later humorists have it not at all, but in its stead an
intellectual quickness and perception of the ludicrous that is not
unmixed with scorn.

One of the marks of the great humorist, like Cervantes, or Sterne,
or Scott, is that he approaches his subject, not through his head
merely, but through his heart, his love, his humanity. His humor is
full of compassion, full of the milk of human kindness, and does
not separate him from his subject, but unites him to it by vital
ties. How Sterne loved Uncle Toby and sympathized with him, and
Cervantes his luckless knight! I fear our humorists would have made
fun of them, would have shown them up and stood aloof superior, and
"laughed a laugh of merry scorn." Whatever else the great humorist
or poet, or any artist, may be or do, there is no contempt in his
laughter. And this point cannot be too strongly insisted on in
view of the fact that nearly all our humorous writers seem
impressed with the conviction that their own dignity and self-
respect require them to _look down_ upon what they portray. But it
is only little men who look down upon anything or speak down to
anybody. One sees every day how clear it is that specially fine,
delicate, intellectual persons cannot portray satisfactorily
coarse, common, uncultured characters. Their attitude is at once
scornful and supercilious. The great man, like Socrates, or Dr.
Johnson, or Abraham Lincoln, is just as surely coarse as he is
fine, but the complaint I make with our humorists is that they are
fine and not coarse in any healthful and manly sense. A great part
of the best literature and the best art is of the vital fluids, the
bowels, the chest, the appetites, and is to be read and judged only
through love and compassion. Let us pray for unction, which is the
marrowfat of humor, and for humility, which is the badge of