time, long after midnight, rang the house-bell with a force and power which made it reverberate through the hall and staircase loudly enough to have waked the dead. This set the three dogs barking all in different keys. Hutton and the footman hurried to let in the revellers, upsetting one of the hall chairs in their haste; all of which disturbance was followed by the loudest possible banging down of the carriage steps, immediately under my wife's window; the uproar only concluding after the carriage-door first, and the house-door next, had been also banged to and fastened the former accompanied by the imprecations of Wells's servant outside the house, and the latter by the inevitable rattling of chains and scraping of bolts within.

"Well, dearest," said Cuthbert, "you have made it late-have you been very happy?"

"Yes, Pappy," said Kitty," very. Oh, you mustn't look at meI'm such a figure! danced every bit of curl out of my hair! I couldn't get away before-it was all Bessy's doing-her Pa went to bed the minute he came back, but Master Buggins and his cousin Harry would have some more quadrilles, and so after that we had three of the newfashioned waltzes-it was so nice, and made me so giddy, and so pleased, you can't think !”*

"And how were you entertained, Jenny ?" said I, standing candle in hand, prepared for a start.

"I liked it very well, thank you, Uncle," said Jane, who looked as white as a sheet, with a pair of eyes as red as a ferret's.

"Gilbert," said Cuthbert to me, "what do you think this young lady has been whispering to me?"

"That she wants her maid, I suppose," said I.

No," said Cuthbert, "something else; she says she should like a little bit of something to eat."

"Eat!" said I.

"Yes, uncle," said Kate; "we had only some lemonade and cakes, and that was at about half past nine, and we dined at two with Bessy,

SO

Come, come," said Cuthbert, "ring the bell, Kitty, love, and we'll get you some cold fowl, or something of that sort,--you would not like anything warm ?"

"I am afraid," said I," they are not likely to get anything warm. I surmise that Mrs. Habijam (so was my cook named) is fast asleep." Hutton made his appearance to answer the bell, for, as he must inevitably sit up to undress his master, and put him to bed, he had relieved my own butler.

"Hutton," said Cuthbert, "these young ladies want something to eat."

66

Very well, Sir," said Hutton, in a tone which sounded like-very ill, Sir.

"Anything, Hutton," said Kate; "a bit of cold fowl and some tongue-nothing sweet."

66 I'll go and see, Miss," said Hutton.

As I foresaw that Hutton, in order to put the young lady's commands

*It was just about the period at which Mr. Gurney wrote this portion of his papers that this irritating indecency, which has since been so universally adopted, was first introduced into English Society.—ED.

into execution, must necessarily call up Mrs. Habijam, who acted as housekeeper, in order to get at the larder, and that my wearied butler must be "rousted out," to get at the wine, or whatever other liquid the sylphs might select for their regale; and as I beheld Hutton, by way of a preliminary, return to the room with a pair of new candles, I felt that, as my presence was even, if agreeable to the trio, by no means essential to their enjoyments, I ventured to take the liberty of saying that, as it was growing late, and I had an engagement early in the morning, I would wish them good night.

To my proposal I found not the slightest objection made by any one of the company; and accordingly, having shaken hands with my brother, and having been kissed boisterously by Kate, and gently by Jane, I betook myself to my room, where I found poor Harriet sitting up in her bed, wondering at the noise in the house at so late an hour, and fancying ten thousand things had happened, about which she had no opportunity of inquiring.

I will not describe my feelings, because they are not purely fraternal. The conclusion of the affair, however, was not the least annoying part of it, for it was certainly past two before Kate and her sister came dancing up-stairs to their room, singing one of the airs to which they had been whisked about by Master Buggins and his cousin Henry, so loudly as to wake poor Harriet from the second sleep into which she had happily fallen.

What seemed so particularly odd in the whole of the business was, that the day on which so disagreeable an event had occurred in Wells's family should have been fixed upon for what really was an unusual gaiety there. I found, however, that the little party had been arranged before the dénouement of the Merman affair, and while he was yet in the house; and that Mrs. Wells, with the proper spirit of her sex, resolved that the dismissal of the Lieutenant, which would be of course the talk of the whole place in a day or two, should not appear to have affected them, or made the slightest alteration in their arrangements.

I remember seeing once at a country fair a boy of about ten years of age in a scarlet jacket, much tinselled, a pair of dirty white trousers, with flesh-coloured stockings pulled up over them, his hair being flaxen, and matted, and his face dirty and painted, performing a hornpipe in front of a booth, a minute after his father had given him a most savage horsewhipping for some conduct, I suppose, militating against the laws and customs of the modern Thespians, the effect of which was very remarkable. The poor child was crying with pain, the tears running down his well-ochred cheeks, dancing as hard as he could, accompanied by periodical exclamations by his respectable parent of, "Jump, you dog, go along, Sir,-higher, Sir," which overtopped the sound of the one fiddle upon which the child's eldest well-spangled sister was playing the tune.

The effect was at once ludicrous and painful, and somehow I could not help associating it in my mind with Mrs. Wells's uncommonly lively little party in the evening of the day of the defeat of all their well laid schemes of settlement for Fanny.-However, I got to sleep at last; but little did I anticipate what was in store for me before I should sleep another night.

LUNACY IN FRANCE.

THE various institutions, scientific and literary, of Paris, have been often and minutely described; but to the institutions, private as well as public, for the disordered mind, justice has not been done. It is not true, though often asserted, that the thoughtful and serious English go mad much oftener than their neighbours: the number of the deranged in France is about thirty thousand to a population of thirty-two millions: in England, twenty thousand.

But though the number may be proportionate in the two countries, the manner of the madness is very dissimilar; and the stranger, in search of the characteristic traits of mind and temper, will find them as distinctly drawn, in as broad, as well as delicate touches, in these homes of fallen humanity, as in the theatre, the salon, or the café. I have been in the asylums of eastern countries-heavy, and not spacious buildings, with a court in the middle, a fountain, and a few trees. This small area of joyless suffering afforded an epitome of the Turkish character, so quiet and grave, so dull and unambitious. The inmates sat and gazed through the bars of their home, and spoke sadly and slowly to the stranger: two or three played the guitar: others sat cross-legged from morning to night on the divan, or near the fountain, gazing continually on the gurgling waters: there was no violence, no fierce malignity, or hopeless passion. In his lone room, or on his wild and circumscribed walk, the Frenchman is also faithful to his natural temperament: there is less method in his madness' than in that of the Englishman, less thoughtfulness and stillness than the German, less passion than the Italian; but there is a buoyancy and even cheerfulness about him that leaves little room for melancholy.

I had long desired to visit the most celebrated private Maison des Fous; an opportunity at last presented itself under very favourable circumstances. About five miles out of Paris, near the banks of the Seine, is the small village of Ivery, pleasantly situated, calm, and almost sequestered: the Seine was so swollen by the late rains, that the more direct route by its side was inundated, and we drove a circuitous route. The October morning was very bright and beautiful: we were invited to breakfast at the asylum by its master, Mons. Esquirol, celebrated for the successful treatment of his patients, and his able writings on the subject. Arrived at the establishment, an iron gate opened on a winding gravel path, at the end of which, embosomed in trees, was the mansion, which consisted of a large rez-de-chaussée, containing a spacious salon, with various instruments of music, card-tables, chess, and backgammon. Adjoining was a large billiard-room, which opened into the salle à manger all these apartments, &c., were for the convalescent during the day only: they slept in a separate dwelling. The higher story was occupied by the family of Mons., the nephew and assistant of Mons. Esquirol, consisting of his wife and three lovely children. This was the principal mansion, though it formed but one of the seven buildings comprised in the establishment. Another of these was tenanted by convalescent ladies, and a third by gentlemen each patient had a salon and bed-chamber, in which, not even the English, and there were a few of our countrymen here, had any

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cause to sigh for their native comforts; there was so much eal comfort in the interior of these rooms-situated in the middle of the gardens, with many trees around, the windows looking only on pleasing objects, on beds filled with flowers, &c. In the avenues were swings and various out-door amusements for the patients. The wife of Mons. and her children dined every day with the convalescent in the salle à manger; it being the opinion that their presence and company had a salutary and soothing influence on the patients. The sweet children and their mother were perhaps rather hazardously seated, in the midst of so many partially, and half-deranged people, yet no accident has ever occurred. The latter are not allowed steel knives; they use silver; and each guest is carefully attended by his servant, who stands behind his chair. The company consists of ladies and gentlemen; a more gay and cheerful party is not often met with. "You would not think," said Mons. E., to whom they are much attached," that it was a table of mad people." Pure wine is not allowed, being greatly diluted with water: animal food, sparingly, vegetables and fruit, freely. In respect of dress, manners, &c., this is anything but a repast of mad people each guest is well, and some are tastefully dressed an air of politeness is studiously maintained.

At one o'clock an excellent breakfast was served: the host, his nephew, a Roman savant of some celebrity, and ourselves, comprised the whole of the party. The conversation turned wholly on mental aberrations, a wide and doubtful field, into which Mons. Esquirol entered, with a tone of calm and shrewd observation, that it was delightful to listen to. A member of the Sorbonne, the Institute, and the eminent medical societies of Paris, he is of a temperament peculiarly fitted for his office; kind, gentle, humane, and devoted to the care and cure of derangement, with an anxious enthusiasm. In his manner of treatment he has been very successful: three English gentlemen left the asylum last year perfectly restored. A foe to severity, restraint, and harshness towards the patient; he observed that they were too prevalent in some of the asylums of England ;—that, in the wanderings of a vigorous as well as weak intellect, it was easy to "break the bruised reed." Seventy years of age, small of stature, and slender, his gray eyes beaming with intelligence, each day is chiefly occupied in this work; visiting, besides, the great asylum of Charenton, and another, and giving lectures on the subject of madness in two or three schools; his round of duties is immense. The Roman savant, who was just returned from England, related several anecdotes of Italian madmen, among whom, he said, there was a wilder display of the passions than by any other people so visited. "Love," he observed, "often turned the brains of the Italians, even of the men."

"Ah!" said Mons. E., "love seldom drives a Frenchman mad: I never yet received a patient with such a malady. A Frenchman often kills himself in a sally of passion or feeling; but is seldom in love long enough to go mad about it."

After breakfast, it was proposed to visit the other buildings and the grounds. In the billiard-room, through which we passed, five gentlemen, well dressed, were playing billiards with great earnestness; each of them was attended by a servant who stood behind and very near them, and whose business it was to have an incessant care of their mas

ters, to follow them wherever they went, in the apartments or walks, to watch the turn of the eye, &c., and be responsible for their safe behaviour. They are well paid, for the service is an anxious one, and an absence of a short time only from their charge is punished by dismissal. It was a novel sight, of five handsomely-dressed madmen, two or three of them young, all in good condition and cheerful, playing billiards with as high a zest as if the world was to them all it once was-gay, bright, full of passion, intellect, hope. They were all men of independent fortune-for the poor and dependent cannot enter here; six thousand francs is the annual sum paid for each patient. One of them, as we for a moment looked on the singular scene, suddenly paused as he was about to strike the ball, then quickly advanced and addressed us;spoke eagerly of going to Paris the next day: this, our host said, was the burden of the song of almost every maniac of either sex, to go to Paris; they longed to do it, brooded over it, delighted to speak of it; and when restored to sanity, he warned the relatives not to take them to the capital, or suffer them to remain long among its excitements. Where this advice was disregarded, they were not unfrequently, he said, brought back to him in a few months.

A long garden, with serpentine gravel walks, conducted to two spacious square buildings-one appropriated to the men, another to the women; these were persons either incurable or in a very bad state, whose restoration must be the work of time.

The apartments stood within a corridor that ran all round the square, and afforded a sheltered walk to the unfortunate people, many of whom were moving restlessly about: in the middle of each square was a large grass plot. The neatness and cleanliness of the whole were admirable. The place had no air of restraint or confinement about it, and resembled one of the large kiosks or country-houses in the east, one story only in height.

We first entered the hall of the edifice allotted to the men: it was a curious display of gentlemanly derangement. Whoever doubts that it is very possible to be genteelly mad, as distinguished from vulgarly or coarsely mad, would be convinced by a few minutes' observation in this room. The maniac, laughing wild with woe-the pale moping misanthrope-were not here. A Spaniard and an Englishman sat among the French-the former was the gravest, the latter the saddest of the party.

A gentleman of Brittany, of an ancient family, was one of the most interesting about thirty, handsome, of a florid complexion; the quick and suspicious glances of the eye alone indicated mental disorder. Politics and fanaticism combined had turned his brain: he had a good post under the government of Louis Philippe; resided in Paris, and bid fair to rise to an official situation, and be an ornament to his family, for his abilities were very good, as was evident even in his mad conversation. About three years since he went home to Brittany to pass a few weeks with his family: they were all fierce Carlists, he was a vehement Philippist. Daily disputes arose between the parents, and the son, and his brothers; they were sometimes aggravated to mutual wrath and bitterness of feeling: he heard the king derided and contemned every day; he was but one among many, for his family connexions were all Carlists. His mind was at last affected by this continual strife with his May.-VOL. L, NO, CXCVII.

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