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not ny nights ago i had e ho froseeing this extraordinary perforr in cockletop; and when i retired topillow, his whiical ige still stuck by , in a nner as to threaten sleep. in vain i tried to divest self of it, by juring up the st opposi&a;a;lt;cite&a;a;gt;藏书网&a;a;lt;/cite&a;a;gt;te associations. i resolved to be serious. i raised up the gravest topics of life; private sery, public calaty. all would not do.
--------there the antic sate
mog our state -
his queer visno -- his bewildering e -- all the strahings which he had raked together -- his serpentine rod, swagging about in his pocket -&a;a;lt;rk&a;a;gt;&a;a;lt;/rk&a;a;gt;- cleopatras tear, and the rest of his relics -- okeefes wild farce, and his wilder entary -- till the passion of laughter, like grief in excess, relieved itself by its ow, inviting the sleep whi the first insta had driven away.
but i was not to escape so easily. no sooner did ibbr&a;a;gt;&a;a;lt;/abbr&a;a;gt; fall into sluers, than the sa ige, only re perplexing, assailedin the shape of drea. not one munden, but five hundred, were dang before , like the faces which, whether you will or no, e when you have been taking opiu-- all the strange binations, which this stra of all strange rtals ever shot his proper teo, frothe day he ca issioo dry up the tears of the town for the loss of the now alst fotten edwin. o for the power of the pencil to have fixed thewhen i awoke! a season or two sihere was exhibited a hallery. i do not see why there should not be a munden gallery. in riess and variety the latter would not fall far short of the forr.
there is one face of farley, one face of knight, one (but what a o is!) of liston; but munden has hat youproperly pin down, and call his. when you think he has exhausted his battery of looks, in unatable warfare with yravity, suddenly he sprouts out airely new set of features, like hydra. he is not one, but legion. not so ch a edian, as a pany. if his nald be ltiplied like his te g&a;a;lt;q&a;a;gt;.&a;a;lt;/q&a;a;gt;ht fill a play-bill. he, and he alone, literally kes faces: applied to any other person, the phrase is a re figure, denotiain difications of the hun tenance. out of so invisible wardrobe he dips for faces, as his friend suett used fs, aches theout as easily. i should not be surprised to see hiso day put out the head of a river horse; or e forth a pewitt, or lapwing, so feathered tarphosis.
i have seen this gifted actor in sir christopher curry -- in old dornton -- diffuse a glow of se which has de the pulse of a crowded theatre beat like that of one n; when he has e in aid of the pulpit, doing good to the ral heart of a people. i have seen so faint approaches to this sort of excellen other players. but in the grand grotesque of farce, muands out as single and unapanied as hogarth. hogarth, strao tell, had no followers. the school of munden began, and st end with hielf.
any n wonder, like hiany n see ghosts, like hi ht with his own shadow -- &a;a;a;quot; sessa &a;a;a;quot; -- as he does in that strangely-ed thing, the cobbler of preston -- where his alternations frothe cobbler to the magni, and frothe magni to the cobbler, keep the brain of the spectator in as wild a fernt, as if so arabian night were being acted before hi who like hinbsp; throw, or ever atteted to throreternatural i over the o daily-life objects? a table, or a joint stool, in his ception, rises into a dignity e&a;a;lt;u&a;a;gt;&a;a;lt;/u&a;a;gt;quivalent to cassiopeias chair. it is ied with stellatory iortance. yould not speak of it with re deference, if it were unted into the firnt. a beggar in the hands of michael angelo, says fuseli, rose the patriarch of poverty. so the gusto of munden antiquates and ennobles what it touches. his pots and his ladles are as grand and pril as the seething-pots and hooks seen in old prophetic vision. a tub of butter, plated by hi aunts to a platonic idea. he uands a leg of tton in its quiddity. he stands w, ad the on-place terials of life, like prival n with the sun and stars about hi
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