The very foundation of idiocy is peculiarity; whatever this unfortunate class may want, they do not want those features by which they are distinguishable from the ordinary ranks of mankind. Hence the interest which idiocy has ever exerted, and the splendid creations which, under the name of asylums, quiet, country residences, &c., have been made for their accommodation. The great mass of society—with the exception, perhaps, of a kingdom, which shall, for the present, be nameless—have nothing idiotical, that is, peculiar, belonging to them exclusively. They move as others move, dress as others dress, think as others think, and worship God as others do and as others did. Were it not for idiots, in the extended sense of the word, there were an end of plays, novels, and all works of fiction. Very few women, if we may credit Pope, are idiots: for he says—
"Nothing so true as what you once let fall—
Most women have no character at all;
Matter too soft a standing mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair."
But, although the original meaning and enlarged sense of the term might carry us into a field thus almost boundless, we shall at the present limit ourselves to two classes of idiots, comprehending, as they do, a great variety of species. First, the natural idiot, or the simply fatuous: of these there are two varieties—the peaceable and the frantic. Secondly, the unnatural or rational idiot; of these the varieties are infinite, and a selection only is in the present instance either desirable or attainable.
We return then to the purely fatuous, or peaceable idiot.
Poor innocent! as he is uniformly and kindly named by the neighbourhood. There he walks about, along that stream, or across that meadow, from morn to night, and from night to morning, his hand at his cheek, and his lips muttering incoherence, such as, "Johnnie, quo' he, lad; ah, ha, Willie lad, Willie lad, Willie lad." He is so biddable, that a child may make him lie down, or rise up, enlarge or shorten his step. He will carry a peat-barrow when peats are a-casting, ted hay, or lift a child safely over a fence; yet, for all that, he is not always to be trusted—for there are times when his countenance gets flushed, his frame nervously convulsed, and then he utters dreadful things, and becomes violent and unmanageable. These are, however, only aberrations, not continued character; and, by watching the symptoms of the approaching storm, the effects may be easily avoided. Idiots, even of this peaceable and innocuous kind, are now abstracted from their natural and kindly hearths, and concealed in asylums and private residences. Not so—it was not indeed so—in the olden times. The hereditary possession of at least one "innocent" in a family was deemed a blessing. "There never will be wanting," said the pious parent, "a bit for thy helplessness, poor Johnnie." Good luck took up her residence under the roof where such a one resided; and the parent was doubly attached to the object, as he was sometimes called. To hurt him, or injure him in any manner of way, was domestic treason; and even the schoolboy, on his harvest rambles, only pelted him with nuts and brambleberries. Poor Johnnie! he was missed one day; he had wandered beyond his ordinary reach, and all the town was in motion searching for him. The night came on, dark, and even drifty; and the poor helpless object could nowhere be found. Shouts were raised, dogs were dismissed on errands of inquiry, herd-boys ran, and servant lads greatly hastened their pace. At last, he was discovered on the brink of a precipice, over which he was suspended, by the coat-tails, which a strong shepherd's dog was holding fast in its teeth. But for the powerful sagacity of this brute, the helpless being had been dashed to pieces. When he was rescued from his dangerous position, he was repeating, in his usual manner, "Johnnie's a-caul quo' he, lad." He was never suffered to be in such danger again. These eyes saw him on his death-bed; and, at the instant of his departure, it was indeed a most affecting scene.
"The soul's dark cottage, shatter'd and decay'd,
Let in new light through chinks which time had made."
As the pulse ebbed and the feet swelled, reason seemed to resume her long-deserted seat. He actually raised himself upon his elbow, drew the back of his hand twice across his brow, as if clearing away some obstruction from his eyes, and, looking around with an eye unusually bright and beaming, lambent like an expiring taper—
"Oh, what a dream! what a dream! But I see you all now; yes—yes—I see my kind mother, my dear father, my sister! Yes—yes—I am now well. I am awake—I live." Hereupon the fatal and well-known struggle in the throat stopped his speech; he fell back, gave one deep sigh, and was at rest. Poor Johnnie! if a tear of gratitude can gratify anything that lives, bearing the most distant relationship to thee, that tear has now been shed. Heaven has long been merciful to the poor Innocent.
But the frantic idiot who now struggles against the chain and the strait-waistcoat in yonder cell. He too, at one time, roamed at large, to the great alarm, but seldom to the injury, of the lieges. "His bark," as the people said, "was waur than his bite;" and, if at any time he required to be confined by force, a few kindly words and soothing accents threw oil on the troubled sea, and restored comparative serenity. Daft Will Gibson rises before me; his long rung or kent by way of staff, his Kilmarnock night-cap, and shoes of many patches, his aversion to all manner of trick or nickname, and his furious onset when pursued by schoolboys: all these circumstances rise again from the dark past, and glare before me like the shades in "Macbeth." Yet, though occasionally furious, and even dangerous, he was kind-hearted, and not unobservant of character. The timid he rejoiced to terrify, whilst he passed by the bold and firm unmolested. Though he often threw large stones at those who assailed him, he took special care always to throw short of his object. But one day a little child, unobserved by him, had crossed the pathway of his missile after it had been delivered, altogether unobserved by poor Will. The child was knocked down and greatly injured—it bled profusely. Will seemed horrorstruck, and roared aloud—
"It was I! It was me! It was daft Will Gibson!"