and physical wrecks, assaulted just as brutally as I was, and usually without a cause.  I know that men’s lives have been shortened by these brutal assaults.  And that is only a polite way of saying that murder has been committed here.”  Turning next to the matter of the women’s wards, I said:  “A patient in this ward—­a man in his right mind, who leaves here on Tuesday next—­told me that a woman patient told him that she had seen many a helpless woman dragged along the floor by her hair, and had also seen them choked by attendants who used a wet towel as a sort of garrote.  I have been through the mill and believe every word of the abuse.  You will perhaps doubt it, as it seems impossible.  Bear in mind, though, that everything bad and disagreeable is possible in an Insane Asylum.”

It will be observed that I was shrewd enough to qualify a charge I could not prove.

When I came to the matter of the Bull Pen, I wasted no words:  “The Bull Pen,” I wrote, “is a pocket edition of the New York Stock Exchange during a panic.”

I next pointed out the difficulties a patient must overcome in mailing letters:  “It is impossible for any one to send a letter to you via the office.  The letter would be consigned to the waste-basket—­unless it was a particularly crazy letter—­in which case it might reach you, as you would then pay no attention to it.  But a sane letter and a true letter, telling about the abuses which exist here would stand no show of being mailed.  The way in which mail is tampered with by the medical staff is contemptible.”

I then described my stratagem in mailing my letter to the Governor.  Discovering that I had left a page of my epistolary booklet blank, I drew upon it a copy of Rembrandt’s Anatomy Lesson, and under it wrote:  “This page was skipped by mistake.  Had to fight fifty-three days to get writing paper and I hate to waste any space—­hence the masterpiece—­drawn in five minutes.  Never drew a line till September 26 (last) and never took lessons in my life.  I think you will readily believe my statement.”  Continuing in the same half-bantering vein, I said:  “I intend to immortalize all members of medical staff of State Hospital for Insane—­when I illustrate my Inferno, which, when written, will make Dante’s Divine Comedy look like a French Farce.”

I then outlined my plans for reform:  “Whether my suggestions meet with approval or not,” I wrote, “will not affect the result—­though opposition on your part would perhaps delay reforms.  I have decided to devote the next few years of my life to correcting abuses now in existence in every asylum in this country.  I know how these abuses can be corrected and I intend—­later on, when I understand the subject better—­to draw up a Bill of Rights for the Insane.  Every State in the Union will pass it, because it will be founded on the Golden Rule.  I am desirous of having the co-operation of the Governor of Connecticut, but if my plans do not appeal to him I shall deal directly with his only superior, the President of the United States.  When Theodore Roosevelt hears my story his blood will boil.  I would write to him now, but I am afraid he would jump in and correct abuses too quickly.  And by doing it too quickly too little good would be accomplished.”