become, as it were, a mirror, which will reflect to all
posterity the laughter-loving spirit of his age.

But it is not (as we have before remarked) in literature alone, that the
tendency to the ludicrous is shewn. In many recent scientific
speculations it is strikingly and abundantly obvious-- some of those on
geology may be quoted as examples. The offspring of the sciences-- those
pledges of affection which they present to art, almost all of them, come
into the world with a caricature-like smirk upon their faces.
Air-balloons and rail-roads have something funny about them; and
photogenic drawings are, to say the least, very curious. The learned
professions are all tinged with drollery. The law is confessedly
ridiculous from beginning to end, and what is very strange, is that no
one should attempt to make it otherwise. Medicine is comical-- or rather
tragi-comical-- the disparity of opinion among its professors, the
chaotic state of its principles, and the conduct of its students being
considered. No one can deny that the distribution of church property is
somewhat _odd_, or can assert that the doings-- at least of those who
are destined for the clerical office, are now and then of rather a
strange character. Political meetings are very laughable things, when we
reflect upon the strong asseverations of patriotism there made and
believed. The wisdom of the legislature is by no means of the gravest
class, particularly when it offers municipal reforms as a substitute for
bread. The debates in a certain House must be of a very humourous
character, if we may judge from the frequent "hear hear, and a laugh,"
by which the proceedings there are interrupted. Our risible faculties
are continually called into action at public lectures of all kinds; and
indeed, no lecturer, however learned he may be, has much chance
now-a-days of instructing, unless he can also amuse his audience. Nor
can the various public and even private buildings, which are daily
springing up around us, like so many mushrooms, be contemplated without
considerable emotions of mirthfulness. The new style of ecclesiastical
architecture, entitled the Cockney-Gothic, affords a good illustration
of this remark; but the comic Temple of the Fine Arts, in Trafalgar
Square, is what Lord Bacon would have called a "glaring instance" of its
correctness. The occurrences of the day bear all of them the stamp of
facetiousness. The vote of approbation, lately passed on a certa