wit is not spiritual, but it is ethereal; it does not soar, it is too material for that—but for that very reason it is better understood. French and Irish wit-French and Irish poetry-French and Irish oratory much resemble each other-they all display the brilliancy of the rocket. The humblest bourgeiose you meet in the Rue St. Honore is a wit. You cannot say the same for the humblest Irishman, yet the characteristic holds in the same degree. The gallantry of both people is very noticeable too. The ready wit of a true-born Irishman, however humble, is exceeded only by his gallantry.

"A few days since," says an exchange paper, "we observed a case in point. A sudden gust of wind took a parasol from the hand of its owner, and before one had a chance to recollect whether it would be his etiquette to catch the parasol of a lady to whom he had never been introduced, a lively Emeralder dropped his hod of bricks, caught the parachute in the midst of its Ellsler gyrations, and presented it to the loser, with a low bow, which reminded us of Power. poor Faith, madam,' said he as he did so, if you were as strong as you are handsome, it wouldn't have got away from you.' Which shall I thank you for first, the service or the compliment?' asked the lady smilingly. Troth, madam,' said Pat, again touching the place where once stood the brim of what

6

was a beaver, 'that look of your beautiful eye thanked me for both.'

Excepting Cervantes (an Iberian) and Le Sage, almost all the real humourists in the world were of the great German Family. And no literature boasts of such abounding illustrations of every kind of humour, from the simplest quaintness to the highest dramatic delineation, as the English. Voltaire, writing and speaking in this respect, embodied the characteristics of the Celtic Mind, when he described Frenchmen as "hyenas in breeches." He said a thing we would not have dared to quote had it not been uttered by a Frenchman. Almost every witticism is a sneer, when, for instance, he tells us that Penn's treaty with the Indians was the only one unratified by an oath, and the only one that was ever kept." His description of a battle-field-"a hundred thousand mad animals, with hats on, assembled to blow one another's brains out." Voltaire, himself, was once discomfited by Dr. Young, with a smart hit of true Celtic sharpness;-Voltaire ran down, in the presence of the doctor, Milton's talents. He particularly condemned in the "Paradise Lost," Death, Sin, and Satan as personified in that poem. He railed at the invention as extravagant, and made it the principal subject of his sarcasms. Young sat si

*Liverpool Mercury.

lently listening, but, indignant at the irreverence and the levity of the Frenchman, he lifted his finger, and pointing it at him, said,

"Thou art so witty, wicked, and so thin,

Thou art at once the Devil, Death, and Sin."

We have said that wit is aggressive, while humour is defensive. The quaint old Thomas Fuller said that the "Negro was the image of God carved in ebony;" to which Johnson added, that "the slave holder was the image of the Devil carved in ivory;" the first of these sentences is an instance of humour, the second is an instance of wit. Something like Johnson's sharp sentence are these from America, perhaps, as true, yet not so good.

Parker Pillsbury, speaking upon one occasion of the so-called "cottonocracy" of Boston, said that they would "dam up the river of life, that they might build cotton-mills in the city of the New Jerusalem."

And the American definition of mustachios is like unto it.

"The upper lip going in mourning for the loss of brains."

Both of these are instances of wit.

Sheridan's description of Mr. Addingon's administration as the fag end of Mr. Pitt's, who had remained so long on the bench, that like Nicias in

the fable "he left the sitting part of the man behind him," is an instance of wit. The reply of Porson who, to the remark, that certain modern poets would be read and admired, when Homer and Virgil were forgotten, made answer-and not till then; might be cited as an instance of sarcasm, but the humour overflows the bitterness. When Boswell wished to relinquish his lodgings, and no inducement would avail with the landlord to consent to his departure, as they had been taken for a term of years; Johnson suggested that he should "say he wished to make some experiment in natural philosophy, and burn a large quantity of assafoetida in the house." This is an instance of humour. No doubt, we feel better what humour is than we can describe it; though even in a mere etymological sense, the word is not incomplete or inexpressive? Does it not imply the incessant play of lively and natural feeling, which finds natural resemblances everywhere; which continues for the longest period of time unruffled, and undisturbed; which extends its sympathies to all being, and finds an answering lesson of instruction everywhere and in everything; is it not that homeliness of heart, which never so much sighs for companionship because always in company; which is too great for contempt and for sneering, and too humble for ostentation or pride; which enters by intuition into the feelings of many minds, and by

its own intensity understands theirs; is it not large liberality of soul which beareth all things, believeth all things, as far removed from the frown of bigotry, as from the callowness of indifference? and therefore it may again be repeated, that there is no foe more terrible than good humour. What can you do with a healthy hearted, healthy headed being, moving on his way in down-right earnest when you let him alone; but who, if you venture a moment to interfere with, you find, has not only the spirit of truth, but the fearful spirit of humour too; who will in a moment impale you on a sharp and unexpected retort, hang up your argument quivering on the point of some joke, or even hold up your dear error, as a very scarecrow for even yourself to laugh at. Humour is Nature oozing out of a man-Independence from restraint-a sense of freedom; a sense of sympathy and fellowship. We can refer to a passage in Dr. Chalmers' Posthumous Discourses, which conveys much that we would imply.

"There is," says he, "a set of people whom I cannot bear the pinks of fashionable proprietywhose every word is precise, and whose every movement is unexceptionable; but who, though versed in all the categories of polite behaviour, have not a particle of soul or of cordiality about them. We allow that their manners may be abundantly correct. There may be elegance in