C.

[Footnote 1: fine]

* * * * *

No. 62. Friday, May 11, 1711. Addison.

'Scribendi rectè sapere est et principium et fons.'

Hor.

Mr. _Lock_ has an admirable Reflexion upon the Difference of Wit and

Judgment, whereby he endeavours to shew the Reason why they are not

always the Talents of the same Person. His Words are as follows:

_And hence, perhaps, may be given some Reason of that common

Observation, That Men who have a great deal of Wit and prompt

Memories, have not always the clearest Judgment, or deepest Reason.

For Wit lying most in the Assemblage of Ideas, and putting those

together with Quickness and Variety, wherein can be found any

Resemblance or Congruity, thereby to make up pleasant Pictures and

agreeable Visions in the Fancy; Judgment, on the contrary, lies quite

on the other Side, In separating carefully one from another, Ideas

wherein can be found the least Difference, thereby to avoid being

misled by Similitude, and by Affinity to take one thing for another.

This is a way of proceeding quite contrary to Metaphor and Allusion;

wherein, for the most part, lies that Entertainment and Pleasantry of

Wit which strikes so lively on the Fancy, and is therefore so

acceptable to all People._ [1]

This is, I think, the best and most Philosophical Account that I have

ever met with of Wit, which generally, though not always, consists in

such a Resemblance and Congruity of Ideas as this Author mentions. I

shall only add to it, by way of Explanation, That every Resemblance of

Ideas is not that which we call Wit, unless it be such an one that gives

_Delight_ and _Surprise_ to the Reader: These two Properties seem

essential to Wit, more particularly the last of them. In order therefore

that the Resemblance in the Ideas be Wit, it is necessary that the Ideas

should not lie too near one another in the Nature of things; for where

the Likeness is obvious, it gives no Surprize. To compare one Man's

Singing to that of another, or to represent the Whiteness of any Object

by that of Milk and Snow, or the Variety of its Colours by those of the

Rainbow, cannot be called Wit, unless besides this obvious Resemblance,

there be some further Congruity discovered in the two Ideas that is

capable of giving the Reader some Surprize. Thus when a Poet tells us,

the Bosom of his Mistress is as white as Snow, there is no Wit in the

Comparison; but when he adds, with a Sigh, that it is as cold too, it

then grows into Wit. Every Reader's Memory may supply him with

innumerable Instances of the same Nature. For this Reason, the

Similitudes in Heroick Poets, who endeavour rather to fill the Mind with

great Conceptions, than to divert it with such as are new and

surprizing, have seldom any thing in them that can be called Wit. Mr.

_Lock's_ Account of Wit, with this short Explanation, comprehends most

of the Species of Wit, as Metaphors, Similitudes, Allegories, Ænigmas,

Mottos, Parables, Fables, Dreams, Visions, dramatick Writings,

Burlesque, and all the Methods of Allusion: As there are many other

Pieces of Wit, (how remote soever they may appear at first sight, from

the foregoing Description) which upon Examination will be found to agree

with it.

As _true Wit_ generally consists in this Resemblance and Congruity of

Ideas, _false Wit_ chiefly consists in the Resemblance and Congruity

sometimes of single Letters, as in Anagrams, Chronograms, Lipograms, and

Acrosticks: Sometimes of Syllables, as in Ecchos and Doggerel Rhymes:

Sometimes of Words, as in Punns and Quibbles; and sometimes of whole

Sentences or Poems, cast into the Figures of _Eggs, Axes_, or _Altars_:

Nay, some carry the Notion of Wit so far, as to ascribe it even to

external Mimickry; and to look upon a Man as an ingenious Person, that

can resemble the Tone, Posture, or Face of another.

As _true Wit_ consists in the Resemblance of Ideas, and _false Wit_ in

the Resemblance of Words, according to the foregoing Instances; there is

another kind of Wit which consists partly in the Resemblance of Ideas,

and partly in the Resemblance of Words; which for Distinction Sake I

shall call _mixt Wit_. This kind of Wit is that which abounds in

_Cowley_, more than in any Author that ever wrote. Mr. _Waller_ has

likewise a great deal of it. Mr. _Dryden_ is very sparing in it.

_Milton_ had a Genius much above it. _Spencer_ is in the same Class with

_Milton_. The _Italians_, even in their Epic Poetry, are full of it.

Monsieur _Boileau_, 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

Musoeus, 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 of _Virgil's_ Fiction of _Dido_ and

_Æneas_) 'takes it up after him, even in the same Age, and makes an

Ancient Heroine of _Virgil's_ new-created _Dido_; 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 to _Virgil_ in 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:

'_Segrais_ has 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 calls _Les Petits Esprits_, such thingsas 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. If _Virgil_ and

_Martial_ stood 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 of _French_

Huguenots, or _Dutch_ Boors, brought over in Herds, but not

Naturalized; who have not Lands of two Pounds _per Annum_ in

_Parnassus_, 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.