An interesting study is the handwriting of authors, as it indicates to
a greater or less degree their personal temperaments.

Longfellow wrote a bold, open back-hand, which was the delight of
printers, says the Scientific American. Joaquin Miller wrote such a
bad hand that he often becomes puzzled over his own work, and the
printer sings the praises of the inventor of the typewriter.

Charlotte Bronte's writing seemed to have been traced with a cambric
needle, and Thackeray's writing, while marvelously neat and precise,
was so small that the best of eyes were needed to read it. Likewise
the writing of Captain Marryatt was so microscopic that when he was
interrupted in his labors he was obliged to mark the place where he
left off by sticking a pin in the paper.

Napoleon's was worse than illegible, and it is said that his letters
from Germany to the Empress Josephine were at first thought to be
rough maps of the seat of war.

Carlyle wrote a patient, crabbed and oddly emphasized hand. The
penmanship of Bryant was aggressive, well formed and decidedly
pleasing to the eye; while the chirography of Scott, Hunt, Moore, and
Gray was smooth and easy to read but did not express distinct
individuality.

Byron's handwriting was nothing more than a scrawl. His additions to
proofs frequently exceeded in volume the original copy, and in one of
his poems, which contained in the original only four hundred lines,
one thousand were added in the proofs.