of patients are confined are as still and apparently as peaceful as a home circle.  The horror experienced during the first week’s, or first two weeks’ confinement wears off, and one gradually forgets that he is in a house for the mad.  Many amusing cases come under my observation, but there are others which excite various feelings of pity, disgust, fear, and horror.  There is, for instance, a man in “my ward” who imagines that he has murdered all his relations.  Another believes that he swallowed and carries within him a living mule which compels him to walk on his hands as well as his feet.  One poor fellow can not be convinced but assassins are hourly trying to stab or shoot him.  One is afraid to eat for fear of being poisoned, and another wants to disembowel himself.  Twice a day the wards, which number from thirty to forty patients under the charge of two attendants, one or the other of whom is constantly on duty, are taken out for a walk in the beautiful grounds around the asylum.  Sometimes, when it is thought that the patient will be benefited, and when he is really well but still not in a condition to be discharged, he is allowed the freedom of the grounds.  After I had been here two weeks I was permitted to go out on the grounds alone.  But my feelings are about the same outside the building as inside.  Even as I write I feel that there is a devil within me which is demanding me to go away from this place.  I want whisky, and would at this moment barter my soul for a pint of the hellish poison.  I have now been here a little over a month.  Like all the other patients, I am kindly treated.  Our beds are clean, and our food is well prepared, such as it is, and it is really much better than could be expected on the appropriation made by the last Legislature.  I doubt if there is another institution of the kind in the United States that can be compared with this in the ability, justice, kindness, and noble and unswerving honesty of its management.  Dr. Everts, the superintendent, is a gentleman whom I have not the honor to know personally, but whose commanding intelligence, and equally great heart, are venerated by all who do know him.

This is the fourth day of July, and I have written to my friends to come and take me away—­for what purpose I dare not think.  I am utterly desolate and miserable, and dare not look forward to the future, for I dread to face the uncertain and unknown to-come.  To stay here is worse than madness, in my present condition, and to go away may be death.  O, that some power higher than earth would reach forth a hand and save me from myself!  I can not remain here without abusing the kindness and trust of a great institution, nor can I go away, I fear, without bringing disgrace on my friends, and shame and death on myself.  God of mercy, help me!  I know how useless it would be to lock me up in solitary confinement, and I think my attendant physician also feels that I can not be saved by any means within the reach of the