THE MODERN SPECTATOR No. VI

1811-09 :Pages 143-147

”Every time a man smiles, much more so when he laughs,” says the inimitable Sterne, “it adds something to the fragment of life.”—This Shadean aphorism, without having a claim to the being physically true, is equally remote from being physically false. To attain any fixed principles on this subject drawn from the evidence of facts, is scarcely within the reach of philosophical enquiry; for so many circumstances concur in the abbreviation and prolonging of human life, that it is not possible, perhaps, to determine the share which a disposition to cheerfulness or gravity may exclusively have in promoting the one or the other. Nor is it probable, if an anatomist had dissected Heraclitus or Democritus after their deaths, that he would, by a scientific research into their organic systems, have discovered any appearance by which he could judge of their respective living characters; one of whom is represented, by ancient historians, as having laughed through life; while the other is described as being continually dissolved in tears.

That there is less wear and tear of the constitution in the indulgence of mirth than of sorrow, will, I presume, be readily acknowledged; and that cheerfulness and gaiety are more friendly to health than gravity, operating as an active principle, that is, with its associate habits or its natural causes, is equally apparent. But if we compare those who have been remarkable for the sprightliness of their disposition, and the merriment which marked their hours, with those who are in the more dignified class of philosophers, and whose character bears the stamp of solemn sobriety, it will not be found that life is generally in favour of the laughing, merrymaking tribe. Many of our most learned, grave, and scientific men, have had their days extended to a very protracted period. Newton left the world which he had enlightened by his labours, when he had exceeded an age that is seldom allotted to man; Locke attained his seventy-second year: while Scarron, Moliere,Foote, and others of a similar disposition, those merry creatures, who, according to Sterne, might look to the promise of a very long life, had not advanced beyond what is called the middle period of it, when they were summoned to the tomb. Even Sterne himself, as if to controvert his own position, for no man laughed more than he, was, ere he had reached his forty-sixth year, in the silent seclusion of the grave.

But it may be said, with great truth, that such examples prove nothing either one way or the other. Men, who are under the continual influence of frolic and fun, are ever on the verge of intemperance. As they look to society for their pleasures, they are always in search of what is called pleasurable society; and to whose zest they are themselves so enlivening an addition. Borne away by the stream of pleasure, they are too apt to look for the happiness of life in those gratifications which are calculated to exhilarate the present moment, with little consideration for the future: a career, wherein health, as well as fortune, is too often sacrificed, and the term of life artificially contracted. A short life and a merry one, is a maxim by which too many have brought on premature old age, against whose evils laughter will be of little avail. The grave, sedate, and philosophic character, on the contrary, though he may toil in his study, and grow pale by the midnight lamp, necessarily selects temperance for his companion, and leaves nature to the slow and regular operations of decay.

”You laugh too much to grow rich,” says a prudent, wealthy old gentleman in the comedy, to a gay, laughing, sporting young country neighbour; and he might have added, with equal propriety – to grow old; not, indeed, from the act itself, for it is a convulsion arising from pleasure, and is as innocent as it is pleasant: but when, instead of being an incidental effect of lively thoughts or grotesque occurrences, it becomes a habit, with all the concomitant circumstances and dispositions to levity, which fix it as such, it can never be considered as a preservative of health, or possessing a tendency to prolong life.

Laughter is exclusively a human characteristic, which is whimsically illustrated by the following anecdote. One of the ancient philosophers having defined man to be a two-footed animal without feathers, “Animal bipes, carens pennis,” a wag of that day, for there have been wags in all days, stripped a cock of his plumes, and exhibited him as the philosopher’s man. The mirth was loud on the occasion among the standers-by; -- when one of them observed, that this exemplar of man might be without feathers, and have no more than two legs, but that still the resemblance did not run on all fours; for though the bird might crow, it could not join in the laugh.

Tears, as signs of grief, appear also to be the exclusive property of man. Shakspeare , indeed, has given the faculty of shedding them, from painful sensations, to the stag; and he represents them as

Coursing each other down his innocent nose

In piteous case-----------

But I am not so profound in natural history as to be able to determine, whether the poet drew his picture from nature, though, as he was at one time of his life a deer-stealer, he might have opportunities of deriving his knowledge from that source. I am rather disposed to suspect, that he dressed up a vulgar notion to give an added interest to the beauty of his description. But as my present business is not with the miseries of life, I shall return to my subject.

Laughter is occasioned by various circumstances; but though they may differ in form, colour, and character, they are all of the same family: the ridiculous must blend with them all. There is no reasoning upon this faculty; there is no bringing it to a fixed principle. It is a capricious as whim and fancy can make it. A parson, dressed in a white coat, tumbling into a dirty kennel, or accidents still more distressing, will sometimes produce it. Let a man pull another by the nose which is only of a common size, and the seeing such an attack excites no sense of ridicule; but if the human proboscis should be of a size to fill the hand that is applied to disgrace it, the chance is in favour of its causing laughter in those who witness the occurrence. If a little man slips and falls, the passer by receives no impression, but that of wishing to assist him in getting up again; but if a person with an enormous paunch, should measure his length, and flounder about in the dust, without hat or wig, no one, but a man going to be hanged, would refrain from laughing. If one’s most intimate friend should be taking a pinch of snuff in a coach, and by a sudden jolt of the machine, his thumb and finger, with the pungent dust between them, should be turned from the nostril and driven into the eye, would it be possible to refrain from laughter, notwithstanding the torture we might see inflicted on that tender organ. If any person who has a very decayed set of teeth should take a spoonful of ice-cream by mistake, or without the necessary precaution, agony will immediately follow: nevertheless, the sputtering and distortions of the countenance, produced by such an acute pain, will probably have the same effect upon the spectators as the grins and grimaces of a clown in a pantomime.

This may be called practical humour, and if laughter is to be considered in any way as a physical good, operating to salutary effects on the human frame, it must be looked for rather from humour, in whatever shape it may appear, as being more abundant in ludicrous images, than from wit. The latter, by its chaste selection of objects, and its brilliant application of fancy to them, is more immediately addressed to the understanding, so that it may produce pleasant ideas in the mind, without, at least, any violent attack upon the muscles. Indeed, I perfectly agree with Sir William Temple, in preferring humour to wit. The latter, it is true, has superior talents, and produces higher emotions; but the former, after all, is the pleasanter fellow. A few observations will, I think, justify the preference.

Locke says, with his usual discrimination, “that wit consists in distinguishing resemblances in objects which differ from each other, and differences in objects which resemble each other.” It may also be added, that wit is an aptitude of thought, and confined in its operation to conception and production: thus rapidly conceiving the affinities and contradictions of things, and with an equal celerity, displaying unexpected and striking images arising from them.

Wit may be not unaptly compared to the sight; and all its operations may be assimilated to those of the eye, which seems to be the material soul of the body. The properties of wit and sight are the quick perception of objects, the distinction and difference of their forms, and the judgment of their distance. These relations appear to be so just, that, without reasoning upon their causes, the same expressions are used to determine the qualities of the one and the other. Perspicuity, penetration, and subtlety are equally applied to them both. Eyes, accustomed to certain objects, discover in them shades which escape a more penetrating visual power, which has not been in similar habits of observation. Thus the eye of a connoisseur in painting soon distinguishes a copy from an original. The man of letters and habitual criticism quickly discovers in a work all that relates to the style and genius of a great writer. In the general statement of a proposition he quickly discovers remote consequences; in a principle apparently unconnected may applications; in a simple idea something sublime; and in a brilliant thought falsehood and affectation. Thus wit applies itself to whatever objects it contemplates, and strikes out of them those sparkling thoughts which at once surprise and delight, and not unfrequently illustrate and instruct.

Hence it will appear, I think, that as a mere companionable quality, wit must yield the palm to humour; or, at least, in creating laughter must acknowledge an inferiority. Many brilliant expressions of men renowned for their wit are now repeated, as I doubt not they were originally uttered, without exciting more than a smile on the countenance, though followed with the instant and real admiration of the mind.

I well remember my accidental attendance on an itinerant lecture on the art of exciting laugher formed a principal feature of them; and, among a variety of rules and examples, he related the three following stories, which he insisted had never been told to any one, who had not heard them before, without producing the convulsion which was the subject of his consideration. They certainly justified his opinion at the time, by their powerful effect in exciting the mirth of his audience. At all events I shall conclude this paper with them, leaving their operations to the temper and disposition of my readers.

First, An itinerant painter called at a gentleman’s house in the country to offer the services of his pencil. The gentleman said he had a large staircase which he should be glad to have decorated; and, in short, that he had no objection to throw away five guineas upon it. The painter accordingly undertook to cover it with a magnificent picture, the subject of which was to be the Passage of the Israelites over the Red Sea. The money was paid in advance for the purchase of colours; but a sufficient quantity of red ochre was all that was necessary for the painting. The next morning, at a very early hour, the artist began his work, and covered the walls with a succession of scarlet waves. When the gentleman came down to breakfast he was informed that the staircase was finished. “Here is a Red Sea with a vengeance!” he exclaimed; “but where are the Israelites?”—“Oh,” said the painter, “they have all passed over; they are safe on the other side.”—“But where then is Pharaoh and his host?”—“Oh,” replied the artist, “they are all drowned; they are safe at the bottom.”

Second, A pious old gentleman had hired a boy, who was recommended to him for the excellent manner in which he read the Bible; and, as a specimen of his qualification, the youth recited the following verse in the following manner:--“And the prophet said unto his servant, Saddle me my ass; and he saddled HIM.”

Third, Doctor Monckley, an eminent physician in the city was of an uncommon bulk, was standing one summer evening before his own door, when he observed a servant knocking at all the doors of the houses to the right and left of him; and, at length, hearing that the man was enquiring where he himself lived, he very morosely addressed him in the following manner: “I am Doctor Monckley, and the house before which I stand is my house, and you are a blundering booby for not finding it out before.” Upon which the fellow replied, “I wish then, doctor, you would keep within your house, that one might see there was a door to it!”

I do not answer for the novelty of these stories; but anecdotes of this description certainly give a greater scope to merriment, and create more laughter, than the most brilliant effusions of wit. Nor will it, I believe, be denied, that a humorous man, who is a man of good humour, is better qualified than any other to produce that social cheerfulness, which, in Sterne’s opinion, tends to prolong life.