Aged forty-eight, from Berkshire, admitted 2d November 1820. This poor
man had been a labourer, and appeared ten years older than his age as
given in. Delusion had carried him almost beyond conception: he saw no
man or woman whatever, either gentleman or lady, labourer or laundress,
that passed with him by their own names, or represented their proper
characters. This one he knew in gaol, by such a name; another was
the youngest brother of Buonaparte; such a lady was Tom Somebody’s
wife, who had run away with another man; this young woman was once
his servant; that was his niece, or aunt, as her age corresponded. He
believed that he was only put here for a “hum;” and he pretended to
know precisely the day when he would be discharged, but would name it
to no one. He spoke very harshly of his family; said that his wife was
an abandoned wretch, and his son no better; that his wife and son were
living as man and wife in every particular; that he knew it, had seen
many instances of it, and was fully and incontrovertibly convinced that
they were aware of it, and, to prevent the consequences, that they had
planned to send him here. He was permitted to work occasionally in the
garden of the hospital; but latterly he was prevented, in consequence
of his concealing a weapon he found while at work. Previously to his
coming here he repaired to an auction, and bid for the toll of a
turnpike-gate; he outbid his competitors, till the gate was knocked
down to him, but unfortunately he had “not sixpence capital.” He was,
perhaps, the most cunning man of the age, in his own opinion: “Lord
bless you,” says he, “half an eye is enough for me; I can see what they
are all about through a brick wall--I know them; little they think who
I am, and what I am here for.” He was always a working man, and was
discharged uncured.