See how her shoulders shake,--and look at her face! Every
feature is instinct with mirth; the color mounts to the roots of the
hair; the curls vibrate; the eyes sparkle through tears; the white
teeth glisten; the very nose and ears seem to take a part; like
Nourmahal, she "laughs all over," and while you wonder what the joke
may be, you are laughing too.
Do you feel dismal, or anxious? You should hear L. tell a story. She
is one of the very few who can undertake with impunity to talk and
laugh at the same time. Look and listen, while she describes some
comic occurrence. There is no unladylike, boisterous noise, but
musical peals of laughter come thick and fast; and faster and thicker,
preternaturally fast and thick, come the words with them. And yet each
word is distinct; you do not lose a syllable. And I should like to see
the man who can resist her, if she chooses he should laugh, even at
his own expense.
There is an odd sort of power, too, in the gravity with which B.
tells a humorous anecdote. He invariably maintains a sober face while
every body is in an agony of laughter around him. Just as it begins to
subside, the echo of his own wit comes back to him, and, as if he had
just caught the idea, he bursts into one little abrupt explosion, so
genuine, so full of heartiness, that it sets every body off upon a
fresh score.
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