A curious article might be written, if such a thing were feasible, on the progress of jests and allied productions from the mouths of the authors to the printed page, with a view of the strange scientific processes employed in adapting the rough material for publication. Men of wit are, as a rule, not men of letters, or even persons of literary training and experience; and the _prima stamina_ or germs of their most felicitous utterances and most interesting anecdotes are always apt to require the hand of the _rédacteur_. There is almost inevitably something in the first draft or skeleton of a _bon-mot_, or a choice piece of gossip, which a critical eye will detect as inimical to its popularity, as well as to the reputation of the _conteur_. The editor is the middleman between the manufacturer and the public. He knows better than the former what he really meant, and better than anybody what the latter will find palatable. As genuine sherry is too bitter to be used without a blend, so the _ipsissima verba_ of the ocular oracle are most frequently treated as a _nucleus_ or a cue; and the upshot is a description of mosaic, in which the respective claims of wit and editor are no longer apportionable. The fruitful outpourer of good sayings may have ceased to rank among living celebrities, and the scintillations of his genius are gathered into the workshop; or, if he scatters his treasures during his life, like a prodigal, among his familiars, it is a marvel if there are not one or two deft hands waiting to dress the nuggets for the market, and even to wrap them up so adroitly, that their own father would scarcely recognise them! If the strict truth could be ascertained, there are hundreds of jokes floating in the social atmosphere, which bear to their actual makers a relationship cognate to that between Dame Partlet and the duckling. Even the merest quips and puns, however, are not exempt from the profanation of the garbler. He mars them, not in the stealing, but in the transcription or report. He is joke-proof, or he misses the point by a hair. He builds an arch, and does not see that he has forgotten the keystone. This criticism holds good both of Jerrold and Charles Lamb, two men who have never been surpassed in their astonishing mastery of the _mot_ in its real meaning and compass. Yet some of Lamb’s happiest hits have been robbed of their vitality by the neglect on the part of his biographers of that nicety which is so imperative in the registration of these casual traits. To omit, alter, or modify a single word is nothing less than sacrilege and death--sacrilege to the author and death to his performance. “Oh,” the culprit on conviction may tell you, “the gist is the same; there is no substantial difference.” Let him take his discretion back. Is a common carrier to foist changelings upon us?