16. How frequent this case may be, I know not. But doubtless most of those who make this objection, of our driving men mad, have never met with such an instance in their lives. The common cry is occasioned, either by those who are _convinced_ of sin, or those who are inwardly _converted_ to God: mere madness both (as was observed before) to those who are without God in the world. Yet I do not deny, but you may have seen one in _bedlam_, who _said_ he had followed _me_. But observe, a madman’s saying this, is no proof of the fact: nay, and if he really had, it should be farther considered, that his being in _bedlam_, is no sure proof of his being mad. Witness the well-known case of Mr. _Periam_; and I doubt more such are to be found. Yea, it is well if some have not been sent thither, for no other reason, but because they followed _me_: their kind relations either concluding, that they must be distracted, before they could do this: or, perhaps hoping, that _bedlam_ would _make_ them mad, if it did not _find_ them so. *17. And it must be owned, a confinement of such a sort, is as fit to _cause_ as to _cure_ distraction. For what scene of distress is to be compared to it? To be separated at once from all who are near and dear to you; to be cut off from all reasonable conversation, to be secluded from all business, from all reading, from every innocent entertainment of the mind, which is left to prey wholly upon itself, and day and night to pore over your misfortunes: to be shut up day by day in a gloomy cell, with only the walls to employ your heavy eyes, in the midst either of melancholy silence, or horrid cries, groans and laughter intermixt: to be forced by the main strength of those “Who laugh at human nature and compassion,” to take drenches of nauseous, perhaps torturing medicines, which you know you have no need of now, but know not how soon you may, possibly by the operation of these very drugs on a weak and tender constitution: here is distress! It is an astonishing thing, a signal proof of the power of God, if any creature who has his senses when the confinement begins, does not lose them, before it is at an end! How must it heighten the distress, if such a poor wretch, being deeply convinced of sin, and growing worse and worse (as he probably will, seeing there is no medicine here for _his_ sickness, no such physician as his case requires) be soon placed among _the incurables_! Can imagination itself paint such a hell upon earth? Where even “hope never comes, that comes to all!”――For what remedy? If a man of sense and humanity, should happen to visit that house of woe, would he give the hearing to a madman’s tale? Or if he did, would he credit it? “Do we not know, might he say, how well any of these will talk in their lucid intervals?” So that a thousand to one he would concern himself no more about it, but leave the weary to wait for rest in the grave!