The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 08 (of 12) — Key Ideas to Explore

The Comic Lectures: Theory and Practice

Hazlitt’s critical vocabulary is precise. He distinguishes between wit (the sudden discovery of likeness in unlike things) and humour (the display of the absurdity of character). He applies these categories to authors: Cowley is witty, Butler humorous, Suckling elegant but shallow. The lectures also include a lecture on Hogarth’s paintings, where Hazlitt contrasts the 'grand style' with the 'familiar style,' arguing that Hogarth excels in the latter by capturing the 'ridiculous' in everyday life. This section reveals Hazlitt’s commitment to art that engages with the real, however imperfect.

Theatre Reviews: Judgment and Imagination

He applies the same principle to a successful performance of Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant, praising the actor for expressing 'all the turbulence and irritation of his mind without losing sight of his habitual character or external demeanour.' Hazlitt’s reviews are not mere reports; they are arguments about the nature of theatrical illusion. He insists that naturalness on stage is an artful construct, not mere spontaneity. This section of the volume thus offers a practical demonstration of the theoretical principles laid out in the lectures.

Later Essays: Expanding the Critical Range

Hazlitt’s prose in these later pieces is more relaxed, but his critical eye remains sharp. He professes ignorance of music 'under correction,' yet his observations are precise. The essays also include reflections on the state of the stage, the decline of comedy, and the role of the critic. Together, they show a mind constantly testing the boundary between art and life, never satisfied with mere imitation, always demanding that art transform the ordinary into something that reveals a deeper truth.

Readers approaching this volume should attend to Hazlitt’s habit of contrasting the ideal with the actual, whether in comic theory, theatrical performance, or musical execution. His criticism is never neutral; it is a series of judgments grounded in a coherent aesthetic. The volume rewards those who read it as a whole, tracing how the same principles recur across lectures, reviews, and essays. Hazlitt’s voice—confident, combative, and precise—makes this collection a landmark of English criticism.

There’s a particular ache in reading Hazlitt’s notes on a forgotten actor’s gesture—knowing the moment vanished with the curtain. I keep returning to those pages, and lately to Prejudices — Text and Context, which feels like the same quiet inquiry, held in a different key. Some books simply remind us why we cared in the first place.