but
it is easy to conjecture that the low ruffian type of villain, like that
seen in Bill Sykes and Jonas Chuzzlewit, neither laughs nor smiles,
being as destitute of the courage to listen to the sound of its own
voice as of the wit that summons artifice to its aid in protection of
its guilty devices.

The ghastly effect of guilt laughing with constrained glee to hide
suspicion of itself from the eyes of innocence is vividly portrayed in
Irving's performance of "The Bells," in the scene where Mathias, by a
supreme effort of will, joins in Christian's laugh over the supposition
that it might have been his, the respected burgomaster's, limekiln in
which the body of the Polish Jew was burned. Genuine laughter must
spring from a pure and undefiled source. It may not always be of
tuneful quality, but it must at least contain the note of sincerity. I
have in mind the outbursts of deep-chested sound with which another
friend evinces his appreciation of a humorous remark or incident, a
laugh which many fastidious people would pronounce too hard and rough by
half, bending their heads and darting from under, as if suddenly
assailed by some rude nor'wester. But I like the pleasant shock bestowed
in those strong, breezy tones, and the feeling of rejuvenation and new
expectancy which it imparts.

Another laugh echoes in memory as I write, a girl's laugh this time, not
"idle and foolish and sweet," as such have been described, but clear,
and strong, and odd almost to the point of the ludicrous, yet charmingly
natural withal. A young woman's laugh is apt to begin at the highest
note, and, running down the scale, to end in a sigh of mingled relief
and exhaustion an octave or so lower down. This particular girl,
however, takes the other way, and, running her chromatic neatly up from
about middle C, pauses for a breath, and then astonishes her audience by
striking off two perfectly attuned notes several degrees higher up,
hitting her mark with the ease and deftness of a prima donna. So odd and
surprising a laugh is sure to be quickly infectious, and its owner is
never at a loss for company in her merriment, while a cheerful temper,
unclouded by a shade of envy or suspicion, is not in the least disturbed
by the knowledge that others are laughing at as well as with her.

The question of what we shall laugh at deserves more attention than our
manner of laughing. "There is nothing," says Goethe, "in which people
more betray their charact