NOT many nights ago I had come home from seeing this extraordinary performer in Cockletop; and when I retired to my pillow, his whimsical image still stuck by me, in a manner as to threaten sleep. In vain I tried to divest myself of it, by conjuring up the most opposite associations. I resolved to be serious. I raised up the gravest topics of life; private misery, public calamity. All would not do.

--------There the antic sate

Mocking our state -

his queer visnomy -- his bewildering costume -- all the strange things which he had raked together -- his serpentine rod, swagging about in his pocket -- Cleopatras tear, and the rest of his relics -- OKeefes wild farce, and his wilder commentary -- till the passion of laughter, like grief in excess, relieved itself by its own weight, inviting the sleep which in the first instance it had driven away.

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