And what could match for deadliness the imputation of being without
sense of humour? To convict a man of that lack is to strike him with
one blow to a level with the beasts of the field--to kick him, once
and for all, outside the human pale. What is it that mainly
distinguishes us from the brute creation? That we walk erect? Some
brutes are bipeds. That we do not slay one another? We do. That we
build houses? So do they. That we remember and reason? So, again, do
they. That we converse? They are chatterboxes, whose lingo we are not
sharp enough to master. On no possible point of superiority can we
preen ourselves save this: that we can laugh, and that they, with one
notable exception, cannot. They (so, at least, we assert) have no
sense of humour. We have. Away with any one of us who hasn't!
Belief in the general humorousness of the human race is the more deep-
rooted for that every man is certain that he himself is not without
sense of humour. A man will admit cheerfully that he does not know one
tune from another, or that he cannot discriminate the vintages of
wines. The blind beggar does not seek to benumb sympathy by telling
his patrons how well they are looking. The deaf and dumb do not
scruple to converse in signals. `Have you no sense of beauty?' I said
to a friend who in the Accademia of Florence suggested that we had
stood long enough in front of the `Primavera.
Pages:
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212