A CHAPTER ON LAUGHING.

"And Laughter holding both his sides."-MILTON.

If you were to ask a learned physician to explain to you the peculiar sensation termed laughter, it is more than likely he would astonish you with an amazing profundity of erudition, ending in the sage conclusion that he knows nothing more about the matter than that it is a very natural emotion of the senses, generally originating with a good joke, and not unfrequently terminating in a fit of indigestion. If he happened to be (as there are many) a priggish quack, it is not unlikely he would add as a sequel, that it was a most injurious and unmannerly indulgence, particularly favouring a determination of blood to the head, and decidedly calculated to injure the fine nerves of the facial organ! If, on the contrary, he should be a good, honest follower of Galen, he would not fail to pronounce it the most fearful enemy to his profession, as being altogether incompatible with physic and the blues, and, by way of illustration, he might go so far as to read a chapter of Tom Hood's best, in order to prove the strength of his position.

Laughter-good, hearty, cheerful-hearted laughter-is the echo of a happy spirit, the attribute of a cloudless mind. Life without it were without hope, for it is the exuberance of hope. It is an emotion possessed by man alone,-the happy light that relieves the dark picture of life.

We laugh most, when we are young; the thoughts are then free and unfettered, there is nothing to bind their fierce impulse, and we sport with the passions with the bold daring of ignorance. Smiles and tears, it has been observed, follow each other like gloom and sunshine; so the childish note of mirth treads on the heels of sorrow. It was but yesterday we noticed a little urchin writhing apparently in the agony of anguish; he had been punished for some trivial delinquency, and his little spirit resented it most gloriously. How the young dog roared! His little chest heaved up and down; and every blue vein on his pure forehead was apparent,-bursting with passion. Anon, a conciliatory word was addressed to him by the offended gouvernante; a smile passed over the boy's face; his little eyes, sparkling through a cloud of tears, were thrown upwards; a short struggle between pride and some other powerful feeling ensued; and then there burst forth such a peal of laughter, so clear, so full, so round, it would have touched the heart of a stoic!

Our natural passions and emotions become subdued, or altogether changed, as we enter the world. The laugh of the schoolboy is checked by the frown of the master. He is acquiring wisdom, and wisdom (ye Gods, how dearly bought!) is incompatible with laughter. But still, at times, when loosened from his shackles, the pining student will burst forth as in days gone by: but he has no longer the cue and action for passion he then had; the cares of the world have already mingled themselves in his cup, and his young spirit is drooping beneath their influence. The laughter of boyhood is a merry carol; but the first rich blush has already passed away. The boy

enters the world, full of the gay buoyancy of youth. He looks upo.. those he meets as the playmates of other hours. But Experience teaches him her lessons; the natural feelings of his heart are checked; he may laugh and talk as formerly, but the spell, the dreams that cast such a halo round his young days, are dissipated and broken.

There are fifty different classes of laughers. There is your smoothfaced politic laugher, your laugher by rule. These beings are generally found within the precincts of a court, at the heels of some great man, to whose conduct they shape their passions as a model. Does his lordship say a bon mot, it is caught up and grinned at in every possible manner till, the powers of grimace expended, his lordship is pleased to change the subject, and strike a different chord. And it is not astonishing. Who would refuse to laugh for a pension of two hundred a year? Common gratitude demands it.

There is, then, your habitual laugher, men who laugh by habit, without rhyme or reason. They are generally stout, piggy-faced gentlemen, who eat hearty suppers, and patronise free-and-easys. They will meet you with a grin on their countenance, which, before you have said three sentences, will resolve itself into a simper, and terminate finally in a stentorian laugh. These men may truly be said to go through life laughing; but habit has blunted the finer edges of their sympathies, and their mirth is but the unmeaning effusion of a weak spirit. These personages generally go off in fits of apoplexy, brought on by excessive laughter on a full stomach !

There is, then, your discontented cynical laugher, who makes a mask of mirth to conceal the venom of his mind. It is a dead fraud that ought not to be pardoned. Speak to one of these men of happiness, virtue, &c. he meets you with a sneer, or a bottle-imp kind of chuckle; talk to him of any felicitous circumstance, he checks you with a sardonic grin, that freezes your best intentions. He is a type of the death's head the Egyptians placed at their feasts to check exuberant gaiety.

There is, then, your fashionable simperer, your laugher à-la-mode, your inward digester of small jokes and tittle-tattle. He never laughs, -it is a vulgar habit; the only wonder is, that he eats. People, he will tell you, should overcome these vulgar propensities; they are abominable. A young man of this class is generally consumptive, his lungs have no play, he is always weak and narrow-chested; he vegetates till fifty, and then goes off, overcome with a puff of eau de rose, or millefleur, he has encountered accidentally from the pockethandkerchief of a cheesemonger's wife!

Last of all, there is your real, good, honest laugher; the man who has a heart to feel and sympathize with the joys and sorrows of others; who has gone through life superior to its follies, and has learnt to gather wisdom even from laughter. Such are the men who do honour to society, who have learnt to be temperate in prosperity, patient in adversity; and, who, having gathered experience from years, are content to drink the cup of life mingled as it is, to enjoy calmly the sweeter portion, and laugh at the bitter.

There is a strange affinity in our passions. The heart will frequently reply to the saddest intelligence by a burst of the most unruly laughter, the effigy of mirth. It seems as though the passion, like a

rude torrent, were too strong to pursue its ordinary course; but, breaking forth from the narrow channel that confined it, rushed forth in one broad impetuous stream. It is the voice of anguish that has chosen a different garb, and would cheat the sympathies. But we have ourselves been demonstrating the truth of our last proposition; for we have been writing on laughter till we have grown sad. But what says the old song?

"To-night we'll merry, merry be,

To-morrow we'll be sober."

So sadness, after all, is but joy deferred.

REMAINS OF HAJJI BABA.

CHAPTER IX.

I ALIGHTED with my friend at the caravanserai where the coach had stopped, and there he advised me to put up for the night, promising to come on the following morning to assist me in procuring a lodging.

"But first tell me," said I, "who are the two persons who were so violently opposed to each other."

"The fair man," said he, "is one of our omrahs or lords; the other is one of the middle ranks, who has made himself conspicuous by advocating the cause of the people. Our whole country is principally divided into two factions, holding their opinions. There is also a moderate set who do not partake of their violence, but unfortunately their voice is not sufficiently heard. But we will talk more upon these matters again," said he, and then left me

The next day he came, and without much difficulty succeeded in settling me in a lodging, where I found everything prepared to receive me, as well as if the Shah's chief tent-pitcher had preceded me to give the requisite orders. The English habits, which I had acquired when here before in the days of our embassy, returned as fast as I recognised the objects which before had been familiar to my sight, but which had been much obliterated by my absence in Persia. I again sat upon chairs instead of my heels; again I ate with knives and forks instead of my fingers; and once more I found myself called upon to walk about upon my own legs with the activity of a Franc, instead of making use of a horse to take me daily to attend the Shah's selam, or to sit at the Royal Gate in attendance upon the Grand Vizier.

I had always a memory for localities; places which I had once seen I scarcely ever forgot; thus I was at no loss to find my way about the city. Of the language I remembered enough to make myself understood; and so far I felt independent, and needed not the attendance of a mehmander. I thanked my

friend Jan for all his kindness; and assured him, whenever I was in any difficulty, or whenever I required information upon matters relating to his country, I would not fail to call upon him.

The lodgings in which I had taken up my abode were situated in a large house that looked upon a garden inclosed by iron spikes. It was a better sort of caravanserai, greatly resorted to by people of all nations; Francs, from different parts of Frangistan, who spoke each their different language, and adapted themselves as well as they could to the manners of the English. I was visited by the landlord, a well-looking, well-spoken and his wife, an elderly lady, who, having come once to see,

man,

as the English frequently say, that I was comfortable, did not again trouble me by their presence. I occupied two rooms; one to sit in and receive my guests, the other to sleep in. My servant, Mahboob, slept in another room close to mine.

My first care was to walk out to take a survey of the city, in order to discover those symptoms of ruin and poverty which I had so frequently been assured were spreading over England, and marking her downfall. I soon found myself in a street, of whose magnificence I had no recollection. It seemed composed of entirely new houses. The shops, which were opened on each side, were so brilliant, and seemed to be so overflowing with merchandise and riches of all sorts, that my senses seemed to have escaped from my head as I looked on in astonishment; and ever and anon I found myself standing with my finger in my mouth, exclaiming," Bah! bah! bah!" "Is this decay?" thought I. "Can this people be really on the brink of ruin? There must be something more in this than I can understand." The street was positively more thronged with men and women than even one of the most crowded bazars of Ispahan. I saw more carriages, more horses, more carts, and more stir, than I recollected to have seen when here before. Every one seemed busy, and bustled along, as if all depended upon their haste. Whence they were coming, whither going, who could say? Were they all thinking of ruin, or were they bent upon happiness? I was longing to stop and ask each person what had happened, so very uncommon was this state of things compared with what I had been accustomed to witness in my own country, or even in the European countries through which I had travelled. I continued to walk through this astonishing street, thinking I should never come to the end of it, when I reached a magnificent opening, where, to my still greater astonishment, I discovered an unbounded prospect of dazzling white palaces, standing amidst gardens and fields, and looking like the habitations of the blessed in the seventh heaven promised to us by the Prophet. "Can this be decay ?" again I exclaimed. "These people must have a different way of going to ruin, to the one which I have been accustomed to contemplate. In my country ruin speaks for itself. At Ispahan we see whole districts of broken walls which once were houses, tottering mosques, deserted baths, and untenanted caravanserais. But here, in the short space of twelve years, here is a new creation; unbounded prosperity seems here to speak for itself; and, if this be a country of paupers, what are we to call riches?"

As I was turning my steps homewards, I was struck all at once with the conviction that I was near the spot (a spot which had never left my imagination) where, enamoured as I then was of the moonfaced Bessy, I proposed marriage to that heartenslaver. I looked about me, and recognised the very portal where, under a mutual umbrella,-as it poured with rain,-I