The Canton mail. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 18??-1882, 1875-01-30
The Ill Nature Of Wit.


When Lord Byron was once riding
with Capt. Trelawney. who still sur
wives him, thu poet asked his friend
which was the ruling passion or feeling
in the human breast on which the
captain suggested several, such as am.
bition, love, power, love of praise, etc.
"No." said Byron, sententiously, {" it is
none of these. It is malignity." A worse
character could not have been given Of
humanity by the devil himself; but
happily it is only partially true. We
leave to those who believe in the heaven
ly inspiration of genius to reconcile,
after eighteen hundred years of Christ
ian sacrifices and noble deeds, the gos-
pei preached in the Sermon on the
Mount and the gospel of malignity in
the words and too many of the works of
Lord Byron. But here again is the
savagery of wit. It existed in Homer's
time, no doubt. Thersites is a true
character, drawn from the life. 1t was
common with Ben Jonson and his con-
temporaries-though happily our gentle
Shakespeare gives no note of it-and it
burst into full flame in the days of
Pope. The i'll nature of some of the
wits of his day, the low, scurrilous,
cruel pictures of poverty, old age, sor-
row, want, and disease to be found in
poems, in repartees, and on the stage,
are somewhat astounding. As for Pope
himself, he abounded in such license.
To praise his patrons and to give his
friends every virtue under heaven, and
to attribute the meanest crimes and low
est vices to his antagonists, seemed to
be his rule. True wit, unless it is satire,
should never wound at all, but those Of
the school of i'll nature forget this, as
witness this thrust. "You know" said
Albert Smith, fellow contributor to
Punch, wanting to conciliate Douglas
Jerrold, "we row in the same boat. !"
cay, ay," rejoined Jerrold-"in the
same boat, but not with the same SOULS.
Such self-assertion may be witty, but it
is ill-natured SO, too, is the wits
taking one poor butt, who was reading
an obscure poem to another, the author
of the book, and saying, "Here, Mr..
Dash, behold your public r. HE
might just as well, says an able critic,
"have knocked their two heads togeth-
or ;" it would certainly have been less
rude. In worse taste than this are many
stories told of such wits and quiet
people are tempted to exclaim, eff
such be the conversation of literary men,
let me keep aloof." Friend or foe, it is
the same to these trenchant whipsters
who study to say sharp things. One
stout gentleman, at tavern dinner,
confdes to Jerrold that he "does love
Calls head dearly" "Egotism !" cries
Jerrold. Another favors soup which
he recommends. "What is it ?" asks
the wit. "Calf's TAIL" "Ah, see,"
is the response, with a meaning nod, as
his friend swallows q spoonful"
tremes meet"
All this no doubt illustrates the French
proverb that ga good wit has bad
heart" at any rate it shows that to-
ward each other wits are not only en-
viously inclined, but each, wishing to
shine, is very careless of what he says,
whether it wounds or not. The better
breeding of French wits and the better
education of French men of letters
have prevented them at least from ex-
hibiting the raw rudeness and too often
brutal cruelty of the English jester, of
which We can hardly print the worse
and grosser instances. In France, too,
there is wholesome dread of the duel
which men of letters even now permit
Even the wits among the women
have been as cruel as the men. An
authoress in pursuit of reputation
would, like Tullia, drive over her
fathers corpse. Madame De Sevigne
writes not only with witty delight on
the writings of Huguenot hangings and
Protestant masiacres, but she tells
not handsome gentleman that he
'abuses the privilege which men have
of being ugly"-words very witty but
very rude; and when Madame De
Stael is seated at dinner by the side of
distinguished nobleman, who on his
other side has beautiful English
woman, she replies with rudness to his
compliment. How happy am ], he
says, "seated between Genius and
Beauty! "Ah," responded Madame
De Stael, "and without possessing
either |" The gentleman was no doubt
silenced for the evening.
When one recalls these utterances
and a thousand others, one is con-
strained to own that, like many other
gifts, wit, talent, cleverness Of rer artee,
or what is called brilliancy of parts, is
a very dangerous gift. Can we wonder
at the unhappy lives and early deaths
of authors if they let their wicked wit
wound others, and are themselves filed
with envy and with fatal desire to
excel?