he supposes himself surrounded, not as he really is by indulgent friends, but by severe judges of his actions, before whom it is necessary for him to disguise the imperfections of his character. But where irony is not merely jocular, it is not simply serious, but earnest. With respect to opinion it implies a conviction so deep, as to disdain a direct refutation of the opposite party: with respect to feeling, it implies an emotion so strong, as to be able to command itself, and to suppress its natural tone, in order to vent itself with greater force.
Irony is so inviting an instrument of literary warfare, that there are perhaps few eminent controversial writers who have wholly abstained from the use of it. But in general even those who employ it most freely reserve it for particular occasions, to add weight and point to the gravest part of the argument. There is however an irony which deserves to be distinguished from the ordinary species by a different name, and which may be properly called dialectic irony. This, instead of being concentrated in insulated passages, and rendered prominent by its contrast with the prevailing tone of the composition, pervades every part, and is spread over the whole like a transparent vesture closely fitted to every limb of the body. The writer effects his purpose by placing the opinion of his adversary in the foreground, and saluting it with every demonstration of respect, while he is busied in withdrawing one by one all the supports on which it rests: and he never ceases to approach it with an air of deference, until he has completely undermined it, when he leaves it to sink by the weight of its own absurdity. Examples of this species are as rare as those of the other are common. The most perfect ever produced are those which occur in Plato's dialogues. In modern literature the finest specimens may be found in the works of Pascal, and of Plato's German translator, who has imbibed the peculiar spirit of the Platonic irony in a degree which has perhaps never been equalled. One of the most unfortunate attempts ever made at imitating this character of the Platonic dialogue, is Bishop Berkeley's Minute Philosopher. Examples of a more superficial kind, where the object is rather ridicule than argument, will readily present themselves to the reader's recollection. The highest triumph of irony consists not in refutation and
