to an Ashantee village, where, around the fire, a group of negroes
were dancing and participating in some wild Obi festival. I awoke
with the strain still ringing in my ears.

"Hokee-pokee wokee fum!"

Good Heavens! could I be dreaming? I heard the voice distinctly on
the floor below, and smelt something burning. I arose, with an
indistinct presentiment of evil, and hastily putting some cotton in
my ears and tying a towel about my head, I wrapped myself in a
shawl and rushed down stairs. The door of Mr. Rawjester's room was
open. I entered.

Mr. Rawjester lay apparently in a deep slumber, from which even the
clouds of smoke that came from the burning curtains of his bed
could not rouse him. Around the room a large and powerful negress,
scantily attired, with her head adorned with feathers, was dancing
wildly, accompanying herself with bone castanets. It looked like
some terrible fetich.

I did not lose my calmness. After firmly emptying the pitcher,
basin, and slop-jar on the burning bed, I proceeded cautiously to
the garden, and, returning with the garden-engine, I directed a
small stream at Mr. Rawjester.

At my entrance the gigantic negress fled. Mr. Rawjester yawned and
woke. I explained to him, as he rose dripping from the bed, the
reason of my presence. He did not seem to be excited, alarmed, or
discomposed. He gazed at me curiously.