Delaware inquirer. (Wilmington, Del.) 1859-18??, 1859-07-09

on him contagious euect. din incliiieu u
give him a room in our wing. If during somt
days he has no fresh attack, will decide OF
doing so. This young man interests me ;
am determined to cure him."
g About week afterwards, was seated or
my bank, when | saw him quietly open the
gate of our enclosure. As he was entering,
one of the keepers ordered him, in harsh
tone, to return to the garden, and even ad-
vaneed to take him. A sort of shudder came
over the patient, and light CLEANED in his
eyes, and he appeared shocked at this rude
ness. | felt frghtened-his eye was fixed
upon me he understood my sensations and
grew calm Immediately; his looks became
submissive, humble, and detected he quietly
obeyed the keeper, when my father, who had
seen everything from the window, called out,
" No leave him alone /; there is no harm in
it," The young man turned back. ''0h
how kind yon are, he said. The sound Of
his voice dissipated my fears he came near
me, and sat down on the bank ~ have suf-
fered much" he said, since the last time ]
came here my illness has made terrible pro.
gress. | know it too well your father would
not believe me. All is over for me; have Q
horror of life, such as Providence has desti
ned me to. lido not know how dare appeal
before you am ashamed of my state. Car
You conceive it, madam-it was necessary t.
bind me, and tried to kill them Oh the,
were too harsh to me that straight waistcoa
my arms bound-their threats and violen
language. Your father does not know all. :
He became excited by these painful recollec
tions: looked at him-he became quiet
"My father thinks you really much BETTER
answered; che says that you will recover
from these attacks, and this fever" tCal
things by their right names,' lie exclaimed
do not spare me. | have still sense to under
stand your precautions; they wound me-
Openly compassionate the poor madinanr
You do yourself much harm, sir. If YOU
would not give way to your melancholy, and
to your exaggerated ideas, you would not be
so i'll as you are. | am sure that it is only
affection, and that you have been unhappy
Yes have been unhappy; have been for
saken and betrayed. fonnd myself alone in
the world, with no one to pity or to under
stand me my reason gave way. 1t is here,
in this asylum for madmen, that for the first
time, l have found pity and sympathy
Thanks to you and to your father, who speak
so gently to me, and whose looks are a balm
to my heart, that Gains me, and makes me
think that | am like other people. Without
being afraid, II felt uneasy as soon as he began
TO talk. He excited himself his Speech be-
came short and abrupt; the tone of his voice
became elevated. Something vague and CON
fused seemed to take possession of his
thoughts. My father came and Joined us.
His presence laid restraint on him; he became
like a child before master that he respects
" am very glad that youhave paid us visit;
You may come and see us from time to time,
but you must be quiet and we'll behaved--un-
derstand me--or shall not allow you to be
with my daughter" He came from time to
time his attacks did not return, and, by de-
grees, he left off speaking of his madness.
More connected rememberances of his child
hood and his youth returned to his mind; his
father had died insane, and this thought had
always haunted him, dreading that the NAL
ady was hereditary. He related his solitary
life in the country, his melancholy disposition
the time passed at college were the raillery of
his companions made him wretched the lit
tie taste that he had for amusements of youth
and the life OF the world how he always
thought That he was considered disagreeable
and Ridiculous how every one conspired
against MN how he became prey to sorrow
by indulgng ideas Of which at times he recor-
nized the falseness. In short, the history Of
timid, distrustful, unhealthy mind pre-
destined, one may say, to lose reason.
8 did him good felt it, even more than
he said it, and It was source of great happi-
ness to me. listened to him, without ever
contradicting him, taking interest naturally
in all that he told me. | took care TO inter |
rupt him carelessy, when his conversation
showed too much excitement and | never
allowed him to confuse or hurry his ideas.
often, to amuse him, and to break the thread
% some melancholy discourse, | took my
guitar and sang. This was great pleasure
70 nm, ana certain way of calming him.
The poor young man compared himself to
saul, furious, composed by the song of David. |
He wept at the thought, and went also.
My father thought him well enough to give
him room in our wing. lie became every
day more attached to him, and fiattered him |
self with the hope of etfecting complete
cure. From that time he Joined our family
circle, and grew very tranquil. He was OF q
very gentle disposition his manners were
pleasing and retiring. He passed many hours
q the day with US, especially with me, on
account oil my fathers occupations He did
not IKE to be much alone; in fact it did him |
harm solitude heated his imagination. and |
Affected his head. He took to some studies
but he was not able to give continued atten |
tion to reading the train Of his ideas, at all |
times confused, perplexed him, and threw
INN into state of agitation. He confided to
me all that he felt he liked to talk of him |
self and his impressions. The activity Of his
mind was never employed on any other snb- |
iect he appeared kind and affectionate. and
yet it was always himself that he was thing |
ing Of not egotscally, but it seemed that his
mind hand not strength enough to carry him
beyond that. Even when there was no sign
u INSANITY about him, there was no discern
ment III his observations on himself.
8 He took pleasure in talking Of his melan-
choly, his distrust, his discouragements. his
wounded self-love, his disappointmentsi in life
but never perceived in him any energy "a
conquer this nilsatisded disposition. | was
especially ON my guard not to let him talk too
much my father had particularly RECON-
mended this, and should have been aware
Of its danger myself Neither animated dis.
Dussions nor long discourses were COOL for
NM tried to amuse him played TO him:
iet nun ION IN my occupations. We atten.
tea 70 me flowers in the garden. The exer-
ION ot digging and watering was of service to
nm. sometimes, when my father had time
le went mo ai the country and took rather long
Walks. This mode Of life removed. bv de7
'rees, every symptom of his malady. His
language and his mind became daily ealmer
hs eountenance acquired a happy and frank
sHpfesslon. reioiced in observing his pro-
sress. without being aware of it myself. lie
occupied az my thoughts whether from IN
'asiiless OF interest, was kept in a state of
constant excitement. Every word every NO.
ion, every LOOK, every movement. was in
iuei,ceo " tiie desire Of not doing him harm
'r by the pleasure Of doing him eood
iould not seek in him what woman seets in
man that she loves he was far from n,ror
ing me an idea Of protection, of support and
superiority. 1t was something of what one
eels Tor weak and suffering being-a sort Of
maternal love; my tenderness did not 90 be.
yond TINS. We had lived for nearly two
months III this manner, and lie had been 70
ng On wei, steadily, when perceived a