and open
the vessels, so that the action of perspiration is freer. He tells the
story of a person of distinction, who assured him that once being
suddenly seized by violent illness, instead of a consultation of
physicians, he immediately called a band of musicians, and their
Violins played so well in his inside that his bowels became perfectly
in tune, and in a few hours were harmoniously
becalmed."--_D'Israeli's_ "_Curiosities of Literature_."

Dr. Abercrombie recommends "Careful classification of the insane, so
that the mild and peaceful melancholic may not be harassed by the
ravings of the maniac. The importance of this is obvious; but of still
greater importance," he continues, "it will probably be to watch the
first dawnings of reason, and instantly to remove from the patient all
associates by whom his mind might be again bewildered."

The following case, mentioned by Pinel, is certainly an extreme one,
but much important reflection arises out of it:--

"A musician confined in the Bicetre, as one of the first symptoms of
returning reason, made some slight allusion to his favourite
instrument. It was immediately procured for him; he occupied himself
with music for several hours every day, and his convalescence seemed
to be advancing rapidly. But he was then, unfortunately, allowed to
come frequently in contact with a furious maniac, by meeting him in
the gardens. The musician's mind was unhinged; _his Violin was
destroyed;_ and he fell back into a state of insanity which was
considered as confirmed and hopeless."--_Abercrombie's_ "_Intellectual
Powers_."

"A MUSICIAN

is like an Echo, a retail dealer in sounds. As Diana is the goddess of
the silver bow, so is he the Lord of the wooden one; he has a hundred
strings in his bow; other people are bow-_legged_, he is bow-_armed_;
and though armed with a bow he has no skill in archery. He plays with
_cat_-gut and _Kit_-Fiddle. His fingers and arms run a constant race;
the former would run away from him did not a bridge interpose and
oblige him to pay toll. He can distinguish sounds as other men
distinguish colours. His companions are crotchets and quavers. Time
will never be a match for him, for he _beats_ him most unmercifully.
He runs after an Italian air open-mouthed, with as much eagerness as
some fools have sought the philosopher's stone. He can bring a tune
over the seas, and thinks it more excellent because far-fetched. His
most admired domestics are Sopr