When the horses were swollen out to about twice their natural dimensions (there seems to be an idea here, that this kind of inflation improves their going), we went forward again, through mud and mire, and damp, and festering heat, and brake and bush, attended always by the music of the frogs and pigs, until nearly noon, when we halted at a place called Belleville.
Belleville was a small collection of wooden houses, huddled together in the very heart of the bush and swamp.
Crocus would that evening deliver a lecture on Phrenology for the benefit of the Belleville public; at a charge, for admission, of so much a head.
From Belleville, we went on, through the same desolate kind of waste, and constantly attended, without the interval of a moment, by the same music; until, at three o'clock in the afternoon, we halted once more at a village called Lebanon to inflate the horses again, and give them some corn besides: of which they stood much in need.
They were painted, I think, by the artist who had touched up the Belleville doors with red and gold; for I seemed to recognise his style immediately.
A recent study from the Montreal Geriatric Institute led by Sylvie Belleville
, PhD, director of the Institute's Research Center and Professor of Psychology at the University of Montreal, has found patterns of progression from mild cognitive impairment to Alzheimer's disease (AD).