unfaithful to the trust of monumental fame. It is not over the decaying
productions of the mind, embodied with the happiest art, we grieve most
bitterly. The view of what has been done by man, produces a melancholy,
yet aggrandizing, sense of what remains to be achieved by human
intellect; but a mental convulsion, which, like the devastation of an
earthquake, throws all the elements of thought and imagination into
confusion, makes contemplation giddy, and we fearfully ask on what
ground we ourselves stand.

Melancholy and imbecility marked the features of the wretches allowed to
breathe at large; for the frantic, those who in a strong imagination
had lost a sense of woe, were closely confined. The playful tricks and
mischievous devices of their disturbed fancy, that suddenly broke out,
could not be guarded against, when they were permitted to enjoy any
portion of freedom; for, so active was their imagination, that every new
object which accidentally struck their senses, awoke to phrenzy their
restless passions; as Maria learned from the burden of their incessant
ravings.

Sometimes, with a strict injunction of silence, Jemima would allow
Maria, at the close of evening, to stray along the narrow avenues that
separated the dungeon-like apartments, leaning on her arm. What a change
of scene! Maria wished to pass the threshold of her prison, yet, when
by chance she met the eye of rage glaring on her, yet unfaithful to its
office, she shrunk back with more horror and affright, than if she had
stumbled over a mangled corpse. Her busy fancy pictured the misery of
a fond heart, watching over a friend thus estranged, absent, though
present--over a poor wretch lost to reason and the social joys of
existence; and losing all consciousness of misery in its excess. What
a task, to watch the light of reason quivering in the eye, or with