There are of madmen, as there are of tame, All humour'd not alike. We have here some So apish and fantastic, play with a feather; And though 'twould grieve a soul to see God's image So blemish'd and defac'd, yet do they act Such antick and such pretty lunacies, That, spite of sorrow, they will make you smile. Others again we have, like angry lions, Fierce as wild bulls, untameable as flies. "Honest Whore." It is the force of these kindly admixtures, which assimilates the scenes of Hogarth and of Shakspeare to the drama of real life, where no such thing as pure tragedy is to be found; but merriment and infelicity, ponderous crime and feather-light vanity, like twiformed births, disagreeing complexions of one intertexture, perpetually unite to shew forth motley spectacles to the world. Then it is that the poet or painter shews his art, when in the selection of these comic adjuncts he chooses such circumstances as shall relieve, contrast with, or fall into, without forming a violent opposition to, his principal object. Who sees not that the Grave-digger in _Hamlet_, the Fool in _Lear_, have a kind of correspondency to, and fall in with, the subjects which they seem to interrupt, while the comic stuff in _Venice Preserved_, and the doggrel nonsense of the Cook and his poisoning associates in the _Rollo_ of Beaumont and Fletcher, are pure, irrelevant, impertinent discords,--as bad as the quarrelling dog and cat under the table of the _Lord and the Disciples at Emmaus_ of Titian? Not to tire the reader with perpetual reference to prints which he may not be fortunate enough to possess, it may be sufficient to remark, that the same tragic cast of expression and incident, blended in some instances with a greater alloy of comedy, characterizes his other great work, the _Marriage Alamode_, as well as those less elaborate exertions of his genius, the prints called _Industry and Idleness_, the _Distrest Poet_, &c. forming, with the _Harlot's_ and _Rake's Progresses_, the most considerable if not the largest class of his productions,--enough surely to rescue Hogarth from the imputation of being a mere buffoon, or one whose general aim was only to _shake the sides_. There remains a very numerous class of his performances, the object of which must be confessed to be principally comic. But in all of them will be found something to distinguish them from the droll productions of Bunbury and others. They have this difference, that we do not merely laugh at, we are led into long trains of reflection by them. In this respect they resemble the characters of Chaucer's _Pilgrims_, which have strokes of humour in them enough to designate them for the most part as comic, but our strongest feeling still is wonder at the comprehensiveness of genius which could crowd, as poet and painter have done, into one small canvas so many diverse yet co-operating materials.