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tient's talents, memory, and capability for the purposes of business or aniusement; while at other times they shall excite the feelings of terror, anger, and disgust, in those who are new to the nature of this variable disease. But as to distinguish betwixt what is generally termed brain fever, or inflammation of the brain, and insanity, no certain dependence can be placed on the symptoms present, the medical attendant should be careful to learn the whole history of the complaint; and if he finds it has been some time in its progress, or the patient had ever been previously afflicted in the same way, or it had been preceded by unusual eccentricity of conduct or language, or that the delirium has been of several days' continuance without change, or that insanity is hereditary in the family, or if the patient is extremely rude, vindictive, or capable as before described, he may safely refer the mental affection to what is generally called insanity, but would more appropriately be called nervous fever, while in its recent and incipient state.

For the treatment of inflammation of the brain, I have no instruction to give; it would be presumption in me to attempt it; for I never saw but three cases, and they all died within forty-eight hours from the first attack: but I must suppose that the measures should be as prompt and decisive as possible, or life is gone. I should think that active depletion and topical applications were not only justifiable, but proper. But if the disease is insanity, the treatment cannot be too mild; and the more violent the symptoms, the more necessary it is to attend to this caution; particularly would I deprecate all violent topical applications, and excessive phlebotomy. It would be too much to assert, that no cases of real insanity recover under violent depletion; but this I can say with confidence, that none recover under it, who might not have recovered under the mildest treatment; and that great numbers have not recovered under it, who would have recovered under the mildest treatment possible. Medical attendants are often flattered by the first paroxysm subsiding under depletion, but the first paroxysm will generally subside without any medical efforts whatever.

Some years ago I met a gentleman several times upon business, who I thought had the almost certain symptoms of approaching insanity; some time after, I was told that he was dead; and in answer to my inquiry as to the cause of his death, I was told he died of brain fever. And pray, I said to my informant, can you tell me how he was treated? "O yes, that I can, for I was with him all the time of his illness," was the reply. "In the first place, he had his head shaved, and bled violently, and blistered; he was bled too in the arm a great deal; he was violently vomited, and purged; he was kept almost without food, and bound down in bed till he died raging mad.” Now, had this unfortunate gentleman been put under my care, and that I am sure he would have been, if his own free will had been consulted; however mad he had been, the whole of what I should have done, would have been as follows:—I might have given him a single emetic; but that is uncertain, depending upon the symptoms. I should have acted smartly upon his bowels at the first, and afterwards more gently, so long as the mental disease had continued. I should have administered mild tonics, have forbidden any thing strong to drink, and any food hard of digestion, but I should have given him plenty of light nourishing food; indeed, I should have been anxious for him to have plenty of food, to counteract the exhaustion occasioned by the violence. I should have used embrocations of warm water and vinegar to his head, and lavements of warm water to his feet. I might have used the warm bath; that is uncertain. I should not have suffered him to be bound down at all; and however bad he had been, I should have frequently had him out in the open air. And, with my previous knowledge of the case, I would have ventured fifty to one upon his safe and speedy recovery; and yet I have a very high opinion of his medical attendant, both for his generalmedical skill and care,—but unfortunately he took it for a case of inflammation of the brain, and I should have known it to be a case of nervous fever.

There is not a single thing in the practice of depletion for mental derangement, which has not been forbidden by one or more of our medical

writers upon the subject, and yet they not unfrequently, and most unfortunately, meet altogether in the treatment of the same case; to this is often added the use of sedatives, and, in confirmed cases of insanity, these are as improper as violent depletion. If a medical attendant is in doubts as to the real nature of the disease he is called to, he may act wrong, without meriting an imputation upon his practice; but if he is under the impression that the complaint is insanity in its confirmed state, and he proceeds to shaving the head, has recourse to the cupping-glasses or leeches, and blistering the head, it may safely be concluded that he does not understand the proper treatment of the disease; and he will consult his own honour by resigning it into more experienced hands. It cannot do him any discredit to say, that insanity is a complaint which he does not undertake to treat, but he will discredit himself if he aggravates the disease by improper practice, which is too frequently the case. It is astonishing how many instances I have come to the knowledge of since I began these letters, and one most deplorable since I began this I am now writing.

Taking it for granted that insanity, commonly so called, arises in all cases from nervous disorder, all that I can safely recommend as medical treatment is, gently to reduce the morbid excitement of the nervous system, by first promoting, and then keeping up, a healthy tone of the digestive organs, and a gently increased and healthy action of the secretions. The medical attendant will have quite enough upon his hands to do this, and to do it judiciously, so as to avoid excess, and unless he do this, he does nothing of any use; and if he does this successfully, he may rest satisfied, as I think, with having accomplished every thing in medical practice which can be of real utility, the rest being a moral work. And the leading principle of moral treatment should be, to treat the patients as much as possible as rational beings, that is, as much so as the necessary management will permit; with one important exception, which is, never to argue with, or attempt to set them right upon what is their particular hallucination, but to avoid it as much as possible. If my patient tells me he is a king, it would be equally

wrong in me to say he is a king, as that he is not a king; for either would do injury, by keeping up that train of the ideas which caused the illusion. It would be my duty to take no notice of the expression, except with a view to change the idea, and lead to something else, upon which he would be rational, and by the exercise of the reasoning powers weaken the power of the illusive habit. I have a lady now in the house, who is extremely visionary; she can, however, at times converse rationally upon other subjects, and occasionally knits, and sews, and plays music correctly: when she begins upon the subject of her hallucination, we endeavour to divert her thoughts to something else; if we cannot succeed, but she will go on, her maid is called to attend her to her room, and she is told that the other ladies are not to be annoyed by her folly. After some time she will request to come down again, and she is immediately permitted, well knowing that she will for a time be quite correct.

As I finished the last sentence, the dinner-bell rang, and on going into the dining-room I found the lady above alluded to in her usual place; and during dinner, and for some time after, she was quite correct, and behaved as if entirely free from a mental disease. This is the great point in moral treatment, to give full effect to the lucid intervals, and to elicit them as much as possible by proper management, and strongly diverting the thoughts, losing sight of the mental affection whenever it is practical. We are upon a certainty, as far as moral treatment goes, in all curable cases; for that which produces lucid intervals must have a tendency to produce recovery, where that is attainable,-sanity itself being no more than such a series of successions of lucid intervals, that the mental absences and aberrations which intervene shall not be perceived; all being subject to absence and aberrations of thought, in a greater or less degree. THOS. BAKEWELL.

Spring-Vale, near Stone,

Feb. 7, 1824.

This article, extending farther than was expected, has been found too long for the present number ; the concluding part is, therefore, unavoidably postponed until the next.

POETRY.

LINES TO A SISTER,

ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW YEAR, 1824.

TIME rolls his chariot swiftly on,
And soon the circling years are gone:
This day begins a circle new,
Perchance the last to me or you.
Say, sister, does the thought dismay,
Should Heaven's dread messenger, to-day,
Clad in his shadowy robes, appear,
Proclaiming this thy latest year;
Would not thy cheek turn pale with fear?
Would not some power within thy breast
(The inward monitor) suggest
Some plan to make the last the best?
Say not it is th' enthusiast's dream,
Nor think it now too dull a theme
For this day's notice-like the last-
Twill be but yesterday, a few hours past.
What tho' the gay uproarious world,
With pleasure's silken sails unfurl'd,
This night will gaily glide along
Down folly's stream, with feast and song:
Envy them not, their joys are few;
How many of their noisy crew,
Since their last festival, have fled
To mingle with the silent dead?
And ere the next, how many more
Shall reach that still and peaceful shore,
Where the rich glee and jocund song
No more the festive notes prolong,
Where their prepar'd and pamper'd forms
Prove but a rich repast for worms?
Go, tell it in the jovial room,
They're one year nearer to the tomb
"Twill spoil the relish of their wine,
And make the tapers dimly shine;
"Twill cloud the diamond's sparkling rays,
And half eclipse the mirror's blaze,
Rob them of all that now can please:
(Ah! who would envy joys like these?)
Yet, such a hint, sincerely meant,
Could not be thought untimely sent,
To those who would its import see.-
If not to them, then why to thee?

Strange that poor mortals tremble so
To hear a truth, which all must know,
Which all must feel, tho' all may fear:
We're nearer to the tomb a year.
Yet, not to all this truth imparts
Such terror to their callous hearts:
When restless on the couch of pain,
They roll around, and roll in vain,
Accuse the dull hour's lingering flight,
And count the watches of the night,
When the blood feeds the fever's flame,
When anguish throbs the sinking frame,
Their tired spirits court the gloom
That hides the chambers of the tomb.
When dire misfortune's whelming flood
Sweeps away every earthly good,
By friends deceiv'd, by foes betray'd,
Marking the wrecks the storm has made;
The sullen sufferer, silent, stands,
Nor rears his supplicating hands
To heaven for aid: the angry sky
Pours down its deluge from on high,
Unheeded; and the rolling wave
Bears its glad burden to the grave,

Resign'd, tho' careless of its doom, A willing victim to the tomb.

But who are they whose noble forms,
Rising superior to the storms,
Defy the tempest's threat'ning power,
Tho' winds may rage, and whirlwinds roar,
Whose hopes are firmly fix'd on high,
When thunders roll and lightnings fly,
Trusting to Him, whose power can still
The storm's wild tumult, and whose will
The raging elements obey,

Who turns the darkest night to day?
These are Religion's children fair-
(Who with her offspring may compare?)
They neither wish their posts to leave,
Nor change their stations-nobly brave->
They wait their wise Commander's will,
And all their duty would fulfil.

Tho' pale disease and sickness reign,
Tho' writhing on the couch of pain,
Their peaceful spirits soft repose
On Him who all their sufferings knows:
To Him they trust their future fate,
And calmly their dismissal wait.
These, as the changing seasons roll,
Press forward, cheerful, to the goal,
Calmly survey the flight of years,
Nor feel a pang to raise their fears.

Should Heaven's pale messenger appear
Proclaiming this their latest year,
They'd meet his message with a smile,
Nor dread the hour that clos'd their toil,
Gladly put off their load of clay,
To reach the realms of endless day,
And wear the robes celestials wear.-
These are Religion's children fair,
And when they meet in worlds above,
To form the "family of love,"
Amongst them be my sister found,
When time has run its destin'd round.
Late may the welcome message come,
That calls thee to thy father's home:
May health and peace, my sister dear,
Attend thee yet for many a year-
And, as thy years roll gently past,
Each find thee happier than the last.
May pleasure's roses thick be strew'd
About thy path, and every good
That nature gives, or Heaven can grant,
Be thine-and mayst thou never want,
Thro' this life's journey to its end,
A steady, constant, faithful friend!
Heaven make thee its peculiar care!
This be thine elder brother's prayer.
Bermondsey, Jan. 1, 1824.
J. W.

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But he who summer has within,

May brave the seasons altogether; He lives above the clouds of sin, And has perpetual July weather.

Like one upon a mountain peak

Of greatest attitude-his eye

Sees clouds and storms beneath him break; But all above is cloudless sky.

Then cease to blame our humid isle,

The cause is in thyself alone;
Love makes December heavens smile,
And turns to bloom the frigid zone.

They greatly err, they miss the mark,

Who think that bliss more southward lies, Then tempt the waves, and climb the bark, To dwell beneath Ausonia's skies.

"Tis not in seasons fair or foul;

The mind is its own parallel: He has Madeira in his soul,

Who learns the art of living well!

Bliss never had a native spot,

Since man was out of Eden driv'n; It shuns the palace, villa, cot,

To live with him who lives for heav'n!

The pious man no autumn fears;

The guilty soul has nothing vernal;
One, every changing season cheers;
The other has a gloom eternal!
Let only truth illume the mind,
Tho' all without be dark and hazy;
You bid defiance to the wind,

Yea, smile within a body crazy.
Winter is never blank to him

Who lives beneath the hill of Zion; Tho' skies be dark, and suns be dim, The Goat is pleasant as the Lion! Newark. J. MARSDEN.

WINTER.

HOAR winter, with his gloomy train,
Now comes to rule the fleeting year;
Glad mirth forsakes the rural plain,

And ev'ry prospect round is drear.
The birds that late in yonder vale,
So neatly trill'd their dulcet notes,
No longer tell their amorous tale;

For silenc'd are their little throats.
Where's now the lark that us'd to sing,
With sweetly-modulating lay;
Soaring aloft with quiv'ring wing,
To meet the smile of early day?

The insect tribe-ah! where are they,
So playful in the solar beam,
Humming their little hour of glee

O'er mossy bank, or lucid stream?

And where gay Flora's num'rous race,
That oft have charm'd the ravish'd view;
And beautified fair nature's face

With glowing tints of lovely hue?
While, stealing thro' the dewy vale,

The infant morn with zephyrs bland, Would all their balmy sweets inhale,

And breathe rich odours o'er the land?

But 'tis enough-I'll ask no more,

The moaning blast your requiem sings; While the loud tempest's angry roar Proclaims another scene of things. Lo! desolation marks the way

To leafless woods, and barren hills; To swelling streams that madly stray, Or snow-clad plains and frozen rills. But tho' awhile we must endure

The piercing cold, the biting blast, The raging storm, and pelting show'r, The troublous scene will soon be past. While we behold the circling sun, And, flush'd with hope, our joys arise; Anticipation leads us on

To milder days and calmer skies. Tho' now, with a resistless sway,

Stern winter holds bis sullen reign;
The hours will quickly pass away,
And smiling spring will come again.
T. JARVIS.

Near Kingsbridge, Devon,
Dec. 20, 1823.

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shore,

To join the wasting remnant of their power:
Thy presence for awhile suspended fate,
And gave new vigour to th' expiring state:
Echo'd thro' all their ranks the hero's name,
And Spaniards caught th' electric fire from
British valour's flame.

But all in vain-corruption's deadly pow'r
Had spread her poison in an evil hour→→→
In vain the friendly boon that Britain gave,
To raise the weak, and animate the brave.
The faithful senate, press'd on every side,
To Cadiz' walls their fainting powers confide:

Yet, e'en in this last refuge from the foe, Wilson their drooping legions rous'd, and gave the parting blow.

Dread Sovereigns! arbiters of Europe's fate! Could deeds like his deserve your mighty hate? Ye did not hate him when the thundering sound

Of Gallia's vengeance shook your thrones around.

Mean are your honours in a soldier's eyes,
And mean their spirits who such honours prize.
Wilson, thy noble spirit can disdain
The emblems of their knighthood's pride, nor
wear proud Austria's chain."

What though their bright insignia oft have graced

Old Southwark's triumphs,t on thy bosom placed,

'Twas not alone the glittering baubles' blaze That rais'd their plaudits, or deserv'd their praise,

'Twas the far nobler gem within thy breast, The patriot's heart-outvalued all the restAnd while that heart to liberty beats true, The Man we'll love, the Hero praise, and give the Patriot's due. Bermondsey.

LINES

J. W.

SUGGESTED UPON READING THE ACCOUNT OF
RIEGO'S DEATH.

HONEST RIEGO, faithful to the last,
Thy warfare's over, and the conflict past:
Tho' tyrant rage may grudge thee e'en a tomb,
Yet every honest heart shall find thee room.
Thou noble martyr in a noble cause,
Thou brave supporter of thy country's laws,
Could Spain have boasted a few more like thee,
The Bourbon plume had sunk in dust, and
Spain would now be free.

And ye, vile authors of a deed so base,
(Patrons of priests and monks,) this foul dis-
grace

In history's page your future fame shall blot, Till kings, and priests, and monks, are all forgot.

But his fair name, to liberty so dear,
Patriots shall hallow, and the world revere,
While day's bright orb revolves its annual
round,

While men love truth or justice-while a patriot can be found.

To panish deeds like his, proud France decreed That Spain should suffer, and her patriots bleed:

To fix more firm the Bourbon's tottering throne,
The Bourbon champion leads his armies on.
He grasps the hilt-the sacred altars blaze-
To all his gods and patron saints he prays-

*After the action at Villers-en-Couche, the Emperor of Austria presented him with a gold medal and ribbon of Maria Theresa, accompanied with a gold chain.

+ In allusion to the circumstance of Sir

Robert wearing them in one of the processions celebrating his return as a member for the Borough..

They hear they answer-proud the victor stood

Sarely his gods and patron saints delight in human blood!

Onward, proud chieftain, in thy path to fame,
Worthy defender of the Bourbon name!
Son of St. Louis! Gallia's martial rose!
Enjoy the incense flattery bestows:
Yet know, false boaster, not thy prowess bold
Gained thee this glory:-'twas thy master's
gold.

Riego, fettered, in his prison cell,
Outshone thy borrow'd blaze-thy laurels
wither'd when he fell.

Could not a touch of sympathy impart
One kindred feeling for a noble heart?
He was a soldier brave, and fought for fame,
A patriot too-and well deserv'd the name.
Hadst thou been either, pity's kindling glow
Had warm'd thy breast to save a noble foe;
The hapless chief had 'scap'd an early grave,
And thou had'st prov'd an hero true, by con-
quering to save.

A patriot's, soldier's, or a hero's name,
Thine will be never, on the rolls of fame.-
Live out thy little hour, poor glittering worm,
Under triumphal arches sport thy form,
Wave the big plume, ascend the lofty car,
Upon thy breast display the Bourbon star,
While shouting thousands to their idol bow-
Riego, on his hurdle dragg'd, look'd nobler far

than thou.

And as for thee, mere shade of regal pow'r,
Go shape thy promise to the changing hour;
Thy people's scourge with holy friendship
greet,

And lick the dust before their conqueror's feet:
Issue thy mandates from the bloodstain'd throne
Which Bourbon bayonets have made thine own.
The noble Swiss may guard thee-but beware,
T'avenge Riego's hapless fate, the noble Span-
iard yet may dare.
Bermondsey.

THE DESIRE.

OH! could I rise with those who rise And taste by faith a Saviour's love, Join with angelic hosts to tell

J. W.

The work which brought him from above! Oh! could I feel my soul expand, Catching the pure seraphic flame, Which angels and archangels feel,

Who sing the glories of the Lamb. Oh! could I leave my cares awhile,

And feel my soul to him ascend,
Forget the world and all its toils,

And leave my burdens in his haud.
Oh! could I feel my heart grow warm,
And burn with ardour from above,
Leave with delight the joys of time,
To feast upon eternal love!
Oh! that my passions all were still,
To own his gentle chastening rod,
Submissive wait to do his will,
And draw felicity from God.

I. C. H.

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