Daedalean mazes of
the wards. Life in the wards struck me as being very like living in a
passage; but when that preliminary objection was got over, the long
corridors looked comfortable enough. They were painted in bright warm
colours, and a correspondingly genial temperature was secured by
hot-water pipes running the entire length. Comfortable rooms opened out
from the wards at frequent intervals, and there was every form of
amusement to beguile the otherwise irksome leisure of those temporary
recluses. Most of my hermits were smoking--I mean on the male side--many
were reading; one had a fiddle, and I scraped acquaintance immediately
with him; whilst another was seated at the door of his snug little
bedroom, getting up cadenzas on the flute. He was an old
trombone-player in one of the household regiments, an inmate of Hanwell
for thirty years, and a fellow-bandsman with myself for the evening. He
looked, I thought, quite as sane as myself, and played magnificently;
but I was informed by the possibly prejudiced officials that he had his
occasional weaknesses. A second member of Herr Kuester's band whom I
found in durance was a clarionet-player, formerly in the band of the
Second Life Guards; and this poor fellow, who was an excellent musician
too, felt his position acutely. He apologized sotto voce for sitting
down with me in corduroys, as well as for being an "imbecile." He did
not seem to question the justice of the verdict against him, and had not
become acclimatized to the atmosphere like the old trombone-player.

That New Year's night--for January was very young--the wards, especially
on the women's side, were gaily decorated with paper flowers, and all
looked as cheerful and happy as though no shadow ever fell across the
threshold; but, alas, there were every now and then padded rooms opening
out of the passage; and as this was not a refractory ward, I asked the
meaning of the arrangement, which I had fancied was an obsolete one. I
was told they were for epileptic patients. In virtue of his official
position as bandmaster, Herr Kuester had a key; and, after walking
serenely into a passage precisely like the rest, informed me, with the
utmost coolness, that I was in the refractory ward. I looked around for
the stalwart attendant, who is generally to be seen on duty, and to my
dismay found he was quite at the other end of an exceedingly long
corridor. I do not know that I am particularly nervous; but I candidly
co