LAUGHTER, PERILS OF
There is certainly no harm in a good laugh, and truly it is not forbidden to a jester to speak the truth. Yet the laugh must have the right ring to it. Socrates laughed, and Voltaire laughed, as Thomas Erskine remarked; yet, as he said, what a difference in the laugh of the two! And the man who laughs all the time will not know what to do when the hour of weeping comes. The laughing philosopher is a very shallow philosopher or else a very shallow laugher. An awful gravity which comes from a man taking himself too seriously is a thing which irresistibly invites a tweaking of the nose; but a ridicule which beats and splashes on all sides and at all times, fixing its pasquinades nightly on the statues of our national heroes, smirking in the presence of names and thoughts that ought to be shrouded in sacred reverence, is one of the things that no right soul can abide.—Christian Union.
(1759)
LAUGHTER, PROVOKING
The doctor who could not laugh and make me laugh I should put down for a half-educated man. It is one of the duties of the profession to hunt for the material of a joke on every corner. Most of them have so esteemed it. Garth, Rabelais, Abernethy, and a hundred or so more too near to be named, what genial, liver-shaking, heart-quickening, wit-waking worthies they were and are! To the son who loves her best, nature reveals most her tricks of workmanship. He knows there is a prize in every package of commonplace and sadness, and he can find it—not only the bit of fun shining to the eye of a connoisseur like an unset jewel, but the eccentricity, the resemblance, the revelation, countless signs and tokens of the evanescent, amusing, pathetic creature we call the human.—A. B. Ward, Scribner’s.
(1760)
LAUGHTER, VALUE OF
To what a dreary, dismal complexion should we all come at last, were all fun and cachinnation expunged from our solemn and scientific planet! Care would soon overwhelm us; the heart would corrode; the river of life would be like the lake of the dismal swamp; we should begin our career with a sigh, and end it with a groan; while cadaverous faces and words to the tune of “The Dead March in Saul,” would make up the whole interlude of our existence. Hume, the historian, in examining a French manuscript containing accounts of some private disbursements of King Edward II of England, found, among others, one item of a crown paid to somebody for making the king laugh. Could one conceive of a wiser investment? Perhaps by paying one crown Edward saved another. “The most utterly lost of all days,” says Chamfort, “is that on which you have not once laughed.” Even that grimmest and most saturnine of men, who, tho he made others roar with merriment, was never known to smile, and who died “in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a hole”—Dean Swift—has called laughter “the most innocent of all diuretics.” (Text.)—William Matthews, Home Magazine.
(1761)
LAW AND GRACE