, who formed himself upon the Ancient Poets, has every where rejected it with Scorn. If we look after mixt Wit among the
Greek
Writers, we shall find it no where but in the Epigrammatists. There are indeed some Strokes of it in the little Poem ascribed to Musœus, which by that, as well as many other Marks, betrays it self to be a modern Composition. If we look into the
Latin
Writers, we find none of this mixt Wit in
Virgil, Lucretius
, or
Catullus
; very little in
Horace
, but a great deal of it in
Ovid
, and scarce any thing else in
Martial
.
Out of the innumerable Branches of
mixt Wit
, I shall choose one Instance which may be met with in all the Writers of this Class. The Passion of Love in its Nature has been thought to resemble Fire; for which Reason the Words Fire and Flame are made use of to signify Love. The witty Poets therefore have taken an Advantage from the doubtful Meaning of the Word Fire, to make an infinite Number of Witticisms.
Cowley
observing the cold Regard of his Mistress's Eyes, and at the same Time their Power of producing Love in him, considers them as Burning-Glasses made of Ice; and finding himself able to live in the greatest Extremities of Love, concludes the Torrid Zone to be habitable. When his Mistress has read his Letter written in Juice of Lemmon by holding it to the Fire, he desires her to read it over a second time by Love's Flames. When she weeps, he wishes it were inward Heat that distilled those Drops from the Limbeck. When she is absent he is beyond eighty, that is, thirty Degrees nearer the Pole than when she is with him. His ambitious Love is a Fire that naturally mounts upwards; his happy Love is the Beams of Heaven, and his unhappy Love Flames of Hell. When it does not let him sleep, it is a Flame that sends up no Smoak; when it is opposed by Counsel and Advice, it is a Fire that rages the more by the Wind's blowing upon it. Upon the dying of a Tree in which he had cut his Loves, he observes that his written Flames had burnt up and withered the Tree. When he resolves to give over his Passion, he tells us that one burnt like him for ever dreads the Fire. His Heart is an
Ætna
, that instead of
Vulcan's
Shop incloses
Cupid's
Forge in it. His endeavouring to drown his Love in Wine, is throwing Oil upon the Fire. He would insinuate to his Mistress, that the Fire of Love, like that of the Sun (which produces so many living Creatures) should not only warm but beget. Love in another Place cooks Pleasure at his Fire. Sometimes the Poet's Heart is frozen in every Breast, and sometimes scorched in every Eye. Sometimes he is drowned in Tears, and burnt in Love, like a Ship set on Fire in the Middle of the Sea.
The Reader may observe in every one of these Instances, that the Poet mixes the Qualities of Fire with those of Love; and in the same Sentence speaking of it both as a Passion and as real Fire, surprizes the Reader with those seeming Resemblances or Contradictions that make up all the Wit in this kind of Writing. Mixt Wit therefore is a Composition of Punn and true Wit, and is more or less perfect as the Resemblance lies in the Ideas or in the Words: Its Foundations are laid partly in Falsehood and partly in Truth: Reason puts in her Claim for one Half of it, and Extravagance for the other. The only Province therefore for this kind of Wit, is Epigram, or those little occasional Poems that in their own Nature are nothing else but a Tissue of Epigrams. I cannot conclude this Head of
mixt Wit
, without owning that the admirable Poet out of whom I have taken the Examples of it, had as much true Wit as any Author that ever writ; and indeed all other Talents of an extraordinary Genius.
It may be expected, since I am upon this Subject, that I should take notice of Mr.
Dryden's
Definition of Wit; which, with all the Deference that is due to the Judgment of so great a Man, is not so properly a Definition of Wit, as of good writing in general.
Wit
, as he defines it, is
'a Propriety of Words and Thoughts adapted to the Subject.'2
If
this be a true Definition of Wit, I am apt to think that
Euclid
was
3
the greatest Wit that ever set Pen to Paper: It is certain that never was a greater Propriety of Words and Thoughts adapted to the Subject, than what that Author has made use of in his Elements. I shall only appeal to my Reader, if this Definition agrees with any Notion he has of Wit: If it be a true one I am sure Mr.
Dryden
was not only a better Poet, but a greater Wit than Mr.
Cowley
; and
Virgil
a much more facetious Man than either
Ovid
or
Martial
.
Bouhours
,
whom
I look upon to be the most penetrating of all the
French
Criticks, has taken pains to shew, that it is impossible for any Thought to be beautiful which is not just, and has not its Foundation in the Nature of things: That the Basis of all Wit is Truth; and that no Thought can be valuable, of which good Sense is not the Ground-work
4
.
Boileau
has endeavoured to inculcate the same Notions in several Parts of his Writings, both in Prose and Verse
5
. This is that natural Way of Writing, that beautiful Simplicity, which we so much admire in the Compositions of the Ancients; and which no Body deviates from, but those who want Strength of Genius to make a Thought shine in its own natural Beauties. Poets who want this Strength of Genius to give that Majestick Simplicity to Nature, which we so much admire in the Works of the Ancients, are forced to hunt after foreign Ornaments, and not to let any Piece of Wit of what kind soever escape them. I look upon these writers as
Goths
in Poetry, who, like those in Architecture, not being able to come up to the beautiful Simplicity of the old
Greeks and Romans
, have endeavoured to supply its place with all the Extravagancies of an irregular Fancy.
Mr
.
Dryden
makes a very handsome Observation, on
Ovid
's writing a Letter from
Dido
to
Æneas
, in the following Words
6
.
'Ovid' says he, (speaking ofVirgil'sFiction ofDidoandÆneas) 'takes it up after him, even in the same Age, and makes an Ancient Heroine ofVirgil'snew-createdDido; dictates a Letter for her just before her Death to the ungrateful Fugitive; and, very unluckily for himself, is for measuring a Sword with a Man so much superior in Force to him on the same Subject. I think I may be Judge of this, because I have translated both. The famous Author of the Art of Love has nothing of his own; he borrows all from a greater Master in his own Profession, and, which is worse, improves nothing which he finds: Nature fails him, and being forced to his old Shift, he has Recourse to Witticism. This passes indeed with his soft Admirers, and gives him the Preference toVirgilin their Esteem.'
Were not I supported by so great an Authority as that of Mr.
Dryden
, I should not venture to observe, That the Taste of most of our
English
Poets, as well as Readers, is extremely
Gothick
.
He
quotes Monsieur
Segrais
7
for a threefold Distinction of the Readers of Poetry: In the first of which he comprehends the Rabble of Readers, whom he does not treat as such with regard to their Quality, but to their Numbers and Coarseness of their Taste. His Words are as follow:
'Segraishas distinguished the Readers of Poetry, according to their Capacity of judging, into three Classes. [He might have said the same of Writers too, if he had pleased.] In the lowest Form he places those whom he callsLes Petits Esprits, such things as are our Upper-Gallery Audience in a Play-house; who like nothing but the Husk and Rind of Wit, prefer a Quibble, a Conceit, an Epigram, before solid Sense and elegant Expression: These are Mob Readers. IfVirgilandMartialstood for Parliament-Men, we know already who would carry it. But though they make the greatest Appearance in the Field, and cry the loudest, the best on't is they are but a sort ofFrenchHuguenots, orDutchBoors, brought over in Herds, but not Naturalized; who have not Lands of two Poundsper AnnuminParnassus, and therefore are not privileged to poll. Their Authors are of the same Level, fit to represent them on a Mountebank's Stage, or to be Masters of the Ceremonies in a Bear-garden: Yet these are they who have the most Admirers. But it often happens, to their Mortification, that as their Readers improve their Stock of Sense, (as they may by reading better Books, and by Conversation with Men of Judgment) they soon forsake them.'
I
must not dismiss this Subject without
8
observing that as Mr.
Lock
in the Passage above-mentioned has discovered the most fruitful Source of Wit, so there is another of a quite contrary Nature to it, which does likewise branch it self out into several kinds. For not only the
Resemblance
, but the
Opposition
of Ideas, does very often produce Wit; as I could shew in several little Points, Turns and Antitheses, that I may possibly enlarge upon in some future Speculation.
C.
Footnote 1:
Essay concerning Human Understanding
, Bk II. ch. II (p. 68 of ed. 1690; the first).
return to footnote mark
Footnote 2:
'If Wit has truly been defined as a Propriety of Thoughts and Words, then that definition will extend to all sorts of Poetry ... Propriety of Thought is that Fancy which arises naturally from the Subject, or which the Poet adapts to it. Propriety of Words is the cloathing of these Thoughts with such Expressions as are naturally proper to them.'
Dryden's Preface to
Albion and Albanius
.
return
Footnote 3:
is
return
Footnote 4:
Dominique Bouhours, a learned and accomplished Jesuit, who died in 1702, aged 75, was a Professor of the Humanities, in Paris, till the headaches by which he was tormented until death compelled him to resign his chair. He was afterwards tutor to the two young Princes of Longueville, and to the son of the minister Colbert. His best book was translated into English in 1705, as
'The Art of Criticism: or the Method of making a Right Judgment upon Subjects of Wit and Learning. Translated from the best Edition of theFrench, of the Famous Father Bouhours, by a Person of Quality. In Four Dialogues.'
Here he says:
'Truth is the first Quality, and, as it were, the foundation of Thought; the fairest is the faultiest, or, rather, those which pass for the fairest, are not really so, if they want this Foundation.... I do not understand your Doctrine, replies Philanthus, and I can scarce persuade myself that a witty Thought should be always founded on Truth: On the contrary, I am of the opinion of a famous Critic (i.e. Vavassor in his book on Epigrams) that Falsehood gives it often all its Grace, and is, as it were, the Soul of it,'
&c., pp, 6, 7, and the following.
return
Footnote 5:
As in the lines
Tout doit tendre au Bon Sens: mais pour y parvenirLe chemin est glissant et penible a tenir.
Art. Poétique,
chant 1.
And again,
Aux dépens du Bon Sens gardez de plaisanter.
Art. Poétique
, chant 3.
return
Footnote 6:
Dedication of his translation of the
Æneid
to Lord Normanby, near the middle; when speaking of the anachronism that made Dido and Æneas contemporaries.
return
Footnote 7:
Jean Regnauld de Segrais, b. 1624, d. 1701, was of Caen, where he was trained by Jesuits for the Church, but took to Literature, and sought thereby to support four brothers and two sisters, reduced to want by the dissipations of his father. He wrote, as a youth, odes, songs, a tragedy, and part of a romance. Attracting, at the age of 20, the attention of a noble patron, he became, in 1647, and remained for the next 24 years, attached to the household of Mlle. de Montpensier. He was a favoured guest among the
Précieuses
of the
Hotel Rambouillet
, and was styled, for his acquired air of
bon ton
, the Voiture of Caen. In 1671 he was received by Mlle. de La Fayette. In 1676 he married a rich wife, at Caen, his native town, where he settled and revived the local 'Academy.' Among his works were translations into French verse of the
Æneid
and
Georgics
. In the dedication of his own translation of the
Æneid
by an elaborate essay to Lord Normanby, Dryden refers much, and with high respect, to the dissertation prefixed by Segrais to his French version, and towards the end (on p. 80 where the essay occupies 100 pages), writes as above quoted. The first parenthesis is part of the quotation.
return
Footnote 8:
"would not break the thread of this discourse without;" and an
Erratum
appended to the next Number says, 'for
without
read
with
.'
return
Contents
Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinamJungere si velit et varías inducere plumasUndique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrumDesinat in piscem mulier formosa supernè;Spectatum admissi risum teneatis amici?Credite, Pisones, isti tabulæ fore librumPersimilem, cujus, velut ægri somnia, vanæFinguntur species ...Hor.translation
It is very hard for the Mind to disengage it self from a Subject in which it has been long employed. The Thoughts will be rising of themselves from time to time, tho' we give them no Encouragement; as the Tossings and Fluctuations of the Sea continue several Hours after the Winds are laid.
It is to this that I impute my last Night's Dream or Vision, which formed into one continued Allegory the several Schemes of Wit, whether False, Mixed, or True, that have been the Subject of my late Papers.
Methoughts I was transported into a Country that was filled with Prodigies and Enchantments, governed by the Goddess of
Falsehood
, entitled
the Region of False Wit
. There is nothing in the Fields, the Woods, and the Rivers, that appeared natural. Several of the Trees blossomed in Leaf-Gold, some of them produced Bone-Lace, and some of them precious Stones. The Fountains bubbled in an Opera Tune, and were filled with Stags, Wild-Boars, and Mermaids, that lived among the Waters; at the same time that Dolphins and several kinds of Fish played upon the Banks or took their Pastime in the Meadows. The Birds had many of them golden Beaks, and human Voices.
The
Flowers perfumed the Air with Smells of Incense, Amber-greese, and Pulvillios
1
; and were so interwoven with one another, that they grew up in Pieces of Embroidery. The Winds were filled with Sighs and Messages of distant Lovers. As I was walking to and fro in this enchanted Wilderness, I could not forbear breaking out into Soliloquies upon the several Wonders which lay before me, when, to my great Surprize, I found there were artificial Ecchoes in every Walk, that by Repetitions of certain Words which I spoke, agreed with me, or contradicted me, in every thing I said. In the midst of my Conversation with these invisible Companions, I discovered in the Centre of a very dark Grove a monstrous Fabrick built after the
Gothick
manner, and covered with innumerable Devices in that barbarous kind of Sculpture. I immediately went up to it, and found it to be a kind of Heathen Temple consecrated to the God of
Dullness
. Upon my Entrance I saw the Deity of the Place dressed in the Habit of a Monk, with a Book in one Hand and a Rattle in the other. Upon his right Hand was
Industry
, with a Lamp burning before her; and on his left
Caprice
, with a Monkey sitting on her Shoulder. Before his Feet there stood an
Altar
of a very odd Make, which, as I afterwards found, was shaped in that manner to comply with the Inscription that surrounded it. Upon the Altar there lay several Offerings of
Axes, Wings
, and
Eggs
, cut in Paper, and inscribed with Verses. The Temple was filled with Votaries, who applied themselves to different Diversions, as their Fancies directed them. In one part of it I saw a Regiment of
Anagrams
, who were continually in motion, turning to the Right or to the Left, facing about, doubling their Ranks, shifting their Stations, and throwing themselves into all the Figures and Countermarches of the most changeable and perplexed Exercise.
Not far from these was a Body of
Acrosticks
, made up of very disproportioned Persons. It was disposed into three Columns, the Officers planting themselves in a Line on the left Hand of each Column. The Officers were all of them at least Six Foot high, and made three Rows of very proper Men; but the Common Soldiers, who filled up the Spaces between the Officers, were such Dwarfs, Cripples, and Scarecrows, that one could hardly look upon them without laughing. There were behind the
Acrosticks
two or three Files of
Chronograms
, which differed only from the former, as their Officers were equipped (like the Figure of Time) with an Hour-glass in one Hand, and a Scythe in the other, and took their Posts promiscuously among the private Men whom they commanded.
In the Body of the Temple, and before the very Face of the Deity, methought I saw the Phantom of
Tryphiodorus
the
Lipogrammatist
, engaged in a Ball with four and twenty Persons, who pursued him by Turns thro' all the Intricacies and Labyrinths of a Country Dance, without being able to overtake him.
Observing several to be very busie at the Western End of the
Temple
, I inquired into what they were doing, and found there was in that Quarter the great Magazine of
Rebus's
. These were several Things of the most different Natures tied up in Bundles, and thrown upon one another in heaps like Faggots. You might behold an Anchor, a Night-rail, and a Hobby-horse bound up together. One of the Workmen seeing me very much surprized, told me, there was an infinite deal of Wit in several of those Bundles, and that he would explain them to me if I pleased; I thanked him for his Civility, but told him I was in very great haste at that time. As I was going out of the Temple, I observed in one Corner of it a Cluster of Men and Women laughing very heartily, and diverting themselves at a Game of
Crambo
. I heard several
Double Rhymes
as I passed by them, which raised a great deal of Mirth.
Not far from these was another Set of merry People engaged at a Diversion, in which the whole Jest was to mistake one Person for another. To give Occasion for these ludicrous Mistakes, they were divided into Pairs, every Pair being covered from Head to Foot with the same kind of Dress, though perhaps there was not the least Resemblance in their Faces. By this means an old Man was sometimes mistaken for a Boy, a Woman for a Man, and a Black-a-moor for an
European
, which very often produced great Peals of Laughter. These I guessed to be a Party of
Punns
. But being very desirous to get out of this World of Magick, which had almost turned my Brain, I left the Temple, and crossed over the Fields that lay about it with all the Speed I could make. I was not gone far before I heard the Sound of Trumpets and Alarms, which seemed to proclaim the March of an Enemy; and, as I afterwards found, was in reality what I apprehended it. There appeared at a great Distance a very shining Light, and, in the midst of it, a Person of a most beautiful Aspect; her Name was
Truth
. On her right Hand there marched a Male Deity, who bore several Quivers on his Shoulders, — and grasped several Arrows in his Hand. His Name was
Wit
. The Approach of these two Enemies filled all the Territories of
False Wit
with an unspeakable Consternation, insomuch that the Goddess of those Regions appeared in Person upon her Frontiers, with the several inferior Deities, and the different Bodies of Forces which I had before seen in the Temple, who were now drawn up in Array, and prepared to give their Foes a warm Reception. As the March of the Enemy was very slow, it gave time to the several Inhabitants who bordered upon the
Regions
of
Falsehood
to draw their Forces into a Body, with a Design to stand upon their Guard as Neuters, and attend the Issue of the Combat.
I must here inform my Reader, that the Frontiers of the Enchanted Region, which I have before described, were inhabited by the Species of
Mixed Wit
, who made a very odd Appearance when they were mustered together in an Army. There were Men whose Bodies were stuck full of Darts, and Women whose Eyes were Burning-glasses: Men that had Hearts of Fire, and Women that had Breasts of Snow. It would be endless to describe several Monsters of the like Nature, that composed this great Army; which immediately fell asunder and divided itself into two Parts, the one half throwing themselves behind the Banners of
Truth
, and the others behind those of
Falsehood
.
The Goddess of
Falsehood
was of a Gigantick Stature, and advanced some Paces before the Front of her Army: but as the dazling Light, which flowed from
Truth
, began to shine upon her, she faded insensibly; insomuch that in a little Space she looked rather like an huge Phantom, than a real Substance. At length, as the Goddess of
Truth
approached still nearer to her, she fell away entirely, and vanished amidst the Brightness of her Presence; so that there did not remain the least Trace or Impression of her Figure in the Place where she had been seen.
As at the rising of the Sun the Constellations grow thin, and the Stars go out one after another, till the whole Hemisphere is extinguished; such was the vanishing of the Goddess: And not only of the Goddess her self, but of the whole Army that attended her, which sympathized with their Leader, and shrunk into Nothing, in proportion as the Goddess disappeared. At the same time the whole Temple sunk, the Fish betook themselves to the Streams, and the wild Beasts to the Woods: The Fountains recovered their Murmurs, the Birds their Voices, the Trees their Leaves, the Flowers their Scents, and the whole Face of Nature its true and genuine Appearance. Tho' I still continued asleep, I fancied my self as it were awakened out of a Dream, when I saw this Region of Prodigies restored to Woods and Rivers, Fields and Meadows.
Upon the removal of that wild Scene of Wonders, which had very much disturbed my Imagination, I took a full Survey of the Persons of
Wit
and
Truth
; for indeed it was impossible to look upon the first, without seeing the other at the same time. There was behind them a strong and compact Body of Figures. The Genius of
Heroic Poetry
appeared with a Sword in her Hand, and a Lawrel on her Head.
Tragedy
was crowned with Cypress, and covered with Robes dipped in Blood.
Satyr
had Smiles in her Look, and a Dagger under her Garment.
Rhetorick
was known by her Thunderbolt; and
Comedy
by her Mask. After several other Figures,
Epigram
marched up in the Rear, who had been posted there at the Beginning of the Expedition, that he might not revolt to the Enemy, whom he was suspected to favour in his Heart. I was very much awed and delighted with the Appearance of the God of