the thing. But farther on--effect of the sun,
the air, the wine perhaps--hot blood courses in the veins, tempers are
excitable, language is extravagant, and the simplest things are said in
the strongest terms.

If the type of speech varies with climate, it differs also with epochs.
Compare the language, written or spoken, of our own times with that of
certain other periods of our history. Under the old _regime_, people
spoke differently than at the time of the Revolution, and we have not
the same language as the men of 1830, 1848, or the Second Empire. In
general, language is now characterized by greater simplicity: we no
longer wear perukes, we no longer write in lace frills: but there is one
significant difference between us and almost all of our ancestors--and
it is the source of our exaggerations--our nervousness. Upon
over-excited nervous systems--and Heaven knows that to have nerves is no
longer an aristocratic privilege!--words do not produce the same
impression as under normal conditions. And quite as truly, simple
language does not suffice the man of over-wrought sensibilities when he
tries to express what he feels. In private life, in public, in books, on
the stage, calm and temperate speech has given place to excess. The
means that novelists and playwrights employ to galvanize the public mind
and compel its attention, are to be found again, in their rudiments, in
our most commonplace conversations, in our letter-writing, and above all
in public speaking. Our performances in language compared to those of a
man well-balanced and serene, are what our hand-writing is compared to
that of our fathers. The fault is laid to steel pens. If only the truth
were acknowledged!--Geese, then, could save us! But the evil goes
deeper; it is in ourselves. We write like men possessed: the pen of our
ancestors was more restful, more sure. Here we face one of the results
of our modern life, so complicated and so terribly exhaustive of energy.
It leaves us impatient, breathless, in perpetual trepidation. Our
hand-writing, like our speech, suffers thereby and betrays us. Let us go
back from the effect to the cause, and understand well the warning it
brings us!

What good can come from this habit of exaggerated speech? False
interpreters of our own impressions, we can not but warp the minds of
our fellow-men as well as our own. Between people who exaggerate, good
understanding ceases. Ruffled tempers, violent and useless disputes,