Nor distant nations trembled at her name,
Owning her mistress of the field of fame.
From east to west her sceptre-sword was whirl'd;
From north to south she ruled the vassal world:
Monarchs, whom none beside might dare offend,
To her proud mandates were compell'd to bend ;
While cultur'd Europe bowed as to a god-
Asia and Africa obey'd her nod—

Embracing all of civilized below,

Her empire brook'd but earth's own bounds to know;
She seem'd in that transcendent, matchless hour,
The world's sole seat of grandeur and of power-
Now she was gone indeed, and all her fame
Emblazon'd but the more her conqueror's name.
Long in the west her rule had past away-
Now in the east she fell a vanquish'd prey:
And nothing-nothing now was left of all,
Save what in memory still survived her fall:
Nothing but that which never-never dies—
Remain'd of all she held below the skies.
It seem'd as if a glorious dream had past;
Too brilliant to endure-too wild to last.

Alas! that man, the creature of an hour,
Should build on lasting fame-undying power:
A tempest bursts-his trophies pass from sight-
And a whole empire sinks entomb'd in night.
The very earth itself seems doom'd to show
Unceasing change, the fate of all below:
The sea, unseen, encroaches on the fields,
And to expanding shores the ocean yields;
Until o'er buried towns her surges rave;
And temples rise where roll'd the mountain wave.
And thou, Constantinople! hadst thy day-
Proud in thy strength, and far-extended sway;
Potent in arms, as thou wast bright in fame,
And circled by the magic of thy name;
Seeming above the storms of fate to rise;
Flashing on earth, the splendor of the skies.
Like a Volcano thou hadst shed thy light,
A fiery pillar towering o'er the night!
Over whose flaming crest the lightnings play'd;
At whose loud thunder nations shrank dismay'd-
Until thy flood of flame exhausted grew,
And clouds and darkness round thy summit drew;
Then falling in th' abyss whence flash'd thy pride,
Thou didst but leave a wreck on every side;
Where nought surviv'd of all thy former fame,
But the departed glory of a name.

END.

J. B.

27

ON WIT.

ita commendare dicaces.

ita vertere seria ludo.

HOR. AR. To. v. 225 et 226.

THERE is, perhaps, no subject so common a topic of conversation-no term so frequently employed-no word so improperly used-no thing so little understood-no title so unjustly usurped as Wit. The punster, the dealer in conundrums, the acrostic-merchant, the anagrammatist, the chronogrammatist, and the rhymer, or rather crambo-maker,-consider that they deserve to be ranked as wits. These quacks in the science they profess, think themselves entitled to scan the merits of true wits, and give to works that authoritative stamp, which shall devote them either to the fires, or the attention of posterity. This is by no means extraordinary, since, when no certain, fixed, and acknowledged law is in existence, it is diffi cult to punish offenders: for when, on the one side, we are told, that the Attic salt* was a certain degree of shrewdness, and truth of observation calculated to excite attention, but not risibility; and, on the other, we know that Cicero, Horace, and Cervantes, have not scrupled to make puns; and Martial, to descend so low as a play on words, it is not wonderful that less illustrious admirers of wit should have been deceived; and, while they thought they possessed gold, their property was its mere representative-tinsel. It is not, however, here intended to profess a capability of doing that which no other person ever did before, but only to endeavour to remark those distinctions between the different species of wit, as they seem to arise, from the definitions given by the few authors who have been consulted on the present occasion.

Wit

First, then, wit may be divided into two main branches; wit in the thought, and wit in the word. There is besides a species of centaur wit, which is a mixture of both. in the word, and the last mentioned, mixed wit, may be regarded as illegitimate; and therefore we have postponed their definition, until our enquiries with regard to the former are ended.

Having proceeded so far in our prefatory matter, it may not be improper to observe, that our intention is to attempt a definition of the three species above mentioned, and endeavour

Quintiliani Inst. lib. 6, cap. 3.

to elucidate them by examples; afterwards to describe those inferior, or pseudo orders, which have crept into existence; and, lastly, to offer a few observations on some of the advantages or disadvantages, the uses or misuses, of which wit is productive, or to which it may be applied.

We come then to that which is first in order, and first in rank, wit in the thought. This has been defined by Mr. Locke,"to lie 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." With all due deference to Mr. Locke's authority, high as it undoubtedly is, on every subject to which he has devoted his attention, this definition is not a sufficient explanation of wit. Congruous and similar ideas may be put together with quickness and variety, without by any means amounting to wit. Surprise is a necessary ingredient in the formation of wit, and that must be produced by the dissimilarity of the things which in idea are compared. Therefore, probably the following may be regarded as coming nearer to the meaning of the word: an unexpected and fanciful conjunction of different things, similar, or supposed to be similar, in idea. It may probably be said, that there is no necessity for the discovery to be either fanciful or ludicrous, in order to constitute wit. That is, however, not the fact; for, if we strip the connexion of idea of its ludicrous property, it becomes a simile, metaphor, or allegory. The same principle pervades those three figures, as well as wit, namely, the discovery of a similarity, real or supposed, between one object and another. It may be taken then as tolerably clear, that the assertion of "true wit never making us laugh" is unfounded. Let us now proceed to examples.

First, wit may be said to arise from a ludicrous comparison :

And now had Phoebus in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap;

And, like a lobster boil`d, the morn
From black to red began to turn.

Hudibras, part ii. canto 2.

Here there is no real connexion between a lobster boiling, and the morn, but it is the unexpected discovery of the similarity in idea, which causes the thought to be witty.

Time was, when honest Fielding writ,
Tales full of nature, character, and wit,

* Book ii. ch. ii. § 2.

Were reckon'd most delicious boil'd and roast;
But stomachs are so cloyed with novel-feeding,
Folks get a vitiated taste in reading,

And want that strong provocative, a ghost.

Colman's Broad Grins, p. 9.

In the same work, in the tale of " the Knight and the Friar," speaking of the secresy of the Duke of Limbs,

Pour but a secret in him, and 'twould glue him,
Like rosin on a well-cork'd bottle's snout;
Had twenty devils come with cork-screws to him,
They never could have screw'd the secret out.

Ibid. p. 74.

Again, speaking of the repentance of Friar Roger,

His breast, soon after he was born,

Grew like an hostler's lantern, at an inn;

All the circumference was dirty horn,

And feebly blinked the ray of warmth within.

Ibid. p. 92.

Rabelais' comparison of Socrates to the statues of satyrs in druggists' shops, which, although ugly in the exterior, are full of excellent commodities, is of the same description. This may be found in his prologue to the Gargantua.

Next, fanciful causes, which have no relation to the effects. Here we shall perceive, that, although there is no real connexion in the thoughts, yet there is a supposed one, and therefore the wit arises from the same principle. Speaking of physicians,

Le bon de cette profession est, qu'il y a parmi les morts une honnêteté, une discretion la plus grande du monde ; jamais on n'en voit se plaindre du médecin qui l'a tué.

Le Medecin malgré lui, acte 3, scène 1.

Admirez les bontés, admirez les tendresses
De ces vieux esclaves du sort

Ils ne sont jamais las d'acquérir des richesses
Pour ceux qui souhaitent leur mort.

The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack
Of somebody to hew and hack;
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt,
The rancour of its edge had felt;

For of the lower end two handful
It had devoured, 'twas so manful;
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,

As if it durst not shew its face.

Hudibras, canto 1.

When Gargantua inquires what the reason can be for a particular monk having a handsome nose, he is answered :Parcequ'il fut des premiers à la foire des nez.

Rabelais, Gargantua, liv. 1. chap. 41. Don Alonzo, King of Aragon, used to say, that we ought to take advice from the dead, instead of the living, because the former being

sin amor, ni temor siempre dicen la verdad.
Floresta Española, p. 2.

From the same work we have another curious instance of a ludicrous cause assigned. A poor man being shaved for God's sake, the bluntness of the barber's razor makes him weep. While this disagreeable operation is proceeding, a dog is heard to howl in the kitchen, on which the poor man remarks,

"Yo creo que te rapan por amor de Dios segun gritas. La Silva Curiosa.

Cur non mitto meos tibi, Pontiliane, Libellos?
Ne mihi tu mittas, Pontiliane tuos.

Martial Epig. lib. 12, ep. x.

Nunquam se cœnâsse domi, Philo jurat ; et hoc est ;
Non cænat, quoties nemo vocavit eum.

Ib. ep. xcviii.

Of the same nature is the reason assigned by the Exoλasinos of Hierocles to the inquiry made, why he concealed himself behind a wall on meeting a doctor :

Καιρον εχω μη ασθένησας, και αισχυνομαι εις υψιν ελθειν του ιατρού.
ΙΕΡΟΚΛΟΥΣ ΑΣΤΕΙΑ.

Cum sua decoctor subeuntem limine furem

Quærere operatas nocte videret opes;

Nocte quid in nostris circumspicis ædibus? inquit

Hic ego nil media cernere luce queo.

Delectus Epig. Incertorum, lib. 6, ep. xxix.

When Sancho Panza was reasoning with Don Quixote on the advantages possessed by monks over knights-errant,—

que es mayor

Si respondió Sancho; yo he oido decir que hay mas frayles en el cielo caballeros andantes. Eso es, respondió Don Quixote, porque el número de los religiosos que el de los caballeros. Don Quixote, parte seg. cap. 8. 1