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“Yet amid the tranquil, dreaming, gazing life, one cannot always be quite as serene as one would. For example, this morning, while the dew was yet on the grass, word came in that Charley had got away. Now Charley is the most important member of the family, and as shrewd a horse as ever need be. Lately he had found out the difference between being harnessed by a boy and a man. Accordingly, on several occasions, as soon as the halter dropped from his head, and before the bridle could take its place, he proceeded to back boldly out of the stable, in spite of the stout boy pulling with all his might at his mane and ears. This particular morning we were to put a passenger friend on board the cars at 8.10; it was now 7.30. Out popped Charley from his stall like a cork from a bottle, and lo! some fifty acres there were in which to exercise his legs and ours, to say nothing of temper and ingenuity. First, the lady, with a measure of oats, attempted to do the thing, by bribing him genteelly. Not he! he had no objection to the oats, none to the hand, until it came near his head, then off he sprang. After one or two trials, we dropped the oats, and went at it in good earnest—called all the boys, headed him off this way, ran him out of the growing oats, drove him into the upper lot, and out of it again. We got him into a corner with great pains, and he got himself out of it without the least trouble. He would dash through a line of six or eight whooping boys, with as little resistance as if they had been as many mosquitoes! down he ran to the lower side of the lot, and down we all walked after him. Up he ran to the upper end of the lot, and up we all walked after him—too tired to run. Oh! it was glorious fun! the sun was hot. The cars were coming, and we had two miles to ride to the depôt! He did enjoy it, and we did not. We resorted to expedients—opened wide the great gate of the barn-yard, and essayed to drive him in, and we did it too, almost; for he ran close to it,—and just sailed past, with a laugh as plain on his face as ever horse had! Man is vastly superior to a horse in many respects, but running on a hot summer day, in a twenty-acre lot, is not one of them. We got him by the brook, and while he drank, oh, how leisurely! we started up and succeeded in just missing our grab at his mane. Now comes another splendid run. His head was up, his eyes flashing, his tail streamed out like a banner, and glancing his head this way and that, right and left, he allowed us to come on to the brush corner, from whence, in a few moments, he allowed us to emerge and come afoot after him, down to the barn again. But luck will not hold for ever, even with horses. He dashed down a lane, and we had him. But as soon as he saw the gate closed, and perceived the state of the case, how charmingly he behaved! allowed us to come up and bridle him without a movement of resistance, and affirmed by his whole conduct that it was the merest sport in the world, all this seeming disobedience; and to him I have no doubt it was!”
On fait observer, dans l'ouvrage dont nous extrayons ces deux morceaux, que ce qui ajoute encore à l'étrangeté du cas de Milman, c'est qu'avant sa folie, il ne montra jamais la moindre disposition pour tout ce qui tient à l'imagination; son aptitude naturelle le portait vers les sciences positives et abstraites. Mais, dès que les opérations de ses facultés intelligentes sont arrêtées dans leur marche régulière, ses idées prennent une teinte de plaisanterie et de satire.
Assez rarement il arrive que le sculpteur, le peintre ou le graveur deviennent poètes après avoir perdu la raison. C'est pourquoi nous avons un double motif en insérant ici le nom de Luc Clennell, l'élève le plus distingué du célèbre Bewick, comme dessinateur et graveur sur bois.
Clennel naquit près de Morpeth, dans le Northumberland, en 1781. Après avait terminé ses sept années d'apprentissage sous Bewick, il vint à Londres en 1804. Il excellait également dans les aquarelles, et les encouragements qu'il reçut comme peintre, l'engagèrent à s'adonner exclusivement à ce genre, et à abandonner la gravure sur bois. En 1814, le Comte de Bridgewater lui avait commandé un important travail, dont il s'occupait avec ardeur, lorsqu'en 1817 il perdit soudainement la raison. Jamais ses plus intimes camarades n'avaient aperçu précédemment le moindre symptôme de folie dans ses actes, ni dans ses paroles. Il est digne de remarque que sa femme, peu après, fut aussi frappée de folie, ainsi que le peintre E. Bird, chargé d'achever le tableau commandé par le Comte de Bridgewater.
Après avoir subi une réclusion de quatre ans environ dans un hospice d'aliénés, il devint possible de lui accorder une certaine liberté, et l'un de ses parents, qui habitait les environs de Newcastle, le prit chez lui. Il y demeura pendant plusieurs années, tranquille et doux, mais privé de raison.
Vers 1831, on fut de nouveau obligé de l'enfermer dans une maison de Santé, à cause de ses moments de violence. Dans ce lieu, comme auparavant chez son parent, il s'amusait, en ses moments de calme, à dessiner et à écrire de la poésie, et chose curieuse, ce qu'il faisait de moins mal, était les vers. Voici une des différentes pièces de sa composition que ses amis rassemblèrent.
L'ETOILE DU SOIR.
Look! what is it, with twinkling light,
That brings such joys, serenely bright,