—Fielding. 
E raves, his words are loose IS brain is wrecked — 
As heaps of sand, and scattering wide from sense; For ever in the pauses of his speech 
So high he ’s mounted on his airy throne, His lip doth work with inward mutterings, 
That now the wind has got into his head, And his fixed eye is riveted fearfully 
And turns his brains to phrenzy. —Dryden. On something that no other sight can spy. 
—Maturin, 
AM not mad; too well, too well I feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 
—Shakespeare, 
AM not mad; I would to heaven I were! HIS wretched brain gave way, 
For then ’tis like I should forget myself; And I became a wreck, at random driven, 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget! Without one glimpse of reason or of heaven. 
—Shakespeare. —Moore. 
Fes 
xt ITERALLY, the purple finger-flower, this plant is of easy 
culture, and well adapted for the borders of walks and beds. 
thimble-shaped, with dots of a color differing from the flower 
in the interior. The whole plant is a violent and dangerous 
poison when taken internally in any considerable quantity, 
producing delirium, convulsions and death. It becomes a valuable 
medicine in the hands of a skillful physician. It thrives best in par- 
tially shaded locations. There are a number of varieties, the flowers 
being white, purple, carmine, brown, and yellow. 
Delirium, 
THIS poor brain! ten thousand shapes of fury 
Are whirling there, and reason is no more. 
F a phrenzy do possess the brain, 
It so disturbs and blots the form of things, 
As fantasy proves altogether vain, 
And to the wit no true relation brings. 
—Sir Fohn Davis, 
a wh 
eA 3—OL 
