a quarter of an hour, they
began to show some symptoms of fatigue. The man was the first to give
in, and, overcome by the exertion, he threw himself on a bench which
stood on one side of the room. Teresa, however, kept up a very animated
_pas seul_ for several minutes after the loss of her partner; but at
length she also found herself compelled to stop. The man was placed on
his bed, and the woman was conducted to her apartment. Both were so
completely overcome by the violence of their exertions, that Count
Pisani observed he would answer for their remaining quiet for
twenty-four hours to come. As to the guitarist, he was allowed to go
into the garden to play to his companions.

I was next conducted into a large hall, in which the patients walk and
amuse themselves, when wet weather prevents them from going out. This
place was adorned with a profusion of flowers, growing in pots and
vases, and the walls were covered with fresco paintings, representing
humorous subjects. The hall contained embroidery frames,
spinning-wheels, and even weavers' looms; all presented traces of the
work on which the lunatics had been engaged. Having passed through the
great hall, I was conducted to the garden, which was tastefully laid
out, shaded by large spreading trees and watered by fresh fountains. I
was informed that, during the hours allotted to recreation, most of the
patients may be seen wandering about the garden separately, and without
holding any communication one with another, each following the bent of
his or her own particular humor, some noisy and others silent. One of
the most decided characteristics of madness is the desire of solitude.
It seldom happens that two lunatics enter into conversation with each
other; or, if they do so, each merely gives utterance to his own train
of thought, without any regard to what is said by his interlocutor. It
is different when they converse with the strangers who occasionally
visit them. They then attend to any observations addressed to them, and
not unfrequently make very rational and shrewd replies.

The first patient we met on entering the garden, was a young man
apparently about six or eight-and-twenty years of age. Before he lost
his senses, he was one of the most distinguished advocates in Catania.
One evening, at the theatre, he got involved in some dispute with a
Neapolitan, who, instead of quietly putting into his pocket the card
which Lucca (as I shall call him) slipped into his