SKETCHES IN BEDLAM.

PATRICK WALSH,

A native of Castlebar, in Ireland, aged about forty-seven years, appears to have been admitted to this Institution on the 6th of August 1818, but was formerly in Old Bethlem Hospital; for some time at a mad-house at Hoxton; and has been confined altogether about twelve years.

This ferocious maniac, from the first period of his confinement, has uniformly evinced a character of desperation, vengeance, and sanguinary cruelty, scarcely conceivable even under the deplorable frenzy by which he is afflicted; and more characteristic of a tiger than a human being, even deprived of the rational faculties.

Indeed his history, previously to his confirmed insanity, has been marked by a disposition naturally fierce and cruel; and it is not improbable that the intolerable stings of a tortured conscience, reflecting on the sanguinary deeds in which he had been an active accomplice, formed the source of that frenzy, which neither length of years, the natural abatement of passion, coercion, or mild treatment, have been able to mitigate in the slightest degree.

This wretched man was a ringleader of the mutinous and murderous crew of His Majesty’s frigate the Hermione, commanded by Captain Pigott, who with his officers were massacred by that crew, in the year 1797. This lamentable catastrophe took place in the West Indies, on the 22d September, when Captain Pigott and all his officers (excepting the surgeon and master’s mate), with most part of the marines on board, were murdered. One of the principal mutineers was Captain Pigott’s own coxswain, who had sailed with him for four years; and this fellow found his way into the captain’s cabin when he was asleep, and cut off his head, while his accomplices were at their bloody work in other parts of the ship. The miscreants afterwards carried the frigate into Laguira, and sold her to the Spanish Governor. In the course of the war, much the greater number of the mutineers were taken on board of other ships, and suffered the punishment justly due to their crimes.

Walsh, the maniac, however, escaped that fate, and from the stories elicited from him, at intervals more lucid and less furious, it appears that he had been afterwards both in the British Navy and Army, and deserted several times from each. By his own account, he has murdered with his own hand nine or ten persons. He acknowledges to have been a ringleader in the mutiny on board the Hermione: and being asked his motives, he says the treatment by his officers was so tyrannical, that he and his shipmates could stand it no longer. The project was first started by a butcher on board, who belonged to the forecastle: this man came and consulted with Walsh and a few others, who agreed on the horrible project; and one day the parties rushed from between decks, seized the ship, effected the massacre, carried the frigate into Laguira, sold her, and divided the purchase-money amongst them. After he had spent his share of the money he rambled about the colony; and when all was gone, he contrived to find his way to England, where he enlisted in a regiment of dragoons. He deserted from that, and enlisted in the 42d Highland regiment, and was with that corps under Sir Ralph Abercrombie in Egypt. He deserted again from that regiment, and entered as a seaman on board one of His Majesty’s ships, from which he was afterwards drafted on board the Victory, and was close to the immortal Nelson when he fell in the fight off Trafalgar.

From the first time of his confinement in Bethlem Hospital, it has been found necessary to keep him always strongly ironed; notwithstanding which, he found means to kill two persons in Bethlem and Hoxton, before he was removed to this establishment. For a long time after his admission here he conducted himself pretty calmly, and was under no very great restraint, until the month of April 1820. About that time the Commissioners of the Roads had given to the governors of the hospital a large quantity of road-drift, for the purpose of raising the lower part of the airing-ground, which was low and damp. Amongst this rubbish were unfortunately brought in the blade of an old knife and one half of an old pair of scissors. These were discovered by Walsh; and he carefully concealed them until he found private opportunities of grinding the knife to a sharp edge and point, like the killing-knife of a hog-butcher; and watching a treacherous opportunity, when no one could have the slightest suspicion of his purpose, on Sunday, the 30th of April 1820, he sprung with fury upon a sickly patient named Dennis Leonard, while sitting down, and before he was observed or could be prevented, he inflicted upon the poor man twelve or fourteen wounds, many of which were mortal. The poor victim was carried into the house, but expired almost immediately.

A coroner’s inquest was held on the body, who returned a verdict of wilful murder against Walsh; but agreed to add that he was in a state of frantic derangement when he committed the act. He was, however, taken to Guilford in Surry, on the 4th of August following, to be tried at the Assizes for the murder; but the Grand Jury of the county, on inquiring into the circumstances, ignored the bill, and the maniac was sent back to this hospital. This fatal occurrence was the first burst of his ferocity since he was admitted here, and he has been under constant restraint ever since. He is naturally a man of powerful strength, which is greatly increased by the paroxysms of his frenzy. He had put on him at first a pair of handcuffs of extraordinary strength, made purposely for himself, which he broke in a very short time. The keeper then put on him, by order, two pairs of the common handcuffs; but these, within two hours afterwards, he smashed into a hundred pieces. It was then found necessary to contrive other means for his restriction, consisting of an iron cincture that surrounds his waist, with strong handcuffs attached to it, sufficient to check his powers of manual mischief, but with liberty enough for all his requisite occasions of food, drink, taking snuff, &c. &c. Such are the means for his restraint by day: not painful to him, but merely for the safety of others. At night it is found necessary to fasten him by one hand and leg to his bedstead, with strong locks and chains. He is never permitted to associate with any other of the patients. He goes out alone into the airing-ground every morning until breakfast-time; in summer from six o’clock to eight, and in winter from seven to half after eight; afterwards he is kept alone in the dining-room from morning until bed-time; excepting only when the other patients are there at meal-times, when he is locked up in his own room; the door of which, as well as that of the dining-room, are made of remarkable strength, with double bolts, and perfectly secure: for he would break through the common bed-room doors instantly.

But bloodshed and massacre are the constant topics of his frenzied discourse, and seem to afford him high gratification and delight.

After the murder of poor Leonard, he used to declare repeatedly, “that he was better pleased at what he had done, than if he had all the riches of India, for that it made his mind happy and contented.” His vengeance against the poor victim was excited by some dispute about religion. Leonard, he said, had spoken profanely of the Almighty and the Virgin Mary (in a language not to be repeated). This was the cause of his anger, and he had waited for an opportunity of punishment until the fatal day in which it was accomplished. He rejoiced at what he had done. He told the Coroner’s Jury, that if he could obtain the king’s crown, and all the riches of the universe, he would not forego the pleasure of killing him, for all would be nothing to the ease of mind he felt in putting him out of the way.

Yet he has sometimes said, but evidently in dissimulation, “that he was sorry for killing the poor lad;” hoping by his pretended contrition to obtain some snuff, of which he is passionately fond.

But his propensity to mischief, malice, and personal abuse, are as incessant as his taste for bloodshed and slaughter. He has contrived, notwithstanding his restriction of hands and feet, to break above seventy panes of glass, within the last two years, in the dining-room windows, although guarded on the inside by a strong iron wire lattice-work. This amusement he contrived to effect by standing on a form placed at some distance from the windows, and taking the bowl of his wooden spoon in his mouth, he poked the handle through the meshes of the wire-work, and thus broke the pane. This has caused, for some time past, the seats to be still further removed from the windows.

He is continually venting blasphemous imprecations, and the grossest abuse against his fellow-patients, whose names he knows, or adapts others to them. “Stinking Lloyd,” “rascally Jack Hallwood,” “thieving old Coates,” “lousy Jenkins,” “sneaking Pocock,” “damned Welch,” “black Dams,” and a poor Greek, whom he calls “a lousy Spaniard.” Even his very dreams, when he sleeps, are occupied with scenes of fury and vengeance; and he takes delight in detailing them the next morning. When he dreams of having murdered any, and sometimes all of the patients above named, he wakes quite pleased, and details the scene with much satisfaction; and the manner in which he has gratified his vengeance, and what fine fun he had in seeing them die. He thought he had a sword, with which he first cut all their throats, and then walked round them to see which should live longest; that when they were all dead, or nearly so, he split their skulls, and then transposed the brains from Hallwood’s head into that of Lloyd; Lloyd’s into Coates’s; his to Jenkins’s; his again into the Spaniard’s, and his again to Hugh Dams’s. He then ripped up their bellies, and changed their entrails in like manner; and then he hung and burned them all: but the only thing that grieved him was to hear them all talking in the gallery next morning. He stamps and raves most of the day, and nearly all night, with a piece of blanket crammed into his mouth, gnawing and tearing their souls out, as he imagines and terms it. He picks up pieces of glass, old nails, bones, and spoons which he grinds to a point, stones of a convenient size for flinging, and indeed every thing that is likely to enable him to do mischief, to which he is always inclined if he has an opportunity.

He stamps on the ground like a cart-horse, which has rendered his feet almost as hard as hooves, and gladdens himself with the idea that he is trampling some of the persons before-mentioned under his feet. He will at times turn with the wildest ferocity to some particular spot, where he pictures to his disordered fancy some of those objects of his vengeance prostrate, and then jumps and stamps with the wildest rage, exclaiming, “die you rascals, die and be damned!” “hang him up!” “jump his soul out!” “ha, you vagabond, die!” with numberless other expressions of rage and revenge: and this fit over, he comes away, seemingly quite pleased, and sings and whistles, elated beyond description, until he conjures up another imaginary group, on whom he repeats in fancy the same operations. Every voice he hears he supposes to be that of some one abusing him, and even the ducks in the pond he has charged with calling him abusive names, and abuses them in his turn, in furious terms, and tells the steward, with an oath, that if he could get at them he would tear out their windpipes. He swears and blasphemes most shockingly, talks most impiously, and uses the most indecent language: but any topic of murder or bloodshed is his chief delight. He is a strong, hardy fellow: his aspect wild, brutal, and terrific beyond description. He presents a hideous and appalling specimen of the human savage deprived of reason, and exposed to all the hurricanes of unbridled passions and the delusions of a bewildered fancy.

THOMAS ENGLISH,

(The name only by which he is known), aged about forty-seven, admitted here about six years since. This man is a Greek, native of one of the Ionian isles, and was sent hither, under an order of the Home Department, from Sir Jonathan Miles’s mad-house at Hoxton, where he had been some time confined as a criminal lunatic.

He was tried at the Old Bailey, on 21st September 1811, on an indictment for cutting and wounding John Bennet, with intent to do him a violent bodily harm: a crime constituted capital under Lord Ellenborough’s Act.

It appeared in evidence that the prosecutor Bennet was a baker in the Minories, and that on the Tuesday preceding the trial he was told by his wife that a thief had stolen a loaf from his window. He went to the door, and seeing the prisoner running, he pursued and knocked him down; but, in endeavouring to secure him, fell upon him, and a scuffle ensued, in which the prisoner cut him across the face with a sharp instrument. A crowd was collected, and the prisoner secured; and near the spot was found a razor, somewhat bloody, and no doubt remained that it was the instrument with which the wound was inflicted.

This testimony was corroborated by several other witnesses. But it appeared from the testimony of the constable who apprehended the prisoner, and of Mr. Hobler, the Lord Mayor’s clerk, that the prisoner had been for some time a frequent attendant at the Mansion-house, presenting various papers, and offering money to have them transcribed and translated. They were for the most part in the Spanish language; several of them were orders, in that language, drawn upon Sir Francis Burdett for various sums of money, and all of them were couched in terms of the most extravagant wildness; which, coupled with other circumstances, proved the man to be utterly deranged; and the Jury, under the direction of the Common Serjeant, who tried the case, acquitted the prisoner, and he was sent to a mad-house.

This unfortunate foreigner is one of the most turbulent, noisy, and furious patients in the present establishment. He is eternally on the fret, and in perpetual vociferation: which, from his countenance and gestures, seems to be complaint and abuse; but his utterance is so highly impassioned and rapid, that even if his language were intelligible, no hearing or intellect of his auditors could follow him fast enough to collect his meaning. Yet as he does not know a single word of English, and speaks in a dialect dissimilar to every known language of Europe, all the caustic of his eloquence is lost in mere sounds, and falls harmless on the feelings of those he would abuse.

There is but one man in the hospital equally furious with himself, who seems to catch the fire of his language, and to testify a degree of rage perfectly responsive to his own: this is the ferocious Patrick Walsh, already mentioned, and who has constantly manifested towards this Greek the most vengeful antipathy.

That part of the criminal wing where the Greek is confined overlooks the airing-ground for the hospital patients, where the terrible Walsh is permitted to walk by himself for two hours every morning. The Greek’s apartment is one story from the ground. Walsh hears him raving at his window, and flies instantly to the spot, when a curious and most formidable scene is acted. They view each other with mutual fury: their eyes flash fire, and they commence a highly impassioned dialogue of reciprocal resentment and abuse, which, however, is mutually unintelligible; excepting so far as the pantomime of gesture, grimace, and vocal intonation can express meaning. The Greek, all the while in the most violent rage, attempts to force his way through the iron window-bars to come at his antagonist. Walsh, with equal rage and eagerness, springs and jumps up, to reach him if possible, and then runs round the corner and back again, in search of some avenue that might lead him to his opponent: but, disappointed in this purpose, he kicks up his shoes at the Greek, spits at him repeatedly, and reviles him with the bitterest abuse, until his fancy is wrought up to a belief that he has caught hold of his enemy below; when, imagining he has got him down and under his feet, he stamps the ground with all the energy of an exasperated horse, and exclaims with fury, “Die, you thieving, rascally Spaniard!—Die, you villainous Spanish vagabond!”

By this time the Greek is generally taken from the window by his keeper; and Walsh, supposing from his silence that he is dead, comes away singing, and exulting “that he has put an end to him.”

If it were possible for both to come into contact the combat would be dreadful, and mutual destruction would no doubt be the consequence.

JAMES HATFIELD,

Who fired a pistol at his late Majesty at the theatre; committed to Old Bethlem on the 26th June 1800, from whence he was conveyed hither on the opening of this establishment.

The first alarming symptoms of this man’s insanity broke forth in an attempt to assassinate his late Majesty King George III., by publicly firing at his Majesty a loaded pistol, as he entered the royal box at Drury-lane Theatre, on the 16th of May 1800.

The following account we have extracted from the authentic records of that period:

Hatfield served his time to a working silversmith, but enlisted very young in the 15th Dragoons, in which regiment he had seen some hard service, and received several severe wounds. He was taken prisoner at the battle of Lincelles, after having received several sabre wounds in the head, and his arm broken by a musket ball. On being discharged from the army he married, and worked at his trade for some time with Mr. Hougham, the silversmith, of Aldersgate-street. A few days before the attack on his Majesty, he purchased a pair of pistols of a neighbouring broker, and having tried them, he left one at home, considering it good for nothing. In his business he had occasion to use lead, and having cast a couple of slugs, he repaired to Drury-lane Theatre on the 16th of May 1800. His Majesty had scarcely entered his box, when in the act of bowing with his usual condescension to the audience, a pistol was fired by Hatfield, who sat in the pit on the second row from the orchestra. The ball struck the roof of the royal box, just at the moment the queen and princesses were entering. His Majesty, with great presence of mind, waved his hand as a signal to dissuade the Royal party from making their immediate appearance, and instantly standing erect, raised his right hand to his breast, and continued bowing for some minutes to his loyal subjects. Shortly after her Majesty and the Princesses entered the box; but on learning what had happened, the Princesses Augusta and Mary fainted.

After the first moments of astonishment had subsided, some musicians from the orchestra seized Hatfield, and dragged him over the pallisadoes into the music-room. He was afterwards examined before Sir Wm. Addington, in the presence of the Dukes of York, Clarence, and Cumberland, who were also at the theatre, Mr. Sheridan, and several other persons of distinction, and was that evening committed to the House of Correction in Cold Bath Fields. Next day he was examined at the Duke of Portland’s office, before the Privy Council, and in the afternoon was committed to Newgate to take his trial for high treason.

Although, on the trial of Hatfield, it was evident the act was that of a madman, yet from a circumstance that occurred the day before in Hyde Park, it was generally considered that such a coincidence must have been the result of an organized plan to assassinate his Majesty. On the previous day there was a review of the 1st Battalion of Guards in Hyde Park, in the presence of the King, Lords Chatham, Chesterfield, and a number of distinguished officers, when after the commencement of the evolutions, a gentleman of the name of Ongley, who was about twenty yards from his Majesty, received a musket ball through the upper part of his thigh, and fell. This accident, it was ascertained, proceeded from neglect in one of the soldiers, who had unintentionally left a ball cartridge in his cartouch: but the event of the succeeding evening at the theatre caused the greatest inquietude and alarm among all the well-disposed subjects of his Majesty. On the 26th of June Hatfield was tried for high treason, before Lord Kenyon and three other Judges, at the Court of King’s Bench. Mr. Abbott, the present Lord Chief Justice, opened the pleadings: evidence was detailed of the firing at his Majesty, and Hatfield acknowledging the fact, because he was tired of his life. His defence was conducted by the present Lord Erskine, when after several witnesses were called to prove the insanity of the prisoner, Lord Kenyon interrupted the proceedings, and thought the inquiry should not proceed farther.—A verdict was passed of Not Guilty, and he was ordered to be confined as a maniac in Old Bethlem, where, during his stay, he killed a poor maniac named Benjamin Swain, by a stroke on his head, which tumbled him over a form, and he died instantly.

He contrived to make his escape from Old Bethlem, but was apprehended at Dover; and for his better security, was sent to Newgate, where he remained until the 8th of November 1816, whence he was brought here, and has since remained.

The first symptoms of this man’s insanity are thus reported. He was one day, shortly previous to the attempt on his late Majesty, in White-Conduit Fields, when he was accosted by a religious fanatic named Bannister Truelock (now confined in Bethlem), and after both had conversed for some time on religious topics, Truelock told him, “that a great change of things in this world was about to take place; that the Messiah was to come out of his mouth, and that if the King was removed, all obstacles to the completion of their wishes would be removed also.”

By ravings of this sort he so completely influenced the mind of Hatfield, that the desperate attempt was resolved, and the day fixed for its perpetration.

Truelock was apprehended, and, upon examination, was found to be deranged in his mind: he was sent to Old Bethlem, whence he was removed hither.

Hatfield has made from time to time several applications to be removed, or allowed further indulgences. He petitioned the House of Commons for the purpose, in the last session of Parliament, and his petition was presented by one of the Governors, Mr. Williams, and ordered to lie on the table. Although for a long time past this man has evinced no symptoms of actual insanity, yet his impatience of confinement sours his temper, in spite of all the indulgences allowed him. He is ever grumbling and discontented without cause, and finds fault with every thing. Though his manners and language are those of a vulgar, low-bred fellow, he is cleanly in his person and regular in his habits; knacky and ingenious in his amusements. He makes handsome straw baskets, which he is permitted to sell to visitors, and for which he obtains from 3s. 6d. to 7s. 6d. each. He receives a pension from Government of 6d. per day, in consideration of his former military services.

BANNISTER TRUELOCK,

Aged fifty-two; admitted into Old Bethlem the 18th December 1800, and removed here, with the other patients, in 1815: he had been seven months in the House of Correction previously.

This man is noted as being suspected of causing James Hatfield to attempt the late King’s life, at Drury Lane Theatre: he met Hatfield by accident in White-Conduit Fields, and talked the unfortunate fellow into a persuasion, that the first step to the commencement of his doctrines, and to its fulfilment in a happy change of things throughout the world, would be the death of the Sovereign; with this view, Hatfield set out as the supposed chosen instrument for the accomplishment of the great design. Hatfield, in his examination, mentioned this man’s name; he was accordingly apprehended the next day, underwent several examinations, and was committed to prison; but from his incoherent manner, his answers, and the evidence of his mother, he was found to be deranged, and was sent ultimately to Old Bethlem.

He is a most singular and curious character, and in his ordinary conversations of life, betrays not the smallest symptoms of a disordered intellect; is cool, steady, and deliberate in all his actions, cleanly in his person, and regular and decent in his apartment. His conversations are not long, in a general way, before he contrives to make some allusion to his case, and immediately strikes out upon his darling subject of religion.

He has an apartment at the top of the house, which has a good prospect, southward, commanding a view of the Surry hills; he has coal, candle, and every convenience for his use; his provisions are regularly brought to him, and in fine weather he is permitted to walk in the garden allotted to the superintendant, steward, &c. two hours each day, when he chooses; he has the privilege of mending the shoes for the servants and patients, as he was bred a shoemaker, for which work he is regularly paid his own price. He is also permitted to breed birds, and allowed to sell them; he has a great number of canaries and other singing birds, in places neatly fitted up, which he keeps in great order; and, in fact, has less reason to complain of his confinement than perhaps any other man in a similar situation. Notwithstanding the exclusive privileges he enjoys beyond other irrecoverable patients, he is extremely dissatisfied. Nothing pleases him: he is continually finding fault without reason, and stating grievances that never had existence; complaining to the governors; dissatisfied with the physician, superintendant, steward, keepers, in fact with all persons concerned in the business of the house. He is kept entirely apart from all the other patients, for very substantial reasons: 1st. The propagation of his new religion to weak minds might do much harm, in the forcible, pointed, and positive manner he has of impressing his tenets, and would very shortly bring the unfortunate patients, already sufficiently deluded, to become converts to the Truelock principles, and they would forget every thing else that tended to the restoration of reason.—2dly. Being a discontented and uneasy subject, he might soon excite contentions and dissatisfaction amongst all the patients; for the best of them, at certain periods of their disorder, are liable to catch at any trifle to complain of; and when they feel their confinement sit uneasy, particularly if a man of such apparent consequence as Truelock was to pronounce a patient perfectly sane, and say to him that his confinement was arbitrary and oppressive; that his separation from friends, relations, business, and his home, was in opposition to sound sense and reason; that it was unjust and cruel: such convictions of seeming truth, a poor deluded maniac would readily grasp at; a general mutiny might be the consequence, which would, perhaps, be difficult to suppress. Besides this, he would create a general murmur as to the quality and quantity of their provisions, such as he feels himself; for if he had in the greatest abundance all the luxuries and delicacies of life, he would still find some deficiency, and some cause of complaint; and he still continues the same radical malcontent. But his religious opinions explode at once every idea of his sanity. He believes that the true and real Messiah is to be born of himself, and is to come into the world from out of his mouth; he declares himself to be with child for upwards of twenty-five years; he calls the Bible a vulgar and indecent history, not to contain one solid or sensible argument. The New Testament he regards as mere falsehood and deception, which he seldom takes notice of, he says, unless for its absurdity.

He has written seventy-eight signs, with comments on each; which are to be the sum and substance of bringing all persons to the true light. “In your History,” says he (alluding to the Bible), “it is mentioned that a prophet will arise. Now I am that identical prophet spoken of; the Messiah is to be produced from my mouth, in spirit, not in fleshy substance, as was the case with Christ.”

He then proceeds with a confession of faith, embracing all the prophane and anti-Christian tenets of the Carlilean-school of theology, which it would be impious to repeat.

The signs that he has written are, as he says, seventy-eight: but on these he has remarks and comments in abundance. He continues to write more, occasionally. The whole of these signs are merely repetitions of the same things; but sometimes inverted, twisted, and transposed; the whole being a medley of the most unintelligible nonsense that perhaps ever entered the bewildered imagination of a wretched maniac, occasionally interlarded with, “Mount Sion, the two-edged sword, the flaming lions, the gates, the angels, the word, the prophet, and the devil.”

“The time,” he says, “is fast approaching when all things are to be fulfilled,” and the whole world, of course, to believe and be converted to his doctrines. He has had these opinions for many years: but hope bears him on, from a consciousness of their ultimate fulfilment. Of this he is positive; no power on earth can prevent it. “They may confine me, to be sure,” says he, “but it must come to pass.”

This prophet, in addition to his other privileges, formerly had permission to go abroad, accompanied by the porter, for a day, to purchase leather, and other things necessary for his use and convenience, when he wanted, by leave of the committee; but, like many other cases in the world, good-nature and indulgence made him proud, and he abused the confidence reposed in him.

Having a great desire to have his new tenets published, and his signs made manifest, as necessary to the fulfilment of his “divine mission,” one evening (8th December, 1821), when he had been walking in the garden, he contrived suddenly to disappear; but by what means is still a mystery. He was missed in a moment, and all possible search made about the house: but to no purpose, for the prophet had fled. Despatches were sent to all the haunts he frequented, when out on business; but no success:—he was invisible.

It appears since that he went to Mr. Hone, the bookseller, of Ludgate-hill, as a likely man to publish his new doctrines. Mr. Hone treated him very civilly. He explained his subject and his wish; but he was told that the publication of a sufficient number of pamphlets would cost £100. This the prophet was unable to advance. Mr. Hone would not trust to the chance of the work for payment, if even he were inclined to publish such nonsense. However, the prophet had humility enough to ask for a bed. Mr. Hone could not accommodate him in his house, and recommended him to a likely place: but it was strongly suspected that he spent his night in very unprophet-like company, contrary to his piety, his morality, and the divine mission in which he pretended to be employed.

A vulgar, Billingsgate, and apparently abandoned woman comes frequently to see him at the hospital, and is supposed to have been his companion on the night in question. Failing, however, in his application for “giving light” to the world, he came home next evening (9th December, 1821), at dusk, of his own accord, much fatigued, and no doubt much disappointed, with his signs under his arm.

These signs and comments, &c. he has enclosed in a neat leathern case, which he carries with him, at all times and on all occasions—to bed, to the garden, in fact every where the prophet goes. It would be easier to get sight of the original Alcoran, or unfold and make legible the Herculanean manuscripts, than obtain a perusal of the signs without his consent, or resorting to force. He is a very bad orthographer, and it is difficult in some places to English his signs.

The following placard is pasted up in his room, which visitors naturally read, and possibly inquire their meaning; which affords a good opportunity for Truelock’s explanations.

“Three hundred years ago a philosopher sayed, the Stars give the day-light.

“One hundred years ago, a philosopher proves to the publick that the Sun give the day-light, and without the Rise of the sun there was no day-light.

“One thousand eight hundred and nineteen years ago, the prophits rote the Law, which was the Gospel, and said, that Christ was born of the Virgin Mary, and walked on the face of the earth, that groes weat, oats, beens, and barley.

“Now a Prophit rises, and says, he will prove to the publick that Christ will appear out of the dark soul of the prophit, ware in he stands, to give light, and be delivered out of the prophit’s mouth.

“The same is the two-edged sword, which is Christ; the same is the Son of God, the same is the spirit of truth, the same is a new dockterin, the same is a new revelation, for all the world, the same is Christ, and his true and living prophit Saturn, in him, whom Christ is well pleased;

“Bannister Truelock,

“Mad man.”⁠[2]

Another paper is pasted beside the foregoing, to the following effect:

“Do you know what we most admire in you? it is not your dress, we could make a beast fine with trappings. What we admire, and what we ought to admire in man, is that collection of fine feelings, which makes him a human creature, to God and man.

“To know that the most distinguished geniusses are liable to egregious, and most reprehensible feelings.

“The antient Pagans declared, in express terms, that there was wanting some universal method of delivering men’s souls, which no sect of philosophy had ever yet found out.

“No man is obliged to speak against the religion of a country, though a false one, unless he has power of working miracles from Jesus Christ.

“Bannister Truelock,

“Mad man.”

THOMAS LLOYD,

Admitted in 1817. He was formerly a corn-factor of Mark Lane.

The annals of Bedlam, or probably of any other asylum for insanity, scarcely afford any parallel to this heterogeneous compound of cunning, pride, wit, impudence, boasting, lies, filth, and frenzy; and if so many conflicting ingredients entered his system when sane and in society, his ultimate distraction must be only a very natural result. A whole volume could scarcely detail a tenth of his characteristical operations from day to day.

In the morning when he rises from bed (which he always leaves in no very seemly state), he proceeds to the decoration of his person, which he begins by adorning his legs with all the rags and pieces of old stockings he can collect; and then bandages them on with a strip torn from his blanket. His trowsers are then put on; which (having no fashionable stays) he binds round his waist as tight as a packing-case corded for exportation. Next comes his waistcoat and jacket, both well fastened at bottom, to prevent the escape of such treasures as he can collect in the course of the day, and which he puts in at top. Afterwards he ties round his neck a sort of composite cravat, formed from pieces of blue, black, yellow, white, red and chequered handkerchiefs, and tied so extremely tight as frequently to render him black in the face. He then proceeds to collect his personal property, consisting of stones, bones, woollen and linen rags, pieces of glass, paper, pens, pencils, snuff-boxes, wood, bread, tobacco, cheese, butter, apples, cold potatoes, pieces of coal, parts of old shoes, and in fact every thing portable which comes within his reach, all blended in happy confusion, the cheese in the snuff-box, the butter amongst the tobacco; and, thus equipped, he sallies forth slip-shod with an air of imagined dignity.

The first patient he meets in the gallery he commands with high authority “to pull up the heels of his shoes.” He puts on the first hat he meets, his own or another’s, which he usually crams with slips of blankets, rags, or straw, to sustain its crown. He then, with apparent condescension, bids good-morning to the keeper, and a few others whom he deigns to notice, and then marches majestically into the airing-ground, of which he considers himself lord paramount, sovereign ruler, grand seignor, governor, high admiral, captain of the gang, or any other pitch of dignified authority he chooses to assume for the moment. His first, and indeed general occupation there, is digging holes with his feet in the ground; which if wet and soft he likes the better, as it is more manageable, and works to advantage. This he calls levelling; and supposes he is rendering great service to the establishment. He then proceeds to the gutters, in which he kicks about until breakfast-time, when his feet are generally soaked in mire, his shoes being seldom whole, for a new pair will not last him a week.

His memory, shattered as it is, seems charged with a general recollection of most of the respectable houses of trade in London; and he pretends to an intimate knowledge of all the respectable merchants and traders, old and young. He remembers them, as he says, when they were children, and knew all their fathers and connexions perfectly well; salutes all occasional visitants to the hospital in this way, as old acquaintances; tells them they must surely know him, Captain Lloyd, of Mark-lane, corn-factor; and, ultimately, he never forgets to ask them for some money, “just to buy snuff and tobacco for the poor unfortunate patients who have no cash; not for himself by any means, oh, no; he would scorn to beg; he asks purely for those poor patients who have neither money nor friends.” But whatever he thus obtains he applies to his own use, quite regardless of those for whom he pretends to solicit. He is a most assiduous mendicant, and no visitor to the establishment eludes his importunities.

Some short time since, Mr. Ex-Sheriff Parkins came to make some inquiries respecting the case of a criminal patient; and, on his return from that wing of the building, he was addressed by the importunities of Captain Lloyd, with the usual “how do you do, Sir? I remember you perfectly well—your face is quite familiar to me; I remember you in trade, and knew your father exceedingly well.”—“Did you, indeed?” answered Mr. Parkins; and, turning aside, in a low tone continued—“faith, that is more than I did myself.” Lloyd, who overheard him, but could make no impression on his purse, took a sudden opportunity of exercising his satirical talents in a severe and abusive epigram on his municipal acquaintance.

When he gets sublimely high, he styles himself “The righteous God;” assumes the command of the weather, can render it foul or fair when he pleases, and deal out any wind, from a hurricane to a zephyr; and as to lightning, thunder, and earthquakes, they are quite at his command.

In the universality of his genius, he considers himself the most sublime poet that ever courted the muses, and whenever he can procure a scrap of paper, he proceeds to compose verses; but as those extemporaneous productions do not usually please his critic fancy, he converts them to ingredients in his gruel at breakfast, probably to enrich the soil of his genius for a new crop of heroics. This gruel is the common receptacle for a much greater variety of articles than usually go to the composition of turtle soup. He puts all his verses into it to cleanse them, as he says; and with a selection from the before-mentioned articles from his bosom, cheese from his snuff-box, butter from his tobacco-box, the exhausted quids from his mouth, sometimes the portion of another article that shall be nameless, bits of leather, small stones, pieces of bone, coals, &c.; thus this epicure makes up for himself a relishing mess, somewhat a-kin to the hell-broth of Macbeth’s wizards, and setting all German cookery at defiance. In this filthy system of culinary composition, however, he affects to proceed on scientific principles. Leather clarifies it; stones purify it; coals mineralize it; one article acidulates it; another gives it an alkaline virtue; a third, a high flavour. This mollifies it, that dulcifies it; the whole together makes it a delicious mess, and he swallows it with the goût of an Apicius. Sometimes his beer is enriched with part of the same ingredients; and though such is his daily practice, his health is not injured by it.

About two years since he was laid up with erysipelas; and on examination by the attending physician, it was found that his ears, nose, mouth, and another part, were crammed with cut tobacco.

He seldom takes the trouble to visit the water-closet, and the result is always obvious; nothing can equal his general propensity to filth, nor can all the endeavours of the attendants keep him clean. In addition to his other high talents, he professes an universal acquaintance with ancient and modern languages, sciences, history, music, fencing, drawing, dancing, and the fine arts. He says, “his only fault in life was an ardent attachment to the fair sex; and, with the exception of that, he is the most perfect man that ever trod the world’s wide stage.” Sometimes he is a dramatist, and asks the visitors if they wish for a specimen of Madame Catalani? and then begins to warble an Italian opera air of his own composition, in a style perfectly unique, and tones like any thing but music. He often proposes to give a specimen of his dancing, in order to obtain money, and glides off with much grace, in a few movements of the Minuet de la Cour, and then he begins a song—“The British lion is my sign,”—“My name is “Mistress Casey;” dancing to the music of his own voice.

As a specimen of his skill in the languages, he one day addressed a French gentleman who visited the hospital, with his usual “how do you do, Sir? &c.” in miserable French. One of the physicians offered him sixpence if he would ask the gentleman for one in French. “Oh! doctor,” answered he, “I was never taught to beg in French.” This little sally, however, obtained the reward. He has occasional gleams of wild wit, and will sport some well-applied puns on the names of all the commodities and attributes of the Corn Exchange. “He has no tick with his banker, but he does not care a bean for that—no man dares to say pease to him. These damned doctors and keepers grind him to dust, but he will mill them to powder. He is the flour of the grist, and will bolt out as soon as he can, and thrash any man that opposes him; he will be no longer mealy-mouthed, but will tell those damned doctors and keepers his mind, because they measure his corn by their own bushels, but they all deserve to get the sack.”

The following is a specimen of his poetical composition:

“Thomas Lloyd.”

He will utter the grossest abuse against governors, doctors, and stewards; more especially when he fails to obtain money from them. He treats them all alike. He ranks himself with the highest, and domineers over the silly and quiet patients.

The accumulation of merchandize is another of his favourite objects; and whole cart-loads of rubbish have been taken from him by the keepers, time after time, with a view of keeping him clean, if possible; but to no purpose. All this filth he values above any treasure; and tells them they must have every ounce of it forthcoming in the Court of Chancery; where it is highly probable, Captain Lloyd, with all his chattel interests, would not be a very welcome suitor.

This untameable genius has been in St. Luke’s several times, and in different private mad-houses. He describes himself as fourscore and two years old; but his real age is about sixty-one, and he is extremely active for his years.

CHARLES P. TRAILE,

Aged thirty, admitted 1st November 1821. This unfortunate gentleman’s case was extremely distressing and lamentable, and is a melancholy instance of the dangerous and alarming pitch of delusion to which the human imagination is liable under a state of derangement.

Mr. Traile had been a Lieutenant in the 95th, or rifle regiment of foot. He had served during the late war, in Spain, and other parts of the Continent: and from the account of his friends, had always conducted himself with honour and reputation as a gentleman and an officer. At the peace he retired on half-pay; but some time afterwards his mind was engloomed, partly by religious enthusiasm, and partly by imaginary apprehensions, and he became deranged. He was affected by a bitter sense of remorse for ideal crimes, a horror of death, and a perpetual suspicion that every person about him intended to assassinate or poison him. For a long time he took his food with the greatest caution, his suspicions of poison still increasing. Afterwards he would obstinately refuse the provisions assigned for himself, but exchange them for those given to other patients; and would take none offered him by his keeper. By degrees he got still worse, and at last would receive neither meat nor drink, in any shape, or from any person whatever, to preserve his existence. All means were tried to dissipate his apprehensions, and induce him to take nourishment, but in vain. At last recourse to the elastic bottle and tube were found absolutely necessary to keep him alive. This bottle was formed of India rubber, with an elastic leathern pipe attached, about twenty inches long. The bottle was filled with rich broth, to which eggs beaten up and some wine were added. The pipe was passed up his nostril, through the palate of his mouth, by which means the nutriment was conveyed to his stomach; and this operation was performed daily for some time, by Surgeon Lawrence, in the presence of Dr. Wright the medical superintendant: both gentlemen treated him with the greatest possible tenderness and humanity. He felt this mode of nutrition with so much abhorrence, that clysters of the like ingredients were adopted; but the horrors of his mind had such an effect on his habit, that although his physical health was sustained his derangement got worse. The horrors of death still rendered him despondent and miserable. He sought every opportunity of getting to the windows, and would cry out in a loud voice: “Neighbours, neighbours! Save me, save me! Help, help!—I am going to be murdered!—Is there no good creature left in the world to save an unfortunate young man from the most cruel death? Oh, merciful God! oh, just heaven, avert the impending and dreadful doom of the most unfortunate of human beings!”

Previously to the use of the elastic bottle, he was repeatedly intreated, in the kindest and most indulgent manner, to take of himself the refreshments prepared for him, and avoid the disagreeable operation otherwise indispensable. But he answered invariably that “he could not, as from a sense of religious duty he could not voluntarily receive poison; but if it was forced on him, he would not be answerable for his own death.” Dr. Wright would say to him: “Dear Traile, you shall now see me eat some of it; and surely if it was poison, as you suppose, you cannot imagine I would take it.” But he would answer; “Oh, Dr. Wright, how easy it is for you to obtain an antidote, or any of you: but as to me, miserable wretch! I have not the means.”

When the pipe was partly down the passage to his stomach, and perhaps the pain great, he would give his honour that he would take the whole of the nutriment of his own accord. But the moment the pipe was withdrawn he would relapse into his previous refusal, pleading his religious scruples. It was then, of course, given to him in the usual way.

In this state he continued for some time, and every means were used to sustain life, in the hope of abating his disease; until Sunday the 31st of March 1822, when he was again calling loudly at the window: “Neighbours, neighbours! save me, save me!” &c. &c.; and became so refractory that his keeper locked him up in his own room. In about half an hour the keeper, perceiving he was quiet, went to release him; but alas! found him dead, suspended by his neck-kerchief to the wire-guard over his bed-room door. This he accomplished by standing upon two wooden night-bowls; and fastening the corner of his neck-kerchief through the wire-guard in a very curious manner, fixed the other round his neck, and by kicking from under him the bowls, he hung with his feet just touching the floor, as he was found. But the vital spark had too long fled to warrant any hopes of resuscitation; and thus this poor gentleman effected with his own hands the fate he so long dreaded with the greatest horror.

He was a young gentleman well brought-up and accomplished, and maintained the manners and deportment of such even in his derangement. He was most respectably connected, and his father was an old Major in the army. He was generally under restraint when out of the keeper’s sight, to prevent any mischief, until the day of this unfortunate occurrence: and he must have had great resolution and perseverance in his purpose, for in his waistcoat pocket was found a part of the handkerchief, which was evidently torn off in his attempt, and a rent appeared in another part of the wire where it had been tied before he succeeded.

A coroner’s inquest was held on the body, who pronounced a verdict of insanity.

The wire-guards over the doors have been since removed all through the establishment, and wooden fronts substituted, with a perforation at top, to allow free circulation of the air in the rooms, and obviate all future chance of a similar fatality.

JOB HOLLINGE,

From Shropshire, middle-aged, admitted 8th of April 1819. This man, whatever might have been the natural propensity of his mind in his state of sanity, displays in his deranged state a cunning, wily, treacherous and fierce disposition. When first admitted he appeared to be so tame and tranquil, that he was permitted to work in the garden, in order to occupy his attention, and afford him wholesome and active exercise; but he soon betrayed the real ferocity of his character. As he passed one day down the garden, he, without any provocation or apparent cause, suddenly sprang upon the gardener with the rage of a tiger, knocked him down, and kicked him most unmercifully while down; and would probably have killed him, had he not been suddenly overpowered and secured by the keepers. He has since frequently attacked the keepers themselves, in the most furious and formidable manner. He has a constant smile on his countenance, so that no one within his reach can be secure for a moment, or aware of his intention to pounce on any person who unguardedly approaches him. He is generally very silent, seldom speaks to any one, and when he does it is usually to ask; “Why do you keep I here? You have no business to keep I here.” When he seems the most tranquil, he is then the most fierce and dangerous; and no act of kindness can soothe him. When once he commences his attack, he knows no bounds to his malice and fury. He will strike, kick, or bite all indiscriminately, without favour or respect to persons; and no kind action done for him, nor even the giving him snuff, which he is fond of, will secure the donor against his rage: for after receiving the little boon, he will devoutly pray God bless the giver, and then spring upon him with the fury of a lion. Sometimes, previously to one of those outrages, he will calmly ask for a Bible; which, if he gets, he reads about half a chapter, returns the book, and then seems ready for his work of vengeance. He once attempted to murder his poor wife, previous to coming here, but was most providentially prevented by averting his blow.

In September, 1822, his disorder seemed much abated, and he was liberated for a short time from restraint (always avoided here if possible), in the hope that restraint might no longer be necessary; but he soon returned to his old practices. Restraint became again requisite, and he is now the only patient in the hospital under strict restraint (the ferocious Patrick Walsh excepted). He wears a belt, with handcuffs attached, and hobbles upon his ancles.

For one good action, however, he deserves credit, by which much mischief was prevented, and the sanguinary Walsh secured. When the latter, after inflicting so many mortal wounds upon a poor patient named Leonard, in April 1820, was menacing destruction to all who approached him, Hollinge came behind, seized him round the neck, and threw him to the ground, when he was secured by the keepers.

Hollinge is a strong healthy man, but has lately become very dirty and negligent of himself.

CHARLES GOLDNEY,

Aged near seventy. This poor old man has been confined at Sir Jonathan Miles’s, in Old Bethlem, and here, altogether between thirty and forty years; and was many of those years restrained in irons at Old Bethlem.

But his derangement is not abated. He has the strangest notions imaginable: he believes himself to be a man of immense property; he says he gave his son, in Somersetshire, a fortune of £400,000; but they murdered him, and built monuments, churches, and canals with the money. He has, by his own account, a hundred coaches running in London at this day. As an amusement he has charge of the ducks, and assists, as well as his age permits, the cutter of provisions. He is particularly tender about the ducks and pigs; the ducks, he believes, are of a very high breed, between a cock pheasant and a game hen; some are double high, some treble high cross breed. When a duck is to be killed it must be done without his knowledge: he soon, however, misses it, and exclaims, “Ah! so they have been at their damnable work again, have they? I’ll make them pay for it.” During the very cold weather in January this year, when the pond was frozen over, all the ducks died but four, and Goldney swore they had all been poisoned. He is equally exasperated when a pig is killed: he believes ducks and pigs, Bethlem, and all belonging to it, are his own property, and says they know it, but they want to keep him out of it if they can, but it must come to him after all, when the time comes. A pig was lately killed, which he says he would not take any money for: he bought its mother in France thirty-six years ago, and gave eighteen pounds twenty-eight shillings and fourteen-pence, for her. He says he is but forty-six years old, and has been confined forty-two years, but his present body is the third he has had, the former two bodies were worn out many years ago: the present one is forty-six years old. He chews a quantity of tobacco, and when speaking to any one seriously, he turns his quid, winks his eyes or shuts both, gives you a touch with his elbow, in a sort of knowing way, and says, “all will be well with him very soon, he knows all about it, but he keeps quiet and peaceable: he don’t let them know that he knows anything about it, but they can’t deceive him.” In the last summer he swore that air-pumps were employed to pump fleas into his neck, with a view of devouring him alive: he believes that they (God knows who) would give £500,000,000 of money if he was dead, but they will be deceived, he assures them. He does some trifling jobs about the house, which employ his mind; the exercise is conducive to his health. His appetite is good, but age creeps on the poor fellow apace: he is perfectly harmless, and may be trusted with safety any where; is punctual and attentive in all his little works, and offensive to no one.

WILLIAM KENDAL.

This old fellow, by a confinement of twenty-seven years as a lunatic, has thus enfranchised himself as a sort of denizen in this corporation; and though he was formerly a seaman in the Royal Mary, and had fought in several engagements during the Gallico-American war, particularly in the action with Admiral Rodney, at the time of his victory on the 12th of April 1782, and capture of the Count de Grasse, he seems to have quite forgotten his loyalty, and retains none of his naval accomplishments, but his inveterate habit of swearing, and the coarser part of his forecastle rhetoric in the dialect of Portsmouth point. His favourite topic is damning the king and his ministers; profaning and cursing the powers of heaven; like a sort of human mule, between a radical and an atheist. He is constantly on foot, and is always ready with a damn, a blow, or a blast for every person or object he passes, which he usually follows up with the most gross and horrid epithets of abuse and insulting comparison; but to ladies, and women in general, his language is abominable. He used to wear in his hat an old tuft, such as soldiers wear in their uniform caps, probably as an emblem of his former militant profession: but this has been some time worn bald, and abandoned. He is sometimes employed through the week in white-washing parts of the hospital; but Sunday is his holiday, the whole of which he devotes to perpetual damning, swearing, and ranting; this he calls “working double tides.” Any attempt at confinement or coercion renders him much worse: he seems in a perpetual state of irritation, which gives constant stimulus to his profane and abusive tongue; and his own eyes and limbs are the themes of his imprecation, in the absence of other objects.

WILLIAM KILLINER

Aged near sixty, admitted about six years since. This unfortunate man comes from London, and was convicted of firing a loaded gun indiscriminately amongst a crowd of people, who were assembled around his house. It appeared that he had repeatedly desired them to go away, which they refused to do; and at length he, in a rage, fired amongst them, but providentially no mischief was done. He was, however, convicted of the criminal intent, but his derangement at the time of the act was fully proved, and he was sent here. He seems at present perfectly calm, rational, cleanly, and well behaved, and has many respectable friends.

JOHN HORDER,

Aged about forty-five, admitted about six years since, comes from Derbyshire. This man was tried and convicted of the murder of his father-in-law. In a fit of frenzy, he went in pursuit of his wife, who had taken refuge at the house of her father, who interposed for the protection of his daughter against the fury of her husband; upon which the latter instantly shot him dead. Upon his trial for the horrid deed it appeared that he was deranged, and he was sent to this hospital. He is still much disordered in his mind; is constantly talking about making large sums of money, and prophecying what kings will be hereafter; but he appears to have no evil intentions, and in general is quiet and harmless.

NOAH PAGE,

Aged about fifty, admitted here about six years since. This man had been a pauper in a London workhouse, where he was received as foolish, and incompetent to earn his livelihood: but while there, his conduct developed much more violent symptoms of derangement, and he became so furiously impatient of restraint and discipline, that he one day, in a frantic rage, actually murdered the master of the workhouse, for which he was tried and convicted at the Old Bailey; but his insanity exempted him from capital punishment. He was some years confined in Newgate, from which place he was sent to St. Luke’s hospital, whence he was transferred to Sir Jonathan Miles’s private mad-house at Hoxton, and from thence he came here about six years since. Though quite an idiot, he is smart and active in his motions, and has a peculiar oddity in his appearance. He believes himself to be a king (for this ambition for monarchy is a very prevalent trait amongst the imaginary potentates of this establishment); but instead of the insignia of royalty, he is quite delighted with a bunch of feathers, a soldier’s old tuft, a piece of ribbon or rag, a paper cockade, or any thing of the kind, to adorn his hat with. He is, in general, quiet and harmless, but extremely irritable on the slightest cause, and even dangerous when thus excited. He is left beyond all hopes of recovery.

ANDREW HARVEY,

Aged about forty-five, admitted here about five years since. This is a Cornish man, and comes from Penzance, where his insanity first appeared; and he became so violent and unmanageable, that it was thought necessary to confine him in a detached house, or crib, erected purposely for himself, and in which he was chained like a bull, to a post driven into the ground, and had no range beyond the length of his chain. A woman was in the habit of attending him daily with his food; and one day, when his derangement was at its height, he seized his opportunity and murdered this unfortunate attendant. It has been found by frequent experience that the severities adopted by timid and unskilful keepers, in the provincial mad-houses, for the coercion of insane patients, and the irritation thereby excited in the unhappy objects of their care, tend much more to aggravate than to mitigate their disorders.

When this unhappy patient was transmitted hither from Cornwall, he came loaded with half a hundred weight of irons; and the very chain which fastened him to the cart on which he was conveyed, and through the bottom of which it was rivetted, might serve as the anchor chain to a ship of considerable burthen. Even under such restraint, the keepers who came with him approached him with as much apprehension and terror as if he were a lion or a tiger.

His high paroxysms of insanity are, however, but periodical: but while they prevail they are truly formidable, as he becomes extremely fierce, vicious, and dangerous. Every person and thing that comes in his way is alike the object of his fury; and man or woman, doors or windows, would alike sustain the storm of his frenzy, if the utmost caution was not exerted to restrain him. In this state he will exclaim, in a grumbling tone of voice, “Oh, blessed Saviour!” but although he calls aloud for forgiveness, during the continuance of his fit, he would destroy at the same instant, if he could, his best friend. He has a powerful voice, and is extremely vociferous on those occasions; but when his frenzy abates he becomes calm, quiet, and obedient.

Of late he is never permitted to associate amongst the other patients, who, in fact, are all afraid of him. When he walks out alone for exercise in the airing-ground, he is always secured by the iron belt and handcuffs; and when in the house, he is separated by an iron railing from the others, though he is free from other restraints.

HUGH THIER,

Aged about forty-five, admitted four years since. This patient is a Scotchman; was tried for breaking into a dwelling-house and stealing some wearing apparel: but was found to be insane, and sent hither. He supposes himself to be a very exalted personage, and assumes the rank of “Head General of the whole world.” But notwithstanding his military character he is perfectly quiet, harmless and inoffensive.

GEORGE CONNOR,

Aged about thirty. This man is a native of Ireland, and was a seaman. He was tried and found guilty of murdering one of his shipmates; but it was proved to be done in a fit of insanity, and he was sent to this place about six years since.

He still continues in a high state of derangement, is extremely dangerous, and is not to be trusted for a single hour, even under the appearance of temporary tranquillity; for such appearance would only veil in him the wily ferocity of a tiger; as, if he had the means and opportunity to do mischief, he feels the constant propensity to use them for bad purposes. He is therefore amongst the number of those whom it is found necessary to watch with perpetual caution.

GEORGE WATSON,

Aged fifty, admitted about six years since. This man was tried and found guilty of the murder of his mother; but this shocking act was proved to be the result of insanity, and he was sent here.

He appears very much disordered in his mind, highly irritable, and will strike furiously at any one on the slightest offence. He speaks very seldom, and is in general quiet and inoffensive.

THOMAS FISHER,

Aged above seventy, of London, admitted six years since. This man was tried and convicted at the Old Bailey for shooting his wife: but on his trial was proved to be deranged at the time, and was sent hither. He shews at present no symptoms of insanity, but is regular, quiet, and cleanly. He was formerly a very regular attendant at chapel, but age and its infirmities now press heavily on him. He has become unable to walk; and is generally confined to his bed through the debility of his aged constitution. He seems to have been a strong, healthy man, but is now reduced almost to ruins.

AARON BYWATER,

Aged about fifty, and confined here upwards of six years. He is a native of Wales, and was tried for the murder of his master; but found to be insane, and consequently doomed to confinement in a mad-house rather than to capital punishment.

There is nothing very remarkable in the conduct of this man, save that he is habitually idle; is a sly, cunning, artful fellow, and appears desirous to conceal his disorder.

JOHN ZORN,

Aged upwards of sixty, admitted here about six years ago, when he was brought from Exeter gaol, where he had been previously confined eight years.

This man exhibits in his person the remains of a fine, portly, athletic fellow, and is still straight, erect, and above six feet high. He was a coachmaker; and the cause of his first confinement commenced at a public-house in Devonshire, where he had been drinking; and in consequence of some dispute about the reckoning, he refused to pay his part of the score. An officer was sent for to enforce the payment; very irritating words arose, and Zorn, in his rage, uttered some seditious expressions, for which he was apprehended, tried, and convicted; and in the course of his term of imprisonment arose those symptoms of insanity which led to his subsequent detention.

The violence of his disease has, however, considerably yielded to long confinement and advanced age, and the only prominent symptoms of insanity now apparent is his constant anxiety to get out from here. His persuasion is that he is only detained through the caprice and cruelty of the keepers; who, he is sure, could let him go whenever they chuse; and he is perpetually teazing and intreating, not only them, but all the governors, physicians, and visitors that come near him, to let him out to his business.

In all other respects he appears quite rational and collected, and is cleanly, well-behaved, and harmless.

JAMES M’INTIRE,

Aged 30, admitted about six years since. This man was a Scotch pedlar, and was convicted of cutting and maiming an officer in the execution of his duty. This officer demanded to search his pack, on suspicion that it contained smuggled goods; but M’Intire contended it was to rob him of part of its contents (whether contraband or stolen is not known). M’Intire resisted: a conflict ensued, and the consequence was the cutting and maiming, for which he was indicted. He was sent to the Hulks, where he became insane, and from whence he came hither.

He is much troubled with epileptic fits, but he is generally quiet and harmless.

ANDREW M’KENNOT,

Aged about forty, admitted November 8th 1816. This man formerly moved in a very respectable rank of life: having however committed a forgery for a very considerable amount, he was tried capitally at the Old Bailey; but found to be disordered in his intellects, and he was sent hither from Newgate on the day above named.

This man assumes a very important and consequential character. He is said to have been a man of great cleverness, and a good scholar, versed in learned languages, and well acquainted with general business. He is very suspicious, watchful as a lynx, meddling, obtrusive, and continually writing upon every thing inscribable he can get; all kinds of paper, book-covers, old letter-backs, &c. &c.; and no transaction, whether trivial or important, passes his observation without a written note. Perhaps, from his admission to the present hour, not the minutest circumstance has escaped his pen. He seems to consider himself a sort of secret inspector-general: nothing eludes his prying observation; he abounds with complaints; has written numerous letters to the Committee of Governors, and other persons in authority, on various subjects of pretended grievance. Amongst others he addressed a letter to the late Sheriff Parkins, which brought that municipal gentleman here to inquire into the case complained of; and he afterwards waited on Lord Sidmouth, then Secretary of State for the Home Department, to make a representation; but nothing farther has been since heard on the subject.

Though so extremely vigilant and attentive to all matters not concerning him, his memory seems quite void of recollection as to the cause that brought him here, or the footing on which he is allowed to remain; and the indulgence he has enjoyed teaches him to consider his confinement as a business of mere temporary sojournment, and that he is entitled to peculiar attentions and deference. His keeper he affects to consider as a kind of valet de place, quite at his disposal; tells him “he is not the sort of servant he wanted; that his predecessor was as good a servant as he would wish to have, but that the present keeper was not civil nor attentive enough for him, and he would certainly have him removed unless he altered his conduct much for the better, and that very soon.”

In fact, the only ostensible symptoms of this man’s insanity, if such they may be considered, that now appear, are his addiction to prying and meddling; his morbus scribendi, which keeps his fingers in constant occupation, and the nonsensical tenour of his notes; otherwise, he appears cool and collected, and well aware of what he does and says.

JOHN ROBERTS,

Of London, aged forty-three, admitted here November the 8th, 1816. This man is a remarkably fine looking, manly fellow, and is the person who was tried at the Old Bailey about the above-named period, for firing off a loaded pistol at the groom of Lord Rivers; but as he was found by the Jury to be insane, he was sent hither on the day stated. This man’s malady exalts his notions of his own quality to a very high pitch of eminence and grandeur; for, according to his own account, he is Julius Cæsar, an Emperor, and God of war. Big with this notion, he, of course, assumes the most consequential air of importance; has no equal on this side the moon, and is extremely talkative and busy, but by no means mischievous or dangerous.

JOHN WILLIAMS,

Aged about forty-five, admitted November 8th, 1816. This man is an American: he was tried and convicted for horse-stealing near London; but was found to be deranged, and was sent hither from Newgate on the day above-mentioned. Williams is only remarkable for being extremely irritable and passionate; but he has not done nor attempted any thing mischievous here. Tobacco is the idol of his worship, for which he would sacrifice all the horses in the king’s stud; and which he seems to devour with peculiar extacy. Indeed, this fascinating weed is a very general favourite with the male inmates of this mansion.

RICHARD WRIGHT,

Aged about forty-four, admitted here about six years since, from Devonshire. He was previously confined six or seven years in the gaol of Exeter, where he was tried for murdering an old lady in her bed; but on his trial was found to be deranged in his mind, and detained in the gaol on that account. He is at times in a very high state of disorder, but in his more lucid intervals he is religious, calm, and well behaved.

JOHN BUTLAND,

Aged about fifty-five, admitted about six years since. This patient is a Devonshire man: he was tried at Exeter on a capital charge of making copper-plate engravings for forging bank-notes, and convicted; but his insanity was proved. He was sent hither from Exeter gaol. His powers of intellect seem completely lost; he knows nothing of what is said to him, is insensible to every thing that passes around him, and is completely an idiot. His general health is good, but he is always sunk in melancholy abstraction, and every spark of reason extinct. He is, of course, quiet and harmless.

ANTHONY ABEL,

Aged about thirty, is from Norwich. This man was found guilty of the wilful murder of his uncle; but it was proved to be the result of insanity. He has been confined upwards of six years in the criminal wing of this establishment; and though, at lucid intervals, he appears calm and collected, he is at other times violent and dangerous; insomuch that, at one period, the iron belt, with handcuffs, were found necessary for his restraint. But this he contrived to slip over his hips, and with great ferocity attacked his keeper, and gave him a severe wound, the mark of which he still bears in his face. This man’s disease shews no symptoms of abatement, and he cannot be trusted out of strict vigilance.

WILLIAM PINNOCK,

Aged forty-four, from Essex. This man was convicted of having set fire to some hay-stacks; but was found to be insane, and sent here, where he has been confined about six years. At present he is very quiet and well behaved, and evinces no insane symptoms, excepting frequent soliloquies, which seem as much the result of habit as of any other cause.

JONATHAN MORLEY,

Aged about forty-five: admitted about six years since. This is a Norfolk man, and has been many years in a state of insanity: he was a patient, for a considerable time, in the Norwich Lunatic Asylum, where, having conceived an antipathy to the steward for some imaginary cause, he one day by some means got possession of a scythe, and actually murdered him. How such a man, in an asylum for lunatics, should so far elude the vigilance of his keepers as to get possession of so large and desperate a weapon is passing strange; but his insanity, of course, exempted him from responsibility to law for the deed, and he was sent hither as his ultimate destination.

But although his intellect be gone past all hope of restoration, his bodily faculties seem to have sustained no deterioration. He is a strong, healthy, active fellow, alert and supple in every species of agility. He can wrestle, tumble, dance, throw somersets, walk on his hands with his feet uppermost, and perform many other feats of the like kind. He sings, and always appears cheerful, happy, exempt from care, sorrow—and reflection.

GEORGE BARNETT,

Aged thirty-two, admitted November 8th, 1816. This man, it will be recollected, fired a pistol at Miss Frances Kelly, at Drury-lane Theatre, while performing the part of Nan in the farce of Modern Antiques, on the night of Saturday, February 16th, 1816, with intent to kill her, but most providentially she escaped his desperate purpose: for which he was afterwards tried on a capital indictment at the Old Bailey, under Lord Ellenborough’s Act, but acquitted on the proof of insanity, and consigned to this institution.

It may not be uninteresting to state the leading circumstances connected with this desperate transaction, as related in the journals of that day.

While Miss Kelly was performing her part with her wonted vivacity, the audience were thrown into great alarm and consternation by the report of a pistol, fired from the front of the pit at the lady; and George Barnett, who sat in the front row, was immediately pointed out as the person who fired it. He was instantly secured; and, on being searched, the pistol, and some gunpowder and shot, were found in his possession.

He avowed himself to be the person who had fired the shot at Miss Kelly; and said that his object was only to frighten her. Miss Kelly had retired, in the greatest fright and alarm, and the whole audience were in the utmost solicitude and agitation, until Mr. Rae, who was then stage-manager, came forward and assured the house that the lady was unhurt, and the performance was resumed without further interruption.

When Miss Kelly was informed of the desperado’s name she immediately recollected him to be the person who had addressed to her several love-epistles, which she had treated with silent contempt.

When he was taken to Bow-street for examination he declined answering any questions, and was quite stupified.

It appeared, however, upon minute inquiry, that this desperate admirer was an attorney’s clerk; and that his rash attempt was the result of disappointment in the tender passion he had indulged, by his own consent, for the lady: but finding it impossible to excite in her bosom a reciprocal flame, even by all the genial influence of his amatory epistles, sonnets, acrostics, and other professions of his tender devotion (which were always rejected by the lady with apathy and scorn), he took the tragical resolution of immolating to his slighted love the object of his affections, upon the very altar where her charms first kindled his ardent flame; and that if he was to be debarred the possession of her, she should never become the prize of a happier rival.

His trial for this fact took place at the Old Bailey on the 9th of April following, before Baron Wood. Miss Kelly, of course, attended as a principal witness; and notwithstanding her habits of appearing before a crowded audience without the least embarrassment in another theatre, the solemn novelty of her débût in this place, in a part so perfectly new, overcame her feelings; and she was with difficulty sustained through the performance.

Two letters of the prisoner to the lady were read on the trial, one of which is as follows, and may furnish a curious specimen of his style and devotion. It was written evidently after his suit became hopeless.

“Madam:

“I received a letter yesterday evening, which, from its apparent rusticity, I believe to be yours. You would act wiser if you was to add your name, as I am not sufficiently acquainted with your hand-writing; and, as I hinted in my last letter, not to subject others to be answerable for your forwardness. If the terms specified in my letter were not to your satisfaction, why not express yourself as one becoming your profession; why suffer your temper to over-rule your reason?

“I love the sex, and once esteemed you as an ornament to it, until you roused my indignation by your impertinence and scandalous abuses. You are very partial to a disguised male dress, but let me not experience any more of your folly; for if you do, I’d secure you as an impostor, and punish you for your temerity. I am, Madam,

“Your well-wisher,

“George Barnett.”

About two years since he composed an Ode to Miss Kelly, sufficiently odious and nonsensical. In fact, he would be thought an amatory poet, ready on all occasions to volunteer his talents in addressing any and every young lady whose name and address he can discover, though perfectly ignorant of her person and accomplishments. His effusions on these occasions are in unison with his talents, and well suited to the classic taste of the company he now moves in.

The Jury, however, acquitted the prisoner on the ground of insanity, and he was sent hither from Newgate immediately afterwards.

This gallant Lothario bears at present no symptoms of frenzy in his manners or conversation; but is probably in as sound a state of mind as ever he had, which is that of a foolish, frivolous simpleton; of mean and pitiful appearance, and by no means calculated to inspire the tender passion.

WILLIAM HOLWOOD,

From Limehouse, commonly called “Jack,” admitted 6th August 1818. This poor fellow has gone through a great variety of adventures in the course of his life. He has been a seaman in the Royal Navy, and served successively on board the Colossus, Canada, Magnanime, and various other ships of war; and was afterwards a private in the West-Kent militia. His mind seems so charged with notions of naval and military glory, and valiant exploits, and he is so full of detail on these subjects, that it would be impossible to follow him through the history of himself and his deeds of prowess. According to his story, he has fought, performed prodigies of valour, and achieved glory in every quarter of the world. He gained victories and honours at the Nile, at Trafalgar, at Cadiz, at Rochfort, and various scenes of heroism. He has won the golden crown, and has, with his own hands, broken many thousand muskets into pieces, and daily continues to do so, in his own imagination. He performs these ideal feats of strength and dexterity by stooping to the ground, seizing an imaginary musket by the breech and muzzle, raising it above his head, giving it a violent twist, and thus he thinks he has shivered it to pieces. This operation he will repeat twenty times a day, to illustrate the tales of his own strength.

As he is easily excited, he is ever prompt for war, and constantly in some scrape with one or other of his fellow-inmates. Many of those who are convalescent, sport with him for mere fun; but as soon as he gets angry, off go his jacket and waistcoat, and he assumes an attitude of fight, and challenges some one or other to come out and meet him. “Come on, you rascal! I will fight you for fifteen guineas in the Isle of Man: come on, you puppy! I’ll let you know who I am; my name is Sir William Price Holwood; I am the King, I am the Pope, I am General Holwood, sir; this house is mine, sir; I’ll fight you for a perpendicular guinea. Mind who you talk to, sir! I’ll let you know I am your master, sir! I am a dog, sir! my name is Rover;” with a hundred other wild incoherences. He generally carries about half a peck of gravel-stones in his shirt, which he calls twist-tobacco. He is scarcely pacified a moment from one wrangle before he commences another; and what between this kind of amusement, and singing, chewing or smoaking tobacco, he spends his days. His nights are equally noisy; his manner nearly the same through both. He rests but little, and yet it is astonishing how he has sustained so much exertion for so many years. He never seems exhausted, but is ever ready to begin a new freak. His mode of rousing his courage, when he challenges an enemy to combat, is something like that of the lion, who is said to sharpen his rage by lashing his sides with his tail. Thus the furious Jack deals to himself, in these fits of defiance, such tremendous blows on his breast, as would knock down any ordinary man, yet without seeming to feel them. He never knows what illness is, but seems in robust health at all times; and although his blustering manners and fierce aspect intimidate all visitants to the establishment, still he is one of the most harmless patients in the hospital, and kind and tender-hearted to a very great degree. He would nurse and protect even a poor worm, and if any one should attempt to injure it, off goes his jacket in an instant, and he is ready for action to protect it.

Nothing affects him so deeply as to see any patient cupped, bled, leeched, or blistered; or indeed submitted to any necessary operation that gives pain. He invariably remonstrates, in his way, against such things; and afterwards condoles and sympathizes with the poor infant, as he calls the patient. “They should not serve you so,” says he, “’tis cruel; and I am sure you did not deserve it;” for he always imagines that such operations are inflicted as punishments, and he cannot be induced to think them of any benefit.

Sometimes he will run on in a vein of soliloquies, or imaginary conversations with his old friends and intimates; Lady William Price Holwood, Nancy Brien, Tom Hincks, Bill Brown, Young Forrester, of the Magnanime, &c. &c. He sings a number of sea songs; and many of his own composition, equally exempt from rhyme and reason. They run generally thus, in a sort of recitativo: “From Spithead we set sail, my name it is Bill Holwood; I’d have you all to know that I fought and conquered—at Egypt, and likewise with renown in many places more. I am a light handsome fellow, as I will let you know; I gained the honour and victory, as Walsh will let you see.”

The poor fellow seems either wholly forgotten by his friends or relatives, or he has none: for none ever come to visit him. He is extremely thankful for any little gift from the visitors; but tobacco is his delight, and much the most acceptable present that can be offered him.

The marine poet, Dibdin, in describing a British tar, says:

And this poor distracted “Heart of Oak” seems to consider himself a piece of every battle and victory in which he bore his part, and entitled to a prize share in all the glories he helped to win for his country. He was a patient in Old Bethlem, and time and care have effected no abatement of his disorder.

GIDEON HANSON,

Aged about twenty-five, comes from Warwickshire; admitted about four years since. This man was convicted on an indictment under the cutting and maiming act; but his insanity procured his transmission hither. He exhibits at present no very prominent symptoms of derangement, unless excessive pride and haughtiness can be so deemed. He is a finical, effeminate dandy, and has a very exalted notion of his own dignity; but is regular, cleanly, and harmless.

DAVID DAVIS,

Aged about thirty, admitted April 11th, 1818. This unfortunate gentleman had served as a Lieutenant in the 62d regiment of foot, and is still on the half-pay establishment. His first overt act of palpable insanity was his memorable attempt to assassinate Lord Palmerston, the Secretary at War, above five years since; from which attempt his Lordship very narrowly escaped with life, but received a severe wound in his side.

Lieutenant Davis had formerly filled the same rank in the West-Middlesex militia, and was one of those officers who volunteered to join Lord Wellington, in 1814; and was then appointed to a Lieutenancy in the 62d foot, with which regiment he served for some time in Canada; from whence he returned a short time previous to the attack on Lord Palmerston, and was placed on half-pay.

Under imaginary notions of professional grievances, he wrote several letters to Lord Palmerston, recapitulating his important services, and urgently soliciting a pension. But failing in these solicitations, he attempted to destroy himself, and inflicted a severe wound in that attempt. He still persevered in his solicitations to Lord Palmerston; but his letters were couched in terms not indicative of a sane mind. Imputing his failure entirely to the noble Secretary at War, he determined on personal vengeance; and, with that view, proceeded to the War Office and inquired for his Lordship, who had not then come. He, however, waited on the stairs until Lord Palmerston was passing up towards his office, when he drew a loaded pistol from his bosom, fired at his Lordship, and then ran down stairs, exclaiming in triumph, “I have done for him!”

He was instantly secured and taken to Queen Square Police Office, whence he was committed for trial.

Lord Palmerston had his side lacerated by the ball; but his wound was declared, by Sir Ashley Cooper, not dangerous.

Lieutenant Davis was capitally indicted and tried for this act; but was found by the Jury to be insane, and sent here on the 11th of April 1818.