Summary

Sir Frederick Bateman The Idiot: His Place in Creation…

The approach of death seemed to awaken his spiritual life; out of the decaying body appeared to rise the growing soul, for, after repeating the verse of a hymn, the spirit of this simple child became liberated from its earthly tenement—its material habitat—the connection between matter and mind was severed, and, to use the touching language of his biographer, "this poor little idiot boy bade a long adieu to his sorrowing friends, and doubtless there was then joy in heaven, as the recording angel wrote in the Book of Life the name of George Tobey."
Source: Gutenberg

Sir Frederick Bateman The Idiot: His Place in Creation…

I have a plain unvarnished tale to tell, that requires no meretricious adornment to arrest your attention, for I am here to plead the cause of an unfortunate branch of the human family, who, by the very nature of their infirmity, are unable to say a single word for themselves, and whose mute appeal must excite universal sympathy.
Happily, we live in an age when the spirit of philanthropy is abroad, and all that Christian sympathy can suggest is being done to relieve the sick and suffering poor.
Source: Gutenberg

Sir Frederick Bateman The Idiot: His Place in Creation…

Before quitting the question of the cause of idiocy, I should like to say a word or two about what is technically called its histology and its pathological anatomy. What is there in the brain that makes one man a senior wrangler and another an idiot? What is it that unfits one person for the discharge of the ordinary duties of domestic and social life, and endows another with capacities adapted for a statesman, a mathematician, or a philosopher?
Source: Gutenberg

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