There was no end of bootiful wimin, and a heap of good clothes. There was a good deal of hair present that belonged on the heds of peple who didn't cum with it--but this is a ticklish subjeck for me. I larfed at my wife's waterfall, which indoosed that superior woman to take it off and heave it at me rather vilently; and as there was about a half bushil of it, it knockt me over, and give me pains in my body which I hain't got over yit. The orkistry struck up a toon, & I asked the Usher to nudge me when Mr. Pogue cum on the stage to act. I wanted to see Pogue; but, strange to say, he didn't act during the entire evenin. I reckin he has left Niblo's, and gone over to Barnum's. Very industrious pepl are the actors at Barnum's. They play all day, and in the evenin likewise. I meet'm every mornin, at five o'clock, going to their work with their tin dinner-pails. It's a sublime site. Many of them sleep on the premises. Arrah-na-Pogue was writ by Dion O'Bourcicolt & Edward McHouse. They writ it well. O'Bourcy has writ a cartload of plays himself, the most of which is fust-rate. I understand there is a large number of O'gen'tlmen of this city who can rite better plays than O'Bourcy does, but somehow they don't seem to do it. When they do, I'll take a Box of them. As I remarked to the Boy who squirted peppersass through a tin dinner-horn at my trained Bear (which it caused that feroshus animal to kick up his legs and howl dismal, which fond mothers fell into swoons and children cride to go home because fearin the Bear would leave his jungle and tear them from limb to limb), and then excoosed himself (this Boy did) by sayin he had done so while labourin under a attack of Moral Insanity--as I sed to that thrifty youth, "I allus incurridge geenyus, whenever I see it." It's the same with Dan Bryant. I am informed there are better Irish actors than he is, but somhow I'm allus out of town when they act, & so is other folks, which is what's the matter. ACK THE 1.--Glendalo by moonlite. Irishmen with clubs. This is in 1798, the year of your birth, Mr. Editor. It appears a patriotic person named McCool has bin raisin a insurrection in the mountain districts, and is now goin to leave the land of his nativity for a tower in France. Previsly to doin so he picks the pockit of Mr. Michael Feeny, a gov'ment detectiv, which pleases the gallery very much indeed, and they joyfully remark, "hi, hi." He meets also at this time a young woman who luvs him dearer than life, and who is, of course, related to the gov'ment; and just as the gov'ment goes agin him she goes for him. This is nat'ral, but not grateful. She sez, "And can it be so? Ar, tell me it is not so thusly as this thusness wouldst seem!" or words to that effect. He sez it isn't any other way, and they go off. Irish moosic by the Band.