clap of thunder; it was in winter, and it seemed out of place
that it should occur in cold weather. There can be nothing legitimately
ludicrous in such occurrences. But, perhaps, _lusus naturae_ are not
regarded as truly natural. Of course, they are really so, but not to us,
for we have an ideal variously obtained of how Nature ought to act, and
thus a man is able for the moment to imagine that something produced by
Nature is not natural--just as we sometimes speak of "unnatural
weather." But we seldom or ever laugh at such phenomena.

We all have a certain resemblance to the old Athenians in wishing to
hear something new. It generally pleases, and always impresses us.
Novelty is in proportion to our ignorance, and can scarcely be said to
exist at all absolutely, for although there is some change always in
progress, it advances too slowly and certainly to produce anything
startling or exciting. Novelty especially affects us with regard to the
ludicrous, and some have, therefore, hastily concluded that it is
sufficient to awaken this feeling.

The strength and vividness of new emotions and impressions are
especially traceable in their outward demonstrations. A very slight
change occurring suddenly will often cause an ejaculation of alarm or
admiration, especially among those of nervous temperament; but upon a
repetition the excitement is less, and the nerves are scarcely affected.
This peculiar law of the nervous system will account for the absence of
laughter on the relation of any old or well-known story. Both pleasure
and facial action are absent; but when we no longer feel the emotion of
humour, we still have some notion that certain ideas awakened it, and
would still do so under favourable circumstances,--that is when persons
first conceived them. Here then we can recognise humour apart from
novelty; but it is dead, its magic is no more. On the same principle, to
laugh before telling a good story lessens its force, just as to break
gradually melancholy tidings enables the recipient to bear them better.
But nothing so effectually damps mirth as to premise that we are going
to say something very laughable. Bacon observes, "Ipsa titillatio si
praemoneas non magnopere in risum valet." Novelty is necessary to produce
what Akenside felicitously calls "the gay surprise," but they are wrong
who maintain that this is the essence of the ludicrous. An ingenious
suggestion has been made that the reason why we cannot endure the