickly our pathway has been strewn with roses; how fragrant have been the million blossoms; how sweetly the birds have sung; how beautiful have been the sunny days; how joyous have been the starry nights!
Dear Mary, I do not need to tell you that this delightful summer has been to me one grand Elysian scene. I have gazed on and dreamed of thy beauty. I have been fed by thy sparkling repartee and merriment; I have drunk at the fountain of thy intellect, but the feast is ended, and gradually the curtain is falling.
Dear, beautiful summer; so beautiful to me because of thy loved presence. And standing, now on the threshold of a scene all changed, I take a last, fond look on the beautiful picture that will return to me no more; and yet, who knows, but on in that great eternity we may live again these Eden hours.
Dearest, you must forgive my ardent expressions in this letter. With a temperament gushing to the brim and overflowing with sentiment and rhapsody, I have passed the fleeting summer in thy charming presence in one continual dream of poetry.
I cannot now turn back to the solemn duties before me without telling you what trembled on my tongue a thousand times, as we gathered flowers together and wove our chaplets in the sunny days gone by.
Dear, darling Mary, I love you, I adore you. How often in the beautiful moonlit nights, as we strolled among the lilacs and the primroses, have I been on the verge of clasping your jeweled hand and telling you all my heart. But, oh! I did not quite dare; the hours were so delightful, even as they were.
Fearing that I might be repulsed, I chose to accept the joy even that therer was, rather than run the risk of losing it all.
How many a morning have I arisen and firmly resolved that, ere another day, I would know my fate. But, ah! the twilight would fall, and the evening hour would pass by, and I never completely dared to risk the result of a declaration. The morror I knew would be joyous if I bridled my impulse. It might not be if I made a mistake. But the dream has passed by.
Tomorrow, I bid adieu to these sylvan groves, the quiet meadows, and the gurgling brooks, to go back to the prose duties of business. And now, at the close of this festal season, as I am upon the verge of going, having nothing to lose and everything to gain, I have told you my heart. I have not the slightest idea what your reply will be. You have been to me one continual puzzle. If your answer is adverse, I can only entertain the highest respect for you ever in the future, and memory shall keep alive the recollection of the most blissful summer I have ever known.
If your reply is favorable--dearest, maI fondly hope that it will be?--then opens before me a great volume of happiness, of which this joyous summer has been but the opening chapter.
Dear Mary, may I come again and see you, and address you henceforth as a lover? The messenger who brings you this will return again in an hour for your answer. I need not tell you what an hour of suspense this will be to me. Upon your reply hangs my future.
If your reply is favorable, I shall tarry not another day; and will you grant me a long interview, as I have much to talk over with you? If unfavorable, please return this letter with your note. Accept my warmest thanks for the entertainment which I, in common with others, have received at your hand in the past; and, if I may not sign myself your devoted lover, I shall at least, I trust, have ever the pleasure of subscribing myself,
Your Sincere Friend,
Clarence Harrington
And what there could be to say after that, I cannot imagine!
A Gentleman Makes a Frank Acknowledgment, Gushing with Sentiment, and Running Over with Poetry:
My Dear Mary:
One by one the brown leaves are falling, reminding us that thegolden summer that we have so delightfully loitered through approaches its close. How thickly our pathway has been strewn with roses; how fragrant have been the million blossoms; how sweetly the birds have sung; how beautiful have been the sunny days; how joyous have been the starry nights!
Dear Mary, I do not need to tell you that this delightful summer has been to me one grand Elysian scene. I have gazed on and dreamed of thy beauty. I have been fed by thy sparkling repartee and merriment; I have drunk at the fountain of thy intellect, but the feast is ended, and gradually the curtain is falling.
Dear, beautiful summer; so beautiful to me because of thy loved presence. And standing, now on the threshold of a scene all changed, I take a last, fond look on the beautiful picture that will return to me no more; and yet, who knows, but on in that great eternity we may live again these Eden hours.
Dearest, you must forgive my ardent expressions in this letter. With a temperament gushing to the brim and overflowing with sentiment and rhapsody, I have passed the fleeting summer in thy charming presence in one continual dream of poetry.
I cannot now turn back to the solemn duties before me without telling you what trembled on my tongue a thousand times, as we gathered flowers together and wove our chaplets in the sunny days gone by.
Dear, darling Mary, I love you, I adore you. How often in the beautiful moonlit nights, as we strolled among the lilacs and the primroses, have I been on the verge of clasping your jeweled hand and telling you all my heart. But, oh! I did not quite dare; the hours were so delightful, even as they were.
Fearing that I might be repulsed, I chose to accept the joy even that therer was, rather than run the risk of losing it all.
How many a morning have I arisen and firmly resolved that, ere another day, I would know my fate. But, ah! the twilight would fall, and the evening hour would pass by, and I never completely dared to risk the result of a declaration. The morror I knew would be joyous if I bridled my impulse. It might not be if I made a mistake. But the dream has passed by.
Tomorrow, I bid adieu to these sylvan groves, the quiet meadows, and the gurgling brooks, to go back to the prose duties of business. And now, at the close of this festal season, as I am upon the verge of going, having nothing to lose and everything to gain, I have told you my heart. I have not the slightest idea what your reply will be. You have been to me one continual puzzle. If your answer is adverse, I can only entertain the highest respect for you ever in the future, and memory shall keep alive the recollection of the most blissful summer I have ever known.
If your reply is favorable--dearest, maI fondly hope that it will be?--then opens before me a great volume of happiness, of which this joyous summer has been but the opening chapter.
Dear Mary, may I come again and see you, and address you henceforth as a lover? The messenger who brings you this will return again in an hour for your answer. I need not tell you what an hour of suspense this will be to me. Upon your reply hangs my future.
If your reply is favorable, I shall tarry not another day; and will you grant me a long interview, as I have much to talk over with you? If unfavorable, please return this letter with your note. Accept my warmest thanks for the entertainment which I, in common with others, have received at your hand in the past; and, if I may not sign myself your devoted lover, I shall at least, I trust, have ever the pleasure of subscribing myself,
Your Sincere Friend,
Clarence Harrington
And what there could be to say after that, I cannot imagine!
posted by Praelucor at 12:03 AM
7 Comments:
hahahah!! And yet in the midst of all that gush, he remained rational enough to wait until he had "nothing to lose and everything to gain." It seems rather too... premeditated for me.
I don't know... If I'd been the girl to whom the letter is addressed, waiting around all summer wondering what in the world this dude was about... I don't think I'd mind the particular phraseology he chose to use to say that he loved me :).
Hmm... my sisters tell me I am too hard on guys, which is probably true, but he seems to me kind of a wimp to not tell her in person? As far as being premeditated -- yes, of course, and probably also painstakingly revised during all those hours when she wondered what in the world he was up to.
But if the girl has spent her entire summer waiting in suspense, chances are she wept over the letter, kissed it, and wrote a most fervent reply. Me, if I liked the guy, I think I would laugh myself silly over his writing style, forgive all the wimpiness and floweriness, break into a crazy dance, call my older sister, and then reply: "Wow. Quite the letter. Come on over and let's talk."
I think I would be delighted that he sent the letter eventually, but annoyed that he waited so long. "Wimpy" is exactly the word. And I would tell him both those emotions, with rather more emphasis on the first than the second.
Nate, that would be scary if I could access the mp3, but I can't. This is probably a good thing; I think it might permanantly damage my nerves to hear a person whom I KNOW is sane and intelligent reciting such language. Yikes!
So glad you all enjoyed it. I just about died laughing when I read it, and it has become my classic example of "the worst excesses of Romanticism."
"Every woman wants to hear some sappy guy say stuff like that to her at least once in her life...."
Perhaps true. After all, it is hilariously funny.
"I have not the slightest idea what your reply will be..."
Helpless laughter, believe me. (Or for my sister, annoyance: "Will you please turn that off?" So I guess it does depend on the girl...)
Anyway, it's even funnier hearing than reading...
Didn't Anne get all thrilled because what's-his-name--the dork who wasn't Gilbert--wrote her a quite tolerable sonnet?
If the guy who wrote that which you quoted to me was the right guy, I should certainly forgive him; if he was the wrong guy, I would laugh very hard...
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