The hour-glass and the Moulah of Oude had got me down and were pummelling me to death, when a short, thickset man came on all fours slap down upon them shouting out, 'Way, make way for the royal Bengal tiger!' at which they both fled like lightning, leaving me to the encounter single-handed.

Fortunately, however, this was not of very long duration, for some well-disposed Christians pulled him from off me; not, however, before he had seized me in his grasp, and bitten off a portion of my left ear, leaving me, as you see, thus mutilated for the rest of my days." "What an extraordinary club," broke in the doctor.
"Club, sir, club! it was a lunatic asylum.

The general was no other than the famous Dr.Andrew Moorville, that had the great madhouse at Bangor, and who was in the habit of giving his patients every now and then a kind of country party; it being one remarkable feature of their malady that when one takes to his peculiar flight, whatever it be, the others immediately take the hint and go off at score.

Hence my agreeable adventure: the Bengal tiger being a Liverpool merchant, and the most vivacious madman in England; while the hour-glass and the Moulah were both on an experimental tour to see whether they should not be pronounced totally incurable for life." "And Isabella ?" inquired Power.
"Ah, poor Isabella had been driven mad by a card-playing aunt at Bath, and was in fact the most hopeless case there.

The last words I heard her speak confirmed my mournful impression of her case,-- "'Yes,' said she, as they removed her to her carriage, 'I must, indeed, have but a weak intellect, when I could have taken the nephew of a Manchester cotton-spinner, with a face like a printed calico, for a trump card, and the best in the pack!'" Poor Sparks uttered these last words with a faltering accent, and finishing his glass at one draught withdrew without wishing us good-night..