The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VI | Page 6

wa'n't easy in my mine all day. But
it was all bright an' shinin' same as a' angel's.
"'Chad,' he says, handin' me de reins, 'I bought yo' Henny dis arternoon
from Colonel Barbour, an' she's comin' ober to-morrow, an' you can
bofe git married next Sunday.'"

UNCONSCIOUS HUMOR

BY J.K. WETHERILL
Perhaps unconscious humor does not appeal to the more amiable side
of our sense of mirth, for it excites in us a conceited feeling of
superiority over those who are making us laugh,--but its
unexpectedness and infinite variety render it irresistible to a certain
class of minds. The duly labeled "joke" follows a certain law and rule;
whereas no jester could invent the grotesqueries of the unconscious
humorist.
As a humble gleaner after the editorial scythe,--or, to be truly modern, I
should say mowing-machine,--I have gathered some strange sheaves of
this sort of humor. Like many provincial newspapers, that to which I
am attached makes a feature of printing the social happenings in
villages of the surrounding country, and these out-of-town
correspondents "don't do a thing to" the English language. One of them
invariably refers to the social lights of his vicinity as "our prominent
socialists," and describes some individual as "happening to an
accident." To another, every festal occasion is "a bower of beauty and a
scene of fairyland." Blue-penciling they resent, and one of them wrote
to complain that a descriptive effort of his had been "much altered and
deranged." The paper also publishes portraits of children and young
women, and it is in the descriptions accompanying these pictures that
the rural correspondent excels himself. One wound up his eulogy in an
apparently irrepressible burst of enthusiasm: "She is indeed a tout
ensemble." A child of six months was described as "studious"; and
another correspondent went into details thus: "Little Willie has only
one large blue eye, the other having been punched out by his brother
with a stick, by accident." A small child was accredited with "a
pleasing disposition and a keen juvenile conception."
The following are some of the descriptive phrases applied to village
belles: "She is perfectly at home on the piano, where her executions
have attained international celebrity." ... "She possesses a mine of
repartee and the qualities which have long rendered illustive her noble
family." ... "Her carriage and disposition are swan-like." ... "Her eyes
can express pathetic pathos, but flash forth fiery independence when

her country's name is traduced." ... "She has a molded arm, and her
Juno-like form glides with a rhythmic move in the soft swell of a
Strauss." ... "Her chestnut hair gives a rich recess to her lovely,
fawnlike eyes, which shine like a star set in the crown of an angel." ...
One writer becomes absolutely incoherent in his admiration, and
lavishes a mixture of metaphors upon his subject: "She portrays a
picture worthy of a Raphael. She dances like the fairies before the
heavenly spirits. She looks like a celestial goddess from an outburst of
morning-glories; her lovely form would assume a phantomlike flash as
she glides the floor, as though she were a mystic dream."
Scarcely less rich in unconscious humor are some of the effusions of
those who have literary aspirations. A descriptive article contains a
reference to "a lonely house that stood in silent mutiny." "Indians who
border on civilization, an interesting people in their superstitious way,"
infested the vicinity, and one of the points of interest was the Wild
Man's Leap, "so called from an Indian who is said to have leaped
across to get away from some men who were trying to expatriate him."
An aspirant made this generous offer: "I will write you an article every
week if you so wish it, as I have nothing to do after supper." Modest
was the request of another, concerning remuneration: "I do not ask for
money, but would like you to send me a small monkey. I already have a
parrot."
But no finer specimen of unconscious humor has ever fallen under the
sub-editorial eye than "The Beautiful Circus Girl." In these enterprising
days rising young authors sometimes boast in print of their ignorance
of grammar and spelling, but the author of the aforementioned bit of
fiction surpasses them all in that respect. It seems only just that such a
unique gem should be rescued from the dull obscurity of the
waste-basket.
THE BEAUTIFUL CIRCUS GIRL
Some years ago the quaint but slow little village of Mariana was all on
the qui-of-eve with excitement. Pasted on every tree and sign was
announcements of Hall's circus, and the aperence of pretty Rose Floid
in the pearless feets of tight-rope dancing, and Seignor Paul Paulo as

her attendent. All the vilage was agog, for in their midst had old Hall
and his Wife whome