Goodhumor.

“Health and good humor,” said Massillon, “are to the human body like sunshine to vegetation.”

The late Charles A. Dana fairly bubbled over with the enjoyment of his work, and was, up to his last illness, at his office every day.  A Cabinet officer once said to him:  “Well, Mr. Dana, I don’t see how you stand this infernal grind.”

“Grind?” said Mr. Dana.  “You never were more mistaken.  I have nothing but fun.”

“Bully” was a favorite word with him; a slang word used to express uncommon pleasure, such as had been afforded by a trip abroad, or by a run to Cuba or Mexico, or by the perusal of something especially pleasing in the “Sun’s” columns.

“One of my neighbors is a very ill-tempered man,” said Nathan Rothschild.  “He tries to vex me, and has built a great place for swine close to my walk.  So, when I go out, I hear first, ‘Grunt, grunt,’ then ‘Squeak, squeak.’  But this does me no harm.  I am always in good humor.”

Offended by a pungent article, a gentleman called at the “Tribune” office and inquired for the editor.  He was shown into a little seven-by-nine sanctum, where Greeley sat, with his head close down to his paper, scribbling away at a two-forty rate.  The angry man began by asking if this was Mr. Greeley.  “Yes, sir; what do you want?” said the editor quickly, without once looking up from his paper.  The irate visitor then began using his tongue, with no reference to the rules of propriety, good breeding, or reason.  Meantime Mr. Greeley continued to write.  Page after page was dashed off in the most impetuous style, with no change of features, and without paying the slightest attention to the visitor.  Finally, after about twenty minutes of the most impassioned scolding ever poured out in an editor’s office, the angry man became disgusted, and abruptly turned to walk out of the room.  Then, for the first time, Mr. Greeley quickly looked up, rose from his chair, and, slapping the gentleman familiarly on his shoulder, in a pleasant tone of voice said:  “Don’t go, friend; sit down, sit down, and free your mind; it will do you good,—­you will feel better for it.  Besides, it helps me to think what I am to write about.  Don’t go.”

“One good hearty laugh,” says Talmage, “is like a bomb-shell exploding in the right place, and spleen and discontent like a gun that kicks over the man shooting it off.”

“Every one,” says Lubbock, “likes a man who can enjoy a laugh at his own expense,—­and justly so, for it shows good humor and good sense.  If you laugh at yourself, other people will not laugh at you.”

People differ very much in their sense of humor.  As some are deaf to certain sounds and blind to certain colors, so there are those who seem deaf and blind to certain pleasures.  What makes me laugh until I almost go into convulsions moves them not at all.

Is it not worth while to make an effort to see the funny side of our petty annoyances?  How could the two boys but laugh, after they had contended long over the possession of a box found by the wayside, when they agreed to divide its contents, and found nothing in it?