the fault we find really
originates in our own obtuseness.

But before proceeding, we must allow that philosophers and literary men
are divided in opinion as to the existence of any feeling of wrong in
the ludicrous. Voltaire, tilting against the windmills which the old
animosity school had set up, observes, "When I was eleven years old, I
read all alone for the first time the 'Amphitryon' of Moliere, and I
laughed until I was on the point of falling down. Was this from
hostility?--one is not hostile when alone!" This will not seem to most
of us more conclusive reasoning than that of his opponents. We seldom
laugh when alone, although we often feel angry.

Dryden says "Wit is a propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the
subject," and Pope gives us a similar opinion in the following words--

"True wit is nature to advantage dressed,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed,
Something whose truth convinced at sight we find.
That gives us back the image to our mind."

Taking this view of the subject, we should be inclined to think the
Psalms of David especially witty, and to agree with the pretentious
young lady who, being asked what she thought of Euclid, replied at a
hazard that "It was the wittiest book she had ever read." But it seems
probable from other passages in Pope's works that he did not here intend
to give a full definition, but only some characteristics. Moreover, in
former times, Wit was not properly distinguished from Wisdom, and the
above authors probably used the word in the old sense. Young says,
"Well-judging wit is a flower of wisdom," to which we may reply in the
words of an old proverb, "Wit and Wisdom, like the seven stars, are
seldom found together."

Brown, in his lectures on "The Human Understanding," observes that in
the ludicrous we do not condemn, but admire, and he cites as an
illustration the case of some friends dining at an hotel. Boniface
smilingly inquires what wine they would like to drink. One says
Champagne, another Claret, another Burgundy, but the last one observes
knowingly that he should like that best for which he should not have to
pay. Now in this there is certainly a fault, for the answer is not
applicable to the question. Brown's theory is that the ludicrous arises
from the contemplation of incongruities, and he finds himself somewhat
puzzled when he considers that the incongruities in science--in
chemistry, for instance--do not make us laugh. He is