while they treat the second not as a specific malady, but as the effects of old age and decay, as the lengthening shadows of the evening of life. It is not to be expected that such observers shall be vaticinatory, should be competent to trace in the orgies of the inebriate indications of gradual evolution into profound and incurable disease, or into the multiform deviations from sound intellect and rectitude which are predicable by science, but it is desirable that the melancholy close of such perversions should be recorded by our poets as well as by philosophers. It is not, of course, our purpose here to record either the errors or the success of those who have dealt with this subject. Our object is to present a broader and bolder exemplification of what men of genius have done in our department, and in order to accomplish this, it will only be necessary to quote a few specimens of the more noteworthy pictures preserved in the works of certain of our recent authors :

IMBECILITY.

Sir Walter Scott lived from 1771 to 1832. During the earlier part of this long lifetime there existed but one asylum in Scotland, Montrose, which he unquestionably never entered, and which was appropriated as the old home of about fifty or sixty dements. When detention of the insane was resorted to, which was rarely the case, they were committed to the tender mercies of jailers or to the chains and bonds, or other modifications of durance vile, dictated by the equally tender mercies of parents or guardians. Nor were the interests of this unfortunate class cared for by a Board of Lunacy nor by any chrysalis form of that more perfect form of organisation. The author of Waverley had not, accordingly, a lazar-house, like Fuseli, where he could observe and study, and in his mind's eye sketch the different forms of mental imperfection, extravagance, or perversion. Yet notwithstanding this apparent poverty of resources, the works of Scott present a greater number of illustrations of the aberrations to which the human mind is subject than those of any other writer extant. It is not that he throws off with unexampled prodigality and profusion particular forms or types of insanity with which his position, profession, reading might have rendered him familiar, and with which every man of ordinary observation and perspicacity must come into contact in the daily walk of life, but that he has presented, not merely some of the lineaments, but perfect living portraits of all the recognised species of madness, and that every volume which flowed from his fertile brain embodies some special aspect of the Neuroses. His works, in fact, constitute a perfect and delight

ful Nosology. His creations are not merely meagre sketches on approximations to likeness. They are patients whom you have seen, pitied, or prescribed for. This extraordinary fertility finds a ready elucidation in the observation and genius of the bard acting upon the ample materials which occurred at every part and point of his native country at that time. Large numbers of lunatics roamed through the country unkempt, uncared for, and very often homeless. A small number of the class were still privileged and petted in the castles of the affluent, generally, however, because they were halfwitted or useful, but the vast proportion affected some district, hamlet, homestead, where they were fed and fostered, or persecuted, but to which they invariably returned after more distant wanderings as to the place of their nativity or naturalisation, and where every act and trait of conduct or character were noticed and formed a staple element of local gossip. Traditions of the sayings and doings, and peculiarities of these outcasts, are still preserved, and reveal a wealth of humour, a diversity of gifts, and innumerable eccentricities which have died with the possessor, or have been obliterated by the rule and discipline of asylum life. If we add to this narrative that the habitations of our northern neighbours were, at this time, segregated into small distinct communities, of which the members were mutually known to each other, it may be understood in what manner idiots, imbeciles, and even maniacs, who were not destructive, formed prominent individuals, and drew upon themselves the attention not merely of their friends and patrons, but of every passer by, and especially of such keen and kindly critics as Walter Scott. Such cases might fix attention by the prominence of their symptoms, the pathetic aspects of their history, or by their painful and picturesque surroundings when the observer came into contact, as he often did, with the peasantry of his country, or while he sojourned in one of those secluded corners where every inhabitant was known, and every act watched and recorded. But our author's fancy took a wider range, and his picture-gallery includes not merely the erratic and fantastic village fools, but the insensate and absurd of the higher and the cultured and privileged ranks. Nor was it merely conspicuous examples of disease, the outrageous, the irritable, or glaring disturbers of society which he painted, as we have instances of the faintest departures from right reason, healthy deportment, and the recognised observances of society. We have Mumblazon and Dominie Sampson, in whom the mind seems to have been dwarfed or mummified by peculiarities of habits and pursuits, and by the lack of all natural external stimulus; we have Gurth, the son of Wamba the Witless,

whose limited and obtuse sagacity seems to have been still further obscured by the nature of his employment; we have Elspeth at Westburnfoot, in whom a few external impressions recalled the recollection of sad and stirring events in which she had been engaged, but which had been long buried in the oblivion of senile dementia, as flashes of summer lightning suddenly and for a moment illuminate the darkest spots in the landscape; we have the shadowy Clara Mowbray; the pythoness Meg Merrilies, and many other striking complications of reason and derangement, folly and wisdom. But the scope of Sir Walter's discrimination did not stop even here. He knew that human intelligence and sound sentiment may be often moulded or warped by opinions, or convictions, or even feelings, which, although they do not destroy the capacity to judge or to act are so far impairments of health as to influence conduct as powerfully or more tyranically than rational or recognised motive. We have his description of the sway, the omnipotence of delusions over an able, brave, calculating, and energetic character in the appearance and effect of the Bodach Glas over Fergus Mac Ivor. It matters not whether the author wrote as a sceptic or a believer in the reality of the vision. If he produced one of the most beautiful glimpses of the reign of superstition with which we are acquainted in the spirit of philosophical criticism, and desired merely to show the association of delusion with an otherwise sane mind, he has afforded but another proof of the extent and minuteness of his observation. But if he was actuated by credulity, by a belief in the reality of the apparition which ever announced to the family of the hero the approach of doom, he incorporated with fiction what was, even in his own time, the creed, expressed perhaps with hesitation, but assuredly cherished by many of those who belonged to the politico-religious party of which he may be fairly designated a relic. But the northern magician likewise knew that a large portion of the celtic inhabitants of Scotland were dominated by other and equally powerful faiths or fancies, as the belief in warning spirits or avengers, and that these mental conditions often reduced the mind to a state of alienation or perversion, the most notorious of these was, perhaps, Second Sight. Many of the readers of his romances will remember the splendid scene evoked by the heated imagination of Allen Macauly in lining the walls of his paternal hall with armed Highlanders bearing blazing pine roots in contrast or competition with the silver candelabra of Musgrave Hall, which his brother had betted he could outrival. But an infinitely more interesting phase of this man's character is to be found in his early history, his dark hours and the visions which were to a large extent the principles alike of his belief and

action. His birth was preceded by a frightful tragedy; the outcast and proscribed clan, called the "children of the mist," murdered his uncle, brought the head of their victim to the sister, and in mockery demanded food. The effects upon the pregnant lady were repeated attacks of insanity, and during the recurrence of which her infant was born. This offspring endowed with intense hereditary taint, never passed into genuine childhood, or the joys and pleasures of early life; but became peculiar, gloomy, solitary in his habits; listened nightly and with avidity to the tales of bloodshed and mystery which must have formed the current conversation of his clansmen; sought solitude and revenge upon the feudal enemies who had destroyed his relatives, and reached manhood brave, enthusiastic and superstitiously insane. His malady is manifested in two forms, the first of these is correctly designated his "dark hours" when he is plunged in profound melancholy and reverie, almost trance, during which it would appear there was great moral suffering, and probably the presence of hallucinations, and from which he could only be roused or soothed, and restored to his natural condition by the music of a lute, played by a maiden to whom he was attached. He alludes to the 66 paroxysms: Be my visions from heaven or hell, or from the middle sphere of disembodied spirits or be they, as the Saxons hold, but the delusions of an overheated fancy, &c." His disorder presented itself under the following circumstances, there was ever present to him a Highlander, armed with a dagger, whose figure, tartan, &c., he could distinctly see, but whose face was always averted. This was not merely a creation of the second sight, but embodied a prophecy which involved the life of a kinsman and rival. The seer had struggled against the influence of this apparition. He changed the contour of his own plaid, and resorted to all the measures known to his race as calculated to test the reality and issue of the impression, but all in vain, and he lived on ever haunted by this companion spirit, ever convinced that his kinsman's safety was jeopardised, and yielding passively to what all those around would have given their unqualified assent, and this even after the reversal of his plaid had, according to the authority of a gifted brother, infallibly proved by the imitation of the act on the part of his supernatural visitant, that his own hand and dirk would perpetrate the homicide.

But the author dealt with the deformed, as well as the transformed members of our race, and has produced the singular compounds of the rickety Black Dwarf, the hideous hob-goblin Flibberti Gibbet, the half fairy, whole intriguante, Fenella, the half savage Dugald Creature, and the redoubtable Sir Geoffrey Hudson of Pyecrust notoriety; but, to whatever

class belonging, a finer and a fairer model must have sat for Davie Gellatley, who may be accepted as a link between the attractive and repulsive characters encountered in the long series of which he may be regarded as the commencement; he is thus introduced to our acquaintance:-" Waverley began to despair of gaining entrance into this solitary and seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced up one of the garden alleys, where he still retained his station. Trusting that this might be a gardener, or some domestic belonging to the house, Edward descended the steps in order to meet him, but as the figure approached, and long before he could descry its features, he was struck with the oddity of its appearance and gestures. Sometimes this mysterious wight held his hands clasped over his head like an Indian Jogue, in the attitude of penance; sometimes he swung them perpendicularly, like a pendulum, on each side; and anon he slapped them swiftly and repeatedly across his breast, like the substitute used by a hackneycoachman for his usual flogging exercise, when his cattle are idle upon the stand in a clear frosty day. His gait was as singular as his gestures, for at times he hopped with great perseverance on the right foot, then he exchanged that supporter to advance in the same manner on the left, and then putting his feet together, he hopped upon both at once. His attire, also, was antiquated and extravagant; it consisted in a sort of grey jerkin, with scarlet cuffs and slashed sleeves, showing a scarlet lining; the other parts of the dress corresponded in colour, not forgetting a pair of scarlet stockings, and a scarlet bonnet, proudly surmounted with a turkey's feather. Edward, whom he did not seem to observe, now perceived confirmation in his features of what the mien and gestures had already announced. It was apparently neither idiocy nor insanity which gave that wild, unsettled, irregular expression to a face which naturally was rather handsome, but something that resembled a compound of both, where the simplicity of the fool was mixed with the extravagance of a crazed imagination. He sang with great earnestness, and not without some taste, a fragment of an old Scottish ditty

False love, and hast thou play'd me this

In summer among the flowers?

I will repay thee back again

In winter among the showers.
Unless again, again, my love,
Unless you turn again;

As you with other maidens rove,
I'll smile on other men.

"Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in observing how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld