om,
the pleasurable moments of mortality. Neither is it worth while to
draw fine distinctions between pleasure and happiness. If we are
indifferent to the pleasures of our fellow creatures, it will not
take us long to be indifferent to their happiness. We do not grow
generous by ceasing to be considerate.

As a matter of fact, the perpetual surrender which politeness
dictates cuts down to a reasonable figure the sum total of our
selfishness. To listen when we are bored, to talk when we are listless,
to stand when we are tired, to praise when we are indifferent, to
accept the companionship of a stupid acquaintance when we might, at
the expense of politeness, escape to a clever friend, to endure with
smiling composure the near presence of people who are distasteful
to us,--these things, and many like them, brace the sinews of our
souls. They set a fine and delicate standard for common intercourse.
They discipline us for the good of the community.

We cannot ring the bells backward, blot out the Civil War, and
exchange the speed of modern life for the slumberous dignity of the
Golden Age,--an age whose gilding brightens as we leave it shimmering
in the distance. But even under conditions which have the
disadvantage of existing, the American is not without gentleness of
speech and spirit. He is not always in a hurry. He is not always
elbowing his way, or quivering with ill-bred impatience. Turn to him
for help in a crowd, and feel the bright sureness of his response.
Watch him under ordinary conditions, and observe his large measure
of forbearance with the social deficiencies of his neighbour. Like
Steele, he deems it humanity to laugh at an indifferent jest, and
he has thereby earned for himself the reputation of being readily
diverted. If he lacks the urbanities which embellish conversation,
he is correspondingly free from the brutalities which degrade it.
If his instinct does not prompt him to say something agreeable, it
saves him from being wantonly unkind. Plain truths may be salutary;
but unworthy truths are those which are destitute of any spiritual
quality, which are not noble in themselves, and which are not nobly
spoken; which may be trusted to offend, and which have never been
known to illuminate. It is not for such asperities that we have
perfected through the ages the priceless gift of language, that we
seek to meet one another in the pleasant comradeship of life.

The Mission of Humour

"Laughte