_THE HYPERBOLIST._
"He was owner of a piece of ground not larger
Than a Lacedemonian letter."--LONGINUS.
"He was so gaunt, the case of a flagelet was a mansion for
him."--SHAKESPEARE.
The habit of this talker is to exaggerate. He abides not by simple truth
in the statement of a fact or the relation of a story. What he sees with
his naked eye he describes to others in enlarged outlines, filled up
with colours of the deepest hues. What he hears with his naked ears he
repeats to others in words which destroy its simplicity, and almost
absorb its truthfulness. A straw is a beam, a mole-hill a mountain. His
ducks are geese, his minnows are perch, and his babes cherubs. The
fading light of the evening he merges into darkness, and the mellow rays
of the morning into the dazzling sunshine of noonday. He turns the
pyramid on its apex, and the mountain on its peak. If he has a slight
ache in the head, he is distracted in his senses, and a brief
indisposition of his friend is a sickness likely to be of long duration
and serious consequence.
Simple truth is not sufficient for the Hyberbolist to set forth his
views and feelings in conversation. He wishes to convey the idea that
_he_ has seen and experienced things in number, quality, and
circumstances exceeding anything within the range of your knowledge and
experience. He is wishful that you should "_wonder_" and utter words of
exclamation at his statements. If you do not, he may perchance repeat
himself with enlarged hyperbolisms; and should you then hear in a
matter-of-course manner, he may give you up as one stoical or phlegmatic
in your temperament.
The following lines, written by Dr. Byrom in the last century, will
serve to show the nature and growth of hyperbolism in many instances;
especially in the repetition of facts:--
"Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand;
'Hark ye,' said he, ''tis an odd story this,
About the crows!' '_I don't know what it is_,'
Replied his friend.--'No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I come from, it is the common chat.
But you shall hear: an odd affair indeed!
And, that it happen'd, they are all agreed;
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up _three black crows_.'
'_Impossible!_' 'Nay, but it's really true;
I have it from good hands, and so may you.'
'_From whose, I pray?_' So having nam'd the man,
Straight to enquire his curious comrade ran.
'_Sir, did you tell?_'--relating the affair.
'Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me,--
But, by-the-bye, 'twas _two_ black crows, not _three_.'
Resolv'd to trace so wondrous an event,
Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went.
'_Sir_,'--and so forth. 'Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Though in regard to number not exact;
It was not _two_ black crows, but only one;
The truth of _that_ you may depend upon.
The gentleman himself told me the case.'--
'Where may I find him?'--'Why, in such a place.'
Away goes he, and having found him out,
'Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt;'
Then to his last informant he referr'd,
And begg'd to know, if _true_ what he had heard,
'Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?'--'Not I.'
'Bless me! how people propagate a lie!
Black crows have been thrown up, _three_, _two_, and _one_:
And here, I find, all comes, at last, to _none_!
Did you say _nothing_ of a crow at _all_?'
'Crow--Crow--perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over.'--'And, pray, sir, what was't?'
'Why I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was--_as black_, sir, as a crow.'"
An Englishman and a Yankee were once talking about the speed at which
the trains travelled in their respective countries. The Englishman spoke
of the "Flying Dutchman" travelling sixty miles an hour.
"We beat that hollow," said the Yankee. "Our trains on some lines travel
so fast that they outgo the sound of the whistle which warns of their
coming, and reach the station first."
Of course the "Britisher" gave the palm to his American cousin, and said
no more about English locomotive travelling.
Hyberbolism is a fault too much cultivated and practised among the
"young ladies" of our schools and homes. They think it an elegant mode
of speaking, and seem to rival each other as to which shall best
succeed. An ordinary painting of one of their friends is "an exquisitely
fine piece of workmanship, and really Reynolds himself could scarcely
exceed it." And that bouquet of wax flowers on the side-board "are not
surpassed by the products of nature herself." That young man lately seen
in company at the house of Mrs. Hood "is one of the handsomest young
gentlemen that I ever beheld; indeed, Miss Spencer, I never saw any one
to equal him in reality or in picture." To tell the truth, courteous
reader, this said "young gentleman" was scarcely up to an ordinary
exhibition of that sex and age of humanity; but this young lady, for
some reason or other, could not help speaking of him as the "_highest
style_ of man."
Our children are even found indulging in this exaggerated mode of
speech, as the following may illustrate:--
"Oh, mother," said Annie, as she threw herself into a chair, on her
return from a walk, "_I cannot stir another step._"
"Why, Annie," answered her mother, "I thought your walk was pleasant,
and not tiring at all."
"It was such a long one," said Annie; "_I thought we should never have
got home again._ I would not walk it again _for all the world_."
"But did you not enjoy the walk in the fields, Annie?"
"Oh, no; there were so many cows that _I was frightened to death_."
"What a little angel our baby is," said Nancy, one day to her sister,
"_I feel as though I could eat it up._"
"O what a _monstrous brute_ our governess is!" said Marian to a
school-fellow one afternoon, because she had corrected her rather
sharply for some misdemeanour.
"I say, Fred, we have strawberries in our garden _as big as my fist_,"
said David one day to him.