The Rock Island Argus

What is a Giggle?
Giggling is said to be exclusively an American accomplishment. Perhaps it is. We do not know. What is a giggle? Scientists—that is to say, anatomists, professors of faciology, psychology, phrenology, physiology and some of the other ologies— might explain the cause of it from their several too excessively practical points of view. They might explain why a hen produces eggs and why butter is an extract of cow. But the giggle is a very different thing. The giggle is a cross between a sore heart and an active and bounding appreciation of fun. Your giggler is never demonstrative. He can not be demonstrative—it is not in his nature. He is the sly joker, though he thoroughly enjoys the roaring cartoon. He is a conservative. He expresses himself in few words when, at long intervals, he finds it necessary to do that daring thing. He is the man who in every procession brings up the rear. and who never has a friend to walk with him. He is the odd man at the dinner which requires partners. He never dances. He doesn't swear because that would attract attention. He is white- faced and passionless, though of course he gives way to violence when he is alone by tearing his hair. We have omitted to mention the somewhat important fact that no man giggles. Your giggler is, after all, a girl. Not often a woman, for your woman laughs and doesn't care who hears it. She has lived long enough to know that she had better have her entire fun or let the fun entirely alone. It is only the girl who giggles. It is merely that bone which has not matured, that thought which soars only to the bonnet, that beauty which has not become conscious of the fact that it is beyond criticism, that doubt which is nursed only by the girl who has not had several engagements and accordingly is not convinced that her reputation as a charming person is established. We find, accordingly, that the giggle is unbaked dough, undeveloped art, uncooked veal, incipient laughter. It belongs never to man or woman, but merely to girls. It is pulseless, but not soulless. The fun which inspires it has been driven back by timidity as with a sledge-hammer, but it is there. It has no sinew, but it promises, like the tenderness of the young willow, to develop, for it is full of sap. It is the brief song of a bird in the night. It sometimes discourages the one who would win laughter; but presently it will spread its wings and shake its sides, knowing what it laughs for, and having little thought of what the world thinks of the pretty sight and sound.— N. Y. Graphic.