for every class of lunatic, mechanical restraint is abandoned as much as possible, the patient is in all cases treated as though he had human sympathies and desires; the exhibition of the insane has long been a disgrace of the past; the convalescent wards are provided with pet animals, choice flowers, and pleasant pictures; in short, the whole system of treating lunatics, whether in pauper asylums or otherwise, has been completely revolutionised, and instead of those who have once had an attack of insanity dreading its recurrence, and shuddering at the thought of the asylum, instances innumerable could be quoted of persons on a threatened recurrence of an attack quietly taking themselves off to their old quarters, and feeling there at once safe and at home.

The pictures of Hogarth's Madhouse Cells have happily no counterpart in the present day; the scene witnessed by Mr. Westerton, Mr. Calvert, and Mr. Wakefield, in 1808, of ten patients in the women's gallery at Bethlehem Hospital, each fastened by one arm or leg to the wall, with a length of chain that allowed them only to stand up by their bench, and dressed in a filthy blanket thrown poncho-like over their otherwise naked bodies, would bring about a perfect turmoil of indignation to-day, and lead to the severest punishment of the authorities. Instead of the old system of caging together in dark and dismal cells the coarse and the gentle, the virtuous and the abandoned, the clergyman and the pickpocket, and consigning them to idleness and neglect, everything now is done to make insanity curable, and to make the insane feel happy in the midst of their misfortunes.

Take one instance only of the mighty change that has been effected :-" In accordance with the opinion that pursuits of lunatics should be similar to their pursuits in former days, the south wing of Haslar Hospital is devoted to the officers, seamen, and marines of Her Majesty's fleet who are afflicted with insanity. Every window of the building commands a fine view of Spithead and the Isle of Wight, and here the old Salts can sit and watch the splendid panorama crowded with vessels, and active with that nautical life which recalls so many happy associations to their minds. They form fishing parties, make nets, and go on pleasure excursions in row and sailing craft. Themadmen's boat' of eight oars, manned by patients and steered by an attendant, is well known to the sailors on the Solent, and so harmless are they considered that young ladies often accompany them on trips to the Isle of Wight, implicitly trusting in their seamanship and politeness."*

And how has this mighty revolution come to pass? Simply by the agency of good, true, earnest, and philanthropic effort. Samuel Tuke of York, Gardner Hill, Charlesworth, Forbes Winslow, and Conolly of London, and many others, pitying the distressing condition of the insane, and full of manly indignation at the treatment they were receiving and the degradation to which they were exposed, espoused their cause, studied the scientific aspects of the question, and then stood forward as the champions of the insane, and by their untiring exertions, by voice and pen and active effort, wrought out mainly the mighty change in their condition and treatment. All honour to such heroism as this, and God speed all brave men who nobly espouse, as they did, the cause of the weak and helpless!

"Curiosities of Civilisation." By Andrew Wynter, M.D.

During the past century there has probably been no branch of science which has made such rapid strides as the science of medicine. We have already alluded to some of the labours of eminent medical men who have devoted their lives as sacrifices in order to be the means of introducing new discoveries for the alleviation of pain and the preservation of life. Time would fail to tell of such men as John Fothergill, the Quaker, whose essay on "A case of recovering a man dead in appearance " contributed to the establishment of the Royal Humane Society-a man who scouted the idea of making his noble profession a mere money-getting business "with the same solicitude as he would the suggestions of vice or intemperance;" a man who, though sought out by the noble and wealthy of the land as the most popular physician of the day, could devote one day in each week to give gratuitous advice to the poor. Then there was William Hunter, who succeeded Fothergill as President of the Medical Society, and whose passion for his profession was strong as death, so that after a long life of untiring usefulness he rose from a bed of sickness to deliver an important lecture, but towards the end fainted, and shortly after died, and in his last moments said, "If I had strength enough to hold a pen I should like to tell how easy and pleasant a thing it is to die." Thomas Bateman, another nobly disinterested worker in science, during a fearful epidemic in London in 1817, spent several hours daily in the wards of the Fever Hospital, having under his care nearly 700 patients. Although in feeble health, he continued his heroic labours for many months until at last he was himself attacked by the fever and never regained his health. And we can only mention James Hope, who had courage enough throughout his life to act up to these rules he left for the guidance of his son:-"First, Never keep a patient ill longer than you can possibly help; Second, Never take a fee to which you do not feel yourself justly entitled; and Third, Always pray for your patients."

But in times more recent, and by men less distinguished in the profession, there have been noble lives spent in laborious study for the good of their fellow-creatures; and in obscure places deeds of heroism have been performed which deserve world-wide recognition.

While some repairs were being made to a well at Goudhurst, in Kent, on the 21st of September, 1877, W. Buss, a plumber, who was down the well, made a signal to be hauled up, which was immediately acted on, but when within eight feet of the top he became quite insensible from the foul air, and, slipping through the rope by which he was fastened, fell to the bottom, a distance of thirty-four feet from the surface.

was raised, and Mr. Alexander Edward Bartlett, surgeon, was sent for. On his arrival a light was lowered into the well, but went out. No one present would venture down to the assistance of Buss, until, as the stertorous breathing of the man was clearly audible at the surface, Mr. Bartlett, on a short piece of ladder attached to a rope, volunteered to be let down to the man's aid. On reaching the bottom he found him quite insensible, but with his head just out of the water. Not being able to carry up such a heavy load, he tied him to the pipe of the pump to prevent him from drowning, and then came to the surface for fresh air. No one else would go down to the man's aid. Mr. Bartlett went down again three times, and succeeded in fastening a rope round the man, but he was dead when brought to the surface. Mr. Bartlett was very ill and weak for some time after from the foul air. Such are the bald details of a story of heroism. "Greater

FIGHT BETWEEN THE "ALABAMA" AND THE "KEARSAGE."

209

love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend," says the Holy Book, and we are content to receive this pregnant sentence as it stands. But that heroism which will induce a man of high attainments and good social position to risk his life in the ordinary course of his profession for a labouring man and a stranger,

shows how deep is that great love for humanity, and how sacred is the trust of protecting and preserving human life implanted in some heroic souls.

On the 19th of June, 1864, the American Federal war steamer, the Kearsage, encountered the notorious confederate cruiser Alabama in mortal combat off Cherbourg. An English gentleman, Mr. John Lancaster, of Hindley Hall, Wigan, hearing that an engagement

was to take place that day between the two vessels, had his yacht, the Deerhound, which was lying in harbour, put in readiness, and in company with his wife and family set out to watch the encounter. At about ten minutes past eleven o'clock the Alabama commenced firing at a distance of a mile off, to which the Kearsage immediately replied. Fast and furious, sharp and spirited was the firing on either side, until at 12.30 it was observed that the Alabama was disabled, and at 12.50 she sank.

Then the English gentleman with his yacht made towards the spot, and succeeded in saving about forty men, including Captain Semmes and thirteen officers. Many gallant deeds were done that day, and not the least heroic were the services rendered by Mr. Lancaster. Brave, too, were the officers and crew of the Alabama, who kept their guns ported till the muzzles were actually under water, and fired their last shot from the doomed ship just as she was settling down. Bold and spirited was the reply of the captain of the forecastle, a Norwegian, who, when in the water, being hailed by a boat from the Kearsage, Come here, old man, and we will save you," answered, "Never mind me, I can keep up half an hour yet; look after some who are nearer drowning than I am.' picked up by the Deerhound.

Happily he was

But the hero of heroes on that eventful day was the surgeon of the Alabama, a young Englishman, David Herbert Llewellyn, son of the Rev. David Llewellyn, perpetual curate of Euston Royal, Wilts, who nobly perished in the performance of his duty. He was educated at Marlborough College, was an articled pupil of Dr. Hassell, of Richmond, and subsequently studied his profession at Charing Cross Hospital from 1856 to 1859. He was silver medallist in surgery and chemistry. He was with the Alabama throughout the whole of her eventful career, and there was not a man on board who did not respect and admire him. The last letter he ever wrote was addressed to Mr. Travers, the resident medical officer of Charing Cross Hospital, and ran as follows:

"Cherbourg, 14th June, 1864.

An

"Dear Travers,-Here we are. I send this by a gentleman going to London. enemy is outside. If she only stays long enough we go out and fight her. If I live, expect to see me in London shortly. If I die give my best love to all who know me. If Monsieur A. de Caillet should call on you, please show him every attention.-I remain, lear Travers, ever yours, "D. H. LLEWELLYN."

On the fatal day of the great marine duel, Llewellyn was most assiduous in his attention to the wounded, and rendered them every possible service. When the Alabama was sinking, but not until the stern was completely under water, Captain Semmes gave orders for all to save themselves as best they could. Then every one who was able jumped into the sea and swam to the boats which had put out for their rescue. Yet not all. The whaleboat and dingy, the only two boats uninjured, were lowered, and the wounded men placed in them under the superintendence of Llewellyn, Mr. Fulham being sent in charge of them to the Kearsage. When the boats were quite full a man, who was unwounded, endeavoured to enter one of them, but was held back by Llewellyn. "See," he said, "I want to save my life as much as you do, but let the wounded men be saved first." Soon after this the officer in command of the boat cried, "Doctor, we

can make room for you here." What so natural as that the medical officer of the ship should go with the wounded? How easily he could have excused himself of any charge of cowardice or blame! But Llewellyn saw that to detain the boat a moment was dangerous, and to further overcrowd it might seriously imperil the lives of some of the sufferers. "I will not peril the wounded men," he answered, and he moved away from the scene, for the men whose wounds he had so promptly and skilfully attended joined their voices in entreating that he would enter the boat.

He went below, it is supposed to see whether any sufferers yet remained in the ship to whose wants he might minister, and in a moment afterwards the ship went down, and the heroic young surgeon perished with her.

"Noble and self-denying as was the conduct of the late surgeon of the Alabama," says the Lancet, "we are proud in the conviction that the same chivalrous spirit animates the medical officers of the united services of this kingdom. There has been much talk of their being 'non-combatant officers,' but where are we to look for greater heroism or self-devotion even at the cannon's mouth?""

David Herbert Llewellyn was loved by all who knew him, and his loss was deeply deplored by the officers and men of the Alabama, though not more so than by his fellow-students, who placed a tablet to his memory in Charing Cross Hospital. A public subscription was raised, with which the Llewellyn Scholarship of Charing Cross Hospital was founded to commemorate the name and career of the brave young fellow, who at the age of twenty-six, with a life full of promise before him, sacrificed it in the heroic performance of his duty.

One of the most instructive pages in the history of the heroic philanthropy of our country is to be found in relation to those who, seeing great evils exist, have single-handed done battle with them and come off conquerors. Such men were Edward Jenner, Sir James Simpson, Professor Anstie, and many others. Not all grappled with difficulties of identical magnitude, not all displayed the same self-devotion and heroism, although the motive to benefit human kind, at whatever cost of labour or opprobrium-was the same in each instance.

To this class of workers belongs Sir Alexander Armstrong, who as Dr. Armstrong, R.N., acted as surgeon and naturalist of H.M.S. Investigator, in her wonderful voyage through the North-West Passage. The voyage of the Investigator was, as we have already shown, for its duration and privations almost unparalleled, and Dr. Armstrong, during nearly five years of continuous service in the Arctic regions while in search of Sir John Franklin, met with adventures such as befell the commanders of the various expeditions, and had to endure, as they had, cold and hunger, and durance vile, and all the terrible hardships inseparable from Arctic service. It is not to these adventures that we call attention now; they have been fully recorded in an admirable volume † from his own pen, although the modesty of the author has hardly done justice to his own powers * See Vol. I., chap. xviii., pp. 232-240.

"Personal Narrative of the Discovery of the North-West Passage." By Alexander Armstrong, M.D., R.N., &c.