There are a few of us who have not sometimes weakened before dawn, either after one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enamoured to death or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through the chamber of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality itself, and instinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques, and that lends to Gothic art its enduring vitality, this art being, one might fancy, especially the art of those whose minds have been troubled with the malady of reverie.