Addison observes that, “when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by betraying some oddness or infirmity in his own character,” and at the present day, not only do those who indulge much in humour often say things approaching nonsense, and make themselves in other ways ridiculous, but their object, being entirely idle diversion and pleasantry, appears foolish and puerile.  Those who cultivate humour are not generally to be complimented on their success, and a popular writer has thus classified fools—­“First, the ordinary fool; secondly the fool who is one, and does not know it; thirdly, the fool who is not satisfied with being one in reality, but undertakes in addition to play the fool.”  Thus, to a certain extent we may always regard a professed wit as a silly fellow, but still at the present day the acts or sayings of an absolute idiot or lunatic, would be depressing and offensive, and could afford little amusement in any way except accidentally.[54] They would resemble the incongruities in dreams which although strange are not generally laughable.  And if we are not amused with a fool, neither are we with a man who imitates him, although Cicero says that humour consists in a man who is not a fool, speaking as though he were one.  Some mistake supposed to be made by an ordinary man is what amuses us, and although humorous sayings originated in an imitation of ludicrous things, and Quintilian’s observation sometimes holds good that the same things, which if they drop from us unintentionally are foolish, if we imitate them are humorous; still humour is not confined to this; there is generally no such imitation, and the witty sayings of the present day are seldom representations of such things as anyone would utter in earnest, whether he were a fool or not.

We must not confuse folly and wit, though they may exist in the same person and in close relationship.  The latter requires intelligence and intention.  If a humorous man ever purposely enacts the dullard, the impersonation is always modified—­he is like Snug, the joiner, who does not “fright the ladies.”  There is always some peculiar point in his blunders; if he acted the fool to the life we should not laugh with him.  We always see something clever and admirable in him, and to be successful in this way, a man should possess considerable mental gifts, and be able to gauge the feelings of others.  Still we can hardly assent to the proposition that “it takes a wise man to make a fool.”  A man may be witty without having any constructive power of mind.  It is easier to find fault than to be faultless, to see a blemish than to produce what is perfect—­a pilot may point out rocks, but not be able to steer a safe course.

At the time of which we are now speaking, the double character of the court fool corresponded with that early and inferior humour which was always on the verge of the ludicrous.  The connection thus established, long remained and led to witty observations being often spoken of as “foolerie.”  Upon this conceit or confusion Shakespeare founded the speech of Jaques in “As you like it.”