in matters of literature, is that species of writing which excites contempt with laughter. The ridiculous, however, differs from the risible, (fee Risible.) A risible object produceth an emotion of laughter merely: a ridiculous object is improper as well as risible; and produceth a mixed emotion, which is vented by a laugh of derision or scorn.

Burlesque, though a great engine of ridicule, is not confined to that subject; for it is clearly distinguishable into burlesque that excites laughter merely, and burlesque Ridicule. burlesque that provokes derision or ridicule. A grave subject in which there is no impropriety, may be brought down by a certain colouring so as to be risible; which is the case of Virgil Tragifile, and also the case of the Secchia Rota; the authors laugh first, in order to make their readers laugh. The Intrin is a burlesque poem of the other sort, laying hold of a low and trifling incident, to expose the luxury, indolence, and contentious spirit of a set of monks. Boileau, the author, gives a ridiculous air to the subject, by dressing it in the heroic style, and affecting to consider it as of the utmost dignity and importance. In a composition of this kind, no image professedly ludicrous ought to find quarter, because such images destroy the contrast; and accordingly the author shows always the grave face, and never once betrays a smile.

Though the burlesque that aims at ridicule produces its effects by elevating the style far above the subject, yet it has limits beyond which the elevation ought not to be carried: the poet, consulting the imagination of his readers, ought to confine himself to such images as are lively and readily apprehended: a strained elevation, soaring above an ordinary reach of fancy, makes not a pleasant impression: the reader, fatigued with being always upon the stretch, is soon disgusted; and, if he perseveres, becomes thoughtless and indifferent.—Further, a fiction gives no pleasure unless it be painted in colours so lively as to produce some perception of reality; which never can be done effectually where the images are formed with labour or difficulty. For these reasons, we cannot avoid condemning the Batrachomoeumachia, said to be the composition of Homer: it is beyond the power of imagination to form a clear and lively image of frogs and mice acting with the dignity of the highest of our species; nor can we form a conception of the reality of such an action, in any manner so distinct as to interest our affections even in the slightest degree.

The Rape of the Lock is of a character clearly distinguishable from those now mentioned; it is not properly a burlesque performance, but what may rather be termed an hero-comical poem: it treats a gay and familiar subject with pleasantry, and with a moderate degree of dignity: the author puts not on a mask like Boileau, nor professes to make us laugh like Tassoni. The Rape of the Lock is a genteel species of writing, less strained than those mentioned; and is pleasant or ludicrous without having ridicule for its chief aim; giving way, however, to ridicule where it arises naturally from a particular character, such as that of Sir Plume. Addison's Spectator*, upon the exercise of the fan, is extremely gay and ludicrous, resembling in its subject the Rape of the Lock.

There remains to show, by examples, the manner of treating subjects so as to give them a ridiculous appearance.

Il ne dit jamais, je vous donne, mais, je vous prete le bon jour.

Orleans. I know him to be valiant.

Confidante. I was told that by one that knows him better than you.

Orleans. What's he?

Confidante. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he car'd not who knew it.

He never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk.

Millamant. Sententious Mirabel! prithee don't look with that violent and inflexible wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child in an old tapestry-hanging.

Way of the World.

A true critic, in the perusal of a book, is like a dog at a feast, whose thoughts and stomach are wholly set upon what the guests fling away, and consequently is apt to snarl most when there are the fewest bones.

Tale of a Tub.

In the following instances, the ridicule arises from absurd conceptions in the persons introduced.

Mascarille. Te souvient-il, vicomte, de cette demi-lune, que nous emportames sur les ennemis au siege d'Aftras?

Jodellet. Que veux-tu dire avec ta demi-lune? c'étoit bien une lune tout entiere.

Moliere, les Precieuses Ridicules, &c. ii.

Slander. I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mrs Anne Page; and she's a great lubberly boy.

Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong—

Slander. What need you tell me that? I think so when I took a boy for a girl: if I had been married to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.

Merry Wives of Windsor.

Valentine. Your bleffing, Sir.

Sir Sampson. You've had it already, Sir: I think I sent it you to-day in a bill for four thousand pound; a great deal of money, brother Forefight.

Forefight. Ay, indeed, Sir Sampson, a great deal of money for a young man; I wonder what he can do with it.

Love for Love, act 2. sc. 7.

Millamant. I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion; I lothe the country, and every thing that relates to it.

Sir Wilfull. Indeed, hah! look ye, look ye, you do? nay, 'tis like you may—here are choice of pastimes here in town, as plays and the like; that must be confess'd, indeed.

Millamant. Ah l'etourdie! I hate the town too.

Sir Wilfull. Dear heart, that's much—hah! that you should hate 'em both! hah! 'tis like you may; there are some can't relish the town, and others can't away with the country—'tis like you may be one of these, Couzin.

Way of the World, act 4. sc. 4.

Lord Froth. I assure you, Sir Paul, I laugh at nobody's jests but my own, or a lady's: I assure you, Sir Paul.

Bribe. How? how, my Lord? what, affront my wit? Let me perish, do I never say anything worthy to be laugh'd at?

Lord Froth. O foys, don't misapprehend me, I don't say so, for I often smile at your conceptions. But there is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh; 'tis such a vulgar expression of the passions! everybody can laugh. Then especially to laugh at the jest of an inferior person, or when any body else of the same quality does not laugh with one; ridiculous! To be pleas'd with what pleases the crowd! Now, when I laugh I always laugh alone.

Double Dealer, act i. sc. 4. Ridicule.

So sharp-fighted is pride in blemishes, and so willing to be gratified, that it takes up with the very slightest improprieties; such as a blunder by a foreigner in speaking our language, especially if the blunder can bear a sense that reflects on the speaker:

Quickly. The young man is an honest man.

Cainus. What shall de honest man do in my closet? dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet.

Merry Wives of Windsor.

Love speeches are finely ridiculed in the following passage,

Quoth he, My faith as adamantine, As chains of destiny, I'll maintain; True as Apollo ever spoke, Or oracle from heart of oak; And if you'll give my flame but vent, Now in close hugger-mugger pent, And shine upon me but benignly, With that one and that other pigney, The sun and day shall sooner part Than love, or you, shake off my heart; The sun, that shall no more dispense His own, but your bright influence: I'll carve your name on barks of trees, With true love-knots and flourishes; That shall infuse eternal spring, And everlasting flourishing: Drink every letter on't in flum, And make it brisk champagne become. Where'er you tread, your foot shall set The primrose and the violet; All spices, perfumes, and sweet powders, Shall borrow from your breath their odours; Nature her charter shall renew And take all lives of things from you; The world depend upon your eye, And, when you frown upon it, die. Only our loves shall still survive, New-worlds and natures to out-live; And, like to herald's moons, remain All crescents, without change or wane.

Hudibras, part 2. canto 1.

Those who have a talent for ridicule, which is seldom united with a taste for delicate and refined beauties, are quick-fighted in improprieties; and these they eagerly grasp, in order to gratify their favourite propensity. Persons galled are provoked to maintain that ridicule is improper for grave subjects. Subjects really grave are by no means fit for ridicule; but then it is urged against them, that, when called in question whether a certain subject be really grave, ridicule is the only means of determining the controversy. Hence a celebrated question, Whether ridicule be or be not a test of truth?

On one side, it is observed, that the objects of ridicule are falsehood, incongruity, impropriety, or turpitude of certain kinds: but as the object of every excited passion must be examined by reason, before we can determine whether it be proper or improper; so ridicule must, apparently at least, establish the truth of the improprieties designed to excite the passion of contempt. Hence it comes into the aid of argument and reason, when its impressions on the imagination are consistent with the nature of things; but when it strikes the fancy and affections with fictitious images, it becomes the instrument of deceit. But however ridicule may impress the idea of apparent turpitude or falsehood in the imagination, yet still reason remains the supreme judge; and thus ridicule can never be the final test or touchstone of truth and falsehood.

On the other side, it is contended that ridicule is not a subject of reasoning, but of sense or taste; (see and compare the articles Risible and Congruous.) Stating the question, then, in more accurate terms, Whether the sense of ridicule be the proper test for distinguishing ridiculous objects from what are not so? they proceed thus: No person doubts that our sense of beauty is the true test of what is beautiful; and our sense of grandeur, of what is great or sublime. Is it more doubtful whether our sense of ridicule be the true test of what is ridiculous? It is not only the true test, but indeed the only test; for this subject comes not, more than beauty or grandeur, under the province of reason. If any subject, by the influence of fashion or custom, have acquired a degree of veneration to which naturally it is not entitled, what are the proper means for wiping off the artificial colouring, and displaying the subject in its true light? A man of true taste sees the subject without disguise; but if he hesitate, let him apply the test of ridicule, which separates it from its artificial connections, and exposes it naked with all its native improprieties.—But it is urged, that the grave and most serious matters may be set in a ridiculous light. Hardly so; for where an object is neither risible nor improper, it lies not open in any quarter to an attack from ridicule.