BULLS AND WIT. [Rev. Sydney Smith, born at Woodford, Essex, 1771; died in London, 22d February, 1845 Educated at Winchester and Oxford. He resided five years in Edinburgh, as minister of the Charlotte Episcopal Chapel, and formed one of the group of daring youths who founded the Edinburgh Review, the first number of which was prepared under his editorship. After holding various church livings, he became canon residen tiary of St. Paul's in 1831. He was even more famous as a conversational wit than as a preacher or reviewer. His works (Longmans & Co.) consist of reviews, sermons and lectures. His Peter Plymley's Letters had a large share in promoting Catholic Emancipation. Macaulay says: "He is universally admitted to have been a great reasoner, and the greatest master of ridicule that has appeared among us since Swift." Edward Everett says: -If he had not been known as the wittiest man of his day, he would have been accounted one of the wisest." The following is from a review of the work on Irish Bulls by Mis Edgeworth and her father.] Though the question is not a very easy one, we shall venture to say, that a bull is an apparent congruity and real incongruity of ideas suddenly discovered. And if this account of bulls be just, they are (as might have been supposed) the very reverse of wit; for as wit discovers real relations that are not apparent, bulls admit apparent relations that are not real. The pleasure arising from wit proceeds from our surprise at suddenly discovering two things to be similar in which we suspected no similarity. The pleasure arising from bulls proceeds from our discovering two things to be dissimilar in which a resemblance might have been suspected. The same doctrine will apply to wit and to bulls in action. Practical wit discovers connection or relation between actions, in which duller understandings discover none; and practical bulls originate from an apparent relation between two actions, which more correct understandings immediately perceive to have no relation at all. nent, the English gentleman thought proper to reprove the Hibernian, if not with delicacy, at least with poetical justice. He concluded writing his letter in these words: 'I would say more, but a damned tall Irishman is reading over my shoulder every word I write.' "You lie, you scoundrel,' said the selfconvicted Hibernian." The pleasure derived from the first of these stories proceeds from the discovery of the relation that subsists between the object he had in view, and the assent of the officer to an observation so unfriendly to that end. In the first rapid glance which the mind throws upon his words, he appears, by his acquiescence, to be pleading against himself. There seems to be no relation between what he says and what he wishes to effect by speaking. In the second story, the pleasure is directly the reverse. The lie given was apparently the readiest means of proving his innocence, and really the most effectual way of establishing his guilt. There seems for a moment to be a strong relation between the means and the object; while, in fact, no irrelation can be so complete. What connection is there between pelting stones at monkeys and gathering cocoa-nuts from lofty trees? Apparently none. But monkeys sit upon cocoa-nut trees; monkeys are imitative animals; and if you pelt a monkey with a stone, he pelts you with a cocoa-nut in return. This scheme of gathering cocoa-nuts is very witty, and would be more so, if it did not appear useful: for the idea of utility is always inimical to the idea of wit.1 There appears, on the contrary, to be some relation between the revenge of the Irish rebels against a banker, and the means which they took to gratify it, by burning all his notes 1 It must be observed, that all the great passions, and many other feelings, extinguish the relish for wit. Thus lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit, would be witty, were it not bordering on the sublime. The resemblance between the sandal tree imparting (while it falls) its Louis XIV., being extremely harassed by the repeated solicitations of a veteran officer for promotion, said one day, loud enough to be aromatic flavour to the edge of the axe, and the beneheard, "That gentleman is the most troublesome officer I have in my service." "That is precisely the charge (said the old man) which your Majesty's enemies bring against me." volent man rewarding evil with good, would be witty, did it not excite virtuous emotions. There are many mechanical contrivances which excite sensations very similar to wit; but the attention is absorbed by their utility. Some of Merlin's machines, which have no utility at all, are quite similar to wit. A small model of a steam engine, or mere squirt, is wit to a child. A man speculates on the causes of the first, or on its consequences, and so loses the feelings of wit: with the latter, he is too familiar to be surprised. In short, the essence of every species of wit is surprise; which, vi termini, must be sudden; and the sensations which wit often as they are mingled with much thought of has a tendency to excite, are impaired or destroyed, as "An English gentleman (says Mr. Edgeworth, in a story cited from Joe Millar) was writing a letter in a coffee-house; and perceiving that an Irishman stationed behind him was taking that liberty which Parmenio used with his friend Alexander, instead of putting his seal upon the lips of the curious imperti-passion. wherever they found them; whereas, they could not have rendered him a more essential service. In both these cases of bulls, the one verbal, the other practical, there is an apparent congruity and real incongruity of ideas. In both the cases of wit, there is an apparent incongruity and a real relation. It is clear that a bull cannot depend upon mere incongruity alone; for if a man were to say that he would ride to London upon a cocked hat, or that he would cut his throat with a pound of pickled salmon, this, though completely incongruous, would not be to make bulls, but to talk nonsense. The stronger the apparent connection, and the more complete the real disconnection of the ideas, the greater the surprise and the better the bull. The less apparent, and the more complete the relations established by wit, the higher gratification does it afford. A great deal of the pleasure experienced from bulls proceeds from the sense of superiority in ourselves. Bulls which we invented, or knew to be invented, might please, but in a less degree, for want of this additional zest. As there must be apparent connection, and real incongruity, it is seldom that a man of sense and education finds any form of words by which he is conscious that he might have been deIceived into a bull. To conceive how the person has been deceived, he must suppose a degree of information very different from, and a species of character very heterogeneous to, his own; a process which diminishes surprise, and consequently pleasure. In the abovementioned story of the Irishman overlooking the man writing, no person of ordinary sagacity can suppose himself betrayed into such a mistake; but he can easily represent to himself a kind of character that might have been so betrayed. There are some bulls so extremely fallacious, that any man may imagine himself to have been betrayed into them; but these are rare: and, in general, it is a poor contemptible species of amusement ; a delight in which evinces a very bad taste in wit. LOVE'S GROWTH. They err who tell us there is need Ah! no, the love that kills indeed, And that which but by slow degrees Is friendship, habit,—what you please But Love is not the name. THE MINSTREL [James Beattie, D.C.L., born at Laurencekirk, Kincardineshire, 25th October, 1735; died at Aberdeen, 18th August, 1803. Thanks to the self-sacrifice of his widowed mother and of his eldest brother David, he was enabled to attend the Marischal College, Aberdeen, for four years. Having taken his degree of M.A., he was appointed schoolmaster at Fordoun, a village near his native place; thence he removed to the grammarschool of Aberdeen; and in 1760 he was installed professor of moral philosophy and logic in Marischal College. His works are: Poems and Translations; The Judgment of Paris; The Minstrel, or the Progress of Genius 1 (from which we quote); Essay on Truth, which obtained high favour; and the Elements of Moral Science. Government granted him a pension of £200 a year.] Of chance or change O let not man complain, But sure to foreign climes we need not range, But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace, 1 In a letter to Dr. Blacklock, dated Aberdeen, 20th May, 1767, Beattie explains the design of his poem: "The subject was suggested by a dissertation on the old minstrels, which is prefixed to a collection of ballads lately published by Dodsley in three volumes. I propose to give an account of the birth, education, and adventures of one of those bards; in which I shall have full scope for description, sentiment, satire, and even a certain species of humour and of pathos, which, in the opinion of my great master, are by no means incon sistent, as is evident from his works. My hero is to be born in the South of Scotland; which you know was the native land of the English minstrels; I mean, of those minstrels who travelled into England, and supported themselves there by singing their ballads to the harp. His father is a shepherd. The son will have a natural taste for music and the beauties of nature; which, however, languishes for want of culture, till in due time he meets with a hermit, who gives him some instruction; but endeavours to check his genius for poetry and adventures, by representing the happiness of obscurity and solitude, and the bad reception which poetry has met with in almost every age. The poor swain acquiesces in this advice, and resolves to follow his father's employment." 7 See Plato's Timæus. "The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care, And if no future age shall hear my name, I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast, And with more leisure feed this pious flame, Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame. "The end and the reward of toil is rest. Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possessed, Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease? Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string, The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece, All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride the bosom wring. "Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. "And thither let the village swain repair: No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know. "For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage, "Along yon glittering sky what glory streams! "O Thou, at whose creative smile yon heaven, To blast the fury of oppressive might, Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway, And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way!" Silence ensued: and Edwin raised his eyes In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart. "And is it thus in courtly life," he cries, "That man to man acts a betrayer's part? And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert, Each social instinct, and sublime desire? Hail Poverty, if honour, wealth, and art, If what the great pursue, and learned admire, Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!" He said, and turned away; nor did the sage O'erhear, in silent orisons employed. The youth, his rising sorrow to assuage, Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoyed: For now no cloud obscures the starry void; The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills;1 Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoyed, A soothing murmur the lone region fills, Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills. OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS. Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, The twilight of the trees and rocks Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene The forest depths by foot unpressed, 1 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this banl -Shakspeare. CHARACTERISTICS OF HEBREW POETRY. [Rev. George Gilfillan, born at Comrie, Perthshire, 1813. When he completed his studies he was appointed to the charge of the Schoolwynd Church, Dundee, of the gospel, poet, critic, lecturer, and miscellaneous which he retained till his death in 1878. As a minister writer, Mr. Gilfillan earned extensive reputation in this country and America. Gifted with great energy of character, his influence was felt in many depart ments of literature, and his sympathy for all worthy aspirations made him the early friend of several men who afterwards distinguished themselves in art and letters. His chief works are: The Gallery of Literary Portraits, two series; Bards of the Bible (from which we quote); The Scottish Covenanters; The Fatherhood of God; The History of a Man; Christianity and our Bra; Alpha and Omega, sermons; Night, a poem; Prefaces to an edition of the British Poets, in 48 vols.; a Life of Scott, &c. &c.] Many thoughts find, after beating about for, natural analogies-they strain a tribute. The thought of genius precedes its image, only as the flash of the lightning, the roar of the near thunder; nay, they often seem identical. Now, the images of Scripture are peculiarly of this description. The connection between them and their wedded thoughts seems necessary. With this is closely connected the naturalness of Scripture figure. No critical reproach is more common, or more indiscriminate, than that which imputes to writers want of nature. For nature is often a conventional term. What is as natural to one man as to breathe, would be, and seems, to another the spasm of imbecile agony. Consequently, the ornate writer cannot often believe himself ornate, cannot help thinking and speaking in figure, and is astonished to hear elaboration imputed to passages which have been literally each the work of an hour. But all modern styles are more or less artificial. Their fire is in part a false fire. The spirit of those unnaturally excited ages, rendered feverish by luxuries, by stimulants, by uncertainties, by changes, and by raging speculation, has blown sevenfold their native ardour, and rendered its accurate analysis difficult. Whereas, the fire of the Hebrews-a people living on corn, water, or milk-sitting under their vine, but seldom tasting its juice-dwelling alone, and not reckoned among the nations-surrounded by customs and manners ancient and unchangeable as the mountains,-a fire fed chiefly by the aspects of their scenery, the force of their piety, the influences of their climate, the forms of their worship, and the Hebrew memories of their past-was a fire entirely natural, and the figures used come forth in quick and impetuous flow. There is scarcely any artifice or even art in their use. art went no farther than to construct a simple form of versification. The management of figures, in what numbers they should be introduced, from what objects drawn, to what length expanded, how often repeated, and how so set as to tell most powerfully, was beyond or beneath it. Enough that the ardent Hebrew bosom was never empty, that the fire was always there ready to fill every channel presented to it, and to change every object it met into its own nature. But The figures of the Hebrews were very numerous. Their country, indeed, was limited in extent, and the objects it contained, consequently, rather marked than manifold. the "mind is its own place," and from that land flowing with milk and honey, what a rich herbarium, aviary,1 menagerie, have the Bards of the Bible collected and consecrated to God! We recall not our former word, that they have ransacked creation in the sweep of their genius; for all the bold features and main elements of the world, enhanced in effect, too, by the force of enthusiasm, and shown in a light which is not of the earth, are to be found in them. Their images are never forced out, nor are they sprinkled over the page with a chariness, savouring more of poverty than of taste, but hurry forth, thick and intertangled, like sparks from the furnace. Each figure, too, proceeding as it does, not from the playful mint of fancy, but from the solemn forge of imagination, seems sanctified in its birth, an awful and holy, as well as a lovely thing. The flowers laid on God's altar have indeed been gathered in the gardens and wildernesses of earth, but the dew and the divinity of heaven are resting on every bud and blade. It seems less a human tribute than a selection from the God-like rendered back to God. We name, as a second characteristic of Hebrew poetry, its simplicity. This approaches the degree of artlessness. The Hebrew poets were, indeed, full-grown and stern men, but they united with this quality a certain childlikeness, for which, at least, in all its simpli 1 "Aviary"-consisting of the ostrich, the eagle, the hawk, the raven, the dove, the stork, the swallow, the crane, the sparrow, the cock, the hen, the vulture, the kite, the pelican, the ossifrage, the osprey, the owl, the night-hawk, the cuckoo, the cormorant, the swan, the heron, the gier-eagle, the lapwing, the bat, &c. All these and more are mentioned in Scripture, and most of them are alluded to in its poetry. |