The Wit and Humor of America.
Volume I.
by Various.
Volume I.
FOREWORD
EMBODYING A FEW REMARKS ON THE GENTLE ART OF LAUGH-MAKING.
BY MARSHALL P. WILDER.
Happiness and laughter are two of the most beautiful things in the world, for they are of the few that are purely unselfish. Laughter is not for yourself, but for others. When people are happy they present a cheerful spirit, which finds its reflection in every one they meet, for happiness is as contagious as a yawn. Of all the emotions, laughter is the most versatile, for it plays equally well the role of either parent or child to happiness.
Then can we say too much in praise of the men who make us laugh? G.o.d never gave a man a greater gift than the power to make others laugh, unless it is the privilege of laughing himself. We honor, revere, admire our great soldiers, statesmen, and men of letters, but we love the man who makes us laugh.
No other man to-day enjoys to such an extent the close personal affection, individual yet national, that is given to Mr. Samuel L.
Clemens. He is ours, he is one of us, we have a personal pride in him--dear "Mark Twain," the beloved child of the American nation. And it was through our laughter that he won our love.
He is the exponent of the typically American style of fun-making, the humorous story. I asked Mr. Clemens one day if he could remember the first money he ever earned. With his inimitable drawl he said:
"Yes, Marsh, it was at school. All boys had the habit of going to school in those days, and they hadn"t any more respect for the desks than they had for the teachers. There was a rule in our school that any boy marring his desk, either with pencil or knife, would be chastised publicly before the whole school, or pay a fine of five dollars. Besides the rule, there was a ruler; I knew it because I had felt it; it was a darned hard one, too. One day I had to tell my father that I had broken the rule, and had to pay a fine or take a public whipping; and he said:
""Sam, it would be too bad to have the name of Clemens disgraced before the whole school, so I"ll pay the fine. But I don"t want you to lose anything, so come upstairs."
"I went upstairs with father, and he was for-_giving_ me. I came downstairs with the feeling in one hand and the five dollars in the other, and decided that as I"d been punished once, and got used to it, I wouldn"t mind taking the other licking at school. So I did, and I kept the five dollars. That was the first money I ever earned."
The humorous story as expounded by Mark Twain, Artemus Ward, and Robert J. Burdette, is purely American. Artemus Ward could get laughs out of nothing, by mixing the absurd and the unexpected, and then backing the combination with a solemn face and earnest manner. For instance, he was fond of such incongruous statements as: "I once knew a man in New Zealand who hadn"t a tooth in his head," here he would pause for some time, look reminiscent, and continue: "and yet he could beat a base-drum better than any man I ever knew."
Robert J. Burdette, who wrote columns of capital humor for _The Burlington Hawkeye_ and told stories superbly, on his first visit to New York was spirited to a notable club, where he told stories leisurely until half the hearers ached with laughter, and the other half were threatened with apoplexy. Everyone present declared it the red-letter night of the club, and members who had missed it came around and demanded the stories at secondhand. Some efforts were made to oblige them, but without avail, for the tellers had twisted their recollections of the stories into jokes, and they didn"t sound right, so a committee hunted the town for Burdette to help them out of their difficulty.
Humor is the kindliest method of laugh-making. Wit and satire are ancient, but humor, it has been claimed, belongs to modern times. A certain type of story, having a sudden and terse conclusion to a direct statement, has been labeled purely American. For instance: "Willie Jones loaded and fired a cannon yesterday. The funeral will be to-morrow." But the truth is, it is older than America; it is very venerable. If you will turn to the twelfth verse of the sixteenth chapter of II.
Chronicles, you will read:
"And Asa in the thirty-ninth year of his reign was diseased in his feet, until his disease was exceeding great; yet in his disease he sought not the Lord, but turned to the physicians--and Asa slept with his fathers."
Bill Nye was a st.u.r.dy and persistent humorist of so good a sort that he never could help being humorous, yet there was never a sting in his jokes. Gentle raillery was the severest thing he ever attempted, and even this he did with so genial a smile and so merry an eye, that a word of his friendly chaffing was worth more than any amount of formal praise.
Few of the great world"s great despatches contained so much wisdom in so few words as Nye"s historic wire from Washington:
"My friends and money gave out at 3 A.M."
Eugene Field, the lover of little children, and the self-confessed bibliomaniac, gives us still another sort of laugh--the tender, indulgent sort. Nothing could be finer than the gentle reminiscence of "Long Ago," a picture of the lost kingdom of boyhood, which for all its lightness holds a pathos that clutches one in the throat.
And yet this writer of delicate and subtle humor, this master of tender verse, had a keen and nimble wit. An ambitious poet once sent him a poem to read ent.i.tled "Why do I live?" and Field immediately wrote back: "Because you sent your poem by mail."
Laughter is one of the best medicines in the world, and though some people would make you force it down with a spoon, there is no doubt that it is a splendid tonic and awakens the appet.i.te for happiness.
Colonel Ingersoll wrote on his photograph which adorns my home: "To the man who knows that mirth is medicine and laughter lengthens life."
Abraham Lincoln, that divinely tender man, believed that fun was an intellectual impetus, for he read Artemus Ward to his Cabinet before reading his famous emanc.i.p.ation proclamation, and laying down his book marked the place to resume.
Joel Chandler Harris, whose delightful stories of negro life hold such a high place in American literature, told me a story of an old negro who claimed that a sense of humor was necessary to happiness in married life. He said:
"I met a poor old darkey one day, pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with cooking utensils and household effects. Seeing me looking curiously at him, he shook his head and said:
""I cain"t stand her no longer, boss, I jes" nash"ully cain"t stand her no longer."
""What"s the matter, uncle?" I inquired.
""Well, you see, suh, she ain"t got no idee o" fun--she won"t take a joke nohow. The other night I went home, an" I been takin" a little jes"
to waam ma heart--das all, jes to waam ma heart--an" I got to de fence, an" tried to climb it. I got on de top, an" thar I stays; I couldn"t git one way or t"other. Then a gem"en comes along, an" I says, "Would you min" givin" me a push?" He says, "Which way you want to go?" I says, "Either way--don"t make no dif"unce, jes" so I git off de fence, for hit"s pow"ful oncom"fable up yer." So he give me a push, an" sont me over to"ard ma side, an" I went home. Then I want sum"in t" eat, an" my ol" "ooman she wouldn" git it fo" me, an" so, jes" fo" a joke, das all--jes" a joke, I hit "er awn de haid. But would you believe it, she couldn"t take a joke. She tu"n aroun", an" sir, she sail inter me sum"in" scan"lous! I didn" do nothin", "cause I feelin" kind o"weak jes"
then--an" so I made up ma min" I wasn" goin" to stay with her. Dis mawnin" she gone out washin", an" I jes" move right out. Hit"s no use tryin" to live with a "ooman who cain"t take a joke!""
From the poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich to George Ade"s Fables in Slang is a far cry, but one is as typical a style of humor as the other.
Ade"s is the more distinctly original, for he not only created the style, but another language. The aptness of its turns, and the marvelous way in which he hit the bull"s-eye of human foibles and weaknesses lifted him into instantaneous popularity. A famous _bon mot_ of George Ade"s which has been quoted threadbare, but which serves excellently to ill.u.s.trate his native wit, is his remark about a suit of clothes which the tailor a.s.sured him he could _never_ wear out. He said when he put them on he didn"t _dare_ to.
From the laughter-makers pure and simple, we come to those who, while acknowledging the cloud, yet see the silver lining--the exponents of the smile through tears.
The best of these, Frank L. Stanton, has beautifully said:
"This world that we"re a-livin" in Is mighty hard to beat; With every rose you get a thorn, But ain"t the roses sweet?"
He does not deny the thorns, but calls attention to the sweetness of the roses--a gospel of compensation that speaks to the heart of all; kind words of cheer to the weary traveler.
Such a philosopher was the kind-hearted and sympathetic Irish boy who, walking along with the parish priest, met a weary organ-grinder, who asked how far it was to the next town. The boy answered, "Four miles."
The priest remonstrated:
"Why, Mike, how can you deceive him so? You know it is eight."
"Well, your riverence," said the good-natured fellow, "I saw how tired he was, and I wanted to kape his courage up. If I"d told him the truth, he"d have been down-hearted intirely!"
This is really a jolly old world, and people are very apt to find just what they are looking for. If they are looking for happiness, the best way to find it is to try to give it to others. If a man goes around with a face as long as a wet day, perfectly certain that he is going to be kicked, he is seldom disappointed.
A typical exponent of the tenderly human, the tearfully humorous, is James Whitcomb Riley--a name to conjure with. Only mention it to anyone, and note the spark of interest, the smiling sigh, the air of gentle retrospection into which he will fall. There is a poem for each and every one, that commends itself for some special reason, and holds such power of memory or sentiment as sends it straight into the heart, to remain there treasured and unforgotten.
In these volumes are selections from the pen of all whom I have mentioned, as well as many more, including a number by the clever women humorists, of whom America is justly proud.
It is with pride and pleasure that I acknowledge the honor done me in being asked to introduce this company of fun-makers--such a goodly number that s.p.a.ce permits the mention of but a few. But we cannot have too much or even enough of anything so good or so necessary as the literature that makes us laugh. In that regard we are like a little friend of Mr. Riley"s.
The Hoosier poet, as everyone knows, is the devoted friend, companion, and singer of children. He has a habit of taking them on wild orgies where they are turned loose in a candy store and told to do their worst.
This particular young lady had been allowed to choose all the sorts of candy she liked until her mouth, both arms, and her pockets were full.
Just as they got to the door to go out, she hung back, and when Mr.
Riley stooped over asking her what was the matter, she whispered:
"Don"t you think it smells like ice cream?"