to soothe and comfort her with the assurance that her husband was not seized by his enemies, as she supposed, but by those who would take the best care of him.

By degrees he informed her that her husband was insane and needed restraint; but that in all probability the malady would be only temporary. As soon as she was convinced that he was deranged, she was reconciled to the separation, and thanked her brother for it. Her fear of the insane was so extreme that she never could be persuaded to see her husband again, though he recovered his health, and lived several years a sane but almost broken-hearted man. He corre

sponded with his wife, and her letters betrayed such a dread of meeting him, that to allay her fears and make her life more tranquil, he went abroad to live, and promised her never to set foot in England. Even this great proof of his generous affection could not overcome her unreasonable fears. They never met again.

After being a widow several years, she made another very happy match, lived without any alarms for one year, became a mother, and lost her reason for life.

One of the most intéresting varieties in cases of derangement is that in which the patient ascribes mind and meaning to all inanimate objects. I remember an interesting case of this kind in

England. Some friends of mine were assembled round the door of a charity school, waiting for the arrival of a committee, who were to distribute the prizes, when a very singular-looking old man attracted their attention. In those days the hair and beard were usually cut short; his had not been shorn for years; his hair lay in rolls about his shoulders, and his beard, which was quite white and silvery, concealed all his face below the nose; it appeared to be arranged with great care, as Rubens used to paint beards. From the midst of so much white hair his sparkling eyes and hooked nose looked out like those of an owl, yet the eyes were full of happiness, and sparkled with joy, not fierceness. His dress seemed to be new, and consisted of an olive-colored, squarecut coat, a dark blue waistcoat of the oldest fash ion, a pair of yellow velveteen breeches, which were loose enough to form fine draperies, and blue stockings. He was very upright, and moved with an abrupt and nimble air. He stood apart and eyed the company with piercing and inquisitive glances, when one who knew him thus addressed him: “Why, Fitz-Hugh, how is it I see you with a black hat on?" "It is not my choice, you may be sure." "What is your objection to black?" "Why you know all colors are but emblems, and black is an emblem of faith falsified. O, it is a shocking color!" "Then what would you wear

for mourning?" "An autumn tint, to be sure; autumn is mourning." "Are you still favored to discern spirits as you used to be?" said some one. "Yes," said he, with a most happy and satisfied smile; "O yes! at this moment I see a spirit of fairness on that young man," pointing to a well-dressed stranger, who had drawn near to hear what was saying, but drew back abashed, as every one involuntarily turned to look for the spirit of fairness.

Fitz-Hugh used to be seen walking triangles on the Common, or staring like an eagle at the sun, waiting for a sign. He was very religious, and continually whispered to himself, "Peace, peace," in the most emphatic way.

I used to wish that Sir Walter Scott had known this charming old man, he would have figured so well in one of his tales.

14

I

CHAPTER XXXIX.

COURTS OF LAW.

ALWAYS admired Sir Francis Burdett for

avoiding the ovation prepared for him by the common people, on his release from the Tower, where he had been confined for a political offence. He feared that the zeal of his friends and admirers might lead them into difficulty, and he had too much regard for them to expose them to danger on his account; so, with a truly generous self-denial, he declined all the honors intended for him, and quietly left the Tower, in a boat, while the streets were crowded for miles with people waiting to welcome him. His enemies called this a cowardly act; but I was among his friends, and heard it spoken of as a noble instance of his humanity.

Many years afterwards, I was visiting in Surrey, England, when Sir Francis Burdett was tried there for breach of prison, and being the guest of a family who were radical in their politics, and admirers of Sir Francis, we all went to the courthouse in Guildford to hear the trial. He had been imprisoned again, for what offence I cannot

remember, and wishing to use his personal influence, in some cause of human liberty, he had escaped from confinement; but having served his purpose, he suffered himself to be recaptured, and returned to prison. He escaped by pretending to change his sofa for a better one, and was carried out concealed in the bed of the rejected sofa. For this breach of prison he was now to be tried at the Guildford assize court. The trial was scarcely begun before it was very evident that the bench and the bar were very hostile to him; but the common people, who thronged the court-room, considered him their champion, and listened to the proceedings with very friendly interest.

Sir Francis refused to employ counsel; he chose to plead his own cause, and did it with dignity and composure. His appearance was that of a man between forty and fifty years of age, in delicate health, but full of mental vigor.. His plea was, that he had not broken any law; he said the very meaning of imprisonment was keeping a man shut up against his will, and if any one was guilty it was the jailer, for suffering him to escape. He stated this so clearly and forcibly that it made the trial seem to be a ridiculous farce. In the course of his speech, he took occasion to broach many of his radical opinions, and to give severe cuts at many old abuses;