There is, perhaps, no better established fact in British society 
than that of the corresponding growth of modern wealth and 
pauperism. Curiously enough, the same law seems to hold good 
with respect to lunacy. The increase of lunacy in Great Britain has 
kept pace with the increase of exports, and has outstripped the 
increase of population. Its rapid progress in England and Wales 
during the period extending from 1852 to 1857, a period of 
unprecedented commercial prosperity, will become evident from 
the following tabular comparison of the annual returns of 
paupers, lunatics and idiots for the years 1852, 1854 and 1857°: 

Patients 
in Coun- In li- In With Total of Propor- 
Date. Population. ty or censed Work- __ friends Lunatics tion to 
Borough houses. houses, or _else- and popula- 
Asylums. where. Idiots. tion. 
Jan. 1, 
1852. =—-17,927,609 9,412 2,584 5,055 4,107 21,158 1 in 847 
Jan. 1, 
1854 18,649,849 11,956 1,878 5,713 4,940 24,487 1 in 762 
Jan. 1, 

1857 =19,408,464 13,488 1,908 6,800 5,497 27,693 1 in 701 

The proportion of acute and curable cases to those of a chronic 
and apparently incurable kind was, on the last day of 1856, 

estimated to be somewhat less than | in 5, according to the 
following summary of official returns: 

Patients of all Deemed 
classes in Asylums. curable. 
In County and Borough Asylums ............. 14,393 2,070 
le MOS pitas. iusto oe eshte teuts 1,742 340 
In Metropolitan licensed Houses .............. 2,578 390 
In Provincial licensed Houses..................4. 2,598 527 
TOtall wa cccciwthe ieee dis 21,311 3,327 

Deemed curable ...............0 3,327 

Deemed incurable ............... 17,984 

There exist in England and Wales, for the accommodation of 
lunatics and idiots of all sorts and of all classes, 37 public asylums, 
of which 33 are county and 4 borough asylums; 15 hospitals; 116 
private licensed houses, of which 37 are metropolitan and 79 
provincial; and lastly, the workhouses. The public asylums, or 
lunatic asylums properly so called, were, by law, exclusively 
destined for the reception of the lunatic poor, to be used as 
hospitals for the medical treatment, not as safe places for the mere 
custody of the insane. On the whole, in the counties at least, they 
may be considered well regulated establishments, although of too 
extensive a construction to be properly superintended, over- 
crowded, lacking the careful separation of the different classes of 
patients, and yet inadequate to the accommodation of somewhat 
more than one-half of the lunatic poor. After all, the space 
afforded by these 37 establishments, spreading over the whole 
country, suffices for the housing of over 15,690 inmates. The 
pressure upon these costly asylums on the part of the lunatic 
population may be illustrated by one case. When, in 1831, Hanwell 
(in Middlesex) was built for 500 patients, it was supposed to be 
large enough to meet all the wants of the county. But, two years 
later, it was full; after another two years, it had to be enlarged for 
300 more; and at this time (Colney Hatch having been meanwhile 
constructed for the reception of 1,200 lunatic paupers belonging 
to the same county) Hanwell contains upward of: 1,000 patients. 
Colney Hatch was opened in 1851; within a period of less than 
five years, it became necessary to appeal to the rate-payers for 
further accommodation; and the latest returns show that at the 
close of 1856 there were more than 1,100 pauper lunatics 
belonging to the county unprovided for in either of its asylums. 
While the existing asylums are too large to be properly conducted, 

their number is too small to meet rapid spread of mental 
disorders. Above all, the asylums ought to be separated into two 
distinct categories: asylums for the incurable, hospitals for the 
curable. By huddling both classes together, neither receives its 
proper treatment and cure. | 

The private licensed houses are, on the whole, reserved for the 
more affluent portion of the insane. Against these “snug retreats,” 
as they like to call themselves, public indignation has been lately 
raised by the kidnapping of Lady Bulwer into Wyke House, and 
the atrocious outrages committed on Mrs. Turner in Acomb 
House, York. A Parliamentary inquiry into the secrets of the trade 
in British lunacy being imminent, we may refer to that part of the 
subject hereafter. For the present let us call attention only to the 
treatment of the 2,000 lunatic poor, whom, by way of contract, the 
Boards of Guardians and other local authorities let out to 
managers of private licensed houses. The weekly consideration per 
head for maintenance, treatment and clothing, allotted to these 
‘private contractors, varies from five to twelve shillings, but the 
average allowance may be estimated from 5s. to 8s. 4d. The whole 
study of the contractors consists, of course, in the one single point 
of making large profits out of these small receipts, and conse- 
quently of keeping the patient at the lowest possible expense. In 
their latest report* the Commissioners of Lunacy state that even 
where the means of accommodation in these licensed houses are 
large and ample, the actual accommodation afforded is a mere 
sham, and the treatment of the inmates a disgrace. 

It is true that a power is vested in the Lord Chancellor of 
revoking a license or preventing its renewal, on the advice of the 
Commissioners in Lunacy; but, in many instances, where there 
exists no public asylum in the neighborhood, or where the existing 
asylum is already overcrowded, no alternative was left the 
Commissioners but to prevent the license to continue, or to throw 
large masses of the insane poor into their several workhouses. Yet, 
the same Commissioners add that great as are the evils of the 
licensed houses, they are not so great as the danger and evil 
combined of leaving those paupers almost uncared for in 
workhouses. In the latter about 7,000 lunatics are at present 
confined. At first the lunatic wards in workhouses were restricted 
to the reception of such pauper lunatics as required little more 
than ordinary accommodation, and were capable of associating 
with the other inmates. What with the difficulty of obtaining 

admission for their insane poor into properly regulated asylums, 
what with motives of parsimony, the parochial boards are more 
and more transforming the workhouses into lunatic asylums, but 
into asylums wanting in the attendance, the treatment and the 
supervision which form the principal safeguard of patients 
detained in asylums regularly constituted. Many of the larger 
workhouses have lunatic wards containing from 40 to 120 inmates. 
The wards are gloomy and unprovided with any means for 
occupation, exercise or amusement. The attendants for the most 
part are pauper inmates totally unfitted for the charge imposed 
upon them. The diet, essential above everything else to the 
unhappy objects of mental disease, rarely exceeds in any case that 
allowed for the healthy and able-bodied inmates. Hence, it is a 
natural result that detention in workhouses not only deteriorates 
the cases of harmless imbecility for which it was originally 
intended, but has the tendency to render chronic and permanent 
cases that might have yielded to early care. The decisive principle 
for the Boards of Guardians is economy. 

According to law, the insane pauper should come at first under 
the care of the district parish surgeon, who is bound to give notice 
to the relieving officers, by whom communication is to be made to 
the magistrate, upon whose order they are to be conveyed to the 
asylum. In fact, these provisions are disregarded altogether. The 
pauper lunatics are in the first instance hurried into the 
workhouses, there to be permanently detained, if found to be 
manageable. The recommendation of the Commissioners in 
Lunacy, during their visits to the workhouses, of removing to the 
asylums all inmates considered to be curable, or to be exposed to 
treatment unsuited to their state, is generally outweighed by the 
report of the medical officer of the Union, to the effect that the 
patient is “harmless.” What the workhouse accommodation is, may 
be understood from the following illustrations described in the last 
Lunacy Report as “faithfully exhibiting the general characteristics 
of workhouse accommodation.” 

In the Infirmary Asylum of Norwich the beds of even the sick 
and feeble patients were of straw. The floors of thirteen small 
rooms were of stone. There were no water-closets. The nightwatch 
on the male side had been discontinued. There was a great 
deficiency of blankets, of toweling, of flannels, of waistcoats, of 
washing basins, of chairs, of plates, of spoons and of dining 
accommodation. The ventilation was bad. We quote: 

“Neither was there any faith to be put in what, to outward appearance, might 
have been taken for improvement. It was discovered, for example, that in 

reference to a considerable number of beds occupied by dirty patients, the practice 
exists of removing them in the morning and of substituting, merely for show 
during the day, clean beds of a better appearance, by means of sheets and blankets 
placed on the bedsteads, which were regularly taken away at night and the inferior 
beds replaced.” 

Take, as another example, the Blackburn Workhouse: 

“The day rooms on the ground floor, occupied by the men, are small, low, 
~ gloomy and dirty, and the space containing 11 patients is much taken up by several 
heavy chairs, in which the patients are confined by means of straps, and a large, 
projecting fire-guard. Those of the women, on the upper floor, are also much 
crowded, and one, which is used also as a bedroom has a large portion boarded off 
as a privy; and the beds are placed close together, without any space between them. 
A bedroom containing 16 male patients was close and offensive. The room is 29 
feet long, 17 feet 10 inches wide, and 7 feet 5 inches high, thus allowing 2,39 cubic 
feet for each patient. The beds throughout are of straw, and no other description 
is provided for sick or bed-ridden patients. The cases were generally much soiled 
and marked by the rusty iron laths of the bedsteads. The care of the beds seems to 
be chiefly left to the patients. A large number of the patients are dirty in their 
habits, which is mainly to be attributed to the want of proper care and attention. 
Very few chamber utensils are provided, and a tub is stated to be placed in the 
center of the large dormitory for the use of the male patients. The graveled yards 
in which the patients walk are two for each sex, surrounded by high walls, and 
without seats. The largest of these is 74 feet long, by 30 feet 7 inches wide, and the 
smallest 32 feet by 17 feet 6 inches. A cell in one of the yards is occasionally used 
for secluding excited patients. It is entirely built of stone, and has a small, square 
opening for the admission of light, with iron bars let in to prevent the escape of 
the patient, but without either shutter or casement. A large straw bed was on the 
floor, and a heavy chair in one corner of the room. Complete control of the 
department is in the hands of an attendant and the nurse: the master seldom 
interferes with them, nor does he inspect this as closely as he does the other parts 
of the workhouse.” 

It would be too loathsome even to give extracts from the 
Commissioners’ report on the St. Pancras Workhouse at London, a 
sort of low Pandemonium. Generally speaking, there are few 
English stables which, at the side of the lunatic wards in the 
workhouses, would not appear boudoirs, and where the treatment 
received by the quadrupeds may not be called sentimental when 
compared to that of the poor insane. 

Written on July 30, 1858 Reproduced from the newspaper 
‘Tribune, No. 5407, August 20, 1858 as a 

Frederick Engels 

[THE REVOLT IN INDIA] 

The campaign in India has been almost completely suspended 
during the hot and rainy summer months. Sir Colin Campbell 
having secured, by a vigorous effort in the beginning of summer, 
all the important positions in Oude and Rohilcund, very wisely put 
his troops into quarters, leaving the open country in the possession 
of the insurgents, and limiting his efforts to maintaining his 
communications. The only episode of interest which occurred 
during this period in Oude, was the excursion of Sir Hope Grant 
to Shahgunge for the relief of Maun Singh, a native chief, who, 
after a deal of tergiversation, had lately made his peace with the 
British, and was now blockaded by his late native allies. The 
excursion proved a mere military promenade, though it must have 
caused great loss to the British by sun-stroke and cholera. The 
natives dispersed without showing fight, and Maun Singh joined 
the British. The easy success of this expedition, though it cannot 
be taken as an indication of an equally easy subjection of the 
whole of Oude, shows that the insurgents have lost heart 
completely. If it was the interest of the British to rest during the 
hot weather, it was the interest of the insurgents to disturb them 
as much as possible. But instead of organizing an active guerrilla 
warfare, intercepting the communications between the towns held 
by the enemy, of waylaying small parties, harassing the foragers, 
of rendering impassable the supply of victuals, without which no 
large town held by the British could live—instead of this, the 
natives have been satisfied with levying revenue and enjoying the 
leisure left to them by their opponents. Better still, they appear to 
have squabbled among themselves. Neither do they appear to have 
profited by the few quiet weeks to reorganize their forces, to refill 

their ammunition stores, or to replace the lost artillery. The bolt at 
Shahgunge shows a still greater want of confidence in themselves 
and their leaders than any previous defeat. In the mean time, a 
secret correspondence is carried on between the majority of the 
chiefs and the British Government, who have after all found it 
rather impracticable to pocket the whole of the soil of Oude, and 
are quite willing to let the former owners have it again. on 
reasonable terms. Thus, as the final success of the British is now 
beyond all doubt, the insurrection in Oude bids fair to die out 
without passing through a period of active guerrilla warfare. As 
soon as the majority of the landholders come to terms with the 
British, the insurgent bodies will be broken up, and those who 
have too much to fear from the Government will turn robbers 
(dacoits), in the capture of whom the peasantry will gladly assist. 

South-west of Oude the Jugdispore jungles appear to offer a 
center for such dacoits. These impenetrable forests of bamboo and 
underwood are held by a party of insurgents under Ummer 
Singh, who shows rather more activity and knowledge of guerrilla 
warfare; at all events, he attacks the British whenever he can, 
instead of quietly waiting for them. If, as it is feared, part of the 
Oude insurgents should join him before he can be expelled from 
his stronghold, the British may expect rather harder work than 
they have had of late. These jungles have now for nearly eight 
months served as a retreat to insurgent parties, who have been 
able to render very insecure the Grand Trunk Road from Calcutta 
to Allahabad, the main communication of the British. 

In Western India, the Gwalior insurgents are still followed up by 
Gen. Roberts and Col. Holmes. At the time of the capture of 
Gwalior, it was a question of much consequence, what direction 
the retreating army might take; for the whole of the Mahratta 
country and part of Rajpootana appeared ready for a rising as 
soon as a sufficiently strong body of regular troops arrived there 
to form a nucleus for the insurrection. A retreat of the Gwalior 
force in a south-westerly direction then seemed the most likely 
maneuver to realize such a result. But the insurgents, from 
reasons which we cannot guess at from the reports before us, have 
chosen a north-westerly direction. They went to Jeypore, thence 
turning south toward Oodeypore, trying to gain the road to the 
Mahratta country. But.this roundabout marching gave Roberts an 
opportunity of coming up with them, and defeating them totally 
without any great effort. The remnants of this body, without guns, 
without organization and ammunition, without leaders of repute, 
are not the men who are likely to induce fresh risings. On the 

contrary, the immense quantity of plunder which they carry along 
with them, and which hampers all their movements, appears 
already to have excited the avidity of the peasantry. Every 
straggling Sepoy is. killed and eased of his load of gold mohurs. If 
it has come to that, Gen. Roberts may safely leave the final 
dispersion of these Sepoys to the country population. The loot of 
Scindiah’s treasures by his troops saves the British from a renewal 
of the insurrection in a quarter more dangerous than Hindostan; 
for a rising in the Mahratta country would put the Bombay army 
upon a rather severe trial. 

There is a fresh mutiny in the neighborhood of Gwalior. A 
small vassal of Scindiah, Maun Singh (not the Maun Singh of 
Oude) has joined the insurgents, and got hold of the small fortress 
of Paoree. This place, is, however, already invested by the British, 
and must soon be captured. 

In the mean time, the conquered districts are gradually pacified. 
The neighborhood of Delhi, it is said, has been so completely 
tranquillized by Sir J. Lawrence that a European may travel about 
with perfect safety; unarmed, and without an escort. The secret of 
the matter is, that the people of every village have been made 
collectively responsible for any crime or outrage committed on its 
ground; that a military police has been organized; and, above all, 
that the summary justice of the Court-Martial, so peculiarly 
impressive upon Orientals, is everywhere in full swing. Still, this 
success appears to be the exception, as we do not hear anything of 
the kind from other districts. The complete pacification of 
Rohilcund and Oude, of Bundelcund and many other large 
provinces, must yet require a very long time and give plenty of 
work yet to British troops and Court-Martials. 

But while the insurrection of Hindostan dwindles down to 
dimensions which deprive it of almost all military interest, there 
has occurred an event far off, at the utmost frontiers of 
Afghanistan, which is big with the threat of future difficulties. A 
conspiracy to murder their officers and to rise against the British 
has been discovered among several Sikh regiments at Dera Ismael 
Khan. How far this conspiracy was ramified, we cannot tell. 
Perhaps it was merely a local affair, arising among a peculiar class 
of Sikhs; but we are not in a position to assert this. At all events, 
this is a highly dangerous symptom. There are now nearly 100,000 
Sikhs in the British service, and we have heard how saucy they 
are; they fight, they say, to-day for the British, but may fight 
to-morrow against them, as it may please ‘God. Brave, passionate, 
fickle, they are even more subject to sudden and unexpected 

impulses than other Orientals. If mutiny should break out in 
earnest among them, then would the British indeed have hard 
work to keep their own. The Sikhs were always the most 
formidable opponents of the British among the natives of India; 
they have formed a comparatively powerful empire**’; they are of 
a peculiar sect of Brahminism, and hate both Hindoos and 
Mussulmans. They have seen the British “raj” in the utmost peril; 
they have contributed a great deal to restore it, and they are even 
convinced that their own share of the work was the decisive one. 
What is more natural than that they should harbor the idea that 
the time has come when the British raj shall be replaced by a Sikh 
raj, that a Sikh Emperor is to rule India from Delhi or Calcutta? It 
may be that this idea is still far from being matured among the 
Sikhs, it may be that they are so cleverly distributed that they are 
balanced by Europeans, so that any rising could be easily put 
down; but that this idea exists among them must be clear, we 
presume, to everybody who has read the accounts of the 
behaviour of the Sikhs after Delhi and Lucknow. 

Still, for the present, the British have reconquered India. The 
great rebellion, stirred up by the mutiny of the Bengal army, is 
indeed, it appears, dying out. But this second conquest has not 
increased England’s hold upon the mind of the Indian people. 
The cruelty of the retribution dealt out by the British troops, 
goaded on by exaggerated and false reports of the atrocities 
attributed to the natives, and the attempt at confiscating the 
Kingdom of Oude, both wholesale and retail, have not created any 
particular fondness for the victors. On the contrary, they 
themselves confess that among both Hindoos and Mussulmans, the 
hereditary hatred against the Christian intruder is more fierce 
than ever. Impotent as this hatred may be at present, it is not 
without its significance and importance, while that menacing cloud 
is resting over the Sikh Punjaub. And this is not all. The two great 
Asiatic powers, England and Russia, have by this time got hold of 
one point between Siberia and India, where Russian and English 
interests must come into direct collision. That point is Pekin. 
Thence westward a line will ere long be drawn across the breadth 
of the Asiatic Continent, on which this collision of rival interests 
will constantly take place. Thus the time may indeed not be so 
very distant when “the Sepoy and the Cossack will meet in the 
plains of the Oxus,”*°** and if that meeting is to take place, the 

anti-British passions of 150,000 native Indians will be a matter of 
serious consideration.