ient for his
cows to scrape their backs; now he is watching by the side of his
sleeping baby, with a rattle in hand to wake the young spirit into
joyousness the moment its sleep breaks. He goes through the parish as
doctor, wit, and priest, guide, philosopher, and friend, studying the
temper and needs of the simple congregation to which he preaches on
Sunday, while his brain is racking with great thoughts. With these
higher thoughts he has to do as he sits at his desk and writes an
article for the larger parish of the United Kingdom. With a wild play of
wit and fancy and laughter he graces the sturdy column of his virtue
and fidelity. He lived in what was said to be the ugliest and most
comfortable house in England, admired by every visitor for his
independence, manliness, refinement, and liveliness. When he visited
London, as he often did, and when in later years he lived there and was
_lionne_, his simplicity of character remained. To the last he was one
of the sincerest and most active of clergymen and of men.

It is probable that there were not living at the time two more serious
men than the two wits whose careers we have outlined. Indeed, it is
quite a mistake to suppose that wit has anything to do with temper or
sentiment at all. A man may be perpetually sulky, and yet habitually
witty,--may smile, and smile, and smile, and yet be a most melancholy
individual. Wit is simply a form of thought, and is as intellectual as
scientific study. It differs from other thought only in being a little
_outre_,--a little in excess; it overdoes the thing only because it has
so much energy in it. It is what Charles Lamb said a pun was,--"a sole
digest of wisdom." All great thoughts are at first witty, and afterward
come to be common and flat. When Pythagoras discovered the theorem of
the squares erected on the sides of a right-angled triangle, it had the
effect on him of a most preposterous joke. The apple dropping on the
head of Newton struck him like a very far-fetched pun. Show a child the
picture of a wild Tartar, and his first motion will be to laugh at it.
We have seen a man while reading Kant, the dryest of metaphysicians,
slap his knee, leap upon his feet, and swear, in exuberance of mirth,
that Kant had said a good thing. If it were discovered to-morrow to be
a scientific truth that this world is wrong side out, and if inventive
genius should discover a way to put the other side out, we should all of
us think it a funny