ling
with the artistic and literary temperament. I have been intimately
acquainted with authors--well-known in the popular sense of the
word--who have been obsessed in the oddest and often most painful ways.

The constant going back to turn door-handles, the sitting in grotesque
and untoward positions, the fondness for fingering any smooth and shiny
objects, such as mother-of-pearl, develop into manias for change--change
of scenery, of occupation, of affections, of people--change that
inevitably necessitates misery; for breaking--breaking promises,
contracts, family ties, furniture--but breaking, always breaking; for
sensuality--sensuality sometimes venial, but often of the most gross and
unpardonable nature.

I knew a musician who was obsessed in a peculiarly loathsome manner. Few
knew of his misfortune, and none abominated it more than himself. He
sang divinely, had the most charming personality, was all that could be
desired as a husband and father, and yet was, in secret, a monomaniac of
the most degrading and unusual order. In the daytime, when all was
bright and cheerful, his mania was forgotten; but the moment twilight
came, and he saw the shadows of night stealing stealthily towards him,
his craze returned, and, if alone, he would steal surreptitiously out of
the house and, with the utmost perseverance, seek an opportunity of
carrying into effect his bestial practices. I have known him tie himself
to the table, surround himself with Bibles, and resort to every
imaginable device to divert his mind from his passion, but all to no
purpose; the knowledge that outside all was darkness and shadows proved
irresistible. With a beating heart he put on his coat and hat, and,
furtively opening the door, slunk out to gratify his hateful lust.
Heaven knows! he went through hell.

I once watched a woman obsessed with an unnatural and wholly monstrous
mania for her dog. She took it with her wherever she went, to the
theatre, the shops, church, in railway carriages, on board ship. She
dressed it in the richest silks and furs, decorated it with bangles,
presented it with a watch, hugged, kissed, and fondled it, took it to
bed with her, dreamed of it. When it died, she went into heavy mourning
for it, and in an incredibly short space of time pined away. I saw her a
few days before her death, and I was shocked; her gestures, mannerisms,
and expression had become absolutely canine, and when she smiled--smiled
in a forced and unn