seems to have undergone the same transition in Latin, for
Horace speaks of Virgil having possessed the _facetum_ in poetry.

Humour may be dry--may consist of subtle inuendoes of a somewhat
uncertain character not devoid of pleasantry, perhaps, but indistinctly
felt, and not calculated to raise laughter. This has led some to observe
that in contradistinction to it--"Wit is sharply defined like a
crystal." So Mr. Dallas writes, "Wit is of the known and definite;
humour is of the unknown and indefinable. Wit is the unexpected
exhibition of some clearly defined contrast or disproportion; humour the
unexpected indication of a vague discordance, in which the sense or the
perception of ignorance is prominent." "Wit is the comedy of knowledge,
humour of ignorance." But we must observe in opposition to this view
that humour may be too clearly defined, as in puns or caricatures, it
may be broad--but who ever heard of broad wit. The retort often made by
those who have been severely hit, "You're very witty," or "You think
you're very witty," could not be expressed by, "You're very humorous,"
which would have neither irony nor point, not implying any pretension.
Nothing that smells of the lamp, or refers much to particular
experience, or second-hand information, deserves the name of wit, and
although it may be recorded in writing, it generally implies impromptu
speech. There seems to be a kind of inspiration in it, and we are
inclined to regard it, like any other great advantage, as a natural
gift. "If you have real wit," says Lord Chesterfield, "it will grow
spontaneously, and you need not aim at it, for in that case the rule of
the gospel is reversed and it will prove, 'Seek, and ye shall not
find.'" Thus, we speak of a man's mother wit, _i.e._ innate, but we do
not call a story witty, as much in it is due to circumstances, and does
not necessarily flow from talent. To speak of a woman as "of great wit
and beauty" is to pay a high compliment to her mental as well as
personal charms.

As wit must be always intellectual it must be in words, and hence as
well as because it must imply impromptu talent, the comic situations of
a farce or pantomime are not witty. When Poole represents Paul Pry as
peeping through a gimlet hole, as attacked with a red hot poker, or
blown out of a closet full of fireworks, and where Douglas Jerrold on
the Bridge of Ludgate makes the innkeeper tells Charles II., in his
disguise, all the bad stories he has