but to be a recluse from society, and to allow the remembrance of his past follies to prey upon his vitals. All his vivacity now forsook him; those lips which were formed to give delight, were closed as by the hand of death, and on his countenances at horror plumed!"[1]
It is probably to this period that we are to refer two anecdotes, which have been related as giving the first proofs of a decided craze in his understanding. Mr Tennant, in an article which has been already quoted, says:—"It is difficult, even in sane persons, to determine where wit ends, and temporary reeling of the imagination begins; and, in the case of Fergusson, whose conceptions were ever so vivid, and whose wit was so fantastical and irregular, it was difficult for his friends to discriminate between his wit and his madness—to set a boundary line between those of his days that were but frolicsome and funny, and those that were desperately and invariably delirious. The first occurrence that startled his comrades, and put them in alarm for the safety of his understanding, took place one day in the High Street of Edinburgh, when Mr B—— , one of his friends, (who, I believe, is still alive,) was standing engaged in conversation with a knot of acquaintances. Fergusson came running up, apparently in a state of high perturbation; and, accosting them familiarly, as he was wont, acquainted them, that, confused and perturbed as he was, it was a marvel that they saw him alive that day at all. On questioning him, with a desire that he should explain himself, he informed them, that on the night before he had met with some Irish students in the street, with whom he had an altercation that led to a quarrel; that they scuffled and buffeted each other furiously; that the combat deepened to deadly ferocity, when one of them, the bloodiest homicide of the troop, at last drew out a cutlass, with which he smote off his head at one blow; that his head ran down the strand trembling and streaming blood for many paces; that, had it not been for his presence of mind, he must infallibly have been a dead man; but that, running instantly after the head, decapitated as he was, he snatched it up, and replaced it so nicely on its former position, that the parts coalesced, and no man could discover any vestiges of decapitation. This story was told with such wild looks and extravagant gesticulation, as impressed the hearers with the suspicion that his mind had shifted from its wonted 'form and pressure;' a suspicion that was afterwards fully confirmed by other more decided and unfortunate indications."
The other anecdote, which indicates a more advanced stage of insanity, is as follows: Mr Woods, of the theatre royal, one day met him at the bottom of St Anne Street, under the North Bridge, (a street which does not now exist,) and found him in a very disordered state. "I have just," said Fergusson, in a confidential tone, "made a most important discovery." On Mr Woods' inquiring what it was, he answered, "I have found out one of the reprobates who crucified our Saviour; and in order to bring him to proper punishment, I am going to lodge an information against him with Lord Kames." He then walked off towards the residence of that distinguished philosopher and judge.
Even from this second shock, his reason was beginning to recover, when all was thrown into ten-fold disorder by a fall which he met with, one evening in descending a stair. Having cut his head severely, he lost a great deal of blood, and was carried home to his mother's house in a state of delirium, and totally insensible of his deplorable condition. His reason seemed to be now in a great measure destroyed. He passed nights and days in total abstinence from food, sometimes muttering dolefully to himself, and at other times so outrageous that it required the strength of several men to keep him in his bed. Occasionally, lie sang his favourite melodies, but in a style of pathos and tenderness such
- ↑ Life by Mr Inverarity, in Gleig's Supplement to the Encyclopaedia Britannica.
