Chapter IV: Introduction (3)

The violence of his disease has, however, considerably yielded to long confinement and advanced age, and the only prominent symptoms of insanity now apparent is his constant anxiety to get out from here. His persuasion is that he is only detained through the caprice and cruelty of the keepers; who, he is sure, could let him go whenever they chuse; and he is perpetually teazing and intreating, not only them, but all the governors, physicians, and visitors that come near him, to let him out to his business.

In all other respects he appears quite rational and collected, and is cleanly, well-behaved, and harmless.

JAMES M’INTIRE,

Aged 30, admitted about six years since. This man was a Scotch pedlar, and was convicted of cutting and maiming an officer in the execution of his duty. This officer demanded to search his pack, on suspicion that it contained smuggled goods; but M’Intire contended it was to rob him of part of its contents (whether contraband or stolen is not known). M’Intire resisted: a conflict ensued, and the consequence was the cutting and maiming, for which he was indicted. He was sent to the Hulks, where he became insane, and from whence he came hither.

He is much troubled with epileptic fits, but he is generally quiet and harmless.

ANDREW M’KENNOT,

Aged about forty, admitted November 8th 1816. This man formerly moved in a very respectable rank of life: having however committed a forgery for a very considerable amount, he was tried capitally at the Old Bailey; but found to be disordered in his intellects, and he was sent hither from Newgate on the day above named.

This man assumes a very important and consequential character. He is said to have been a man of great cleverness, and a good scholar, versed in learned languages, and well acquainted with general business. He is very suspicious, watchful as a lynx, meddling, obtrusive, and continually writing upon every thing inscribable he can get; all kinds of paper, book-covers, old letter-backs, &c. &c.; and no transaction, whether trivial or important, passes his observation without a written note. Perhaps, from his admission to the present hour, not the minutest circumstance has escaped his pen. He seems to consider himself a sort of secret inspector-general: nothing eludes his prying observation; he abounds with complaints; has written numerous letters to the Committee of Governors, and other persons in authority, on various subjects of pretended grievance. Amongst others he addressed a letter to the late Sheriff Parkins, which brought that municipal gentleman here to inquire into the case complained of; and he afterwards waited on Lord Sidmouth, then Secretary of State for the Home Department, to make a representation; but nothing farther has been since heard on the subject.

Though so extremely vigilant and attentive to all matters not concerning him, his memory seems quite void of recollection as to the cause that brought him here, or the footing on which he is allowed to remain; and the indulgence he has enjoyed teaches him to consider his confinement as a business of mere temporary sojournment, and that he is entitled to peculiar attentions and deference. His keeper he affects to consider as a kind of _valet de place_, quite at his disposal; tells him “he is not the sort of servant he wanted; that his predecessor was as good a servant as he would wish to have, but that the present keeper was not civil nor attentive enough for him, and he would certainly have him removed unless he altered his conduct much for the better, and that very soon.”

In fact, the only ostensible symptoms of this man’s insanity, if such they may be considered, that now appear, are his addiction to prying and meddling; his _morbus scribendi_, which keeps his fingers in constant occupation, and the nonsensical tenour of his notes; otherwise, he appears cool and collected, and well aware of what he does and says.

JOHN ROBERTS,

Of London, aged forty-three, admitted here November the 8th, 1816. This man is a remarkably fine looking, manly fellow, and is the person who was tried at the Old Bailey about the above-named period, for firing off a loaded pistol at the groom of Lord Rivers; but as he was found by the Jury to be insane, he was sent hither on the day stated. This man’s malady exalts his notions of his own quality to a very high pitch of eminence and grandeur; for, according to his own account, he is Julius Cæsar, an Emperor, and God of war. Big with this notion, he, of course, assumes the most consequential air of importance; has no equal on this side the moon, and is extremely talkative and busy, but by no means mischievous or dangerous.

JOHN WILLIAMS,

Aged about forty-five, admitted November 8th, 1816. This man is an American: he was tried and convicted for horse-stealing near London; but was found to be deranged, and was sent hither from Newgate on the day above-mentioned. Williams is only remarkable for being extremely irritable and passionate; but he has not done nor attempted any thing mischievous here. Tobacco is the idol of his worship, for which he would sacrifice all the horses in the king’s stud; and which he seems to devour with peculiar extacy. Indeed, this fascinating weed is a very general favourite with the male inmates of this mansion.

RICHARD WRIGHT,

Aged about forty-four, admitted here about six years since, from Devonshire. He was previously confined six or seven years in the gaol of Exeter, where he was tried for murdering an old lady in her bed; but on his trial was found to be deranged in his mind, and detained in the gaol on that account. He is at times in a very high state of disorder, but in his more lucid intervals he is religious, calm, and well behaved.

JOHN BUTLAND,

Aged about fifty-five, admitted about six years since. This patient is a Devonshire man: he was tried at Exeter on a capital charge of making copper-plate engravings for forging bank-notes, and convicted; but his insanity was proved. He was sent hither from Exeter gaol. His powers of intellect seem completely lost; he knows nothing of what is said to him, is insensible to every thing that passes around him, and is completely an idiot. His general health is good, but he is always sunk in melancholy abstraction, and every spark of reason extinct. He is, of course, quiet and harmless.

ANTHONY ABEL,

Aged about thirty, is from Norwich. This man was found guilty of the wilful murder of his uncle; but it was proved to be the result of insanity. He has been confined upwards of six years in the criminal wing of this establishment; and though, at lucid intervals, he appears calm and collected, he is at other times violent and dangerous; insomuch that, at one period, the iron belt, with handcuffs, were found necessary for his restraint. But this he contrived to slip over his hips, and with great ferocity attacked his keeper, and gave him a severe wound, the mark of which he still bears in his face. This man’s disease shews no symptoms of abatement, and he cannot be trusted out of strict vigilance.

WILLIAM PINNOCK,

Aged forty-four, from Essex. This man was convicted of having set fire to some hay-stacks; but was found to be insane, and sent here, where he has been confined about six years. At present he is very quiet and well behaved, and evinces no insane symptoms, excepting frequent soliloquies, which seem as much the result of habit as of any other cause.

JONATHAN MORLEY,

Aged about forty-five: admitted about six years since. This is a Norfolk man, and has been many years in a state of insanity: he was a patient, for a considerable time, in the Norwich Lunatic Asylum, where, having conceived an antipathy to the steward for some imaginary cause, he one day by some means got possession of a scythe, and actually murdered him. How such a man, in an asylum for lunatics, should so far elude the vigilance of his keepers as to get possession of so large and desperate a weapon is passing strange; but his insanity, of course, exempted him from responsibility to law for the deed, and he was sent hither as his ultimate destination.

But although his intellect be gone past all hope of restoration, his bodily faculties seem to have sustained no deterioration. He is a strong, healthy, active fellow, alert and supple in every species of agility. He can wrestle, tumble, dance, throw somersets, walk on his hands with his feet uppermost, and perform many other feats of the like kind. He sings, and always appears cheerful, happy, exempt from care, sorrow--and reflection.

GEORGE BARNETT,

Aged thirty-two, admitted November 8th, 1816. This man, it will be recollected, fired a pistol at Miss Frances Kelly, at Drury-lane Theatre, while performing the part of _Nan_ in the farce of _Modern Antiques_, on the night of Saturday, February 16th, 1816, with intent to kill her, but most providentially she escaped his desperate purpose: for which he was afterwards tried on a capital indictment at the Old Bailey, under Lord Ellenborough’s Act, but acquitted on the proof of insanity, and consigned to this institution.

It may not be uninteresting to state the leading circumstances connected with this desperate transaction, as related in the journals of that day.

While Miss Kelly was performing her part with her wonted vivacity, the audience were thrown into great alarm and consternation by the report of a pistol, fired from the front of the pit at the lady; and George Barnett, who sat in the front row, was immediately pointed out as the person who fired it. He was instantly secured; and, on being searched, the pistol, and some gunpowder and shot, were found in his possession.

He avowed himself to be the person who had fired the shot at Miss Kelly; and said that his object was only to frighten her. Miss Kelly had retired, in the greatest fright and alarm, and the whole audience were in the utmost solicitude and agitation, until Mr. Rae, who was then stage-manager, came forward and assured the house that the lady was unhurt, and the performance was resumed without further interruption.

When Miss Kelly was informed of the desperado’s name she immediately recollected him to be the person who had addressed to her several love-epistles, which she had treated with silent contempt.

When he was taken to Bow-street for examination he declined answering any questions, and was quite stupified.

It appeared, however, upon minute inquiry, that this desperate admirer was an attorney’s clerk; and that his rash attempt was the result of disappointment in the tender passion he had indulged, by his own consent, for the lady: but finding it impossible to excite in her bosom a reciprocal flame, even by all the genial influence of his amatory epistles, sonnets, acrostics, and other professions of his tender devotion (which were always rejected by the lady with apathy and scorn), he took the tragical resolution of immolating to his slighted love the object of his affections, upon the very altar where her charms first kindled his ardent flame; and that if he was to be debarred the possession of her, she should never become the prize of a happier rival.

His trial for this fact took place at the Old Bailey on the 9th of April following, before Baron Wood. Miss Kelly, of course, attended as a principal witness; and notwithstanding her habits of appearing before a crowded audience without the least embarrassment in another theatre, the solemn novelty of her _débût_ in this place, in a part so perfectly new, overcame her feelings; and she was with difficulty sustained through the performance.

Two letters of the prisoner to the lady were read on the trial, one of which is as follows, and may furnish a curious specimen of his style and devotion. It was written evidently after his suit became hopeless.

“Madam:

“I received a letter yesterday evening, which, from its apparent
rusticity, I believe to be yours. You would act wiser if you was
to add your name, as I am not sufficiently acquainted with your
hand-writing; and, as I hinted in my last letter, not to subject
others to be answerable for your forwardness. If the terms specified
in my letter were not to your satisfaction, why not express yourself
as one becoming your profession; why suffer your temper to over-rule
your reason?

“I love the sex, and once esteemed you as an ornament to it, until
you roused my indignation by your impertinence and scandalous abuses.
You are very partial to a disguised male dress, but let me not
experience any more of your folly; for if you do, I’d secure you as
an impostor, and punish you for your temerity. I am, Madam,

“Your well-wisher,

“GEORGE BARNETT.”

About two years since he composed an Ode to Miss Kelly, sufficiently odious and nonsensical. In fact, he would be thought an amatory poet, ready on all occasions to volunteer his talents in addressing any and every young lady whose name and address he can discover, though perfectly ignorant of her person and accomplishments. His effusions on these occasions are in unison with his talents, and well suited to the classic taste of the company he now moves in.

The Jury, however, acquitted the prisoner on the ground of insanity, and he was sent hither from Newgate immediately afterwards.

This gallant Lothario bears at present no symptoms of frenzy in his manners or conversation; but is probably in as sound a state of mind as ever he had, which is that of a foolish, frivolous simpleton; of mean and pitiful appearance, and by no means calculated to inspire the tender passion.

WILLIAM HOLWOOD,

From Limehouse, commonly called “Jack,” admitted 6th August 1818. This poor fellow has gone through a great variety of adventures in the course of his life. He has been a seaman in the Royal Navy, and served successively on board the Colossus, Canada, Magnanime, and various other ships of war; and was afterwards a private in the West-Kent militia. His mind seems so charged with notions of naval and military glory, and valiant exploits, and he is so full of detail on these subjects, that it would be impossible to follow him through the history of himself and his deeds of prowess. According to his story, he has fought, performed prodigies of valour, and achieved glory in every quarter of the world. He gained victories and honours at the Nile, at Trafalgar, at Cadiz, at Rochfort, and various scenes of heroism. He has won the golden crown, and has, with his own hands, broken many thousand muskets into pieces, and daily continues to do so, in his own imagination. He performs these ideal feats of strength and dexterity by stooping to the ground, seizing an imaginary musket by the breech and muzzle, raising it above his head, giving it a violent twist, and thus he thinks he has shivered it to pieces. This operation he will repeat twenty times a day, to illustrate the tales of his own strength.

As he is easily excited, he is ever prompt for war, and constantly in some scrape with one or other of his fellow-inmates. Many of those who are convalescent, sport with him for mere fun; but as soon as he gets angry, off go his jacket and waistcoat, and he assumes an attitude of fight, and challenges some one or other to come out and meet him. “Come on, you rascal! I will fight you for fifteen guineas in the Isle of Man: come on, you puppy! I’ll let you know who I am; my name is Sir William Price Holwood; I am the King, I am the Pope, I am General Holwood, sir; this house is mine, sir; I’ll fight you for a perpendicular guinea. Mind who you talk to, sir! I’ll let you know I am your master, sir! I am a dog, sir! my name is Rover;” with a hundred other wild incoherences. He generally carries about half a peck of gravel-stones in his shirt, which he calls twist-tobacco. He is scarcely pacified a moment from one wrangle before he commences another; and what between this kind of amusement, and singing, chewing or smoaking tobacco, he spends his days. His nights are equally noisy; his manner nearly the same through both. He rests but little, and yet it is astonishing how he has sustained so much exertion for so many years. He never seems exhausted, but is ever ready to begin a new freak. His mode of rousing his courage, when he challenges an enemy to combat, is something like that of the lion, who is said to sharpen his rage by lashing his sides with his tail. Thus the furious Jack deals to himself, in these fits of defiance, such tremendous blows on his breast, as would knock down any ordinary man, yet without seeming to feel them. He never knows what illness is, but seems in robust health at all times; and although his blustering manners and fierce aspect intimidate all visitants to the establishment, still he is one of the most harmless patients in the hospital, and kind and tender-hearted to a very great degree. He would nurse and protect even a poor worm, and if any one should attempt to injure it, off goes his jacket in an instant, and he is ready for action to protect it.

Nothing affects him so deeply as to see any patient cupped, bled, leeched, or blistered; or indeed submitted to any necessary operation that gives pain. He invariably remonstrates, in his way, against such things; and afterwards condoles and sympathizes with the poor infant, as he calls the patient. “They should not serve you so,” says he, “’tis cruel; and I am sure you did not deserve it;” for he always imagines that such operations are inflicted as punishments, and he cannot be induced to think them of any benefit.

Sometimes he will run on in a vein of soliloquies, or imaginary conversations with his old friends and intimates; Lady William Price Holwood, Nancy Brien, Tom Hincks, Bill Brown, Young Forrester, of the Magnanime, &c. &c. He sings a number of sea songs; and many of his own composition, equally exempt from rhyme and reason. They run generally thus, in a sort of recitativo: “From Spithead we set sail, my name it is Bill Holwood; I’d have you all to know that I fought and conquered--at Egypt, and likewise with renown in many places more. I am a light handsome fellow, as I will let you know; I gained the honour and victory, as Walsh will let you see.”

The poor fellow seems either wholly forgotten by his friends or relatives, or he has none: for none ever come to visit him. He is extremely thankful for any little gift from the visitors; but tobacco is his delight, and much the most acceptable present that can be offered him.

The marine poet, Dibdin, in describing a British tar, says:

“A seamen should be, every inch, d’ye see,
All as one as a piece of the ship.”

And this poor distracted “Heart of Oak” seems to consider himself a piece of every battle and victory in which he bore his part, and entitled to a prize share in all the glories he helped to win for his country. He was a patient in Old Bethlem, and time and care have effected no abatement of his disorder.

GIDEON HANSON,

Aged about twenty-five, comes from Warwickshire; admitted about four years since. This man was convicted on an indictment under the cutting and maiming act; but his insanity procured his transmission hither. He exhibits at present no very prominent symptoms of derangement, unless excessive pride and haughtiness can be so deemed. He is a finical, effeminate dandy, and has a very exalted notion of his own dignity; but is regular, cleanly, and harmless.

DAVID DAVIS,

Aged about thirty, admitted April 11th, 1818. This unfortunate gentleman had served as a Lieutenant in the 62d regiment of foot, and is still on the half-pay establishment. His first overt act of palpable insanity was his memorable attempt to assassinate Lord Palmerston, the Secretary at War, above five years since; from which attempt his Lordship very narrowly escaped with life, but received a severe wound in his side.

Lieutenant Davis had formerly filled the same rank in the West-Middlesex militia, and was one of those officers who volunteered to join Lord Wellington, in 1814; and was then appointed to a Lieutenancy in the 62d foot, with which regiment he served for some time in Canada; from whence he returned a short time previous to the attack on Lord Palmerston, and was placed on half-pay.

Under imaginary notions of professional grievances, he wrote several letters to Lord Palmerston, recapitulating his important services, and urgently soliciting a pension. But failing in these solicitations, he attempted to destroy himself, and inflicted a severe wound in that attempt. He still persevered in his solicitations to Lord Palmerston; but his letters were couched in terms not indicative of a sane mind. Imputing his failure entirely to the noble Secretary at War, he determined on personal vengeance; and, with that view, proceeded to the War Office and inquired for his Lordship, who had not then come. He, however, waited on the stairs until Lord Palmerston was passing up towards his office, when he drew a loaded pistol from his bosom, fired at his Lordship, and then ran down stairs, exclaiming in triumph, “I have done for him!”

He was instantly secured and taken to Queen Square Police Office, whence he was committed for trial.

Lord Palmerston had his side lacerated by the ball; but his wound was declared, by Sir Ashley Cooper, not dangerous.

Lieutenant Davis was capitally indicted and tried for this act; but was found by the Jury to be insane, and sent here on the 11th of April 1818.

He is a native of Wales; his father is a military officer, and his brother is in the Royal Navy.

He appears to conduct himself rationally, and never displays any symptoms of frenzy. He seldom converses with any of the other patients, but maintains towards all the most haughty reserve. He frequently bursts out in laughter without any obvious cause; but is regular, cleanly, and harmless. He receives his half-pay, about seventy pounds a year, which he spends chiefly in trifles, apple-pies, and various kinds of pastry.

WILLIAM GAMMAGE,

Aged forty, admitted July 18th 1818. This patient had been a seaman, and comes from the workhouse at Ipswich, where he was confined as insane; and where, in his frenzy, he murdered two persons. He came here loaded with irons. His intellects are lost beyond all hopes of restoration; and though freed from personal restraint, he is under strict vigilance, to prevent mischief from any sudden paroxysm of that dreadful mania, to which two unfortunate persons have already fallen victims in his former place of confinement.

FRANCIS WILKES,

A Welchman, aged twenty-seven, admitted about five years since. He was before a patient in Old Bethlem when a boy, and was discharged cured: but at more advanced years he became again deranged; and having in a paroxysm of frenzy murdered his mother, was sent here, where he is constantly confined in the criminal wing.

He is extremely vicious and dangerous while the paroxysms of his disorder continue (which do not very frequently occur), and then he would murder indiscriminately all he met, friends or strangers; but in his tranquil intervals he is generally quiet and well-conducted. He is handy and industrious, and can make and mend the clothes of the other patients, for which he is regularly paid.

JOHN WILLIAMS,

Aged forty-four, admitted about four years since. This is another Welchman. He was found guilty of murder, by killing a young woman with a mattoc. But this shocking act was considered to be the result of insanity, and he was sent to this hospital.

This Cambro-Briton stands very high in the list of his own admirers; and brags much of his ancient and illustrious descent from the Ap-Shenkins, Ap-Morgans, Ap-Maddocs, Ap-Jones’s, Ap-Gwillins, and all the other Aps up to the first trunk, the aboriginal tree of Welch genealogy. He speaks very bad English: a sort of piebald mixture, half Welch and half Lancashire. But this he will not believe, and insists that he speaks as well as any man in London; to prove which, his tongue is everlastingly on the move, with due rapidity, and the true Shiboleth of Glamorganshire. He is, however, generally quiet and harmless; and, with his flat face, high cheek-bones, and dingy complexion, bears a strong resemblance to a North-American Squaux.

His high blood, however, does not raise his notions above the humble avocations of commerce; for he is the principal tobacco-merchant here, and drives a brisk traffic in that article amongst his fellow-patients. Although the sale of tobacco is discountenanced and forbidden by the Board, yet, even with the utmost vigilance, it cannot be wholly prevented, for there are constantly so many schemes on foot, so much artifice used, and so many plans and contrivances in operation to obtain it, as to baffle all exertions to put a stop to the trade.

There can be no question that the forbidding this article is founded upon the best intentions; but there are many of the patients here who, from habits of ten, twenty, thirty, and even forty years’ use of tobacco, in some shape or other, have contracted such an insuperable attachment to it, that they would much rather go without dinners than their beloved quid. Others prefer snuff, and those patients who have been long used to it are always discontented, fretful, and peevish, if debarred this comfort, either through the want of money to purchase, or the neglect of their friends to supply them with it. There seems to exist in the use of tobacco, as well as in madness, a pleasure which none but the infatuated know: and, trifling as the privation of those little enjoyments seems, it revives in the memory of the patients a sense of former grievances, gives them an idea that they are quite forsaken, renders them irritable, and has sometimes very injurious effects.

A trifling neglect will sometimes prey upon the weak sensibilities even of convalescents; and when this original distraction is rapidly subsiding, the privation of these little enjoyments will obviously renew it; when perhaps a timely recourse to the tobacco or snuff-box would divert the mind, and obviate such reflexions all together.

But it is not in the minds of the insane only that these habits take root, and become secondary wants of nature. All habits, long indulged, become inveterate, and are extremely difficult effectually to conquer, even in the best-bred classes of life, as all must have felt: and such particularly is the fascination of that nauseous and narcotic herb, tobacco, on persons in the constant habit of using it in any given form, that they become uneasy and fretful in the want of it. This is a fact more intimately known to every observant person conversant in the military and naval service, and who must have frequently seen that both soldiers and seamen, on the hardest service, would sell the shirts from their backs, or, what they value much more, their allowances of grog or wine, to obtain a little tobacco or snuff, whichever their habits led them to prefer. If such be the influence of those habits on men in robust health and of sane mind, what must be the case with those wretched maniacs, who have nothing to occupy or amuse them; and with whom a quid of tobacco, a pinch of snuff, or the smoaking of a pipe will do more to tranquilize and assuage irritation, than twenty-four hours of the most judicious reasoning or soothing advice?

Hence it is that the Virginian commissary, John Ap-Williams, is a much more favourite resident in this lunatic republic, than would be an imperial ambassador without this favourite commodity.

JOSEPH PANTER,

From Wallingford, Berks, admitted 16th March 1820. This poor fellow gives a curious account of his origin and progress. According to him, he is a child of Apollo; for he was engendered by the sun shining upon a dunghill, near his father’s door. He received his first existence in the form of a flea; and in about two hours afterwards he was transformed to a fine boy, of nine years old. He grew up, and was apprenticed to a shoemaker; and after his time was served, he married a beautiful wife, by whom he had two children; but she proved unfaithful. Business became bad; distress followed; and it was necessary that both should seek employment in London. A place was supposed to be obtained for her: but alas! her infidelity to him soon appeared; for the very stage-coachman who drove her to town, to her supposed service, was now her lord and master, for she has been living with him ever since; and poor Joe has been deserted and deranged from that time. His poor dear infants, he says, are, with his father and himself, placed here at the parish expense. Since he came in here he has imagined himself to be the only true and real Son of God, both spiritually and bodily. He clearly remembers having suffered on the cross. He remembers the countenances of all present at the time, what was said to him, how he was treated in his sufferings, and every circumstance of his bodily pain. He has power to condemn all whom he pleases, and of saving and rendering happy such as he thinks fit; and, in virtue of his power, he will, for the most trivial offence, consign any offender to the bottomless pit of fire and brimstone. He assigns a name of his own to every individual around him. One is Judas, who betrayed him; another is one of the thieves, who suffered with him at his crucifixion; a third is Peter, who thrice denied him; a fourth is Thomas, who disbelieved him; a fifth the Virgin Mary: one he saw hanged at Newgate for horse-stealing, another at Exeter for some other crime; another is Bonaparte himself; another is a common swindler, whom he knew very well, and who cheated him of vast property; and so on in an hundred instances. He would affect to know every body; and to every one (except his brother) he assigns some new name or character: one is a shoeblack, another a stocking-weaver, a waiter, a butcher, &c. &c.

He is himself a Pythagorean philosopher; firmly believes in the Metempsychosis, and that the soul of man after his death descends into a brute, and afterwards reverts into a man. Some months ago he described the butcher’s horse that brings meat to the hospital as an old friend of his named Thomas Holloway, who being hanged for coining, was afterwards transformed into this horse. He knows the secrets of all hearts, and cannot be deceived by any one.

In the summer he is employed in white-washing the house, for which he is paid; generally conducts himself pretty quietly, and has committed no violence, except now and then breaking a window, and occasionally tearing his clothes, which he says he is obliged to do, “the time being now come.” But he is extremely passionate, easily excited, and in that state is terribly abusive: his tongue, however, is the only ill weapon he uses.

PHILIP PACE,

Aged about thirty-five, from Westminster, admitted about five years since. This man was tried and convicted of violently assaulting and cruelly beating a youth: but he was found to be insane at the time, and was sent to this hospital. He is very sullen, and seldom converses with any one; but whenever he feels occasion to speak, he is extremely insolent and abusive, uses the very vilest language imaginable, and is proud and haughty, although evidently of the lowest order of the _canaille_.

THOMAS JONES,

From London, admitted November 26th, 1818. This extraordinary maniac was formerly engaged in the silk trade; and though almost the wildest of the wild, in this or any similar institution, he thinks himself perfectly sound in mind as well as body, although the regions of fancy scarcely afford limits to his conceptions, and his frenzy is only equalled by his arguments to disprove it. From the airs of consequence he assumes, he would seem to soar above the ranks of nobility. The knowledge of his importance, he imagines, has rendered all the great his enemies, and that all personages of rank in England are leagued in a conspiracy for the sole purpose of keeping him in this “_Bastile_,” as he calls it; and which is to him the source of intolerable anguish. “Here,” he exclaims, “is a piece of complicated villainy, to detain me, a man of my rank and importance; and, what is still worse, contriving by _galvanic_ and _electrical_ machines to ruin my health, to waste my person, and to destroy my faculties; to feed me like a dog, to put me to bed like a pig, and, in fact, to make a laughing-stock of me, to gratify and amuse the authors of this case of villainy and cruelty.”

His head is bald, which he takes every opportunity of exhibiting to all visitors, by taking off his hat with an air of dignified politeness, and then addressing them with “How do you do, ladies, or gentlemen? My name is Thomas Jones, a liveryman of the City of London, and alderman and Lord Mayor Apparent. Pray have you any knowledge of the Effingham family? Do you know Lady Effingham? Have you any interest in getting me out of this place? You see what a state I am brought to (rubbing his bald head). You perceive, I suppose, that my confinement has deprived me of my hair? Do you not conceive it a shameful transaction, to deprive an Englishman of his liberty thus, in a land of boasted freedom, too? You will oblige me very much to try what you can do towards my removal. My dear Sir George Tuthill will not define the nature of insanity; and because it seems he cannot, I am to be the sufferer, and imprisoned here.”

He is ambitious to prove himself, in his own way, a man of highly scientific character; and pretends to have discovered that all the royal palaces, Westminster Hall, Westminster Abbey, White Hall, the theatres, all the fire-insurance, and other public offices and great public buildings, have each established within them electrical, galvanic, and magnetic machines, erected expressly for the purpose of combining their influential powers to annoy him. That they are in continual operation for this purpose; and that their several pipes and conductors are united to form one grand power, by which their collective effects are propelled to a junction with all the gas and water pipes, along which they run from one iron conductor to another, until they arrive at Bethlem; when their forces ascend to the iron roof of the building, whence they run along the iron ceiling of his gallery, and then descend upon him by night in a combined focus, which produces effects highly injurious to his health.

In addressing himself to persons of rank who occasionally visit the hospital, he maintains a high dogmatical manner, styles himself Thomas Jones Dashwood Howard, of Effingham, Esq., and represents his confinement here as tyrannical, despotic, cruel, vindictive, and villainous; and he declaims, rants, abuses, and hectors over all. But when his physician appears, he assumes a consequential tone of remonstrance:--“Well, Sir George Tuthill, what have you done about getting me out of this place? You perceive I am losing time and wasting the best of my days.” Then, taking off his hat and displaying his baldness, he adds, “I believe here is a sufficient proof of the consequence of my imprisonment.”

Sir George, with great patience and humanity, attends to his speech, and to pacify him promises he will do all he can for him. But the Hon. Thomas Jones Dashwood Howard, of Effingham, must have more decisive proofs of his intentions: “he _will_ be liberated.”--“If,” says he, “you have had an interest in detaining me here, after all that I have suffered, you might, I think, have been satisfied by this time, therefore let me go out.”

Sir George then promises to do for him every thing more in his power. But this will not do: and after a good deal of his usual logic, he goes on: “then I will not mince matters with you any longer, but tell you that you are a damned ----” (every abusive epithet he can think of); and the matter necessarily ends in his removal under the charge of his keeper.

He suspects every person of respectable appearance who visits the hospital as concerned in his detention. But if any nobleman, particular gentleman, merchant, or foreigner comes, he will say, “Oh! perhaps, I shall have something from him. I suspect he has some hand in my business: I don’t know positively, but I think it very likely.” And in this way he has gone on till very lately.

The first symptoms of his malady were discovered by a love fit. He formed a violent attachment to a young lady of Skinner-street, and, without consulting her inclinations, went to his brother, who is a goldsmith, and obtained a number of different sized wedding rings. Without further ceremony he waited on the lady, then a few miles from town, made a gallant tender of his heart and hand, presented the rings for her choice of one, and ardently pressed her to accompany him to the altar immediately. But his proposal was rejected, and the disconsolate Thomas Jones Dashwood Howard, of Effingham, was ultimately consigned to this mansion by his friends.

He has of late fallen again into the tender passion, with a young lady whom he never saw but at her own window in this neighbourhood, about two hundred yards distant from the hospital: and this new passion has supplanted his former flame. He has been in the habit of standing for hours together, at a window at the east end of the gallery where he is lodged, contemplating the distant charms of his new adorable Dulcinea, as she accidentally appears at her back chamber window, wholly insensible to the ardour of his devotions; and though he is separated from her by seven walls and a garden, still he considers his soft whispers as conveyed to her ear. He tells her his high quality and noble alliance; imagines she hears him, treats his tender tale with coyness, and he continues, “Now, my dearest love, you should not, you should not do so. You know your mother’s temper and mine: that I esteem you more than life, which I would sacrifice for a moment’s pleasure to your dear self. I have purchased a house and carriage, and every thing necessary for us to move in the first circles of fashion.” He then waits for the fair one’s imaginary answer: and no sooner does it reach his fancy’s ear, than all is immediately reconciled; and he resumes his tender tales of love with as much ardour as if he were really at the fair one’s feet: and notwithstanding this ideal courtship has lasted three months, he knows not the lady’s name or address, nor any thing about her, although the surrounding walls daily echo his ardent protestations, while his _Dulcinea del Toboso_ is quite unconscious of his pain.

The following is one of his letters to the fair _incognita_, whom he addresses as his wife:

“_Bethlem Hospital, July 16, 1822._

“MY DEAR WIFE:

“I am sorry I have not the pleasure of seeing or viewing your person,
although prevented by my situation from your pleasant conversation.

“I wish you had furnished me with paper, India ink, pencils, &c., and
during your enjoyments away from home I might have drawn something,
though not of the best style, to have amused me, and met your view
of judgment upon return. I should have been most happy to have been
with you at the present, and hope you will not allow me to remain
under restraint of liberty, but apply, or instruct some professional
character, or some one, for my release. I hope your mother is well,
and desire my duty to her. Upon return you will be able to give me
particulars, or shall be most happy to hear from you enjoying good
health, with pleasant society, and all the scenes of innocence for
amusements. My brother Charles, with your brother Capt. Dashwood,
I think might do something in getting me away, or what their views
may be I know not, as to any intentions respecting me; my former
letter to you, &c. in support with the annexed side might do much
for the families--However I do not wish to trouble myself more
than may be satisfactory to you and perfectly to your pleasure and
satisfaction--Your aunt does not appear to have drawn any public
painting, and that which I first formed may now stand without any
madness being attached thereto--and those that acknowledged piracies
and slavery were now, as by the statement, freedom and liberty,
_pax et libertas_, St. Domingo, Hispaniola, America et Mexico, et
Africa--and this motto as to the drawing.

“On July 10, 1822, I see, the meeting of the Company at the City of
London Tavern--for to acknowledge the independence of Columbia;--now
no one need be afraid of their sentiments, and will prove mine in
conformity of that drawing you’re acquainted with.

Hail, Columbia! happy land,
This is the day in which must stand
And united be--
Law, justice, free
From the chains of slavery--
Peace, freedom, and liberty.

“And am,

“Your sincere and loving husband,

“THOMAS JONES.

“You must excuse my writing, as my ink was bad, and partly written in
the dark.”

* * * * *

There is no such person as the lady described, no such name in the neighbourhood, nor has he any knowledge of her, except by sight, and can merely see the back of the house she inhabits from the hospital. He has, however, furnished the lady with a name, and given her an address quite remote from the view of the hospital. So much for the consistency of poor Thomas Howard Dashwood Effingham Jones.

JOHN PALING,

Aged about forty-five. This man was tried and convicted of the wilful murder of a young woman who was his sweetheart, and a suspicion of her inconstancy was said to have prompted him to the horrid act. But he was found to be insane in his intellects, and was sent here upwards of five years since. He is of a sullen and morose disposition, and it requires, of course, much caution to avoid offending him; but in general he is tolerably well-behaved, and evinces no obvious symptoms of insanity.

RICHARD POCOCK,

From Guilford, Surrey, admitted in March 1818. This poor fellow had been formerly a servant to a gentleman, a banker at Guilford, of whom, even in his present state of derangement, he still speaks in the strongest terms of respect, gratitude, and attachment. In this gentleman’s service he bore the character of a faithful, active, cleanly, and attentive domestic. But his manners in these respects are now, like his mind, totally changed. He was afterwards servant with another gentleman, a contractor in the Island of Jersey; and next enlisted as a soldier, and served in Spain, Portugal, and North America. He was discharged at the termination of the war, and returned to Guilford, where he was first taken ill, and was sent to the workhouse. According to his own statement, his illness at that time was only bodily; but as he got better, being one day hungry, he tore up his shirt, “to make the most of it,” as he says, and sent it out by a boy to sell as old rags; in return for which the boy brought him a two-penny loaf and twopence-worth of tobacco. From the circumstance of thus disposing of his shirt, the overseers deemed him mad, and ordered him to be secured in a straight-waistcoat. This set him mad in earnest: he became violent, and was ultimately sent to this hospital, where he is now deemed incurable.

Though he has some lucid intervals, his time from morning to night is usually spent in lamenting his misfortunes. The principal object of his anxiety and affection is a daughter, whom, he says, he had formerly by a young woman at Guilford. He describes her as a beautiful girl of twenty; and says that she supposes her father dead. It was after her birth that he went to Jersey, which led to all his misfortunes.

From these distracting reflections he will suddenly start off into the most wild and heterogeneous flights of fancy and incoherent nonsense; more especially after he uses much tobacco, of which he is inordinately fond, and which intoxicates and excites him like opium or spirits. Sometimes he supposes the world not thicker than a half-crown, and expects every moment that all things will perish. He imagines that whatever he thinks of is immediately destroyed: or, as he terms it, “thrown up.” In this notion he will often say “he has, by thinking of it, destroyed America, and has just thrown up Jersey, and France, and Spain, and Portugal, and all the monkeys at Gibraltar, and Plymouth-Dock, and Battle in Sussex and Hastings; that he has cut up Mrs. Such-an-one’s hen-roost, and Mr. Such-an-one’s pig-stye at Guilford; and that his poor, dear Guilford, where his good and worthy friends Mr. H---- and his family lived, is now no more.” But he declares he cannot help all this destruction, for, in spite of all he can do, whatever he thinks of is instantly destroyed.

The next day he will try to remedy the mischief and misery he has produced by thinking; and with his eyes closed, his body bent double, and his hands and arms extended in front, like one groping in the dark, he will exclaim: “I never thought of America, nor Jersey, nor France, nor Spain, nor Portugal, nor Plymouth-Dock. I never thought of a pig-stye, nor of Guilford. Oh, poor Guilford! and poor, good Mr. H---- (his former master). I never thought of a ploughshare, nor yet of a knapsack, nor yet of a summer-house, nor a spicket and fosset, nor a monkey’s-beard, nor a hen’s-foot, nor a finger-organ, nor a boar’s-bristle: I never thought of a parson, nor yet of a hedge-hog, nor of a flying-squirrel in America; nor yet of a monkey shaving himself, nor of the hinges of Mr. H----’s cellar-door, nor of the river of Polinac, in France, where I sailed from;” with innumerable other topics equally wild. But when his poor, distracted mind is quite tired out with such exertions, he usually concludes the day by more calm, but pathetic reflexions on his beloved daughter. “Ah! my poor, dear girl! could I but once see you, I should then die contented!” and instantly bursts into tears. After he retires to bed, the first two hours are generally devoted to curses and execrations “on the authors of his confinement; and of his separation from his dear, delightful daughter, his home, and his every comfort and happiness.”

What a task would it be for the metaphysician to analyze the structure of such a mind, or disentangle the confusion of its ideas!

Though he has been sometimes violent in the paroxysms of his disorder, he is in general perfectly harmless.

JOHN READ,

From Lancashire, middle-aged, admitted August 6th 1818. This is a sullen rancorous fellow; he has been a seaman, and formerly in Old Bethlem, and in a mad-house at Hoxton. He never speaks to any one but in a manner quite unintelligible. He sometimes writes with chalk on the walls, in a sort of hieroglyphic quite as obscure as his conversation: such as, “27th Lancashire, mind 1 No. 8. Old clothes. No. 3.--Alepass. Ireland--his own--thro No. 1879. 4th Bridge.”

This man seems by nature savage, and is extremely furious and dangerous. For the smallest imagined offence he will knock down a fellow-patient, and beat and kick him most unmercifully. Indeed he will sometimes do so without any cause, real or fanciful. He has been, therefore, put under restraint; which renders him still worse, and more vicious; and therefore he is sometimes locked up in his room, but has now for a considerable time been under no strict restraint.

The most trivial quarrel or falling-out with another he will remember for years: nay, he will never forget or forgive it. In his general behaviour he is pretty regular, and cleanly in his person; but so vicious and treacherous, that he cannot be trusted. In October 1822 he attacked one of the keepers, tore the waistcoat and shirt off his back, and would have done him much personal mischief, had not assistance immediately arrived. He is a powerful fellow, apparently in robust health. He likes to be alone, and never takes his meals with the other patients, but by himself. At one time he took a liking to the privy as his favourite residence, and used to carry his meals to that place or to the airing ground, if he could get there. While lord of the privy, it was extremely unsafe for any one obnoxious to him to approach it. He would fiercely spring out upon them, like a tiger; and by furious blows or kicks drive them away. But after some time he was induced to abandon this delicate dining-room, and transfer his refectory to the airing-ground, except when the weather was rainy.

JOSEPH COATES,

An old North-countryman, admitted on the 6th of August 1818. This poor fellow was formerly an inmate of Old Bethlem, and was also at a private mad-house at Hoxton. He had been a seafaring-man, and is much deranged. He has at times lucid, or at least quiet intervals, and is then remarkably composed; and when spoken to merely answers, yes or no. But when his malady returns with some force, and the fit is high, he is a loud ranter, and sometimes believes himself to be Moses: “The only true Moses.” He is extremely abusive to every one he sees; suspects all of robbing him, and is extremely addicted to chewing tobacco; in the place of which he will chew rags, grass, or any thing else he can get. Sometimes he will exclaim, “I am God; I will hang that rascal;” pointing to somebody, “he has robbed me of five hundred johannas” (gold or silver, as his fancy dictates). He considers all yellow metal-buttons gold, and all white ones silver: and such is his avidity to accumulate riches of this kind, while his delirium lasts (which is generally about a week at a time), that he picks up, wherever he can find them, pieces of glass, or scraps of tin, with which he contrives to cut off all the buttons from his own coat, waistcoat, and breeches, and from those of all the melancholy and stupid fellow-patients (never attempting this with those of other descriptions); and the buttons thus obtained he grinds upon the first convenient stone he meets, until they are flat and smooth on both sides; and by virtue of this mintage they become, in his estimation, “lawful money, gold or silver johannas.” The total defect of buttons on his own clothes he supplies by various strings torn from the rug on his bed, his blue handkerchief, or any other rag. Those who give him tobacco, at once obtain his friendship; but he will sell it to any one on any other terms.

He constantly talks of “his ships, of his great losses and misfortunes, and the manner in which he will punish those who robbed him;” which description includes every body he sees. He imagines himself to be a consummate judge of the weather, and director of the winds. Sometimes he changes from a mariner and ship-owner to a builder and mason, and imagines he has a great deal of work to do.

He has never done any remarkable mischief; although, when in his high fits, if he could find a weapon he would become dangerous, and therefore cannot be trusted.

RICHARD JENKINS,

Aged forty-seven, admitted August 6th, 1818. This curious Cambro-Briton is a native of Cardiff, in Wales. He was formerly confined in Old Bethlem, and also in a private mad-house at Hoxton; and altogether, including his residence here, for a period of ten years.

He was originally a labouring-man, but was impressed into the navy. He was last on board the Salvador del Mundo guard-ship, at Plymouth; where his insanity first became apparent, and thence was sent to a mad-house.

He labours under a thorough conviction that he was first confined with a view to murder him; that both his father and mother were murdered; and that his sisters were also murdered by the present King, when he was Prince of Wales. He feels an implacable hostility towards Admiral Young and General England, who, he says, have conspired against him, and employed people to kill him. That they told him if he would change his religion he should become a great man; but that he rejected their offer, told them that he was brought up by his parents in the fear of God, and taught to say the Lord’s Prayer in Welsh, and he would “stand by the Old Books:” (this sage polemic can neither read nor write).