The first, and principal Species of Wit, is, undoubtedly, that which does not depend on poetical Fiction, but upon Truth itself. What the French Poet[144] says upon this Head, in the Preface to his Works, is very just; and I think I cannot do better than give you his Sentiments in an English Dress. "Now, if any Man asks me, says he, what this Agreeableness and this Salt is? I answer, That it is a Je ne sçay quoy, that may be better conceiv'd than describ'd. But yet, in my Opinion, it principally consists in offering nothing to the Reader but true Thoughts, and just Expressions. The Mind of Man is naturally full of an infinite Number of confus'd Ideas of Truth, which he often-times perceives but by Halves; and nothing pleases him more, than when any of these Ideas are presented to him well illustrated, and set in a good Light. What is a new brillant, extraordinary Thought? It is not, as the Ignorant persuade themselves, a Thought which no Body ever had, nor ought to have. But, on the contrary, a Thought which every Body ought to have had, and which some one bethinks himself of expressing first. Wit is not Wit, but as it says something every Body thought of, and that in a lively, delicate, and new Manner. Let us consider, for Example, the famous Reply of Lewis XII. to some of his Ministers, who advised him to punish several Persons that in the former Reign (when he was only Duke of Orleans) had made it their Business to prejudice him, A King of France, says he, revenges not the Injuries done to a Duke of Orleans. How comes this Saying to strike us so suddenly? Is it not plainly, because it presents to our Eyes a Truth which all the World is sensible of, and which expresses better than all the finest Discourses of Morality, That a great Prince, after his Accession to the Throne, ought no longer to act by private Movements, nor to have any other View but the Glory and general Good of his Kingdom?" Thus far that celebrated Author, who seems very happily to have illustrated the Subject we are upon.

We have many elegant Thoughts, likewise, founded upon Truth, with a Mixture of poetical Fiction; as in that Epigram of Martial address'd to Lucifer, the Night before Cæsar's Return to Rome: After the first Invocation,

[145] Phosphore, redde diem; quid gaudia nostra moraris? Cæsare venturo, Phosphore, redde diem.

Thou bright Forerunner of the golden Day, When Cæsar comes, what clogs thy rosy Way?

At some Distance he adds:

Quid cupidum Titana tenes? jam Xanthus & Æthon Fræna volunt; vigilat Memnonis alma Parens.

Why hold'st thou Phœbus, lab'ring to be freed?} His fiery Coursers arm themselves for Speed,} And fair Aurora quits her dewy Bed.}

He then subjoins:

Tarda tamen nitidæ non cedunt sidera luci; Et cupit Ausonium Luna videre Ducem.

But scarce the lagging Stars desert the Skies, And pensive Cynthia for the Triumph sighs.