The fourth and last kind is promiscuously derived from sources similar to those of the three preceding; but in its formation it entirely reverses their provisions. We all know that a grove was called by the Latins “lucus;” _a non lucendo_, that the Præses of the Lower House of Parliament is called by us, “Speaker,” because he is not allowed to speak. Such is the system of the nickname which is at present under consideration; it is applied to its object, not from the qualities which he possesses, but from those which he does not; not from the actions which he has performed, but from those which he has not: in short, contrariety is its distinguishing character, and absurdity its principal merit. Antiquity will supply us with several admirable specimens. Ptolemy murdered his brother, and was called “Philadelphus.” The Furies, to say the best of them, were spiteful old maids, and they were nicknamed “The Benevolent.” In our times it is certainly in more general use than any other class; nor is this to be wondered at, when we consider the extraordinary neatness of irony which is with great facility couched under it. It has been well observed by some French author, whose name has escaped our memory, that if you call Vice by her own name, she laughs at you; but if you address her by the name of Virtue, she blushes. To give a plainer illustration: if you say to Ouzel “Blockhead,” it is an unregarded truth; if you cry out to him, “Genius,” it is a biting sarcasm. Nothing, indeed, can be imagined more malignantly severe than this weapon of irony, exercised with skill, and pointed with malevolence; no satire is more easy to the assailant, and more painful to the assailed, than that which gives to deformity the praise of beauty, and designates absurdity by the title of absolute wisdom.