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neighbors。 One of them was a puritanical weaver； who had been
driven mad by a single sermon from the celebrated Hugh Peters； and
was sent to the madhouse as full of election and reprobation as he
could hold；and fuller。 He regularly repeated over the five
points while daylight lasted； and imagined himself preaching in a
conventicle with distinguished success； toward twilight his visions
were more gloomy； and at midnight his blasphemies became horrible。
In the opposite cell was lodged a loyalist tailor； who had been
ruined by giving credit to the cavaliers and their ladies；（for at
this time； and much later； down to the reign of Anne； tailors were
employed by females even to make and fit on their stays）；who had
run mad with drink and loyalty on the burning of the Rump； and ever
since had made the cells of the madhouse echo with fragments of the
ill…fated Colonel Lovelace's song； scraps from Cowley's 〃Cutter of
Coleman street；〃 and some curious specimens from Mrs。 Aphra Behn's
plays； where the cavaliers are denominated the heroicks； and Lady
Lambert and Lady Desborough represented as going to meeting； their
large Bibles carried before them by their pages； and falling in
love with two banished cavaliers by the way。 The voice in which he
shrieked out such words was powerfully horrible； but it was like
the moan of an infant compared to the voice which took up and
reechoed the cry； in a tone that made the building shake。 It was
the voice of a maniac； who had lost her husband； children；
subsistence； and finally her reason； in the dreadful fire of
London。 The cry of fire never failed to operate with terrible
punctuality on her associations。 She had been in a disturbed
sleep； and now started from it as suddenly as on that dreadful
night。 It was Saturday night too； and she was always observed to
be particularly violent on that night；it was the terrible weekly
festival of insanity with her。 She was awake； and busy in a moment
escaping from the flames； and she dramatized the whole scene with
such hideous fidelity； that Stanton's resolution was far more in
danger from her than from the battle between his neighbors
Testimony and Hothead。 She began exclaiming she was suffocated by
the smoke； then she sprung from her bed； calling for a light； and
appeared to be struck by the sudden glare that burst through her
casement。〃The last day；〃 she shrieked； 〃The last day！ The very
heavens are on fire！〃〃That will not come till the Man of Sin be
first destroyed；〃 cried the weaver； 〃thou ravest of light and fire；
and yet thou art in utter darkness。I pity thee； poor mad soul； I
pity thee！〃 The maniac never heeded him； she appeared to be
scrambling up a staircase to her children's room。 She exclaimed
she was scorched； singed； suffocated； her courage appeared to fail；
and she retreated。 〃But my children are there！〃 she cried in a
voice of unspeakable agony； as she seemed to make another effort；
〃here I amhere I am come to save you。Oh God！ They are all
blazing！Take this armno； not that； it is scorched and disabled
well； any armtake hold of my clothesno； they are blazing too！
Well； take me all on fire as I am！And their hair； how it
hisses！Water； one drop of water for my youngesthe is but an
infantfor my youngest； and let me burn！〃 She paused in horrid
silence； to watch the fall of a blazing rafter that was about to
shatter the staircase on which she stood。〃The roof has fallen on
my head！〃 she exclaimed。 〃The earth is weak； and all the
inhabitants thereof；〃 chanted the weaver； 〃I bear up the pillars of
it。〃
The maniac marked the destruction of the spot where she thought she
stood by one desperate bound； accompanied by a wild shriek； and
then calmly gazed on her infants as they rolled over the scorching
fragments； and sunk into the abyss of fire below。 〃There they go；
onetwothreeall！〃 and her voice sunk into low mutterings； and
her convulsions into faint； cold shudderings； like the sobbings of
a spent storm； as she imagined herself to 〃stand in safety and
despair；〃 amid the thousand houseless wretches assembled in the
suburbs of London on the dreadful nights after the fire； without
food； roof； or raiment； all gazing on the burning ruins of their
dwellings and their property。 She seemed to listen to their
complaints； and even repeated some of them very affectingly； but
invariably answered them with the same words； 〃But I have lost all
my childrenall！〃 It was remarkable； that when this sufferer
began to rave； all the others became silent。 The cry of nature
hushed every other cry；she was the only patient in the house who
was not mad from politics； religion； ebriety； or some perverted
passion； and terrifying as the outbreak of her frenzy always was；
Stanton used to await it as a kind of relief from the dissonant；
melancholy； and ludicrous ravings of the others。
But the utmost efforts of his resolution began to sink under the
continued horrors of the place。 The impression on his senses began
to defy the power of reason to resist them。 He could not shut out
these frightful cries nightly repeated； nor the frightful sound of
the whip employed to still them。 Hope began to fail him； as he
observed； that the submissive tranquillity （which he had imagined；
by obtaining increased indulgence； might contribute to his escape；
or perhaps convince the keeper of his sanity） was interpreted by
the callous ruffian； who was acquainted only with the varieties of
MADNESS； as a more refined species of that cunning which he was
well accustomed to watch and baffle。
On his first discovery of his situation； he had determined to take
the utmost care of his health and intellect that the place allowed；
as the sole basis of his hope of deliverance。 But as that hope
declined； he neglected the means of realizing it。 He had at first
risen early； walked incessantly about his cell； and availed himself
of every opportunity of being in the open air。 He took the
strictest care of his person in point of cleanliness； and with or
without appetite； regularly forced down his miserable meals； and
all these efforts were even pleasant； as long as hope prompted
them。 But now he began to relax them all。 He passed half the day
in his wretched bed； in which he frequently took his meals；
declined shaving or changing his linen； and； when the sun shone
into his cell； he turned from it on his straw with a sigh of
heartbroken despondency。 Formerly； when the air breathed through
his grating； he used to say； 〃Blessed air of heaven； I shall
breathe you once more in freedom！Reserve all your freshness for
that delicious evening when I shall inhale you； and be as free as
you myself。〃 Now when he felt it； he sighed and said nothing。 The
twitter of the sparrows； the pattering of rain； or the moan of the
wind； sounds that he used to sit up in his bed to catch with
delight； as reminding him of nature； were now unheeded。
He began at times to listen with sullen and horrible pleasure to
the cries of his miserable companions。 He became squalid；
listless； torpid； and disgusting in his appearance。
。 。 。 。 。
It was one of those dismal nights； that； as he tossed on his
loathsome bed；more loathsome from the impossibility to quit it
without feeling more 〃unrest；〃he perceived the miserable light
that burned in the hearth was obscured by the intervention of some
dark object。 He turned feebly toward the light； without curiosity；
without excitement； but with a wish to diversify the monotony of
his misery； by observing the slightest change made even
accidentally in the dusky atmosphere of his cell。 Between him and
the light stood the figure of Melmoth； just as he had seen him from
the first； the figure was the same； the expression of the face was
the same；cold； stony； and rigid； the eyes； with their infernal
and dazzling luster； were still the same。
Stanton's ruling passion rushed on his soul； he felt this
apparition like a summons to a high and fearful encounter。 He
heard his heart beat audibly； and could have exclaimed with Lee's
unfortunate heroine；〃It pants as cowards do before a battle； Oh
the great march has sounded！〃
Melmoth approached him with that frightful calmness that mocks the
terror it excites。 〃My prophecy has been fulfilled；you rise to
meet me rattling from your chains； and rustling from your strawam
I not a true prophet？〃 Stanton was silent。 〃Is not your situation
very miserable？〃Still Stanton was silent； for he was beginning to
believe this an illusion of madness。 He thought to himself； 〃How
could he have gained entrance here？〃〃Would you not wish to be
delivered from it？〃 Stanton tossed on his straw； and its rustling
seemed to answer the question。 〃I have the power to deliver you
from it。〃 Melmoth spoke very slowly and very softly； and the
melodious smoothness of his voice made a frightful contrast to the
stony rigor