"No, not what could be called lucid intervals. Once he said to a girl in the kitchen that it was books that made his head dizzy, and said something of a home a great ways off, from which he had fled to escape great violence. They hoped then to clear up the mystery, but the next moment his mind wandered again and he was Joseph sold into Egypt, bewailing his father Jacob and his brother Benjamin." "What is his name?" asked Mr. Tompkins. "We can't get any other name than Joseph, and the boys here call him Crazy Joe." "His malady may be curable; have you consulted a physician about it?" inquired the Californian, who was very much interested in the strange case. "Yes, sir; a doctor from the State Lunatic Asylum was here day before yesterday, but he pronounced him incurable." "Could not the doctor tell how long he had been in this condition?" asked Mr. Tompkins. "Not with certainty, but thought it only a few weeks or months. He said he had probably escaped from his guard and ran away." At this moment the subject of conversation rose from the low stool and looked about with a vacant stare. "Do you want to go home to your parents?" Mr. Tompkins asked. "When the famine is sore in the land they will come for me." "Why did you run away?" "My brothers sold me to the merchants with their camels. They made my father believe I was killed, and brought me here and sold me; but I know it is written that my brother Benjamin will come and bring my father to me." "Is it not written that Jacob did go down into Egypt with his whole family, and that he wept on Joseph's neck, and said he was willing to die?" said Mr. Tompkins, to lead him out of this strange hallucination. "Yes, yes--oh, yes!" the boy cried, eagerly. "Did not Moses deliver the children of Israel from bondage long after Jacob's death?" "I remember now that he did," said Joe. "Then how can you be Joseph, when he died three or four thousand years ago?" The boy reflected a moment, and then said: "Who can I be, if I am not Joseph?" "Some one who imagines himself Joseph," said Mr. Tompkins. "Now, try to think who you really are and where you came from." "I am not Socrates, for he drank the hemlock and died, nor am I Julius Caesar, for he was killed by Brutus," the poor lunatic replied. "Try to think what was your father's name," persisted Mr. Tompkins, hoping to discover something. "My father's name was Jacob, and I was sold a slave into Egypt by my brothers; but there must be something wrong; my father must be dead." Again he seated himself on the low stool and buried his face in his hands. "It's no use," said the landlord; "that's as near as you'll ever come to knowing who he is from him. I have advertised him in the Pittsburg daily, but no one has come yet to claim him." "A very strange hallucination," said the Carolinian. "Is he always mild?" "Yes; he is never cross or sullen, and seems delighted with children. He answers them in many ways."