class it among the beauties of language, but have stamped it with the dignity of a distinct figure of speech, assigning to it an appropriate name. I make no observations upon the injudicious attempts of some modern commentators to ally it to the paranomasia, it being evidently the antanaclasis of the rhetoricians. The great Aristotle (Rhet. ch. 11.) enumerates two or three different species of παραγραμματα, the name he gives to puns, in his remarks upon this figure, and cites examples of each kind, with expressions of commendation, from some of the most celebrated Greek authors. In Cicero's treatise on Oratory, a variety of instances of the antanaclasis are quoted, and highly praised by him for their wit. His own puns, with which his works abound, are more distinguished for their number than their excellence: humour does not appear to have been his forte, but his frequent attempts at punning sufficiently evince the high estimation in which it was held by himself and his contemporaries. The ancient poets, strange as it may appear, were not, in general, adepts in this art, if we except Aristophanes among the Greeks, and Ovid and Martial among the Latins. From the two last mentioned writers (the former of whom indeed would readily furnish a cento of puns) I beg leave to select two examples. The one is where Ovid makes Leander say, "Posito cum veste timore;" the other is the well-known epigram by Martial on the emperor Nero:
I adduce these examples, because Addison, after erroneously defining a pun to be merely "a conceit arising from the use of two words that agree in the sound, but differ in the sense," goes on to inform us that if translated into a different language, it will vanish in the experiment; in fact he would represent it as vox et præterea nihil, a sound, and nothing but a sound. Unquestionably there are a multitude of puns that might answer this description, but it is far from being applicable to all. In the two instances I have just brought forward, the words posito and sustulit can be exactly translated into English, and both the sense and the pun retained. The truth is, that Addison, like many more who have thought proper to be very severe on the talents of the punning fraternity, was evidently not very accurately acquainted with the nature of what he was attacking.
If the plea of antiquity can thus be justly advanced in favour of punning, the continued adherence of all nations in all periods to the practice, may likewise with reason be urged in its support. Nor are its ramifications of slight importance. It may be considered as the origin of technical terms, most of which, if properly analysed, will prove to be virtual puns or conundrums; as the parent of double entendre of every description; and even as containing the germs of that slang formerly confined to the lower walks of life, but, in our more enlightened days, emulously studied even among the Corinthian pillars of polished society.
The number of final letters, which among the French are mere ciphers in pronunciation, has always given them a decided advantage in puns of mere words over every other nation. Their writings and conversation are alike replete with them; but they are almost invariably of that kind alluded to by Addison, which are lost if clothed in any but their native dress. Indeed this is almost a necessary consequence of the very circumstance already alluded to, which ensures them such superior facility in the production of puns. A brace of these I shall present my readers with, both as exhibiting a strong confirmation of what I have above said, and as being of modern date, and, in my opinion, of sterling excellence. The first of these is the reply made by a Parisian wit, to a person who asked him what was the true distinction between a flea and a louse. He answered that they were only disciples of different philosophers: the lice being followers of Epictetus (des pique-têles), and the fleas of Epicurus (des piqueurs). The other is an epigram, much talked off at the time of its appearance in the French metropolis, written by some wag, under a picture of Louis XVIII. painted by Le Gros, and placed in one of the public exhibitions. The striking resemblance of the head and neck of that monarch to those of a rabbit is well known; and of this circumstance the malicious epigrammatist thus happily avails himself in the pasquinade referred to:
Le Gros l'a peint! (le gros lapin!)
Le Gros l'a peint!
Notre bon souverain.
De la peinture admirez la magie:
Tout le monde à la fois s'écrie,
Le Gros l'a peint!
Le Gros l'a peint!
As I have assumed the privilege in these remarks of being as desultory and digressive as I please, I shall here notice what I term macaroni punning, effected by a fictitious mélange of different languages. Sometimes this will arise from the inspection of a single word. Who, for instance, can forbear smiling at the curious orthoepical coincidence by which an accommodating fair one is in Latin designated meretrix? This, however, is the simplest effort of the macaroni class, and far from implying that ingenuity visible in higher flights of the same kind, which are frequently conspicuous for their wit and pithiness. Lord Erskine's inscription on his tea chest, Tu doces, is of great merit in its way. Lord Norbury, I believe, has the reputation of having observed, upon seeing some young fellow vain of his personal attractions almost in tears at contemplating the manner in which the nocturnal attacks of a band of jumpers had disfigured his face, "Fle-bit, he will weep." His countryman Curran's reply to his rival counsel Egan, will not easily be forgotten. The latter, coming out of court, and observing on Curran's coat a certain disgrace to the poll, addressed him in the words of Virgil:
Curran immediately replied by completing the passage:
Probably, however, Swift's impromptu quotation on seeing a Cremona violin swept off a table by a lady's mantua:
will always stand at the head of puns of this class.
I own that I am particularly delighted with a good macaroni pun. It necessarily implies, not only superior wit, but a considerable fund of learning, on the part of the punster. And what is still better, it shows that this learning is free from the rust of pedantry, tending to enliven those around him, and not to create in him a repulsive conceit, and a haughty estrangement from society. His candle is not hidden under a bushel, but freely and cheerfully dispenses its light: His treasure is not kept in the form of useless hoarded bullion, but is converted into a valuable circulating medium, the coin being liberally and extensively distributed by its owner.
The inmates of universities have usually been remarked for their attachment to punning. The men of Cambridge, in particular, have ever, from their foundation, been distinguished by their excellence as paragrammatists. It surely not a little exalts this noble art, that those who have enjoyed peculiar opportunities of justly appreciating every thing connected both with abstruse and polite literature, should have sedulously cultivated it. And I think I may be allowed to say, in contradiction to the reiterated attempts of prejudice and stupidity to undervalue it, that I never met with a person incapable of some degree of excellence in punning, who was remarkable for any species of wit above the practical jokes of a merry-andrew.
But it is not only on its high antiquity, its extensive diffusion, or the distinguished authorities that can be adduced in support of it, that the claims of punning are founded. The philosopher who defined man to be το ζωον γελων, certainly selected the only characteristic besides that of speech, which particularly and exclusively distinguishes man from the brute creation.
"'Twas said of old, deny it now who can,
The only laughing animal is man.
The bear may leap, its lumpish cubs in view,
Or sportive cat her circling tail pursue;
The grin deep-lengthen pug's half-human face,
Or prick'd up ear confess
