expression of thought; and in expressing our thoughts we give
expression to ourselves. When once the art of writing is learned we
are no longer conscious of the mental and manual effort required to
form the letters. It becomes, as it were, a second nature to us. We do
it mechanically, just as we form our words when talking, without
realizing the complex processes of mind and muscle that it involves.

Of course, the style of handwriting does not in every case remain the
same throughout the entire life of a man or woman. A man of fifty may
not write the same hand that he did when he was eighteen or twenty,
and if he lives to be eighty or ninety it will in all probability show
further indications of change. This fact only emphasizes the
relationship between handwriting, character, and personality; for it
will always be found that where there is a change in the style of
penmanship there is a corresponding change in the person himself. Very
few of us retain the same character, disposition, and nature that we
had in youth. Experience and vicissitudes do much to modify our
natures, and with such modifications come alterations in our
handwriting. In some persons the change is very slight, while in
others it is noticeably evident.

When a man attempts to change his style of handwriting he simply
alters the principal features of it. If his writing normally slopes to
the right, he will probably adopt a back-hand. He may also use a
different kind of pen; may change the size of the writing, alter the
customary formation of certain letters, and add certain unfamiliar
flourishes. But knowing nothing about the many minor characteristics
of his natural writing he unconsciously repeats them, notwithstanding
his best efforts to veil the identity of his chirography. In this
respect he resembles the actor, who, while he may assume all the