o tell a funny story about an
old darky, just as he would on our side of the water. In fact, I should
have supposed that he could hardly get into the Government unless he
did tell a funny story of some sort. But all through dinner the Cabinet
Minister never said a word about either a Methodist minister, or a
commercial traveller, or an old darky, or two Irishmen, or any of the
stock characters of the American repertory. On another occasion I dined
with a bishop of the Church. I expected that when the soup came he would
say, "There was an old darky--" After which I should have had to listen
with rapt attention, and, when he had finished, without any pause,
rejoin, "There were a couple of Irishmen once--" and so on. But the
bishop never said a word of the sort.

I can further, for the sake of my fellow-men in Canada and the United
States who may think of going to England, vouchsafe the following facts:
If you meet a director of the Bank of England, he does not say: "I am
very glad to meet you. Sit down. There was a mule in Arkansas once,"
etc. How they do their banking without that mule I don't know. But they
manage it. I can certify also that if you meet the proprietor of a great
newspaper he will not begin by saying, "There was a Scotchman once." In
fact, in England, you can mingle freely in general society without being
called upon either to produce a funny story or to suffer from one.

I don't mean to deny that the American funny story, in capable hands, is
amazingly funny and that it does brighten up human intercourse. But
the real trouble lies, not in the fun of the story, but in the painful
waiting for the point to come and in the strained and anxious silence
that succeeds it. Each person around the dinner table is trying to
"think of another." There is a dreadful pause. The hostess puts up a
prayer that some one may "think of another." Then at last, to the relief
of everybody, some one says: "I heard a story the other day--I don't
know whether you've heard it--" And the grateful cries of "No! no! go
ahead" show how great the tension has been.

Nine times out of ten the people have heard the story before; and ten
times out of nine the teller damages it in the telling. But his hearers
are grateful to him for having saved them from the appalling mantle
of silence and introspection which had fallen upon the table. For the
trouble is that when once two or three stories have been told it seems
to be a point of honour