THE DAWN VONE. 133 



put under compliment to him to one who confers honour upon beg- 

 gary itself, for he craves nothing it is only a free-will offering to a 

 heaven-inspired genius. Then the rest served to draw him out ; the 

 chorus of the principal performer, the secondary characters in the 

 picture, without which the first could not have stood out for relief. 

 Next is brought forward the helpless idiot, jabbering and grinning ; 

 his mother claims not for herself: His only forjiim. Here, again, is the 

 pride of human nature 'tis worth considering few, few indeed 

 claim for themselves. The mother of the idiot is a guardian appointed 

 by Heaven ; there is no disgrace in her calling ; 'tis her business to 

 lead about and watch this creature, your duty to assist her. The 

 mother of the twins claims for those helpless objects, not for herself. 

 The old man's boy leader asks for the helpless and the aged. Hence 

 the mandatory tones of an Irish beggar. You are invoked, com- 

 manded as it were, to do a duty, the neglect of which justifies an im- 

 precation on your head. I have been led away, I hope not unprofit- 

 ably, from my intention to point out to you this remarkable feature 

 in the group the idiot. Whatever be the cause, there is no town 

 without one, from drivelling helplessness up through the different 

 partial indications of mind to the creature between "whose reason 

 and folly there is so slight a separation that he is only considered 

 cracked. Perhaps my observation on this point might not have been 

 rendered so very acute were it not that a morning encounter with an 

 idiot placed me once in a situation of extreme peril. I had travelled 

 all night by the mail, and at the faintest dawn of the morning entered 

 the town of . The horses were drawn up for a moment, the noise 

 perhaps of the coach entering, with the hornjinging its shrill clangour, 

 disturbed such a creature as I have been speaking of, and who had 

 been sleeping under the eaves of a cottage dripping from the rain, 

 his bare head lay upon the cold stone. Upon awakening, like a child 

 disturbed at midnight, he began, not to cry, but to shriek, in a fright- 

 fully discordant manner, as if suffering under the torture of the " foul 

 fiend." I never heard any thing so distressing. The coachman had 

 received the word " all right," the horses had started, when a good- 

 natured traveller who had been searching his pocket for a penny to 

 throw to the poor wretch upon the ground, desired the coachman to 

 stop. The horses, already restive, suddenly jerked up when on the 

 point of starting, wheeled round ; before us was a downward hill, be- 

 side us a heap of stones, collected for the repair of the road. In an 

 instant the pole of the coach snapped like a twig. The idiot shrieked 

 louder and more discordant, when the activity of the guard preserved 

 us. In a moment he was at the head of the leaders. 



I have now done with the idiot ; let me come to the idler. 



James Lacy had served abroad in the capacity of a surgeon. Re- 

 turning to his native town, he had occasion to observe, what must 

 always strike the wanderer upon his return, the sad chasm which 

 death, change of residence, and other casualties make in a beloved 

 connection. Melancholy, or disgusted, or with that restlessness of 

 habit acquired in the unsettled career of a soldier, he left his home, 

 after a few days, and came to the town of R , where dwelt a distant 

 relative of his mother's, under whose auspices he commenced his pro- 



M.M. No. 2. L 



