at this point, and some indeed have endeavoured to mark the precise expression which indicates the change from sanity to insanity. That which they (under the vulgar error that raving madness, accompanied by delusion, is alone to be considered real insanity) take to be the first signs, I may enquire into as the signs of the first crisis, or complete development of the disease. It is to be remarked that Lear's first speeches in the storm, beginning “Blow winds and crack your cheeks; rage, blow !” “Rumble thy bellyfull, spit fire, spout rain " and even his frantic demeanour, as he contends unbon neted with the elements, are the same in character as
his language and conduct have been hitherto. There is no difference in quality, although the altered circumstances make the language more inflated, and the conduct more wild. He has, before this time, threatened, cursed, wept, knelt, beaten others, beaten his own head. Under the exciting in fluence of exposure to a storm so terrible as to awe the bold Kent who never, since he was a man, remembers the like ;
under this excitement, it is no wonder that the “poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man,” should use the extremest emphasis of his eloquence. These speeches, therefore, do not more appear the frantic rant of insanity than much which has
preceded them. Still less can I admit, as evidence of delusion, the accusation directed against the elements, that they are “servile ministers” of his “permicious daughters.” This seems but a trope of high-flown eloquence, consistent with the cha racter and the circumstances. The real critical point where delusion first shews itself I place a little further on, where
Lear for the first time sees Edgar, and infers, with the veri table logic of delusion, that a state of misery so extreme must have been the work of his unkind daughters. Before this point, however, is reached, an event occurs very notable, although likely to escape notice, than which there
