lingered for a few moments to listen to him. "I do not
wonder," said he, "that you look upon me with pity, for it is a sad
thing for one to be crazy." Surprised to find him so sensible of his own
situation, I said: As you seem so well aware that you are crazy, perhaps
you can inform me what caused you to become so. "Oh yes," replied he, "I
can soon tell you that: first my father died, then my mother, and soon
after my only sister hung herself to the limb of a tree with a skein of
worsted yarn; and last, and worst of all, my wife, Dorcas Jane, drowned
herself in Otter Creek." Wondering if there was any truth in this
horrible story, or if it was only the creation of his own diseased mind,
I said, merely to see what he would say next, "What caused your wife to
drown herself; was she crazy too?" "Oh, no," replied he, "she was not
crazy, but she was worse than that; for she was jealous of me, although
I am sure she had no cause." The idea of any one being jealous of the
being before me was so ridiculous that it was with the utmost difficulty
that I refrained from laughter; but, fearing to offend the crazy man, I
maintained my gravity by a strong effort. When he had finished the story
of his misfortunes, he came close to me and said, in slow measured
tones: "And now do you think it any wonder that I went raving distracted
crazy?" "Indeed I do not," said I; "many a one has gone crazy for less
cause." Thinking he might be hungry, I told him I would direct him to a
farm-house, where he would be sure to obtain his supper. "No," replied
he, "this is not one of my hungry days; I find so many who will give me
nothing to eat that when I get the offer of a meal I always eat whether
I am hungry or not, and I have been in luck to-day, for I have eaten
five meals since morning; and now I must lose no more time, for I have
important business with the Governor of Canada and must reach Quebec
to-morrow." I regarded the poor crazy being with a feeling of pity, as
he walked wearily onward, and even the high-heeled boot did not conceal
a painful limp in his gait. But I had not seen the last of him yet. Some
six months after, as I was visiting a friend who lived several miles
distant, who should walk in, about eight o'clock in the evening, but the
"unfortunate man." There had been a slight shower of rain, but not
enough to account for the drenched state of his clothing. "How did you
get so wet?" enquired Mr. ---- "O," replied he, "I was crossing