Chapter VIII: Introduction (7)

Aged fifty-four, from Ongar in Essex, admitted 21st July 1822. This poor fellow’s malady took its rise from his disappointment of receiving a large property which was said to be left to him by a relation; though the rest of his family entertain very strong doubts about it. But his deluded imagination has assigned him much higher concerns than those of mere earthly property, for he conceives that he has the entire management and regulation of the sun; and he is extremely diligent in his duty, for he watches the great luminary from its rising to its setting, and will stand on tiptoe to take a last affectionate glance, as it descends below his horizon. He thinks he can see in it all manner of things: rabbit-warrens, coaches, horses, wars, battles, &c. &c.; and he says, that had it not been for his care, much mischief would have come of it. He can stop it whenever he likes, and has the sole direction of its course. It would have fallen to the earth several times but for him; and sometimes he thinks it so low that he is obliged to raise it up again. He complains piteously of mischievous boys and others throwing stones at it, by which means they must hurt the poor thing. It does them no harm, and why should they ill-use it? He can’t think how people can be so cruel! He was detected one day with his blanket under his arm, going into the airing ground to catch the bright object of his care, as it was sinking down, that it might fall soft. He looks at the poor dear creature, until the tears trickle from his eyes in profusion. He is at times very noisy, and will talk most incoherently day and night; and, when in a high fit, he says he is the ruler of all things; the great and mighty master of heaven and earth, as will shortly be seen, for the consummation of all things is at hand.

He pretends to know all persons, and gives to every one an appellation of his own. One physician is a waggoner; another a ploughman; a third a shoemaker, from Chipping Ongar. He knows all about him; tells him he has no business here, and bids him to be off as he is wanted at home. To all he sees he is equally ready to assign new avocations, and nothing can dissuade him from these whims.

WILLIAM GRIFFIN,

Aged twenty-one, from Long Ditton, Surry, admitted 21st July 1822. This young man’s case is very curious, for the nature of the symptoms vary every day, without any appearance of amendment. One day he barks like a dog; the next he will mew like a cat; a third he is a lion; on the fourth he is a wolf; on the fifth he walks upright and stiff as a pole; on the sixth he goes about all day with his eyes closed, groping his way as if he were in utter darkness. He will eat his meals in the same whim, and will only open his eyes when indispensably necessary to find his way up or down stairs. A seventh day he will laugh from morning till night; and some whole days he will maintain a black and sulky aspect. As he begins in the morning, so seems his order of the day until bed-time, still continuing to vary his mode of action every day from that of the past. He has been a gentleman’s servant, and this is his first attack.

JOHN WHEELER,

Aged forty, from Horsham, Sussex, admitted in April 1822. This was a robust, noisy, athletic fellow; he had been extremely violent, and broke doors, windows, and every thing that looked like restraint on him. When brought in here, he was melancholy, and much depressed, and so continued for many months; after which his disorder took a turn, and he became extremely noisy, and talked loudly and incoherently day and night upon various subjects, but was not violent. He had been a carrier, and he was not to be persuaded that a grey horse, which was sometimes brought to the hospital, was not his own old grey mare that he had some years ago, and he could swear to her marks. Like many others in their derangement, he violently suspected the fidelity of his wife, a very decent, modest young woman, who came occasionally to visit him. Jealousy, even in a madman (often in itself the cause of madness) is ingenious in the fabrication of imaginary causes to feed its own rancour.

He says, “he came home one day, unexpectedly, when his wife lay ill, and found the doctor in bed with her; this surprised him a little, but the doctor told him it was necessary to feel her pulse: so he was satisfied, as the doctor must know best. At another time he came home, and found his wife was gone to be christened: he lost no time but proceeded to the bath, where he found a baptist friend of his and his wife naked in the bath together. This he was told was usual at christenings, so he was satisfied--the baptist knew best.”

He had the voice of a stentor, and sung a number of songs of his own extempore composition, not very accurate in the poetical measure, as may be supposed. They were all roared to the same tune, if tune it was, and Jack Wheeler of Horsham was the hero of all.

He afterwards became more tranquil, and obtained leave of absence on the 6th September 1822: but he has never returned, or expressed his thanks in any way, for the care and benefit he had experienced.

JOHN DICKEN,

From Shrewsbury, admitted April 4th, 1822. This imaginary great man was no other, as he firmly believed, than his Grace the Duke of Shrewsbury. He had been an upholsterer, but failed in business, and this misfortune is thought to have caused his derangement. The poor fellow had been in a private mad-house in the country, where he seemed to have been treated with great violence, for his body was covered with bruises, and his ancles and the small parts of his legs severely cut with cords and manacles.

He maintained for a long time his ducal dignity by a very pompous deportment; and when his keepers would greet him with “how does your Grace, this morning?” he would turn about with a highly consequential air, and answer with dignified condescension and coolness, “passing well.” He was extremely filthy in his person, and for a long time highly deranged: but he at length changed his attachment to nobility, abandoned his dukedom, and became “plain John Dicken,” as he would say.

He was for ever talking of the Hon. Grey Bennett, as his most intimate friend and companion; and though he had relinquished his nobility, he assumed to the last great consequence. He seemed to have a large share of natural front, considered himself of high importance, was continually writing letters, whenever he could procure paper, and no man could be less susceptible of his state of mental disorder, from its commencement.

The following is a specimen of his epistolary style, dated 7th July 1822.

“My dear loving Wife:

“This comes with my best duty, love, and affection, for your dear
children and mine, and to assure you of my perfect recovery from
the dangerous malady that affected me; and to tell you that the
Almighty restored me to reason immediately after you left me, as if
your presence had charms. I was much vext at your not saying you
were going home, and your leaving me so abruptly. My prayers is
continually about you, night and morning, on my pillow: and I am also
broken hearted about you and my dearest children.

“Pack up all your goods and send them to the house in But’s Row, if
not taken by any one else. Get Mr. Robert O. K. Y. to take D.’s house
in the Market-place, late C----ks, and get a lease of it. I should
like that house much, as I could open a grocer’s and tea-dealer’s
shop, with millinery and confectionary. Pack up all my papers, and
buy a trunk, in which, with my linen and clothes, send to Mr. Thos.
L--w--e; and purchase me a new suit of blue and black, with blue
pantaloons and black silk waistcoat. Let these be forwarded by you
immediately, and I shall send you some money to bring you and all
your family to London in a few days. My children must all come: I
long to see them, and be sure to be punctual in all things I have
said.

“Your loving and affectionate, &c.”

The next is addressed to his brother-in-law.

“Dear Brother-in-law:

“I am happy, and restored to reason. Call upon Mr. O----,
tobacconist, in Fleet Market: tell him to send me some best tobacco,
snuff, and segars, with two boxes; and tell him I should be happy to
see him, on Monday morning, from ten to twelve, with you; and bring
me also a few buns and cakes, paper a quire, pens and inkhorn, also
a writing portable desk; and some stockings and a new hat is also
wanted, a few shillings for pocket-money: about twenty shillings to
get tea and sugar, &c. Pray be punctual: bring your wife, and desire
Mr. H--g--t, Hemmings Row, St. Martin’s Lane, to call on me.

“Your Friend and Brother-in-law,

“I.T.L.”

“N.B. I will write you a check on Monday, to get money sufficient for
all you want.”

This patient was discharged cured, on the 25th July 1822.

WILLIAM ROBERTSON,

From Ditton, Surry, admitted 14th of March 1822. This poor fellow was a market-gardener, and the source of his malady seems to have been religious enthusiasm. He became a follower of Methodism, and received his call one day while pruning his vines. His zeal increased by degrees to downright fanaticism, and became so bewildered and miserable, that the derangement followed, which required his removal hither.

So depressed is he, by despondency, under a sense of remorse for his sins, that he thinks death would be a blessing. Every thing with him is wickedness, corruption, and sinfulness: the air is sin, the smoaking of fires is sin, the ringing of bells sin. He thinks he has destroyed the world, and that all evil has been occasioned by him. Sometimes he exclaims, there is no God, that he is dead, and that he is unhappy and miserable. He is continually asking if it would not be better for him to die. He thinks that all the other patients are kept here on his account. Under these circumstances, he has long been suspected of a design to destroy himself, and therefore he is strictly watched. In contemplation of his own death, he has written several wills; and he once wrote this account of his own death, which he wished to have inserted in the newspapers:

“Died, on Wednesday, the 5th of June, by his own request, in Bethlem
Hospital, William Robertson, of Thames Ditton, gardener, aged thirty.

(Signed) “WILLIAM ROBERTSON, dead.”

The following are specimens of his testamentary documents:

“The last dying speech and confession of Mr. William Robertson. I
wish that every fire may be extinguished, all wars to stop, no guns
to fire off, all men in Bethlem Hospital to go home to their friends,
if they please; no judges; all bells to have done ringing; to die
on the 25th of June, by my own wish: all these things to take place
immediately throughout the world. I was born at Thames Ditton, was
lost in 1822. Richardson wishes to die with me. My clothes I leave to
Mr. Smith (one of the keepers).”

Another specimen:

“The last dying speech and confession of William Robertson. To die
the 27th June 1822. I humbly beg and request that all the following
things may be performed immediately: bells to have done ringing,
fires to cease smoaking, work of all kinds to be left off; no guns to
fire off, no kings, no wars, no judges, no bishops, no smoaking of
tobacco. I leave my clothes to Mr. Smith, keeper.”

Another:

“Last dying speech and confession of William Robertson. When I first
received my call was in 1819; to die 29th June 1822. I desire that
all fires may be extinguished, all work and labour to stop, and all
bells to have done ringing all over the world.

“I request Mr. Jones (another maniac) to cease conversing with the
walls, or, as he says, with his wife.

“I desire Lloyd to leave off begging, Groves to leave off swearing,
Mr. Smith to leave off advising, and all persons to have done eating
and drinking. Mr. Smith, and all the patients, to be discharged, Mr.
Longley to go home to-night to his wife and family; Mr. Lintott to
go home to his friends before he dies; Taunton to leave off killing
men and beasts of men; William Griffin to get better tempered; George
Tester to leave off his mad pranks; Whennell to leave off chewing
tobacco; Pinion to have his parish, and be restored to his friends;
Phippard not to stamp and rave as he does sometimes; George Brown
not to be so simple; Gardener to leave off looking at the sky, sun,
moon, and stars; and the Duke to leave off crying about his family.
Mr. Smith to have my clothes, and the gooseberry-pie to be sent to
my brother Charles; and, when all these things are performed, I wish
to die any death the Governors chuse. With their leave, I prefer
bleeding to death. Longney to have my jacket, to be buried in the
church-yard; all things to be performed as soon as possible.

“Witness my dying speech and wish,

“WILLIAM ROBERTSON.”

_Witnesses_: Thomas Longney, John Thomas, Lloyd Dicken, Duke of
Shrewsbury, Henry Taunton, Henry Lintock, William Griffin, Esq.,
John Groves.

WILLIAM PINION,

From Leigh, near Tunbridge, Kent, aged sixty-seven, admitted 4th March 1822. The previous character and conduct of this poor old man greatly enhances one’s sympathy for his melancholy state of derangement. He had only filled the situation of a common labourer, and had from his earliest days maintained his character for honesty, industry, and good conduct. He had brought up a numerous family, and procured them a plain and suitable education, to fit them for honest exertions; and all with the praiseworthy spirit of declining parish assistance.

The death of his worthy and faithful wife, who had for upwards of forty years shared his labours and affection, was a misfortune too heavy for his fortitude to bear, and he almost sunk into despondency with grief.

By some carelessness, a load of stones, to repair the road, was deposited near his dwelling; and a gentleman driving that way was upset and thrown from his chaise by means of those stones, and received much personal injury. He in consequence brought an action against the trustees for compensation, and, by some errors in the proceedings, much delay, expense, and trouble accrued to the parish.

The original cause of the accident was erroneously imputed to poor Pinion’s negligence; and the vexation of this circumstance, added to his previous affliction, so preyed on his spirits, that, in a fit of insanity, he cut his throat in a shocking way; but the wound was not mortal. He was afterwards taken to a private mad-house, and ultimately conveyed to Bethlem.

He was perfectly harmless, but the constant victim of melancholy, dejection, and despair. He appeared sensible that, at some time or other, he should be discharged from Bethlem: but then he should have lost his parish, and driven from his native place and his children, and must become a miserable wanderer, turned out naked for the boys to mock and laugh at; that no one would give him a day’s work, and that he must pine and starve to death. He always appeared extremely grateful for any little kindness shewn him, which, he would say, he did not deserve. Nothing could persuade him that he was not naked; and he would sometimes address the keepers in a humble and piteous tone: “If you please, Sir, when I am turned out of this good house, will you have the kindness to let me have my breeches on; I don’t so much mind the rest of my clothes, but I have never been used to go without my breeches. Pray let me have them, for decency sake, and God will bless you.”

For many months he continued under these delusions, from which nothing could dissuade him. At length, however, he became a little more cheerful; and, at the earnest request of his son, he was enlarged on a month’s leave of absence, on the 26th September, which leave has been since extended. But still he could not be induced to believe he had not lost his parish, to which it is more than probable, he has been ere this restored.

In addition to the long proved honesty, industry, and good conduct of this poor fellow, it should be mentioned that, besides what his humble earnings and economy enabled him to do for his family, by his thrift he had saved £40, which he had out at interest when he was sixty-eight years old, had his cottage decently and comfortably furnished, and owed no debts.

WILLIAM KILLICK,

Aged sixty-one, from Sutton, admitted February 7th 1822. This poor old man appeared naturally harmless, kind-hearted, and simple. While here he appeared constantly ready and anxious to do any thing for his fellow-patients, and especially those who were unable to assist themselves. His prevalent notion was to think himself immensely rich, and he expected every day to hear that he was to go and take possession of his estates.

He had been a humble sawyer at Sutton; but when out of work in that trade, would do any thing else to earn a few shillings.

Amongst his other miscellaneous occupations was that of supplying the place of an alarum-clock to his neighbours, who had occasion to rise early, for the market or other objects, by rousing them from their slumbers at one, two, three, four, or five in the morning. For this purpose poor Killick usually sat up all night, in order to be up early: and for these services he received a few shillings per week. But after his mental derangement commenced, he still remembered his old calling, followed it up without any particular orders, and would awake half the neighbourhood at all hours of the night: so that instead of being a useful monitor, he became a general nuisance; and he persevered in this practice, until many of his customers actually paid him for desisting from those unseasonable visits, and not calling them through the night. By these kind of services, negative and positive, he made out a little weekly income for his support.

He was never under restraint here; always kind and obliging, and a sort of favourite with every one.

On the 29th of March, after (as may be presumed) a very learned discussion upon religion and politics in the keeper’s room, as the poor fellow was in the act of making up the bed of a stupid patient, he was seized with a fit of apoplexy, and instantly expired, without even a sigh. He had reared a fine comely family.

WILLIAM VALE,

Aged thirty-one, admitted on the 17th January 1822. This man, whether from the effects of his malady, or the cast of mind which nature so strongly depicts on the countenance of some men, without art enough to conceal their genuine propensities, had something in his physiognomy extremely repulsive and suspicious; of an artful, gloomy, and mischievous disposition, void of candour and kindness. He had been a footman in the family of a clergyman, the Rev. Mr. V----, of Bushy; and while at Brighton with his master, he dreamt that if he should only murder his mistress, with a part or the whole of the family, he would succeed to all their property and possessions. This visionary idea was afterwards always uppermost in his thoughts. He was a firm believer in the supernatural inspiration of dreams, and his ambition to be a rich man combining with this prophetical hint, seemed to suggest a means of accomplishing his wishes, which might, in such a mind, have produced the most dreadful results. It had, however, much influence on his cogitations; and he one day mentioned his dream to a female fellow-servant, and wondered what it meant. But his confidant, not naturally prone to secrecy, communicated the story to others of her fellow-servants, with the miscellaneous news of the morning. The story reached Mr. V----, who knew too well the liabilities of a low, ignorant, and superstitious mind to the most desperate temptation from such a combination of excitements as immediately occurred to him; and, perceiving that the natural sullenness of Vale assumed apparent symptoms of distraction and wildness, he took the precaution of having his footman lodged in New Bethlem, as the safer place to get his dream interpreted by the seers of this temple.

After his admission here he maintained for some time a sullen and cautious silence: but as he had shrewdness enough to discover that the chance of his liberation depended on his conduct, he changed it for the better, assumed a more cheerful aspect, told his dream to his fellow-patients with an air of jocular levity, declared he had no intention whatever of destroying his master’s family, but had merely told his dream to his fellow-servants, as any other person might do. But dreamers of such dreams were not to be tolerated in a prudent family, without apprehension and alarm; and though this man was discharged quite well, on the 18th of April 1822, he was not again received into the service of Mr. V----.

FREDERICK FOSTER,

Aged thirty-one, from near Petersfield, Hants, admitted 17th October 1822. This poor simpleton had been a farmer, and rented a few hundred acres of land; but, from the late misfortunes attending agriculture, as well as from his own want of skill and judgment in the management of his affairs, from which, with all his industry, he could not pay rent, tithes, and taxes, he was reduced, with his wife and family, to extreme poverty; and would probably have come to his parish-workhouse, but for the temporary aid of his friends. Without knowledge or experience for any other pursuit than that of farming, or capital to adopt any if he were competent (and he has made some efforts), he became quite low and despondent; for he was destitute of employment, with nothing but famine and despair in his prospects. In this state he was sent to this hospital, where, after a short time, he affected to throw off his melancholy and cheer up his drooping spirits, and determined, in his own phrase, “never to say die.”

He details amongst his fellow-patients, whom he can induce to listen, a series of adventures in search of livelihood, after he abandoned farming. He first resolved to try his fortune in London, as a promising field of speculation. He waggoned it up to town, attired in his professional smock-frock, and lodged for a short time with a relation, who advised him to try an advertisement in the newspapers for a place; and the first that offered was a situation in Hart Street, Covent Garden, where his duty was to attend as major-domo, in a hotel occupied by six single ladies, and to bring them gin, beer, and such other refreshments as they occasionally required. When gentlemen came to visit any of the ladies, he was to act as master of the ceremonies, and to preserve order and decorum; and suffer none to depart without paying their costs, for sundry accommodations furnished them. The better to discharge this office of comptroller, he was to take his post near the street door; and, in remuneration for his services, he was to live as well as the ladies, his employers, and receive custom-fees of office, in the way of perquisites.

He was quite willing to accept this engagement, wholly unsuspecting its true nature, but was dissuaded by his friend.

The next post that offered was to take care of a horse and gig, and carry out small parcels, for a young gentleman who kept an oil-shop; but, having no skill in the management of a gig, and not knowing the topography of London, this prospect failed.

Another situation offered, better suited to his taste and qualifications, where much activity or address were not requisite. It was to distribute printed papers in Oxford-street, for the information of such ladies or gentlemen as might happen to be peculiarly indisposed. These papers were the professional announcements of the celebrated Doctor Eady, of Dean-street, Soho; who was pleased with poor Foster’s operations, and paid him a shilling per day. The faithful distributor did his duty with zeal, and indiscriminately, to personages of all classes and descriptions, from the right reverend prelate, or the noble peer, to the lowest porter; from the duchess ascending her _vis-à-vis_, to the match-girl or barrow-wench; all were faithfully apprized, in print, of the doctor’s unparalleled skill. But as his trivial income by no means equalled his expenditure in the articles of food, drink, lodging, and washing, and the occasional drops of comfort he had been used to enjoy, he relinquished his employment, and commenced business on his own account, in retailing playbills, at nights, about the entrances of the minor theatres, for the ladies and gentlemen “to know all about the play.” The unsold surplus of one evening’s merchandize he vended on the next or succeeding night, no matter how the performance changed. But this trade was too good to last: for the fruit-women, and other ladies in the bill trade, considered him an illegitimate intruder on their privileges; and by dint of eloquence, and threats to tear his eyes out, obliged him to retire.

His next occupation was to bear about a pole, sustaining a sort of banneret, emblazoned by a large printed sheet, with a great many names on it, describing “all about how the play was to be done.” His station was assigned in Leicester-square; but such a number of folks came to stare at him and his board, that he was soon stared quite out of countenance, and he resigned this employment.

The next post that offered was with a reverend gentleman, a Methodist parson, near Newington. It was to cultivate a small kitchen-garden, attend two pigs, milk a cow, wait at table, transact the business of valet to his master, and attend devotions morning and evening. But so many occupations were beyond his skill: besides, he had no taste for psalmody, and therefore he declined so lucrative a post, though it was ten pounds a year!

He then applied to an eminent cow-keeper at Islington, where he was told there was a vacancy for a skilful milker. But, unfortunately, the post was previously filled by a more fortunate candidate.

A great variety of other occupations tempted his ambition, and cherished for some weeks his hopes of advancement: but he was always either too late, or not liked. He was at one time in ardent hopes of a good place at the English Opera House, to clean sinks and gutters, dust scenes, and other minor offices about this court of Thespis, at fourteen shillings a week, but then there was a long vacation to intervene before his talents could be put into action; and seeing no chance of any other engagement, he took the resolution of returning to the country, with his extensive stock of London experience and knowledge. Unhappily, he could not find any one to estimate his value, and his speculations ended in transmission to this asylum.

He now thinks himself competent for any thing, and contemplates a hundred different employments, some of which he is to adopt the moment he gets out. He intends to give a bottle of wine to a celebrated dancing-master in Nelson’s-square, for teaching him to dance; and then he can soon get a guinea a day on the stage, for he has seen a play, and he that played the farmer seemed to know nothing about it. At another time he will make his brother-in-law procure him an engagement with a great haberdasher in Fore-street. He understands measuring land; and, of course, he must know how to measure flannels, calicoes, ribbons, and tapes. But a still more feasible project is, that when he gets out, and has money enough, he will go to Cambridge University, and learn to be a parson. No people, he says, have less to do than the parsons, and none live better. He will soon reform things in that way, for he will only take half the tythes. He will be very good to the poor, attentive to the sick, and preach twice every Sunday, and he will charge no fees for weddings, or christenings, or burials, to poor people. At another time he is to go to a chandler’s-shop in London, to study the business for three months, and then set up for himself, and make a fortune.

But, at all events, he will never be a farmer again, though he should get land rent-free; for all his hard work could hardly raise produce to pay tythes and taxes, and keep his family, and he knows fifty farmers, not called madmen, who think the same way.

One of the keepers sometimes plays on a flute, and poor Foster, who is alive to the sympathies of merry music, instantly begins to dance--certainly not in the most graceful style. Some of his fellow-patients, rather more tame than himself, are cunning enough to make fun of him; they encourage his dancing-fits by mock applause, and persuade him to strip off all his clothes, his breeches and shirt only excepted, telling him it is best for good dancers to be as loose and unencumbered as possible. To the agility of his dancing he sometimes adds his musical powers of voice; and they highly applaud his songs, which are groaned in a style at war with all harmony, while his motions in the _pas seul_ surpass in awkwardness those of a bear. But these mirthful intervals do not at all divert his clerical speculations, for he says he is about composing his first sermon in a few days. He declares he is perfectly well, and never was so happy in all his life, which is probably true, as to his own state of mind. And then he says he has learned so much since he came into Bethlem, that in less than twelve months after he gets out, he would not call the King his uncle, nor the Lord Chancellor his grandmother. He is in robust bodily health, and, by way of counteracting his mirth, will sometimes weep bitterly, which he says is to do him good; and if happiness consists in opinion, few men enjoy more of it than poor Foster.

GEORGE BROWN,

From Margate, aged twenty-one, admitted March 14th, 1822. This young man’s first symptoms of insanity were discovered from his eating candles, starch, chalk, and other trash, and drinking urine wherever he could come at it. He is cheerful and harmless, but vain of his universal qualifications. According to his own account, he was the handsomest boy in all Margate; and can dance, sing, swim, and do many other feats, to admiration. He appears to have been bred to the sea; vaunts much of his skill and seamanship, and performed a voyage to the East-Indies and back, in a fortnight. He imagines himself still on board ship. The gallery floors he calls the deck, the windows are the port-holes. When ordered into the airing ground, he terms it “going on shore;” and when ordered up, he calls it “going on board again.” Any questions put to him he sometimes answers with smartness, and sometimes with wit or shrewdness, but, in general, is rather silly.

Shortly after his admission, he stood one day in the stone sink under the pump; but on the approach of one of the governors, he jumped down. The governor, seeing him a new patient, kindly asked him how he was, and where he came from? Brown returned the civility of the first inquiry, and pointing to the sink said he came from that. “Aye, but,” replied the governor, “where did you come from originally?” His answer was, “from my mother: and where did you come from?” The governor declined to continue the conversation.

JOHN WHITE,

Aged forty-three, admitted 28th February 1822. This imaginary great man had formerly been a ship-carpenter in the British navy, and was on board the fatal expedition to Walcheren, in 1809; where he caught the fever and ague, then so prevalent and so destructive to our brave troops. The master chord of this poor fellow’s malady is an insurmountable notion that he is bewitched by his wife; and so prevalent with him is this persuasion, that whether his appetite fails or he wants sleep, or feels pain or extraordinary uneasiness of mind, he attributes all to this witchery of his helpmate.

He frequently holds conversations with himself, and will smile at any thing pleasant that seems to occur to him in these soliloquies. He was stationed for several years in the East-Indies, from his recollection of which he assumes much importance. According to his own account, he was intimately acquainted with all the admirals, generals, and other principal officers in that quarter. “Surrounded,” says he, “by all the brave men of the age, I was highly honoured and respected: I had my sepoys to attend me, and was just as I ought to be, treated like a gentleman.”

His fancy supplied him with exhaustless details of battles never fought, sea engagements that never occurred, and most extraordinary events which have never taken place. He was, according to his own story, the leading man on all occasions; first called on to build up, or pull down; and his professional instruments, the axe, mallet, hammer, and chisel, were uppermost in his fancy.

His disease, however, was so far cured, that he obtained liberation, on leave of absence, on the 9th of May; and was finally discharged well, on the 24th of October 1822.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] This title of madman is ironically meant.

[3] The Governors, who sit in Committee every Thursday.

[4] George the Fourth, whom he dislikes much.

[5] Sir George Tuthill and Dr. Monro.

[6] This alludes to various patients, who have imagined themselves Statesmen and others, who have been lawyers and surgeons by profession.

[7] Sir George Tuthill, knight.

[8] He cannot bear the idea of being considered a madman.

[9] This Josephus, Augustus, Gustavus, Symalini, is himself.

[10] By this word murderers, is meant Patrick Walsh, who killed Dennis Lennard, 30th April 1820; and who since that time is permitted to remain in the same gallery with Lloyd and others; though kept apart, they frequently complain of the classification, when the criminal building is so contiguous.

[11] Jenkins knows of the death of Admiral Young.

[12] Since the recovery of this man, Dr. Munro has been heard to declare, that he would never entirely abandon the hope of effecting the cure of the most obstinate insanity.

FEMALES.

MARGARET NICHOLSON,

Aged eighty-two, consigned to Old Bethlem in August 1786. The name of this female, connected as it is with an occurrence which once excited so much consternation in the country, will not be forgotten in English history.

It is near thirty-seven years since this unfortunate maniac was committed to Old Bethlem, and during that long period she has been considered a lunatic.

The following account of the circumstance which caused her confinement was published at the time.

“On the 2d of August 1786, as the King (George III.) was alighting from his chariot at the garden entrance of St. James’s, a woman, very decently dressed, in the act of presenting a petition, which his Majesty was receiving with great condescension, struck a concealed knife at his breast; which happily he avoided by drawing back. As she was making a second thrust, one of the yeomen caught her arm, and, at the same instant, one of the King’s footmen wrenched the knife from her hand. The King, with great temper and fortitude, exclaimed, “I am not hurt: take care of the poor woman; do not hurt her.”

The same day she underwent an examination before the Privy Council; when it appeared her name was Margaret Nicholson, daughter of an industrious couple at Stockton-upon-Tees, and that she had lived as an upper servant in several creditable services. Being asked where she lived since she left her last place, she answered in a frantic manner, “she had been all abroad since the matter of the crown broke out;” and on being asked what matter, she went on rambling “that the crown was hers; she wanted nothing but her right; that she had great property; that if she had not her right, England would be drowned in blood for a thousand generations.” It was ascertained that she then lived at Mr. Fisk’s, stationer, in Wigmore-street; and on being questioned as to her right, she said she would answer to none but God. She stated, rationally enough, that she had petitioned about ten days previously; and on looking among the papers, a petition was found full of nonsense, about tyrants, usurpers, and pretenders. On the interrogation of Mr. Fisk, he stated that Margaret had lodged with him about three years; and that, although she sometimes appeared odd, and talking to herself, he never observed any proofs of insanity about her; she lived by taking in plain work, &c.

Doctor Munro being sent for, he said, “it was impossible then to ascertain whether she was insane or not;” but in ten days after, she being examined before the Privy Council in the presence of Drs. John and Thomas Munro, their Lordships were unanimous in their opinion as to her insanity, and she was forthwith conveyed to a cell in Old Bethlem.

Addresses of congratulation to his Majesty, upon his happy escape, were voted by the City of London; the loyal example was followed by all the cities, corporations, and other great public bodies throughout the kingdom, and many knighthoods were conferred on the occasion. It is, however, worthy of remark, that Margaret has not only outlived all the knights then created, but even the venerable monarch himself, who in a very old age, and after the longest reign ever enjoyed on the throne of these realms, died after many years of deplorable insanity.

Margaret herself, when much more communicative than of recent years, has given a very different account of the transaction which led to her confinement, from that which appeared in the public prints of the time. She has declared, that she had not the remotest intention to injure his Majesty; on the contrary, “that she had a great notion of him.” She had lived with a great family where his Majesty used to visit occasionally, and the King frequently looked at her in a manner which she thought bespoke kindness and regard. That being afterwards out of situation for some time, she imagined the King a likely person to recommend her to a good one, and considering that he had always regarded her with a look of more than common attention, she had, therefore, determined to petition his Majesty as her last resource. She inquired, and learned the time and place most likely to meet with his Majesty, and that he would be at St. James’s on a particular day; she attended with her petition, and took her post at the garden-gate leading to the palace. That, unfortunately, having a knife in her pocket along with the petition, and being rather anxious and confused, and afraid of missing her presentation, as the King passed from his carriage, in the hurry of the moment she drew out the knife instead of the paper, and rushed forward to deliver it into his royal hand; when she was instantly seized, and accused of attempting to stab his Majesty, than which nothing could be farther from her intention.

But it appears that her story, if she told it at the time, was not believed; and she has now been a sojourner in confinement above thirty-six years, and has never evinced any prominent symptoms of insanity beyond the occasional irritation, perhaps, naturally enough resulting from her situation. She was transferred from Old Bethlem hither when this building was finished; has long since made up her mind to her confinement, and appears perfectly tranquil and contented; she very seldom speaks, has totally lost her sense of hearing, nor would the discharge of a cannon at her ear in the least disturb her. Snuff seems to be her favourite luxury, of which she takes a great quantity, and seems to enjoy it with peculiar satisfaction. She has contracted a singular aversion to bread, and never can be induced to eat any. The cause of this antipathy is unknown, but she is allowed gingerbread and biscuits, which she eats with good appetite, in moderate quantities. Tea is also allowed her, and she has, besides, the exclusive privilege of living apart from all the other criminal patients, in a ward appropriated as a nursery for the aged and infirm, and such as are quiet and harmless. She enjoys a good state of health, is regular, cleanly, and attentive to her little concerns, and is desirous to render herself useful, so far as her great age will permit.

Reports of her death have been circulated from time to time: but Margaret is still living, and healthy evidence in refutation of such premature rumours.

ALICE BARTLETT,

Aged about seventy-eight, transferred hither from Old Bethlem. This poor old creature has long been deemed incurable. She thinks herself dreadfully ill-used; and her imagination is constantly agitated by a persuasion that all persons whom she sees in the course of the day are placed in her room by night, and anatomized. Their skeletons occupy, as she fancies, every corner of her apartment throughout the night. She imagines that all the nurses and patients suffer in the same manner. She appears herself to suffer extreme anxiety and pain of mind under the opinion. She pities and sympathizes with the other patients and nurses, whom she believes to be equally tormented with herself in their feelings. She is always upon the sick list, and has her food regularly brought to her room, which she never quits.

Many of the other patients have occasional little comforts sent them by friends; such as tea and sugar, snuff, tobacco, fruit, cakes, and the like: but this poor creature seems to have outlived all her connexions, for no friend or acquaintance ever comes to visit or inquire after her, or do her the smallest kindness, beyond what is furnished by the benevolence of this institution, which amply provides for all her wants.

HANNAH PRIOR,

Aged seventy, removed hither from Old Bethlem. This poor old creature is another incurable. She is generally quiet, but her tranquillity is of very uncertain duration. Solitude is her delight; probably (if one can form any judgment of the motives that influence a deranged mind) because her fancy is then at full liberty to indulge in wild vagaries without interruption; and confinement alone to her own apartment, seems to afford her much satisfaction. To accomplish this purpose, whenever she finds her nurse absent from the gallery, she repairs to the window, raves, rants, screams, flings about her arms, and attracts a crowd about the building: but as soon as her nurse returns, she instantly retires to her own room, and her object is then accomplished. She believes that she has been loaded with chains for the last seventy years, and locked by her arms and legs, “and that God Almighty comes and runs things into the guts of poor Hannah Prior.” She is very fond of books, reads much, is indulged with the use of a circulating library, and is very careful of the volumes procured for her amusement; and though she seems to evince some understanding in her selection of books, and to read with attention, yet so irritable is her temper when her mind is diverted to any other object, that she cannot bear conversation for five minutes: for when talking to another with seemingly amicable mildness, some new whim crosses her fancy, and in an instant she flies into the most violent passion, and becomes loud and boisterous; but, soon recollecting the consequences of such conduct, she moves off spontaneously to her room, and appears quite happy in thus securing a retreat to her own exclusive company, and the enjoyment of her reveries: and probably this mode of obtaining her favourite end is the result of stratagem.

She seems to be affected by continual thirst, is extremely partial to table-beer (the only beverage, besides water, with which she could be indulged), and of this she would drink two, or even three gallons per day, if permitted; but the nurse is obliged to be careful to prevent such an excess.

She has been under no restraint whatever since she came here, except being locked, occasionally, in her own room. She has quite a stentorian voice, and, after retiring to bed at night, is extremely loud and talkative.

MARY BUFFIN,

Aged sixty, transferred here from Old Bethlem. This poor old gentlewoman carries about her the vestiges of prim decorum and respectability. She is always cleanly, decent, and regular, but all hopes of restored intellect are long since completely gone. Though she seldom talks, it is always incoherently: but she is generally silent, except when asked questions.

The most prominent trait of her illusion is the unaccountable antipathy she has conceived towards the matron. She cannot be dissuaded from a fixed notion that the matron was a patient in Old Bethlem for seven years, and that her name is Vains. Perhaps her shattered memory may be impressed with a personal likeness of the matron to some one for whom she had formerly conceived an aversion: but so strong is her antipathy, that she cannot bear to see its present object. The moment she perceives her enter the gallery, she flies to her own room, shuts her door, and remains secluded until the matron goes away.

The poor soul is otherwise quite harmless and mild, and never troublesome nor offensive in any way.

CHARLOTTE DULLY,

Aged forty-five, belonged to Putney, and was transferred hither from Old Bethlem: she is a married woman, and mother of a family. This poor woman has contracted a most singular persuasion: she fancies herself to be a man, and sometimes styles herself a boy; and, when spoken to, she bows, scrapes, and puts her hand to her head in every respect like a footman.

She is particularly attached to the matron, whom she calls her beauty, and is quite uneasy every day until she sees her.

There is nothing else particularly remarkable in her manner; she is orderly, cleanly in her person and habits, and perfectly quiet and harmless.

MARY SILVEY,

Aged thirty-six, was transferred hither from Old Bethlem as a curable patient, and after remaining here twelve months was discharged; but her malady soon returned, and she was re-admitted on the incurable list.

She is a married woman, with a family of children, and is the wife of a private soldier who served in Lord Rolle’s regiment. But she has, as she says, discarded her former husband, and now imagines herself to be Lady Rolle, and expects his Lordship to come for her every hour. Whenever a party of visitors are going about the hospital, she invariably intreats the nurse to let her go out, as her husband, Lord Rolle, is waiting for her. The appearance of a respectable company of visitors always exalts her notions of her own rank and consequence, and she is on such occasions very desirous to join them, as she is quite sure Lord Rolle is one of the number.

This poor woman is generally quiet and orderly in her habits, but she participates the common idea amongst so many of her companions, that all which she sees is her own property; all the food, tea, sugar, clothes, &c. &c. of the other patients belong to her, and she ought to have them.

HANNAH FREEMAN,

From Kent Road, aged about forty-five, and transferred hither from Old Bethlem. When this poor woman was brought from her previous place of confinement, it was reported that she had been in irons for the preceding seven years; but, thanks to the better management of this institution, no such thing has taken place here.

The leading traits of this patient’s mind are the desire of increasing, and the constant suspicion of being robbed of her treasure. The depository of this is a box, which she carries about under her arm, and in which she hoards every penny she can collect. This coffer she values above all things, and it is her inseparable companion wherever she goes: but, like most misers, she is under the perpetual apprehension of being robbed. She imagines that the fellows come into her room at nights, break open this box, and take her money out of it. Her whole soul seems wrapt in this box and its contents. It is sewed up in a wrapper of coarse linen, as if meant for exportation. She is allowed to wash her own clothes once a fortnight, and her coffer always accompanies her to the laundry, and in like manner when she goes to the airing-ground, or elsewhere. She says this box cost her six shillings and sixpence, which is a great deal of money; but the fellows have so broken it, in their attempts to get out the money, that she is always patching and mending it to keep it together. All her cares and her constant complaints are about this box, its fractures, and the robberies committed on it by the fellows, which is all purely imaginary, for there are no visible marks of any injury on her favourite depository. But she still insists that the fellows break into her room by night, when she is asleep, lick the white-wash off her walls, break open her box, steal out her ribbons and her money, and do her much other mischief. They break in sometimes through the window, sometimes down the chimney, and sometimes through the key-hole. Every night produces some new misfortune, and every day some fresh complaint.

She has sometimes a turn for finery, and adorns herself, as she thinks, in a very gay and tasteful style. Her hair is long and carrotty, which she terms auburn; and she crops as much from the length as supplies her with materials for fashionable front curls, whenever she chooses to dress in full pomp.

She is in general remarkably cleanly and regular in her habits. She sometimes gets into a passion, but when that fit subsides she is kind and obliging. She is allowed the peculiar privilege of remaining in the gallery all the year, if she chooses, while other patients are obliged to go into the airing-ground; and she is never locked up in her room by night or day, while all the other patients are locked up at eight o’clock in the evening. She enjoys the pleasure of walking about the gallery, amusing herself and protecting her property, until she chooses to retire to rest.

She is perfectly harmless, honest, and, with very few exceptions, well-behaved.

CAROLINE DE GUTH,

Aged forty-two, admitted in 1817. This unfortunate woman is a German, was of a respectable family, and well brought up: but, whatever were the motives of her friends for consigning her to a public asylum of this nature, she carries with her, even under her derangement, all the pride of exalted rank, and a sovereign contempt for supposed inferiors. Disappointed love is said to be the source of her disorder.

She imagines New Bethlem to be the Queen’s Palace, and to be her own property, with every thing that belongs to it. All the nurses in the house she considers to be her domestic servants, and all the patients her slaves, whom she speaks of with high contempt, as mere scum of the earth. Indeed she speaks of both nurses and patients as a low, vulgar class of wretches, unworthy to attend on a lady of her high rank and consequence; that they have been brought up like coal-heavers, and several times cast for death, and this, as she believes, for cutting up young children, and bringing parts of them to her for supper. She is extremely fond of amusing herself with singing, and is generally high, and in a state of excitement: her malady is deemed incurable.

CHRISTIANA ROSS,

Aged .... This is a Scotchwoman, and was one of those unfortunate females that nightly infest the streets of the metropolis. In one of her professional excursions she fell in with a butcher, and before she parted with him robbed him of £20.