But when, as I said, I heard her speak, which she did not till she had fathomed us all; when I heard her sentiments on two or three subjects, and took notice of the searching eye, darting into the very inmost cells of our frothy brains; by my faith, it made me look about me; and I began to recollect, and be ashamed of all I had said before; in short, was resolved to sit silent, till every one had talked round, to keep my folly in countenance.  And then I raised the subjects that she could join in, and which she did join in, so much to the confusion and surprise of every one of us!—­For even thou, Lovelace, so noted for smart wit, repartee, and a vein of raillery, that delighteth all who come near thee, sattest in palpable darkness, and lookedst about thee, as well as we.

One instance only of this shall I remind thee of.

We talked of wit, and of it, and aimed at it, bandying it like a ball from one to another, and resting it chiefly with thee, who wert always proud enough and vain enough of the attribute; and then more especially as thou hadst assembled us, as far as I know, principally to show the lady thy superiority over us; and us thy triumph over her.  And then Tourville (who is always satisfied with with at second-hand; wit upon memory:  other men’s wit) repeated some verses, as applicable to the subject; which two of us applauded, though full of double entendre.  Thou, seeing the lady’s serious air on one of those repetitions, appliedst thyself to her, desiring her notions of wit:  a quality, thou saidst, which every one prized, whether flowing from himself, or found in another.

Then it was that she took all our attention.  It was a quality much talked of, she said, but, she believed, very little understood.  At least, if she might be so free as to give her judgment of it from what had passed in the present conversation, she must say, that wit with men was one thing; with women another.

This startled us all:—­How the women looked!—­How they pursed their mouths; a broad smile the moment before upon each, from the verses they had heard repeated, so well understood, as we saw, by their looks!  While I besought her to let us know, for our instruction, what wit with women:  for such I was sure it ought to be with men.

Cowley, she said, had defined it prettily by negatives.  Thou desiredst her to repeat his definition.

She did; and with so much graceful ease, and beauty, and propriety of accent, as would have made bad poetry delightful.

A thousand diff’rent shapes it bears;
Comely in thousand shapes appears. 
’Tis not a tale, ’tis not a jest,
Admir’d with laughter at a feast,
Nor florid talk, which must this title gain: 
The proofs of wit for ever must remain. 
Much less can that have any place
At which a virgin hides her face. 
Such dross the fire must purge away:—­’Tis just
The author blush there, where the reader must.