y at stated intervals." Strange language to use of a country
which has produced Smollett, Burns, Scott, Galt, and Wilson--all
remarkable for the humour diffused through their writings! Indeed, we
may fairly ask, have they equals in this respect amongst English
writers? Charles Lamb had the same notion, or, I should rather say, the
same prejudice, about Scottish people not being accessible to wit; and
he tells a story of what happened to himself, in corroboration of the
opinion. He had been asked to a party, and one object of the invitation
had been to meet a son of Burns. When he arrived, Mr. Burns had not made
his appearance, and in the course of conversation regarding the family
of the poet, Lamb, in his lack-a-daisical kind of manner, said, "I wish
it had been the father instead of the son;" upon which four Scotsmen
present with one voice exclaimed, "That's impossible, for _he's
dead_[160]." Now, there will be dull men and matter-of-fact men
everywhere, who do not take a joke, or enter into a jocular allusion;
but surely, as a general remark, this is far from being a natural
quality of our country. Sydney Smith and Charles Lamb say so. But, at
the risk of being considered presumptuous, I will say I think them
entirely mistaken. I should say that there was, on the contrary, a
strong _connection_ between the Scottish temperament and, call it if you
like, humour, if it is not wit. And what is the difference? My readers
need not be afraid that they are to be led through a labyrinth of
metaphysical distinctions between wit and humour. I have read Dr.
Campbell's dissertation on the difference, in his Philosophy of
Rhetoric; I have read Sydney Smith's own two lectures; but I confess I
am not much the wiser. Professors of rhetoric, no doubt, must have such
discussions; but when you wish to be amused by the thing itself, it is
somewhat disappointing to be presented with metaphysical analysis. It is
like instituting an examination of the glass and cork of a champagne
bottle, and a chemical testing of the wine. In the very process the
volatile and sparkling draught which was to delight the palate has
become like ditch water, vapid and dead. What I mean is, that, call it
wit or humour, or what you please, there is a school of Scottish
pleasantry, amusing and characteristic beyond all other. Don't think of
_analysing_ its nature, or the qualities of which it is composed; enjoy
its quaint and amusing flow of oddity and fun; as we ma