I have often thought that a story-teller is born, as well as a poet.
It is, I think, certain, that some men have such a peculiar cast of
mind, that they see things in another light than men of grave
dispositions. Men of a lively imagination and a mirthful temper will
represent things to their hearers in the same manner as they
themselves were affected with them; and whereas serious spirits might
perhaps have been disgusted at the sight of some odd occurences in
life, yet the very same occurrences shall please them in a well-told
story, where the disagreeable parts of the images are concealed, and
those only which are pleasing exhibited to the fancy. Story-telling is
therefore not an art, but what we call a "knack"; it doth not so much
subsist upon wit as upon humor; and I will add, that it is not perfect
without proper gesticulations of the body, which naturally attend
such merry emotions of the mind. I know very well that a certain
gravity of countenance sets some stories off to advantage, where the
hearer is to be surprized in the end. But this is by no means a
general rule; for it is frequently convenient to aid and assist by
cheerful looks and whimsical agitations.
I will go yet further, and affirm that the success of a story very
often depends upon the make of the body, and the formation of the
features, of him who relates it. I have been of this opinion ever
since I criticized upon the chin of Dick Dewlap. I very often had the
weakness to repine at the prosperity of his conceits, which made him
pass for a wit with the widow at the coffee-house and the ordinary
mechanics that frequent it; nor could I myself forbear laughing at
them most heartily, tho upon examination I thought most of them very
flat and insipid. I found, after some time, that the merit of his wit
was founded upon the shaking of a fat paunch, and the tossing up of a
pair of rosy jowls. Poor Dick had a fit of sickness, which robbed him
of his fat and his fame at once; and it was full three months before
he regained his reputation, which rose in proportion to his floridity.
He is now very jolly and ingenious, and hath a good constitution for
wit.
Those who are thus adorned with the gifts of nature, are apt to show
their parts with too much ostentation. I would therefore advise all
the professors of this art never to tell stories but as they seem to
grow out of the subject-matter of the conversation, or as they serve
to illustrate or enliven it. Stories that are very common are
generally irksome; but may be aptly introduced, provided they be only
hinted at, and mentioned by way of allusion. Those that are altogether
new, should never be ushered in without a short and pertinent
character of the chief persons concerned, because, by that means, you
may make the company acquainted with them; and it is a certain rule,
that slight and trivial accounts of those who are familiar to us,
administer more mirth than the brightest points of wit in unknown
characters.
A little circumstance in the complexion of dress of the man you are
talking of, sets his image before the hearer, if it be chosen aptly
for the story. Thus, I remember Tom Lizard, after having made his
sisters merry with an account of a formal old man's way of
complimenting, owned very frankly that his story would not have been
worth one farthing, if he had made the hat of him whom he represented
one inch narrower. Besides the marking distinct characters, and
selecting pertinent circumstances, it is likewise necessary to leave
off in time, and end smartly; so that there is a kind of drama in the
forming of a story; and the manner of conducting and pointing it is
the same as in an epigram. It is a miserable thing, after one hath
raised the expectation of the company by humorous characters and a
pretty conceit, to pursue the matter too far. There is no retreating;
and how poor is it for a story-teller to end his relation by saying,
"that's all!"