Humour is the offspring of man--it comes forth like Minerva fully armed
from the brain. Our sense of the ludicrous is produced by our peculiar
mental constitution, and not by external objects, in which there is
nothing either absurd or serious. As when the action of our mind is
imperceptible--for instance, in hearing and seeing with our "bodily"
senses--we think what we notice is something in the external world,
although it is only so far dependent upon it that it could not exist
without some kind of outer influence, so the result of our not
recognising the amusing action of the mind in the ludicrous is that we
regard it as a quality resident in the persons and things we
contemplate.[1] But it does not belong to these things, and is totally
different from them in kind. Thus, the rose is formed of certain
combinations of earth, air, and water; yet none of these dull elements
possess the fragrance or beauty of the flower. These properties come
from some attractive and constructive power. Not only are there no types
or patterns in things of our emotions, but there are none even of our
sensations; heat and cold, red or blue, are such only for our
constitution. This truth is beautifully set forth by Addison in a
passage in which, as Dugald Stewart justly remarks, "We are at a loss
whether most to admire the author's depth and refinement of thought, or
the singular felicity of fancy displayed in its illustration." "Things,"
he observes, "would make but a poor appearance to the eye, if we saw
them only in their proper figures and motions. And what reason can we
assign for their exciting in us many of those ideas which are different
from anything that exists in the objects themselves (for such are light
and colours) were it not to add supernumerary ornaments to the universe,
and make it more agreeable to the imagination? We are everywhere
entertained with pleasing shows and apparitions. We discover imaginary
glories in the heavens and on the earth, and see some of this visionary