AMERICAN HUMOUR,* THAT most enterprising of publishers, Mr. Walter Scott,
set himself some years ago, as every one ought to know, the Herculean task of collecting and, as it were, bottling the " humour " of various countries for the private consumption of the British public. It was a hazardous though a patriotic enterprise, but Mr. Scott perseveres with it, whether from pride in the dissemination of letters, or consciousness of the profit accruing therefrom, with unabated ardour. He has already bottled the humour of France—which perhaps should rather be called wit, except in those works of M. Daudet, in which he has imported the English element of broad fun—of Germany and Italy, and now of America. More remote countries are to follow, Russia and even Japan being among those already advertised. Ireland, too, is shortly to have its claims attended to, as is only natural, Ireland being at present up in the world, though its securities are low; and England and Scotland will come towards the end—quite soon enough to suit their claims. We rather wonder that so progressive a pub- lisher should have given any place at all to countries of their insignificance. In the nations so far dealt with, there should at least be no deficiency of material,—there is an abundance of vintages to choose from. Yet there has seemed to us, as a rule, a certain harshness of flavour about these collections, as of a wine that is corked. It may have arisen from the unskilful- ness of the bottler; it may be from a want of proper selection of the best crus ; or, it may be, as is most likely of all, from the surpassing difficulties of the task laid before successive editors. To write upon the humoarists of various countries— even for a man who believes that " humour" in its strictest sense is a product of the English-speaking race, and that other terms may be most fittingly applied to the laughter-moving qualities in foreign nations—and to appraise their merits, would be no difficult task, for no qualification is required for the self-appointed critic, and no responsibility attaches to him. But to give forth for the world to criticise the most humorous extracts of a national literature, is a task surely passing the wit of the ordinary litte"rateur. It is enough for the editor— unless he be a great power in the land—to say " This is funny," for the public to be convinced that there is no fun therein. Mr. William Black once introduced one of his char- acters as a very witty man, and then gave a few samples of his wit, and every one decided immediately that there could be nothing duller. The judgment would have been the same had the wit of Mr. Drummond been as the wit of Falstaff.
Mr. James Barr (of the Detroit Free Press), who edits the book before us—not to be confused with Mr. John Barr, formerly "marine editor" (whatever that may be) of the same journal, and author of an extract included in this col. lection—is evidently somewhat alarmed at the responsibility which is thus imposed upon him. It is not, however, the first time he has had as troublesome a task to perform, as he had already been called upon to write an introduction to a volume li of American humorous verse, when he was young, eighteen months ago. Here we have a sweet specimen of the New Humour, with all that evergreen freshness of aspect which makes us feel how highly we should estimate it, if it only would be either new or humorous ; —but this is a digression. Mr. Barr has since that time forsworn theories, deductions, and various other things regarding every kind of humour, and consequently confines himself to giving us, in the first place, his specimens of what American humour is, and secondly, a list of American humorists, past and present, free from any dogmatic assertions of private and particular pre- * The humour of America. Selected, with an Introduction and Index of American Bumoriate, by James Barr. London: Walter Scott. ference for any individual. The catalogue of humorous writers puts before us what, in the language of the rude populace, might be described as a scratch pack. There are nearly two hundred of them—only about a quarter of which number are represented by extracts—including a few distinguished names and many of little more than local reputation, which how- ever, in a vast country like the United States, may be a dif- ferent matter to local reputation in England. Some we are surprised to find recorded here. Nathaniel Ward, a Puritan preacher, who spent some time in exile in Massachusetts, for which State he drew up its " Body of Liberties," and who afterwards returned to his native England and died there, does not seem very American, though Mr. Barr not only gives us his history, but also a not very biting satire of his upon ladies' dresses. Haliburton, better known as " Sam Slick," held office for many years under her Majesty in Canada, be- fore he came over to England to end his days as Conservative Member for a Cornish borough in the House of Commons. However, America may be held to include Canada,—though it is best not to say so to a Canadian, But strangest of all is the inclusion of Major Andre, a British officer of Swiss de- scent, who has really nothing Transatlantic about him. It is true that the Americans hanged him ; but this operation has never yet been held to confer any rights of citizenship.
Among the greatest names is that of Washington Irving, who is represented by a piece called " The Stout Gentleman," which does him little justice ; of Hawthorne, on the other hand, we have a very singular and striking story, though we should hardly have classed it as humorous. There are also some laboured jocosities of Benjamin Franklin, which may have once been what Mr. Barr describes as " sparkling witty," but have long lost their flavour, Coming down to our own days, we have of Mr. Lowell only a poem of no great merit.
Mr. Henry James—of whom it is graciously said that " his stories are slight in plot, but worked out gracefully, and fall of character-delineation, vivacious and witty "—is not deemed worthy of quotation; but Mr. W. D. Howells, who is classed as an " industrious writer "—a, term applied to an author in the same tone of commendation in which men speak of a " use- ful" horse—is made to contribute a small detached incident, of little interest, and wholly devoid of humour. Mr. G. W.
Cable, whose exposition of Southern, and especially Creole, manners has won for him so great a reputation, is also repre- sented by a scene—cut out of a short story which we re- member reading in the Century—which does not stand by itself, is incomprehensible to those who do not know the' context, and, though part of a strong sketch, is surely not humorous.
Indeed, we regard the selection as in most cases extremely injudicious. Artemus Ward alone is at all fitly represented by the Shaker scene, the adventure among the Mormons, and other of his best sketches. W o would willingly have more of him, but there are limits in a work of this kind. Mr. Bret Harte, whose short stories lend themselves so admirably to selections, is most miserably represented by the second-rate tale, " How Santa Claus Came to Simson's Bar." Besides, there is much verse, and feeble verso too, in the collection. Why could we not have had "The Heathen Chinee," or per- haps "Dow's Flat "? Mark Twain—we beg pardon, Mr. Clemens; he is always called by his right name here—comes somewhat better off, with a good bit out of " Huckleberry Finn." Mr. Leland's "Hans Breitmann Gife a Barty " could' not have been omitted ; and we are glad to find Uncle Remus to the fore, with " The Wonderful Tarbaby " story, though it has a strange exotic appearance here, and would have been better of the addition at least of its own sequel. We are sorry, however, to find no extract from " Helen's Babies," though the author is mentioned in the list of humorists. The extravaa gance which so often passes for humour in American writers, is fully represented, but one of its best exponents, Mr. C. H. Clark, better known as "Max Adder," has only two very inferior passages in this book. Nor can we understand what can have prompted the editor to include in his collection two such performances as that of his namesake, Mr. Robert Barr, or Mr. Samuel Cox's "Polyglot Barber," the two worst extracts in the book, to our thinking. We trust they do not really represent personal experiences. They may be studied with advantage by any one who wishes to know how people can conduct themselves when they wish to display their superiority to those around them. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that only cultured persons can thus play the cynical superior observer ; 'Arry going round Windsor Castle on Bank-holiday is accustomed to show his wit in exactly the same style as Mr. Barr's hero at the Giant's Causeway.
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