It is easy to begin a letter if it is in answer to one that has just been received.  The news contained in it is fresh and the impulse to reply needs no prodding.

Nothing can be simpler than to say:  “We were all overjoyed to hear from you this morning,” or, “Your letter was the most welcome thing the postman has brought for ages,” or, “It was more than good to have news of you this morning,” or, “Your letter from Capri brought all the allure of Italy back to me,” or, “You can’t imagine, dear Mary, how glad I was to see an envelope with your writing this morning.”  And then you take up the various subjects in Mary’s letter, which should certainly launch you without difficulty upon topics of your own.

=ENDING A LETTER=

Just as the beginning of a letter should give the reader an impression of greeting, so should the end express friendly or affectionate leave-taking.  Nothing can be worse than to seem to scratch helplessly around in the air for an idea that will effect your escape.

“Well, I guess I must stop now,” “Well, I must close,” or, “You are probably bored with this long epistle, so I had better close.”

All of these are as bad as they can be, and suggest the untutored man who stands first on one foot and then on the other, running his finger around the brim of his hat, or the country girl twisting the corner of her apron.

=HOW TO END A LETTER=

An intimate letter has no end at all.  When you leave the house of a member of your family, you don’t have to think up an especial sentence in order to say good-by.

Leave-taking in a letter is the same: 

“Good-by, dearest, for to-day. 
Devotedly,
Kate.”

Or: 

“Best love to you all,
Martin.”

Or: 

“Will write again in a day or two. 
Lovingly,
Mary.”

Or: 

“Luncheon was announced half a page ago!  So good-by, dear Mary,
for to-day.”

The close of a less intimate letter, like taking leave of a visitor in your drawing-room, is necessarily more ceremonious.  And the “ceremonious close” presents to most people the greatest difficulty in letter-writing.

It is really quite simple, if you realize that the aim of the closing paragraph is merely to bring in a personal hyphen between the person writing and the person written to.

“The mountains were beautiful at sunset.”  It is a bad closing sentence because “the mountains” have nothing personal to either of you.  But if you can add “—­they reminded me of the time we were in Colorado together,” or “—­how different from our wide prairies at home,” you have crossed a bridge, as it were.

Or: 

“We have had a wonderful trip, but I do miss you all at home, and long to hear from you soon again.”

Or (from one at home): 

“Your closed house makes me very lonely to pass.  I do hope you are coming back soon.”