He touched the phantom with his pen, and it vanished; but as folly is in some cases the parent of virtue, may not chivalry and romance, ridiculous as they are in the eye of reason, give birth to an ardour of spirit which aggrandizes and elevates a nation? To a sedate and saturnine people, a spice of absurdity may have its use, were it only to give motion to those virtues which without it might stagnate. Divested of that frenzy, which at the same time that it ruffles and impairs their reason, awakes and rouses their spirits, a whole nation, like a man-of-war becalmed, may be undulated by ineffectual motion, until they drop into a sort of mental stupor, unmarked by any other distinctions than those that arise from stately indolence, haughty solemnity, and supercilious dignity. I will not presume to say that Spain is exactly in this situation; but if it were, other causes may have contributed to the change. If such are to be the consequences of a nation's becoming wise, a tincture of folly is rather to be desired than dreaded. As to the hero of this admirable tale, the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance, who has been the cause of more laughter than either the Knights of Arthur's Round Table, or any other knights ancient or modern, how can we sufficiently admire him! A paragon of patience and perseverance, unconquerable fortitude and proud honour, who in his lucid intervals reasoned like a philosopher, and was invariably actuated by the most exalted motives; deemed himself bound to defend the weak against the strong, chastise indolence, redress injuries, and free those who were in bonds! That this ardent, heroic, and dignified character, with motives so pure, an heart so excellent, and virtues that elevate, adorn, and irradiate human nature, should be led by an enthusiasm which fevered his imagination into absurdities that expose him to derision, and, like Samson, brought forth to make sport for the multitude, is mortifying to humanity; and I must confess, that with me, the laugh which the author's irresistible humour invariably excites is accompanied by a pitying sigh for the hero of this history, who is, after all, so superlatively happy in his ideal importance, that there is a degree of cruelty in destroying the illusion. The adage, "You think you are _happy_ because you are _wise_; I think I am _wise_ because I am _happy_," is not easily confuted.[115] But this admirable romance carries me further than I intended. I was led into it by considering the comparative merit of Cervantes and Hogarth, in doing which, it is proper to observe that the motley follies of England (diametrically opposite to those of Spain) are changeable as an April day. Our English moralist (for surely he is worthy of the title) transferred them to his canvas or copper, and exposed them by pointed ridicule.