s to another without producing the slightest conviction. Of
course, there must be some reason for this suspicion of wit, as there
is for most of the world's deep-rooted prejudices. There is a kind of
surface-wit that is commonly the sign of a light and shallow nature.
It becomes habitual _persiflage_, incapable of taking a deliberate and
serious view of anything, or of conceiving the solemnities that environ
life. This has made men distrustful of all laughers; and they are apt to
confound in one sweeping condemnation with this that humor whose base
is seriousness, and which is generally the rebound of the mind from
over-sad contemplation. They do not see that the same qualities that
make Shakspeare the greatest of tragic poets make him also the deepest
of humorists.

Dr. Holmes was already an author of more than a quarter of a century's
standing, and was looked on by most people as an _amusing_ writer
merely. He protested playfully and pointedly against this, once or
twice; but, as he could not help being witty, whether he would or no,
his audience laughed and took the protest as part of the joke. He felt
that he was worth a great deal more than he was vulgarly rated at, and
perhaps chafed a little; but his opportunity had not come. With the
first number of the "Atlantic" it came at last, and wonderfully he
profited by it. The public were first delighted, and then astonished. So
much wit, wisdom, pathos, and universal Catharine-wheeling of fun and
fancy was unexampled. "Why, good gracious," cried Madam Grundy, "we've
got a _genius_ among us fit last! I always knew what it would come to!"
"Got a fiddlestick!" says Mr. G.; "it's only rockets." And there was no
little watching and waiting for the sticks to come down. We are afraid
that many a respectable skeptic has a crick in his neck by this time;
for we are of opinion that these are a new kind of rocket, that go
without sticks, and _stay up_ against all laws of gravity.

We expected a great deal from Dr. Holmes; we thought he had in him the
makings of the best magazinist in the country; but we honestly confess
we were astonished. We remembered the proverb, "'Tis the pace that
kills," and could scarce believe that such a two-forty gait could be
kept up through a twelvemonth. Such wind and bottom were unprecedented.
But this was Eclipse himself; and he came in as fresh as a May morning,
ready at a month's end for another year's run. And it was not merely
the perennial vi