all along a grave face, and never once bewrays a fmile. The oppofition betwixt the fubject and the manner of handling it, is what produces the ridicule. In a compofition of this kind, no image profeffedly ludicrous ought to have quarter; because such images destroy the contraft.

Though the burlesque that aims at ridicule, produces its effect by elevating the ftyle far above the subject, yet it has limits beyond which the elevation ought not to be carried. The poet, consulting the imagination of his readers, ought to confine himfelf to fuch images as are lively and readily apprehended. A strained elevation, soaring above an ordinary reach of fancy, makes not a pleasant impreffion. The mind fatigued with being always upon the ftretch, is foon difgufted; and if it perfeveres, becomes thoughtless and indifferent. Further, a fiction gives no pleasure, unless where painted in fo lively colours as to produce fome perception of reality; which never can be done effectually where the images are formed with labour or difficulty. For these reasons, I cannot avoid condemning the Batrachomuo

machia faid to be the compofition of Homer. It is beyond the power of imagination, to form a clear and lively image of frogs and mice acting with the dignity of the highest of our species: nor can we form a conception of the reality of fuch an action, in any manner so distinct as to intereft our affections even in the slightest degree.

The Rape of the Lock is of a character clearly distinguishable from those now mentioned. It is not properly a burlesque performance, but what may rather be termed an beroi-comical poem. It treats a gay and familiar fubject, with pleasantry and with a moderate degree of dignity. The author puts not on a mask like Boileau, nor profeffes to make us laugh like Taffoni. The Rape of the Lock is a genteel and gay fpecies of writing, lefs ftrained than the others. mentioned; and is pleasant or ludicrous without having ridicule for its chief aim; giving way however to ridicule where it arifes naturally from a particular character, fuch as that of Sir Plume. Addifon's Spectator upon the exercife of the fan * is extremely

N° 102.

F 2

.

tremely gay and ludicrous, resembling in its fubject the Rape of the Lock.

Humour belongs to the prefent chapter, because it is undoubtedly connected with ridicule. Congreve defines humour to be "a fingular and unavoidable manner of doing or faying any thing, peculiar and natural to one man only, by which his speech and ac❝tions are distinguished from thofe of other "men." Were this definition juft, a majeftic and commanding air, which is a fingular property, is humour; as alfo that natural flow of eloquence and correct elocution which is a rare talent. Nothing juft or proper is denominated humour; nor any fingularity of character, words, or actions, that is valued or refpected. When we attend to the character of an humorift, we find that the peculiarity of this character leffens the man in our esteem: we find that this character arifes from circumftances both

rifible and improper, and therefore in fome

measure ridiculous.

Humour in writing is very different from humour in character. When an author infifts upon ludicrous fubjects with a profeff

ed

ed purpose to make his readers laugh, he may be ftyled a ludicrous writer; but is fcarce intitled to be ftyled a writer of bumour. This quality belongs to an author, who, affecting to be grave and ferious, paints his objects in fuch colours as to provoke mirth and laughter. A writer that is really an humorist in character, does this without defign. If not, he muft affect the character in order to fucceed. Swift and Fontaine were humorists in character, and their writings are full of humour. Addison was not an humorist in character; and yet in his profe writings a moft delicate and refined humour prevails, Arbuthnot exceeds them all in drollery and humorous painting; which shows a great genius, becaufe, if I am not misinformed, he had nothing of this peculiarity in his character.

There remains to fhow, by examples, the manner of treating fubjects fo as to give them a ridiculous appearance.

Il ne dit jamais, je vous donne, mais, je vous prete le bon jour.

Moliere.

Orleans,

Orleans. I know him to be valiant.

Conftable. I was told that by one that knows him better than you.

Orleans. What's he?

Conftable. Marry, he told me fo himself; and he faid, he car'd not who knew it.

Henry V. Skakefpear.

He never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a poft when he was drunk.

Ibid.

Millament. Sententious Mirabell! pr'ythee don't look with that violent and inflexible wife face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child in an old tapestry hanging.

Way of the world.

A true critic in the perusal of a book, is like a dog at a feast, whose thoughts and stomach are wholly fet upon what the guests fling away, and confequently is apt to fnarl most when there are the feweft bones.

Tale of a Tub.

In the following inftances the ridicule is made to appear from the behaviour of the perfons introduced.

Mafcarille.