Men, like trees, have a curved line which, touching at the extremities, forms a figure which is the general estimate of their characters. Individual traits are lost in the harmony of them all. The hand may be delicate; the face coarse; there may be contradiction between the eye and the brow, between the motive power and the object desired; but still the man is a unity unlike any other man, and yet similar in original traits.
To tell character by confining one's self to one exhibition of a faculty, would be like trying to tell the climate of a place by staying there one day. But in the other extreme, the collecting of facts proves nothing unless there have been opportunities for the display of other qualities than the ones in which the person is not interested. I, for instance, always dislike making new acquaintances; I get sulky whenever it is forced upon me; that does not prove that I may not be pleasant enough when allowed to act as I please.
One man, with no taste for a certain pursuit, is forced into it, kept at it, and, as he gives evidence of dislike, is accused of being almost a fool. Wonderful that in something else he should be a proficient at the first attempt. Yet it is not the doing a thing, but the getting pay for it, that is difficult; not the reading of character, but the applying it. What value is the being able to understand why men's handwritings vary, save as interesting?
Yet, perhaps, many a reader will glance over this and be inclined to acquire the skill.
First, does the man write often moderately, or very nicely? Did he write in a hurry, or not? Lastly, is his temperament nervous or inclined to be heavy?
Bad writing may arise from haste, nervousness, and want of practice; but the handwriting of the illiterate is intrinsically different from that of a nervous scholar. A man who writes badly when in haste must be a nervous man; so scrawly writing may be reduced to want of self-command. The man of business asks of the scholar, "Why can't you sell your labor and become rich?" The scholar may ask, "Why don't you give your money and write a book?" It is as impossible for one to change as the other. Poverty of brains can be no more overcome than poverty of purse. The right plan is for the two to divide. Money for talent. Ridiculous for money to wait for brains, or brains to be contemptuous of money. There must be help. Look at the writing! That nervous sweep of the pen is not the characteristic of a man to sway material matters; he is not thick-headed enough; the blows crush him.
On the other hand, that round, manly, firm chirography, regular as a troop of horses, indicates outward show, but there is no brain, sentiment, intense sensibility behind. [{696}] A bird is in a quiver of excitement at the least noise, but a cow stands looking on without the least alarm. Women write small. Indolence, affectation, and weakness are indicated, and indolence is nature's guard for nervous persons.
Take particular instances. A is a man of medium size, high forehead, hair of the Yankee brownish hue, eyes deep-set and rather small, nose small, mouth firm, chin rather weak. Physically, he is inclined to be of a nervous, sanguine temperament; hope large, caution large; animal propensities strong. He is a man of business, writes considerably, generally about business. His habit of mind exact. Now, what will be his characteristic handwriting? Ask half a dozen different men who are interested in judging of character, and compare their answers. His habits of business will have made his writing to a certain extent formal. He will have tried to make it a plain hand. His long practice in keeping books will have taught him to be able to write large or small; his nervousness will have taught him to use abbreviations; his solidity and preference for mercantile pursuits will have made him always more or less subject to self-command. He writes, then, not like the man of mere intellect, to get his thoughts upon paper for preservation, but for others to read. He thinks constantly how he will affect others; how they will understand him. He employs formal expressions because they are better understood. He says, "Rec'd three bales goods," instead of telling in many words the same fact, but writes not obscurely, but with particular care that they shall be read.
A lawyer will fill out a writ, and, save an undulating line, no one but the initiated would understand that a legal phrase was implied. The man of business deals with facts. The facts may be expressed briefly, in a formal way, hurriedly, but always with the intention of being read. That some business men do write badly is nothing to this purpose. I am speaking of the desire in you to write plainly.
Now my man, described, sits down to tell his correspondent that a certain lot of goods has arrived, all save one package. He writes rapidly, exactly, and with the wish that the others shall read what he says at once and without mistake. His nervous power would urge him to haste and carelessness, but his business education will restrain him. How will his writing show it? His mind is not particularly active. He is not thinking what to say, but to explain an understood fact. I think, all these circumstances taken into consideration, his letters will be open, frank regular, round, and well-looking, but at the ends of the longest wider, and at the tops and bottoms of long letters will be a perceptible twitch as if he grew there first a little impatient at the delay.