CHAPTER CLXXXVI.

DR. SWINTON.

The mad-house kept by Dr. Swinton was a spacious building, with a large

garden, surrounded by a high wall, at the back.

It was by no means a gloomy-looking place, although the casements were

protected by iron bars: for to mitigate that prison-like effect, the

curtains were of a cheerful colour, and the window-sills were adorned

with flowers and verdant evergreens in bright red pots. Moreover, the

front of the house was stuccoed; and wherever paint was used, the

colours were of the gayest kind.

The front door always stood open during the day-time, because there was

an inner door of great strength which led into the hall; and a porter

in handsome livery was constantly lounging about at the entrance.

The Doctor himself was an elderly person, of highly respectable

appearance, and of very pleasing manners _when_ he chose to be

agreeable: but no demon could exhibit greater ferocity than he, when

compelled to exercise his authority in respect to those amongst his

patients who had no friends to care about them.

It was between nine and ten o’clock in the evening of the day following

the interview between Fitzgeorge and Heathcote’s head clerk, that

a plain carriage and pair drove up to the door of Doctor Swinton’s

establishment.

The porter immediately rushed forward to open the door and let down the

steps of the vehicle; and two persons alighted.

One was a tall, handsome young man of genteel bearing, and handsomely

dressed: the other was some years older, and might be described as

respectable without having anything aristocratic in his appearance.

“Have the kindness to say that Mr. Smithson, accompanied by his friend

Mr. Granby, requests an interview with your master,” were the words

immediately addressed to the porter by the elder of the two visitors,

while the other appeared to be gazing about him in a vacant and stolid

manner.

“Walk in, gentlemen,” said the obsequious porter, with a low bow: he

then rang a bell, and a footman in resplendent livery opened the inner

door.

Mr. Granby and Mr. Smithson were now conducted through a spacious

hall into an elegantly furnished parlour, lighted by a superb lustre

suspended to the ceiling.

“The Doctor will be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” said the

domestic, who immediately retired to acquaint his master with their

arrival: but the moment the door had closed behind him, a smile of

deep meaning instantly appeared upon the lips of the visitors, as they

exchanged equally significant looks.

In a few minutes Dr. Swinton appeared--his countenance wearing such a

benignant expression that if the Saints at Exeter Hall could only have

bribed him to attend on the platform at their May Meetings, they would

have secured a sufficiency of _outward appearance_ of philanthropy to

draw gold from the purses of even the most cynical. In fact, the doctor

was precisely the individual from whose lips might be expected a most

touching and lachrymose speech upon the “benighted condition” of the

heathen, and the absolute necessity of procuring funds for the purpose

of circulating a million of Bibles amongst the poor savages of the

Cannibal Islands.

His thin grey hair was combed with precision over his high and massive

forehead: a smile played on his lips, showing his well-preserved

teeth;--and his eyes beamed with mildness--almost with meekness, as

if he had succeeded, by long perseverance, in resigning himself to a

profession which militated sadly against a natural benevolence of heart.

He was dressed in deep black; his linen was of the finest material and

of snowy whiteness;--he wore a low cravat; and his enormous shirt-frill

was prevented from projecting too much by means of a diamond pin that

could not have cost less than fifty guineas.

The middle finger of his right hand was adorned with a ring of equal

value; and a massive chain with a bunch of gold seals depended from his

fob.

We should have observed that the Doctor wore black silk stockings and

shoes--it being evening; and we have every cause to believe that the

reader may now form a tolerably accurate idea of that gentleman’s

personal appearance.

Leaning forward as he walked, and with a kind of mincing gait--half

familiar, and half obsequious--Dr. Swinton advanced towards the

visitors, only one of whom rose at his approach;--and this was Mr.

Smithson, the elder of the two. The other remained in an apparent state

of apathetic laziness on the sofa, where he had taken his seat.

“Your most obedient, Mr. Smithson,” said the Doctor, proffering his

hand to the individual whom he thus addressed. “This is your friend

Mr. Granby, I presume--the gentleman of whom you made mention when you

honoured me with a visit this morning.”

“Yes. Doctor--that is indeed my unfortunate friend Granby,” responded

Smithson, drawing the physician into the window-recess, and speaking in

a whisper.

“He is a fine, handsome young man,” observed the mad-doctor, glancing

towards the subject of his remark, and likewise adopting a low tone.

“What a pity it is!” he added, turning towards Mr. Smithson, and

placing his fore-finger significantly to his forehead.

“A thousand--thousand pities, Doctor!” was the reply, delivered in a

mournful voice. “Such a splendid intellect to be thus clouded!--such a

genius to be thus crushed--annihilated!”

“No--do not anticipate such a calamity,” hastily interposed the

physician. “Rather let us hope that a judicious system--_my_ system,

Mr. Smithson--will eventually succeed in effecting a cure. But have

you the regular certificates, my dear sir?--because you are well aware

that a heavy responsibility rests upon gentlemen of my profession, who

receive patients----”

“Everything is straightforward, Doctor,” interrupted Mr. Smithson,

producing two papers from his pocket. “These certificates are signed by

medical men of eminence, and whose honour is unimpeachable.”

“Oh! assuredly,” exclaimed Swinton, glancing over the documents: “Dr.

Prince is an ornament to the profession--and Mr. Spicer is equally well

known. I have not the pleasure of their personal acquaintance--but

I am no stranger to their high reputation and rigid integrity. So

far, so good, my dear sir,” continued the mad-doctor, restoring the

certificates to Smithson. “And now, I think, we have little more to say

in respect to arrangements----”

“Nothing that I am aware of,” interrupted Mr. Smithson. “When I saw

you this morning, you told me that your usual terms for first-class

patients were six hundred a-year----”

“Each quarter payable in advance, you will please to recollect, my dear

sir,” said the physician, in a tone of bland insinuation. “It is a mere

matter of form, you know--just the bare trouble of writing a cheque at

the beginning instead of the close of the three months----”

“Oh! pray offer no apology for such an excellent regulation,”

interrupted Smithson: “short accounts make long friends.”

“Ah! ah! very good--very good indeed!” said the Doctor, with a jocular

cachinnation. “You are quite right, my dear sir--quite right. Shall I

give you a stamped receipt?” he asked, as Smithson placed in his hands

two bank notes--one for a hundred and the other for fifty pounds.

“You can send me the acknowledgment at your leisure,” answered

Smithson. “And now, as I must take my leave, permit me to beseech you

to bestow all possible attention upon my unhappy friend, and to spare

no expense in rendering him as comfortable as possible. His relations,

who have empowered me thus to place him in your establishment, are very

wealthy, and will cheerfully augment the allowance, if required. No

coercion is necessary with him: he is very tractable and by no means

dangerous. At the same time, any thing resembling restraint would only

induce him to move heaven and earth to escape. He cannot even endure

to have his chamber-door locked at night; and you may safely trust him

with a candle. Indeed, he _will_ have a light. As for placing a keeper

in his room, such a step would be as unwise as it is uncalled for. But

I need not attempt to counsel a gentleman of your great experience and

well-known skill----”

“Pardon me, my dear sir,” interrupted Dr. Swinton, drawing himself up

at the compliment thus paid to his professional ability;--“but I am

always delighted to receive any hints which the friends of my patients

are kind enough to give me; and I can assure you that your suggestions

shall be fully borne in mind. Of course you will call upon Mr. Granby

occasionally?” asked the Doctor, in a tone which was as much as to

imply that the less frequent such visits were, the better he thought it

would be.

“Yes--I shall call now and then,” responded Smithson, catching the

physician’s meaning in a moment: “but not too often--as the visits of

friends are likely, no doubt, to produce an injurious effect on those

minds which, under the influence of your admirable system, are becoming

settled and tranquil. It is however my intention to return in a few

days, just to assure myself that Granby is comfortable, and likewise

that you are not displeased with your patient.”

“Very good,” said the Doctor; “I shall be delighted to see you. But

will you not remain and partake of supper with us? You will then have

an opportunity of judging how I treat my patients--for we all sit down

to table together,--at least, those who belong to the first class, and

who may be termed the parlour boarders. Besides, I forgot to mention

to you this morning that the religious principles of my patients are

not neglected, and that I keep a regular chaplain in the establishment.

If you will stay to supper, you will have the pleasure of hearing him

say grace before meat, and deliver a most soul-refreshing exhortation

afterwards. Indeed, I may consider myself highly fortunate in having

secured the spiritual services and the constant companionship of such a

worthy man as the Reverend Mr. Sheepshanks.”

“I should be much gratified by remaining to partake of your

hospitality,” answered Smithson,--“and even still more rejoiced to form

the acquaintance of such an estimable character as Mr. Sheepshanks;

but, unfortunately, my time is precious--and I must depart at once.”

With these words Smithson turned away from the window; and approaching

Mr. Granby, who was lounging upon the sofa, seemingly gazing on

vacancy, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Good bye, my dear

friend: you are going to stay here for a few days with Dr. Swinton--and

you will find yourself very comfortable.”

“I am already very comfortable,” observed Granby, beginning to play

with his fingers in a stolid, silly manner. “Can you talk with the

hands, Smithson?”

“Oh! yes--and I will come to-morrow and hold a conversation with you by

that method,” was the answer.

“Well--don’t forget,” said Granby; “and bring all my friends with

you,--twenty--thirty--forty of them, if you like. I shall know how to

entertain them.”

“In that case I will bring them all, my dear fellow,” returned

Smithson: then, in a whisper to the Doctor, he observed, “You perceive

how childish he is--but perfectly harmless.”

“Ah! I begin to fear with you that his cure will be no easy nor

speedily-accomplished matter,” responded the physician, also in a low

tone.

“But you will do your best, Doctor, I know,” said Smithson: then,

turning once more to his friend, he exclaimed, “Good-bye, Granby--I am

off.”

“Well, go--I don’t mean to accompany you,” answered the patient,

without moving from his recumbent position, and without even glancing

towards Smithson; but maintaining his eyes fixed upon his fingers, with

which he appeared to be practising the dumb alphabet. “Go along, I

say--I am very comfortable where I am.”

Mr. Smithson heaved a profound sigh, and, bidding the Doctor farewell,

hurried to the carriage, with his cambric handkerchief to his eyes.

“Ah! he feels deeply for his afflicted friend,” thought Dr. Swinton,

as he remained for a few moments on the threshold of the front door,

looking forth into the mild, clear, and beauteous night: “but I shall

be the greatest fool in existence if ever I allow Mr. Granby to recover

his reason. An annuity of six hundred pounds is not to be thrown away

in a hurry. But I must prevent this fellow Smithson from calling more

than once or twice a-year at the outside--and then only on stated days,

or else with a week’s notice. However, I shall get him here to supper

in a short time, and will then cajole him into anything I propose. He

is a soft-pated fool himself,--_that_ I can see with half an eye.”

Having arrived at this complimentary conclusion in respect to Mr.

Smithson, the Doctor returned to the room where Mr. Granby was still

lying upon the sofa, and still playing with his fingers.