Born
in
Philadelphia,
USA.
She
wrote
Books
and
Men
(1888),
Points
of
Friction
(1920),
To
Think
of
Tea!
(1932),
In
Pursuit
of
Laughter
(1936).
American
humour
is
the
pride
of
American
hearts.
It is
held
to be
our
splendid
national
characteristic,
which
we
flaunt
in
the
faces
of
other
nations,
conceiving
them
to
have
been
less
favoured
by
Providence.
Just
as
the
most
effective
way
to
disparage
an
author
or an
acquaintance--and
we
have
often
occasion
to
disparage
both—is
to
say
that
he
lacks
a
sense
of
humour,
so
the
most
effective
criticism
we
can
pass
upon
a
nation
is to
deny
it
this
valuable
quality.
American
critics
have
written
the
most
charming
things
about
the
keenness
of
American
speech,
the
breadth
and
insight
of
American
drollery,
the
electric
current
in
American
veins;
and
we,
reading
these
pleasant
felicitations,
are
wont
to
thank
God
with
greater
fervour
than
the
occasion
demands
that
we
are
more
merry
and
wise
than
our
neighbours.
Mr.
Brander
Matthews,
for
example,
has
told
us
that
there
are
newspaper
writers
in
New
York
who
have
cultivated
a
wit,
"not
unlike
Voltaire's."
He
mistrusts
this
wit
because
he
finds
it
"corroding
and
disintegrating";
but
he
makes
the
comparison
with
that
casual
assurance
which
is a
feature
of
American
criticism.
Indeed,
our
delight
in
our
own
humour
has
tempted
us to
overrate
both
its
literary
value
and
its
corrective
qualities.
We
are
never
so
apt
to
lose
our
sense
of
proportion
as
when
we
consider
those
beloved
writers
whom
we
hold
to be
humourists
because
they
have
made
us
laugh.
It
may
be
conceded
that,
as a
people,
we
have
an
abiding
and
somewhat
disquieting
sense
of
fun.
We
are
nimble
of
speech,
we
are
more
prone
to
levity
than
to
seriousness,
we
are
able
to
recognize
a
vital
truth
when
it is
presented
to us
under
the
familiar
aspect
of a
jest,
and
we
habitually
allow
ourselves
certain
forms
of
exaggeration,
accepting,
perhaps
unconsciously,
Hazlitt's
verdict:
"Lying
is a
species
of
wit,
and
shows
spirit
and
invention."
It is
true
also
that
no
adequate
provision
is
made
in
this
country
for
the
defective
but
valuable
class
without
humour,
which
in
England
is
exceedingly
well
cared
for.
American
letters,
American
journalism,
and
American
speech
are
so
coloured
by
pleasantries,
so
accentuated
by
ridicule,
that
the
silent
and
stodgy
men,
who
are
apt
to
represent
a
nation's
real
strength,
hardly
know
where
to
turn
for a
little
saving
dullness.
A
deep
vein
of
irony
runs
through
every
grade
of
society,
making
it
possible
for
us to
laugh
at
our
own
bitter
discomfiture,
and
to
scoff
with
startling
distinctness
at
the
evils
which
we
passively
permit.