ÀҾ˹éÒ˹ѧÊ×Í
PDF
ePub

strangers to do that of which we are incapable; yet in reference to the first, we well know that should our selection be disadvantageous, the blame falls upon ourselves, and our responsibility is in no way lessened. All the sympathy we could expect to get would be, "You ought to have made more inquiries, you should have insisted upon seeing the whole economy of the house, you should have required more references," etc. etc. We ought to have the same cold comfort offered us when our negligence, our indifference, our parsimony, our ignorance the motive little signifies has caused a similar result in respect to a friend or relation mentally afflicted. Lest we may be thought harsh, we subjoin an extract from Lord Shaftesbury's evidence on the subject:

"We inquire very much whether friends have visited the patients, and I am sorry to say that the answer in most cases is, that the friends have taken little or no care of them; and that is one of the most melancholy circumstances with regard to these afflicted persons. As I said before, a patient becomes morally dead in the estimation of his relatives; they think that he has brought the taint of insanity upon them; partly the heart is seared, and partly they are afraid, or in a confused and agitated state, and the result is, that the wretched patient is in some instances altogether abandoned. In some cases, many relations discharge their duties in a most affectionate manner; but a large proportion of them do no such thing; and in case of any Act being passed, I think there should be a compulsory clause, making it obligatory on relatives, either by themselves or by their agents, to visit their friends, shut up in an asylum. We have a case before us at the present time, in which a gentleman has placed his wife as a single patient; and in order that she may be as far removed from him as possible, he has sent her into a distant county, and for two years he has neither seen her nor inquired about her.'

When once we have learnt to look upon insanity as a bodily disease, and consequently amenable to medical skill, it loses many of its terrors. When the rumor of a coming pestilence reaches us, we instantly know where to turn for succor, and the best means to apply to divert its threatened ravages; and not more surely are typhus and ague its forerunners, and mark the spot where it will find a kindred affinity, than are unbridled affections, ill-regulated tempers, and intemperate habits the sure precursors of insanity. We have both to prevent and to cure; and, above all, we have to learn, that not only is the health of the mind as well as body in our own keeping, but that by bringing our affections within the limits of our reason, and by checking, on the high moral ground of individual responsibility, every predisposition to self-indulgence, we may preserve unsullied the clearness and brightness of our intellects amid trials and sorrows which have unhinged the minds of hundreds of our fellow-creatures.

The same education that teaches us how to consider insanity in

others, also fortifies us against falling victims to it ourselves. As cleanliness, wholesome food, moderate exercise, and honest employment, are the best preservatives against the ravages of a pestilence, so self-control, regular occupation, in fact, the active exercise of all the Christian virtues, are the sure means of averting insanity. All psychological writers insist that the due exercise of self-control is the greatest preservative against insanity, and Sir Benjamin Brodie cites many instances where those who have cherished this faculty, even while physically affected by diseases that in ordinary cases lead to mania, have preserved their reasoning powers unimpaired. Thus, though they may see the room filled by phantoms, though they are haunted by imaginary terrors, they can still talk calmly and rationally of these very delusions, and wait with patience till medical skill, eradicating the bodily disease, restores the mind to the wholesome exercise of all its varied functions.

Such is self-control. It is the subjugation of every appetite to the dominion of reason, using moderation in all things, of keeping the imagination within due limits, of allowing no fancy to occupy a predominant place, and, more especially in women, of checking the warm confiding feelings of their nature whensoever they would lead them into extremes. If novels best portray the domestic character of a people, we must feel surprise that women are not more frequently than they are (and the number is frightfully large and daily increasing) hurried into insanity by misplaced attachments, and of losing the self-respect of womanly reserve, by allowing their fancy to color with all the glowing tints of reality some imaginary object of their devotion. We lay particular stress upon the right government of the affections, for even when developed in the highest feelings of our nature-religion,-to what fearful lengths will not excess lead. Several instances in some of the "revivals" may be cited as examples. Who are the suddenly converted, the inspired, the awakened? Poor ignorant, impressible young women, who in heathen times would have been fit priestesses to Cybele, and in the dark ages would have fallen into trances, and seen visions enough to stock half Christendom with wonderful stories.

Granting, then, that insanity be as much a bodily disease as consumption, where can we look for relief but to those appliances that a merciful Providence has placed within our reach? As there is no poison without its antidote, so there is no phase of suffering humanity incapable of some alleviation. We dare affirm that there is no form of insanity without some lucid intervals, no intellect so utterly darkened but is lighted now and then with a gleam, perchance only a transient gleam, of intelligence; no heart so stultified but softens towards affection, and retains some lingering trait of tenderness and love. Well has Dr. Conolly declared, how that among pauper lunatics, one of the principal means of cure is that of introducing them to comforts hitherto unknown-a generous diet, a well-warmed and well-ventilated apartment, cheerful society,

amusement as well as employment; and if all this is necessary to the pauper, how much more to the educated and refined; yet generally the treatment is directly the opposite--one is elevated to a position hitherto unknown, the other is degraded in the scale of social life, and the common courtesies of society, a feeling for which frequently outlives the mind, totally neglected.

Those who can recall a long convalescence remember how, in their weak state, the most trivial circumstance produced irritation; how they have shrunk from being touched by the horny hand of the hired nurse, though a model one; how the tray, ill-arranged, has driven away the appetite that cared not how homely the fare, provided it was served up with attention; how a jarring window has caused hours of restless inquietude; yet we had reason to guide us, and common sense to reprove us;-shall we not feel for those who have not, and the less wonder that they are affected likewise? But we, perchance, were nursed at home. How different to the insane, who are instantly sent off to some private asylum, "retreat,” or elsewhere, where but too frequently the proprietors only think of making large profits; and in order to retain their patients, retard their recovery as much as possible. We are speaking of the management of the insane in general; there are bright exceptions, and of many of the public asylums we cannot speak too highly; such, for instance, as Hanwell and Colney Hatch. These bear the same comparison to the others as London hospitals of the present day do to those of the last century; and in proof of it, we were told by one of the guardians of the poor in a large London parish, that on an average, if an insane patient was sent to Hanwell, or one of our public asylums, his cure was effected in about a month; if sent to a private establishment, his detention was often prolonged to an indefinite period. Then, again, we repeat, the fault lies in ourselves. Let those in that rank of life which unconsciously influences the manners of the age, set the example; let them learn to consider insanity in other terms than those of shame and abhorrence, and then not only will the cultivation of such feelings be the best method of prevention as well as of cure, but it will lead to those in a humbler rank of life being better cared for and assisted in this affliction; let them not be ashamed of doing their duty, and of practically carrying out, what in theory the educated and the well-disposed must know to be right. Let those who have relatives afflicted by this most fearful of all visitations, devote themselves to their care; and those who have not, so train their minds and faculties, that should circumstances call forth their energies, they may be found equal to the emergency; or if home do not claim their attention, they may be enabled to carry forth into the highways and byeways of human suffering the experience to guide, and the patience to put in practice, their previous training, and so ameliorate the condition of their afflicted fellowcreatures in all the various ranks of life.

A. E. G.

LVIII-UNDER THE SNOW.

THICKLY lie the falling flakes,
Earth its warm white cover takes,
And itself a shelter makes
Under the snow.

Hid beneath that shelter warm,
Resteth, safe from threat'ning storm,
Many a flow'ret's tender form
Under the snow.

Snowdrops peeping up so white-
Winter would have nipp'd them quite-
Shelter'd are they, out of sight,
Under the snow.

Deeply over all it lies,

Fallen, noiseless, from the skies,
Hiding all things from our eyes,
Under the snow.

In the churchyard lies it deep;-
Weary eyes afresh must weep,
For a lov'd one now doth sleep
Under the snow.

Weep not, weary, weeping eyes;
Churchyard treasure God doth prize:
He will watch o'er all that lies
Under the snow.

Purest mantle overspread,

Gently rests upon her head;

God Himself will guard your dead
Under the snow.

Think not earth new life shall know

Seasons come, and seasons go

And your dead rest ever so

Under the snow.

Beautiful, and fair, and bright,
Shall, one day, be brought to light,
Churchyard flowers, hid from sight

Under the snow.

L. F.

LIX.-A STRANGE CHANCE.

(Concluded from p. 331.)

CHAPTER III.

GEORGE GILBERT was an artist. His efforts in art were sound and true and steadily progressive, but his pictures did not possess any of those striking peculiarities which often make a man's defects the main source of his popularity. Like his own life, they were honest and unobtrusive, not failing beneath the test of the most severe scrutiny, but without any of those bold traits which seize at once upon the attention, though perhaps only to meet with our eventual condemnation.

For ten years after his return home with his sister and the little Charles he patiently labored, his industry only interrupted by those recurring fits of illness, which with each new visit gained a stronger hold upon his constitution. During this time he had silently struggled through many of the sorrows and temptations of an artist. The old legend of a man selling himself to the devil, which must at first have sprung from a mind painfully sensitive and intense, is a truth daily repeated around us. In the detail of every life there are complications and perversities which give the devil his opportunity of offering us all a price. And when, upon thoughtful observation, we find how very few have escaped without some kind of traffic with him, our wonder is, not that the number is so small, but that one honest man should stand up in a world which on every side endeavors to entangle him in sophistries and compromises. As an artist, George Gilbert needed patronage and assistance to advance him in position; and, unfortunately, the power of conferring material benefits often lies in the hands of those the artist cannot respect, causing his principles and his necessities to be ever at war. But George Gilbert was one of the few the devil had not succeeded in buying over; through all difficulties and heartburnings, he had held fast by the highest he could perceive, the only course upon which a true nature can sustain itself. In the secret life of his own soul and affections, there had also been many strifes and tribulations. We cannot take a survey of our existence once for all, saying, "this is the truth for me, whatever acting in obedience to it may entail," and so, having settled all questions, live for the future calmly and uninterruptedly by the accepted condition. Existence is constantly assuming new aspects, and its different phases alternately ascend to the surface, the visible seeming for the time to be the most important. To distinguish the greater from the lesser, the permanent truth from what is accidental and temporary, is the difficult and imperative art of life. Even the most beautiful elements within us may become rebels against that paramount principle and condition which should govern, like an absolute king, all

[ocr errors]
« ¡è͹˹éÒ´Óà¹Ô¹¡ÒõèÍ
 »