Several instances of this may be found
in a preceding chapter. By increasing points of similarity between
distant objects, poetry may be changed into humour. Addison remarks that
"If a lover declare that his mistress' breast is as white as snow, he
makes a commonplace observation, but when he adds with a sigh, that it
is as cold too, he approaches to wit." The former simile is only
poetical, but the latter draws the comparison too close, the
complication becomes too strong, and we feel inclined to laugh. Addison
merely notices the number of points of similitude, but the reason they
produce or augment humour, is that they make the solution difficult.

When it is easy to limit and disentangle the likeness and unlikeness,
the pleasantry is small, as where Butler says--

"The sun had long since, in the lap
Of Thetis, taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boiled, the moon
From black to red began to turn."

Here there is no element of truth--the things are too far apart. A
humorous comparison should not be entirely fanciful, and without basis;
otherwise we should have no complication.

Many humorous sayings, especially those found in comic papers, fail for
want of foundation. That would-be wit which has no element of truth is
always a failure, and may appear romantic, dull or ludicrous--or simply
nonsensical. As in a novel, the more pure invention there is the duller
we find it, so here the more like truth, the error appears the better.
The finer the balance, the nearer doubt is approached, provided it be
not reached, the more excellent and artistic the humour. Gross
exaggeration is not humorous. There is too much of this extravagant and
spurious humour in the comic literature of the day. "Many men," writes
Addison, "if they speak nonsense believe they are talking humour; and
when they have drawn together a scheme of absurd inconsistant ideas are
not able to read it over to themselves without laughing. These poor
gentlemen endeavour to gain themselves the reputation of wits and
humorists by such monstrous conceits as almost qualify them for Bedlam,
not considering that humour should be always under the check of reason."
There is nothing pleasant in nonsense. In both humour and the ludicrous
the imperfection must refer to some kind of right or truth, and revolve,
as it were, round a fixed axis. "To laugh heartily we must have
reality," writes Marmontel, and it is remarkable that most good comic
situations have be