essential　or　accidental；　have　altered　the　quality　of　our　English　comedy。
  In　particular；　that　stoical　ideal；　absurdly　supposed　to　be
  the　English　ideal；　has　stiffened　and　chilled　us。　　It　is　not
  the　English　ideal；　but　it　is　to　some　extent　the　aristocratic　ideal；
  or　it　may　be　only　the　ideal　of　aristocracy　in　its　autumn　or　decay。
  The　gentleman　is　a　Stoic　because　he　is　a　sort　of　savage；
  because　he　is　filled　with　a　great　elemental　fear　that　some　stranger
  will　speak　to　him。　　That　is　why　a　third…class　carriage　is　a　community；
  while　a　first…class　carriage　is　a　place　of　wild　hermits。
  But　this　matter；　which　is　difficult；　I　may　be　permitted　to　approach
  in　a　more　circuitous　way。
  The　haunting　element　of　ineffectualness　which　runs　through　so　much
  of　the　witty　and　epigrammatic　fiction　fashionable　during　the　last
  eight　or　ten　years；　which　runs　through　such　works　of　a　real　though
  varying　ingenuity　as　〃Dodo；〃　or　〃Concerning　Isabel　Carnaby；〃
  or　even　〃Some　Emotions　and　a　Moral；〃　may　be　expressed　in　various　ways；
  but　to　most　of　us　I　think　it　will　ultimately　amount　to　the　same　thing。
  This　new　frivolity　is　inadequate　because　there　is　in　it　no　strong　sense
  of　an　unuttered　joy。　　The　men　and　women　who　exchange　the　repartees
  may　not　only　be　hating　each　other；　but　hating　even　themselves。
  Any　one　of　them　might　be　bankrupt　that　day；　or　sentenced　to　be　shot
  the　next。　　They　are　joking；　not　because　they　are　merry；　but　because
  they　are　not；　out　of　the　emptiness　of　the　heart　the　mouth　speaketh。
  Even　when　they　talk　pure　nonsense　it　is　a　careful　nonsensea　nonsense
  of　which　they　are　economical；　or；　to　use　the　perfect　expression
  of　Mr。　W。　S。　Gilbert　in　〃Patience；〃　it　is　such　〃precious　nonsense。〃
  Even　when　they　become　light…headed　they　do　not　become　light…hearted。
  All　those　who　have　read　anything　of　the　rationalism　of　the　moderns　know
  that　their　Reason　is　a　sad　thing。　　But　even　their　unreason　is　sad。
  The　causes　of　this　incapacity　are　also　not　very　difficult　to　indicate。
  The　chief　of　all；　of　course；　is　that　miserable　fear　of　being　sentimental；
  which　is　the　meanest　of　all　the　modern　terrorsmeaner　even　than
  the　terror　which　produces　hygiene。　　Everywhere　the　robust　and
  uproarious　humour　has　come　from　the　men　who　were　capable　not　merely
  of　sentimentalism；　but　a　very　silly　sentimentalism。　　There　has　been
  no　humour　so　robust　or　uproarious　as　that　of　the　sentimentalist
  Steele　or　the　sentimentalist　Sterne　or　the　sentimentalist　Dickens。
  These　creatures　who　wept　like　women　were　the　creatures　who　laughed
  like　men。　　It　is　true　that　the　humour　of　Micawber　is　good　literature
  and　that　the　pathos　of　little　Nell　is　bad。　　But　the　kind　of　man
  who　had　the　courage　to　write　so　badly　in　the　one　case　is　the　kind
  of　man　who　would　have　the　courage　to　write　so　well　in　the　other。
  The　same　unconsciousness；　the　same　violent　innocence；　the　same
  gigantesque　scale　of　action　which　brought　the　Napoleon　of　Comedy
  his　Jena　brought　him　also　his　Moscow。　　And　herein　is　especially
  shown　the　frigid　and　feeble　limitations　of　our　modern　wits。
  They　make　violent　efforts；　they　make　heroic　and　almost　pathetic　efforts；
  but　they　cannot　really　write　badly。　　There　are　moments　when　we
  almost　think　that　they　are　achieving　the　effect；　but　our　hope
  shrivels　to　nothing　the　moment　we　compare　their　little　failures
  with　the　enormous　imbecilities　of　Byron　or　Shakespeare。
  For　a　hearty　laugh　it　is　necessary　to　have　touched　the　heart。
  I　do　not　know　why　touching　the　heart　should　always　be　connected　only
  with　the　idea　of　touching　it　to　compassion　or　a　sense　of　distress。
  The　heart　can　be　touched　to　joy　and　triumph；　the　heart　can　be
  touched　to　amusement。　　But　all　our　comedians　are　tragic　comedians。
  These　later　fashionable　writers　are　so　pessimistic　in　bone
  and　marrow　that　they　never　seem　able　to　imagine　the　heart　having
  any　concern　with　mirth。　　When　they　speak　of　the　heart；　they　always
  mean　the　pangs　and　disappointments　of　the　emotional　life。
  When　they　say　that　a　man's　heart　is　in　the　right　place；
  they　mean；　apparently；　that　it　is　in　his　boots。　　Our　ethical　societies
  understand　fellowship；　but　they　do　not　understand　good　fellowship。
  Similarly；　our　wits　understand　talk；　but　not　what　Dr。　Johnson　called
  a　good　talk。　　In　order　to　have；　like　Dr。　Johnson；　a　good　talk；
  it　is　emphatically　necessary　to　be；　like　Dr。　Johnson；　a　good　man
  to　have　friendship　and　honour　and　an　abysmal　tenderness。
  Above　all；　it　is　necessary　to　be　openly　and　indecently　humane；
  to　confess　with　fulness　all　the　primary　pities　and　fears　of　Adam。
  Johnson　was　a　clear…headed　humorous　man；　and　therefore　he　did　not
  mind　talking　seriously　about　religion。　　Johnson　was　a　brave　man；
  one　of　the　bravest　that　ever　walked；　and　therefore　he　did　not　mind
  avowing　to　any　one　his　consuming　fear　of　death。
  The　idea　that　there　is　something　English　in　the　repression　of　one's
  feelings　is　one　of　those　ideas　which　no　Englishman　ever　heard　of　until
  England　began　to　be　governed　exclusively　by　Scotchmen；　Americans；
  and　Jews。　　At　the　best；　the　idea　is　a　generalization　from　the　Duke
  of　Wellingtonwho　was　an　Irishman。　　At　the　worst；　it　is　a　part
  of　that　silly　Teutonism　which　knows　as　little　about　England　as　it
  does　about　anthropology；　but　which　is　always　talking　about　Vikings。
  As　a　matter　of　fact；　the　Vikings　did　not　repress　their　feelings　in
  the　least。　　They　cried　like　babies　and　kissed　each　other　like　girls；
  in　short；　they　acted　in　that　respect　like　Achilles　and　all　strong
  heroes　the　children　of　the　gods。　　And　though　the　English　nationality
  has　probably　not　much　more　to　do　with　the　Vikings　than　the　French
  nationality　or　the　Irish　nationality；　the　English　have　certainly
  been　the　children　of　the　Vikings　in　the　matter　of　tears　and　kisses。
  It　is　not　merely　true　that　all　the　most　typically　English　men
  of　letters；　like　Shakespeare　and　Dickens；　Richardson　and　Thackeray；
  were　sentimentalists。　　It　is　also　true　that　all　the　most　typically　English
  men　of　action　were　sentimentalists；　if　possible；　more　sentimental。
  In　the　great　Elizabethan　age；　when　the　English　nation　was　finally
  hammered　out；　in　the　great　eighteenth　century　when　the　British
  Empire　was　being　built　up　everywhere；　where　in　all　these　times；
  where　was　this　symbolic　stoical　Englishman　who　dresses　in　drab
  and　black　and　represses　his　feelings？　　Were　all　the　Elizabethan
  palladins　and　pirates　like　that？　　Were　any　of　them　like　that？
  Was　Grenville　concealing　his　emotions　when　he　broke　wine…glasses
  to　pieces　with　his　teeth　and　bit　them　till　the　blood　poured　down？
  Was　Essex　restraining　his　excitement　when　he　threw　his　hat　into　the　sea？
  Did　Raleigh　think　it　sensible　to　answer　the　Spanish　guns　only；
  as　Stevenson　says；　with　a　flourish　of　insulting　trumpets？
  Did　Sydney　ever　miss　an　opportunity　of　making　a　theatrical　remark　in
  the　whole　course　of　his　life　and　death？　　Were　even　the　Puritans　Stoics？
  The　English　Puritans　repressed　a　good　deal；　but　even　they　were
  too　English　to　repress　their　feelings。　　It　was　by　a　great　miracle
  of　genius　assuredly　that　Carlyle　contrived　to　admire　simultaneously
  two　things　so　irreconcilably　opposed　as　silence　and　Oliver　Cromwell。
  Cromwell　was　the　very　reverse　of　a　strong；　silent　man。
  Cromwell　was　always　talking；　when　he　was　not　crying。　　Nobody；　I　suppose；
  will　accuse　the　author　of　〃Grace　Abounding〃　of　being　ashamed
  of　his　feelings。　　Milton；　indeed；　it　might　be　possible　to　represent
  as　a　Stoic；　in　some　sense　he　was　a　Stoic；　just　as　he　was　a　prig
  and　a　polygamist　and　several　other　unpleasant　and　heathen　things。
  But　when　we　have　passed　that　great　and　desolate　name；　which　may
  really　be　counted　an　exception；　we　find　the　tradition　of　English
  emotionalism　immediately　resumed　and　unbrokenly　continuous。
  Whatever　may　have　been　the　moral　beauty　of　the　passions
  of　Etheridge　and　Dorset；　Sedley　and　Buckingham；　they　cannot
  be　accused　of　the　fault　of　fastidiously　concealing　them。
  Charles　the　Second　was　very　popular　with　the　English　because；
  like　all　the　jolly　English　kings；　he　displayed　his　passions。
  William　the　Dutchman　was　very　unpopular　with　the　English　because；
  not　being　an　Englishman；　he　did　hide　his　emotions。　　He　was；　in　fact；
  precisely　the　ideal　Englishman　of　our　modern　theory；　and　precisely
  for　that　reason　all　the　real　Englishmen　loathed　him　like　leprosy。
  With　the　rise　of　the　great　England　of　the　eighteenth　century；
  we　find　this　open　and　emotional　tone　still　maintained　in　letters
  and　politics；　in　arts　and　in　arms。　　Perhaps　the　only　quality