All men, I believe, enjoy an ill natured joke.

The difference is, that an ill natured person can drink out to the very dregs the amusement which it affords, while the better moulded mind soon loses the sense of the ridiculous in sympathy for the pain of the sufferer.
"Let me pitch you up to your saddle again, neighbour," said the smith, dismounting at the same time, and assisting Oliver to scramble into his war saddle, as a monkey might have done.
"May God forgive you, neighbour Smith, for not backing of me! I would not have believed in it, though fifty credible witnesses had sworn it of you." Such were the first words, spoken in sorrow more than anger, by which the dismayed Oliver vented his feelings.
"The bailie kept hold of my horse by the bridle; and besides," Henry continued, with a smile, which even his compassion could not suppress, "I thought you would have accused me of diminishing your honour, if I brought you aid against a single man.

But cheer up! the villain took foul odds of you, your horse not being well at command." "That is true--that is true," said Oliver, eagerly catching at the apology.
"And yonder stands the faitour, rejoicing at the mischief he has done, and triumphing in your overthrow, like the king in the romance, who played upon the fiddle whilst a city was burning.

Come thou with me, and thou shalt see how we will handle him.

Nay, fear not that I will desert thee this time." So saying, he caught Jezabel by the rein, and galloping alongside of her, without giving Oliver time to express a negative, he rushed towards the Devil's Dick, who had halted on the top of a rising ground at some distance.