Timothy and I took his advice, and were soon fast asleep. I was awakened the next morning by feeling a hand in my trouser's pocket. I seized it, and held it fast. "Now just let go my hand, will you?" cried a lachrymal voice. I jumped up--it was broad daylight, and looked at the human frame to which the hand was an appendix. It was a very spare, awkwardly-built form of a young man, apparently about twenty years old, but without the least sign of manhood on his chin. His face was cadaverous, with large goggling eyes, high cheek bones, hair long and ragged, reminding me of a rat's nest, thin lips, and ears large almost as an elephant's. A more woe-begone wretch in appearance I never beheld, and I continued to look at him with surprise. He repeated his words with an idiotical expression, "Just let go my hand, can't you?" "What business had your hand in my pocket?" replied I, angrily. "I was feeling for my pocket-handkerchief," replied the young man. "I always keeps it in my breeches' pocket." "But not in your neighbour's, I presume?" "My neighbour's!" replied he, with a vacant stare. "Well, so it is, I see now--I thought it was my own." I released his hand; he immediately put it into his own pocket, and drew out his handkerchief, if the rag deserved the appellation. "There," said he, "I told you I put it in that pocket--I always do." "And pray who are you?" said I, as I looked at his dress, which was a pair of loose white Turkish trousers, and an old spangled jacket. "Me! why, I'm the fool." "More knave than fool, I expect," replied I, still much puzzled with his strange appearance and dress. "Nay, there you mistake," said the voice of last night. "He is not only a fool by profession, but one by nature. It is a half-witted creature, who serves me when I would attract the people. Strange in this world, that wisdom may cry in the streets without being noticed, yet folly will always command a crowd." During this address I turned my eyes upon the speaker. He was an elderly-looking person, with white hair, dressed in a suit of black, ruffles and frill. His eyes were brilliant, but the remainder of his face it was difficult to decipher, as it was evidently painted, and the night's jumbling in the wagon had so smeared it, that it appeared of almost every colour in the rainbow. On one side of him lay a large three-cornered cocked hat, on the other, a little lump of a boy, rolled up in the straw like a marmot, and still sound asleep. Timothy looked at me, and when he caught my eye, burst out into a laugh. "You laugh at my appearance, I presume," said the old man, mildly. "I do in truth," replied Timothy. "I never saw one like you before, and I dare say never shall again." "That is possible; yet probably if you meet me again, you would not know me." "Among a hundred thousand," replied Timothy, with increased mirth.