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connexion with it, though indeed such an enquiry would be both interesting and germane to the subject in hand. We merely desire, in passing, to notice one striking case out of many that occur to us, illustrative in a high degree of the curiously anomalous conditions which frequently characterize insanity. It is that of Christopher Smart, the cotemporary, and the acquaintance, if not the friend, of Samuel Johnson. Smart was the son of a gentleman of small property, and was born at Shipbourne, in Kent, in the year 1722. Having entered Pembroke College, Cambridge, the celebrity which he soon acquired as a poet and wit, proved to him, as it has proved to others, the cause probably of his ruin. His society was courted, and he received numerous invitations to the houses of strangers and to the rooms of his fellow collegians. Through a false pride, or rather through vanity, Smart was profuse in his hospitalities in return, and the result was that he became seriously embarrassed in his circumstances, and so continued through life. That life was indeed a chequered one, though the clouds of sorrow more frequently obscured his path, than the sunshine of prosperity gladdened it. To follow him through the changeful course, would be a task beyond these limits; we can only indicate a few of these productions by which from time to time he gave token of that which was within him. While yet a youth he attracted the notice of Pope, by finely translating into Latin verse that poet's essay on Criticism, and the Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. While a fellow of Pembroke College he wrote a number of poetical pieces, of which one, a mock tragedy, contains some exceedingly humorous passages. One in particular is frequently quoted, though the authorship is very commonly unknown. It is that in which the alternate struggles of pride, love and reason, in the breast of the Princess Periwinkle are described and compared to the following series of circumstances:

Thus when a barber and a collier fight,

The barber beats the luckless collier-white;
The dusty collier heaves his ponderous sack,
And big with vengeance, beats the barber-black.
In comes the brick-dust man, with grime o'erspread,
And beats the collier and the barber-red,
Black, red, and white, in various clouds are toss'd,
And in the dust they raise, the combatants are lost.

The wretched debts he had incurred to college cooks and tavern keepers were the cause of the sequestration of his fellowship, and he caine up to London to try the uncertain. profession of a literary man.

He married Miss Carnan, step-daughter of Newberry the publisher, and in 1756 produced his well known translation of Horace. By degrees the natural thoughtlessness of his disposition began to involve him in difficulties, and coupled with occasional intemperance, soon reduced him to absolute poverty.

He was attacked by a dangerous illness, accompanied by lunacy, his recovery from which he owed to Dr. James, the inventor of the celebrated Powders, which still bear the name of that physician. But though he regained in a great measure his bodily health, he was not cured of the baneful habit of intemperance, indulgence in which, alternately with severe mental labor, soon affected his reason. His disorder manifested itself chiefly in the form of a crazy devotion, prompting him to fall upon his knees in prayer, in the public streets, and other unsuitable place. This of course ended in his being shut up in a lunatic asylum, a proceeding which met with the disapprobation of Johnson. For nearly two years this strange mixture of greatness and littleness raved in his prison, and for a portion of the time it was considered prudent to deprive him of writing materials, lest indulgence in composition should aggravate the excitement under which he labored. It was during this time of deprivation, that with a key and bit of charcoal he scrawled upon the walls of his cell about a hundred stanzas of a poem of such majestic and sonorous sublimity, that thousands of the productions of sane genius are tame and spiritless in comparison. But while the verses glow with a fire of almost unearthly intensity, and possess a power perhaps partly derived from the highly excited state of the writer's brain, they are neither deficient in arrangement nor execution. The idea of the poem is regularly and effectively carried out, and the connexion between. the words and sense perfectly maintained. This fine lyric is illustrative of the life and character of David, to whom a part of it is addressed, and though a perusal of the few stanzas for which we can afford space, will be far from giving an adequate idea of the whole, we think they will suffice to justify the terms of praise in which we have spoken of the work.

These then are the composition of a lunatic, of a madman, requiring restraint, and to be separated from his fellow men

with a view to his restoration to reason. Let physiologists and physicians reconcile this anomaly.

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Glorious the sun in mid career;
Glorious the assembled fires appear;
Glorious the comet's train,

Glorious the trumpet and alarm,
Glorious the Almighty's outstretched arm;
Glorious the enraptured main.

Glorious the Northern Lights astream;
Glorious the song when God's the theme,
Glorious the thunder's roar;

Glorious hosanna from the den;
Glorious the Catholic amen;

Glorious the martyr's gore.

Glorious-more glorious is the crown
Of Him, that brought salvation down,
By meekness, called thy Son;
Thou that stupendous truth believed,
And now the matchless deeds achieved,
Determined, dared and done.

And these verses, we repeat, were the production of a lunatic, who in after life actually wanted bread, and who in the days of his sanity writes to the Rev. Mr. Jackson that he had nothing to eat, and that he would be thankful for the loan of a few shillings. Truly had he never awaked from his mental sleep, if indeed that we can call sleep which brought such glorious visions, as "David"-he perhaps would have had little to regret;-oblivion from his cares he would at least have gained, and been spared the sharp and bitter humiliation of being obliged to ask common charity from a friend, and of feeling the disgrace of ending his days within the walls of the King's Bench Prison.*

The volumes before us are not calculated to flatter human vanity. They prove how truly it has been said that wit and madness are generally allied, and show to what extravagances and excesses the unrestrained and ill-regulated imaginations of men will run. The title of the book is rather more ambitious and comprehensive than the execution of the work warrants. The delusions described and illustrated by Dr. Madden are chiefly those which in the history of such things

We may add that Disraeli in his "Calamities of Authors" does not notice the most calamitous career and end of Christopher Smart.

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