CHAPTER XI.

HUMOR, WIT, AND HIBERNIANISM.

Humor is a subtle, witty, philosophical, and greatly satirical form of gayety, the outcome of simplicity in the character, that is met chiefly among English-speaking people.

Humor has not the brilliancy, the vivacity of French wit, but it is more graceful, lighter, and above all more philosophic. A sarcastic element is nearly always present in it, and not unfrequently a vein of sadness. There is something deliciously quiet and deliberate about humor, that is in perfect harmony with the English character; and we have been right in adopting the English name for the thing, seeing that the thing is essentially English.

Germany has produced humorists, among whom Hoffman and Henry Heine shine conspicuously; but this kind of playful raillery is not to be met with in French literature, except perhaps in the _Lettres provinciales_ of Pascal.

In France, irony is presented in a more lively form. Swift and Sterne are the acknowledged masters of British humor, as Rabelais and Voltaire are the personification of French wit.

British humor does not evaporate so quickly as French wit; you feel its influence longer. The latter takes you by storm, but humor lightly tickles you under the ribs, and quietly takes possession of you by degrees; the bright idea, instead of being laid bare, is subtly hidden; it is only after you have peeled off the coating of sarcasm lying on the surface, that you get at the fun underneath.

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I believe Parisian wit might be correctly described as a sudden perception and expression of a likeness in the unlike. Here is an example of it; an English one:

Sydney Smith, the most Parisian wit England has produced, one day asked the Corporation of the City of London to pave St. Paul's Churchyard with wood. The Corporation replied that such a thing was perfectly impracticable.

"Not at all, gentlemen, I assure you," cried Sydney Smith; "you have only to lay all your heads together, and the thing is done."

This is a specimen of French wit in English.

Sarcasm is one of the most important and frequent ingredients in French wit.

Voltaire is the personification of that kind of wit; but other countries have produced men whose wit he should have had the modesty of calling "as good as French." England is foremost among those countries. Douglas Jerrold, Sydney Smith, Sheridan, Lord Eldon, had they been born in France, would have been called French wits.

Two anecdotes of these men, to illustrate the point.

Sheridan's son one day came to his father and announced that he would be a candidate for Parliament.

"Indeed," said Sheridan, "and what are your colors?"

"I have none," said the son, "I am independent, and belong to no party. I will stick on my forehead: '_To be let_.'"

"Good," said Sheridan, "and under that, put '_Unfurnished_.'"

Lord Eldon was a great sufferer from gout. A sympathizing lady friend had made him a beautiful pair of very large slippers to wear when his enemy troubled him.

One day his servant came to him, and announced that the lovely slippers were gone, and had been stolen.

"Well," said Lord Eldon, "I hope they will fit the rascal."

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That kind of wit, peculiar to the Irish, and commonly called Hibernianism, is an apparent congruity in things essentially incongruous. In fact, it expresses what is apparently rational, but in reality utterly irrational.

Thus, when an Irishman was told that one of Dr. Arnott's patent stoves would save half the usual fuel, he exclaimed to his wife: "Arrah! thin I'll buy two and save it all, my jewel."

We have nothing in French wit that can properly be compared to Hibernianism, except perhaps the _gasconnade_ at times, but in the _gasconnade_ there is no humor, the essence of it is exaggeration.

"You often forget to close the shutters of the ground-floor rooms at night," an Irishman would say to his servant; "one of these fine mornings I shall wake up murdered in my bed." I do not know that friend Paddy has ever perpetrated this one, but he is quite capable of it.

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During the famous Michelstown Inquiry, Pat Casey was examined. He had seen the affray, hidden behind a wall.

"Was that brave, to hide behind a wall?" said the lawyer.

"Well, sor," said Pat, "better be a coward for foive minutes than to be dead for the rest of your loife."

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The Hibernianism is one of the forms of laziness of the mind, but it is not at all a proof of stupidity. On the contrary, all those jokes that the English are fond of putting to the credit of the Irish, are only the proof of a certain overflow of intelligence, two ideas issuing simultaneously from the brain, and getting confused into one. Dissect a Hibernianism, and you will generally find two ideas, perfectly sensible, but not agreeing together.

I have met with just as many noodles in England as elsewhere. But among all the Irish that I have come across, though some have been lazy, and many have been bunglers, I have not yet met one who was not intelligent, amiable, and witty.

While on this subject, I might remind the English of the remark made once by their celebrated critic, John Ruskin, at Oxford: "English jokes are often tame, but there is always wit at the bottom of an Irish bull."

And we might add:

Burke, the greatest English orator that ever lived, was an Irishman. Excuse, I beg, this Hibernianism of mine.

Lord Dufferin, that ambassador, and Lord Wolseley, that _only_ general, whom England has been serving for the past few years, roast, baked, and boiled, to her friends and foes alike, the two saviors to whom she invariably turns when anything is going wrong ... or is wanted to go wrong, are sons of Erin.

Goldsmith, the immortal author of the "Vicar of Wakefield," was Irish.

Sheridan, the author of the "School for Scandal," that the English might almost call their _only_ comedy, was Irish.

Jonathan Swift and Richard Steele were Irish.

The names of Ireland's great men would fill a long list.

One might almost say that all that is most delicate and most witty in English literature is of Irish origin.

When we have added that the Duke of Wellington was an Irishman, perhaps we shall have succeeded in showing that England is very far yet from having paid her little debt of gratitude to Ireland.