HARPER'S
NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

No CLXXXIX.—FEBRUARY, 1866.—VOL. XXXII.

THE ASYLUM, FROM ROAD TO STEAMBOAT LANDING.

BLACKWELL'S ISLAND LUNATIC ASYLUM.

A T no very distant date I had the misfortune to be a patient in the Institution of which this article treats. It is not necessary for me to describe the form in which my affection manifested itself. I only mention it here to show that I have had ample means of seeing the details of the management of the Asylum. Since my recovery I have as a guest visited the Institution, and thus produced the drawings and narrative which are now commended to the reader's attention. Of their truthfulness I think there will be no question. Feeling no malice, I have certainly set down nothing in that spirit; and there is little which the managers could wish me to extenuate.

Blackwell's Island, notwithstanding its beauty, has no very good name. This arises from the fact that the Penitentiary was the first building erected upon it, and the island for a long time was known only as the site of that abode of crime. To none of the other structures it contains, indeed, would one like to be compelled to go—to the Work-house, the Almshouse, the Hospital, or the Insane Asylum; yet to the last two a compulsory visit might well be unattended with disgrace.

The Lunatic Asylum stands at that end of

the island farthest from the city of New York, and is, as regards scenery, far better located than any one of the others. On the eastern side Ravenswood, with its luxuriant foliage and elegant architecture, appears. From the opposite bank of the river Bellevue Gardens and several noble mansions with their boat-houses and terraces look down. Then the eye, glancing unrestrained up the stream, sees the historic "Hell-Gate," with the adjacent smiling village of Astoria; farther on, the leafy shores of Ward's Island discover themselves. The picturesque ferry-boat landing on the Manhattan side at Eighty-sixth Street, with its surroundings of gayly-painted skiffs and sail-boats, and the Hotel rearing aloft its old rickety walls, form other objects of interest as the attention again reverts toward the city. In summer the river presents a continued scene of animation. Graceful yachts, helped by the swift current, glide by with even more than their wonted speed; the mammoth Sound steamboats plow past with increasing roar and turbulence of waters; and now and then skeleton race-boats, propelled by sturdy arms and active muscles, shoot swiftly along.

The Lunatic Asylum comprises three sepa-

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.

VOL. XXXII.—No. 189.—T

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rate buildings, known as the "Asylum," the "Lodge," or Mad-house, and the "Retreat." I have named them in the order in which they are situated, the Asylum, or original and largest structure, being the one nearest the end of the island. This, though displaying irregularity in the architectural plan, is one of the most imposing edifices under the control of the Commissioners of Public Charities and Corrections. It consists of two wings, forming a right angle with their octagonal centre. Of these, one is inhabited by female, the other by male patients. The octagon is devoted to offices, parlors, and physicians' apartments.

Each wing has three stories and an attic, which are divided into bedrooms on either side of a long hall. These halls are inscribed at their entrance, Male or Female Halls, 1, 2, or 3, according to their elevation and the sex of the denizens. The attic contains the sick-room.

The Lodge or Mad-house, to which access is never attainable by visitors, is the place of confinement for the most violent cases. All new-comers are, however, generally placed there until they disclose their characters. Then, if sufficiently mild, they are removed to the Asylum or the Retreat. The Retreat is a building formerly belonging to the Work-house, the institution adjacent to the Insane Asylum. It is now a receptacle for female patients, who usually outnumber the male more than two to one.

In the Lodge there are four halls given up to females, while but two are inhabited by males.

There are other buildings which, though untenanted by the insane, are rendered necessary by the size of the Institution. Of these the most important is the Cook-house, where the food is prepared for use. This consists mainly of soup, boiled by means of steam-pipes in stationary kettles. From these it is carried in large tin vessels to the different halls of the three main structures. The engine-room occupies more than one-third of the Cook-house, inasmuch as, besides that necessary for cooking, it generates steam on which the warmth of the Asylum depends during winter. The washing of all the patients' clothes is performed in the same building, mainly by machinery.

The Institution is supplied with water by submarine pipes connecting with the Croton reservoir. Large tanks in the several edifices keep up the supply when, as is not infrequently, the pipes are injured by anchors or otherwise.

Among the outhouses is a stable, a carpenter's shop, a blacksmith's forge, and a paint shop. A dead-house also figures near by. Four large wooden structures are erecting for the benefit of patients sent from other institutions upon the island—the Work-house, Alms-house, etc. When typhus may rage it is probable they will also be used as a fever hospital.

THE COOK-HOUSE.

275

RECEIVING PATIENTS—THE EXAMINATION.

The Asylum grounds contain some fifteen or twenty acres (the island containing one hundred), and produce all the vegetables, except potatoes and turnips, used by the Institution. Of potatoes and turnips about two hundred bushels each are raised; tomatoes, two hundred bushels; carrots, one hundred; beets, one hundred and fifty; parsnips, one hundred and forty; other kinds in due proportion. The till-ing of the land, like most of the work about the Asylum, is done by patients under the guid-ance of a paid official.

A considerable portion of the grounds is de-voted to yards for the benefit of the insane, and an extensive garden blooms with many-colored flowers. Rarities are not infrequent. An ornamental summer-house adds to the charm of the spectacle, while grand old willows, horse-chestnuts, and button-woods, with other trees, make the scene immediately contiguous to the main Asylum exceedingly picturesque by their diversified and luxuriant foliage. The carriage road to the principal entrance runs through a densely-shaded avenue, and a fine vista pre-sents itself—at the end of which the blue wa-ter gleaming in the sun, dotted here and there with a white sail, delights the eye. The as-pect of nature can not be too highly estimated in its effects upon the better class of patients; it is the most prominent alleviation of the suf-

ferings they feel in being separated from friends, and for no sin confined in durance vile. It af-fords them that on which they can build many a pleasant thought, and helps them to relieve their minds of the fancies which oppress them.

Among other noticeable objects pertaining to the grounds is a pond of considerable size, which, though of rather brackish water, is use-ful in the winter, furnishing ice for the Work-house and the Asylum, and good skating for the officers and certain patients.

There are fifty-six officers, attendants, and employés salaried by the Commissioners. Of these the resident Physician holds the entire executive power. There are usually three assistant physicians and a chaplain attached to the Institution. An engineer and two watch-men are among the officials. The duties of the latter extend during the night as well as day. There are two attendants to each hall in the Asylum and Retreat. The Lodge is presided over by a female superintendent, and each hall has a single keeper. The Matron has the charge of the general housekeeping in all the buildings, and stands highest in rank among the female attaches. A gardener and a cook are noticeable, as well as the attendants in the sick-room. The laundry, wash-house, and kitchen include most of the other employés.

The number of patients is usually about 800.

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More than one-half—perhaps two-thirds—are of foreign nativity; Ireland annually furnishing 150, and Germany 60. The usual number of admissions during a year is 340, while discharges and deaths amount to a similar number. Of male patients who are single there are more than of those who are married, while with females it is the reverse. The female majority in respect to age lies with those between 30 and 40 years; the male between 20 and 30. The term of residence of those discharged is generally from three to six months, though not a few have spent three years in the Asylum, and some from six to eighteen. The latter are usually discharged unimproved.

I shall not trouble my readers with medical subdivisions of the forms of insanity; suffice it to say that mania afflicts more than four-fifths of the patients—dementia, or idiocy, and general paralysis being the misfortune of the remainder. Mania includes the violent and ravaging madman and those oppressed by a single delusion. From six to twelve improper subjects are annually sent to the Institution. These are mostly persons laboring under a short-lived delirium occasioned by intoxicating drink, though sometimes a criminal, relieved for a time from the penalty of his crime by a plea of insanity, makes his appearance from a court of justice.

Even where the criminal is really a lunatic it is not considered that the Asylum is the proper place for him, there being at Auburn, erected by the State, an asylum for insane convicts, which combines as far as may be the comforts of an asylum with the strength of a prison.

In the construction of ordinary asylums attention is given more to the homelike comforts than to the great strength of the establishment. It is the moral power that holds the patients more effectually than strong rooms, and probably there is no asylum in the country, except that at Auburn, from which a sane man could not readily escape. In the Asylum on Blackwell's Island there are no rooms really stronger than the usual sleeping-rooms of the hotels in the city, and the only appearance of extra strength is in the cast-iron sashes of the windows, which might be readily broken. They are well adapted, however, to common cases of insanity, but are insecure for the criminal insane with dangerous propensities, and afford to those who feign the disease, in order to escape punishment for their offenses, ready facilities for elopement. One of the unhappiest results of the reception of this class is, that the other insane feel truly degraded by the association, and are fearful that their own lives are endangered. Many of the patients are exceedingly sensitive, and feel deeply any real or fancied injury or injustice. It becomes with them a matter of complaint that murders even occupy the same halls with them and sit at the same table. Expressions of feeling arouse a spirit of ill-will and antagonism, and serious quarrels and difficulties result.

There are usually between thirty and forty persons with suicidal tendencies confined in the Institution. Most of their manifestations are, however, made previous to admission. The greatest care is taken to prevent the success of their attempts at self-destruction while incarcerated, yet one or two annually effect their purpose. The nature of the attempts is various: jumping from windows and heights, hanging, starvation, strangulation, cutting throat or arm, drinking laudanum or morphine, and beating the head against the wall are enumerated. Considering the disproportion of the sexes within the Asylum, it may be stated that such cases are equally divided between them.

The clank of chains and fetters is no longer heard in the Asylum. All means are taken to conceal every prison-like appearance. Iron doors are nowhere seen; entrance to the different halls is, of course, only obtainable by a key; but, though extremely strong, ordinary locks are used; bolts and bars are not visible. The iron gratings of the windows correspond in their openings to the size of the panes of glass before them, so that a casual glance would detect nothing peculiar. The most violent cases are put simply into a cell containing only a mattress and a wooden vessel; and where that is insufficient to prevent harm a strait-jacket of bed-tick closely fastening the arms to the sides is used; but it is rarely worn.

The same care now extends to the clothes of the patients; these were formerly of striped cloth resembling that upon convicts in other buildings on the Island. Within a few years they have been exchanged for suits of navy blue, so that patients in whom some degree of sanity exists present a respectable appearance; the females are attired in calico gowns. Appreciation of their apparel is a great inducement to cleanliness and neatness. The majority of the insane are furnished with clothes by the Commissioners, though many are provided by friends and relatives with such necessaries. At times, however, some of these are not allowed to wear their own garments, their destructive natures necessitating stronger and less valuable attire. Most of the inmates of the Lodge are thus clad.

The food, as I have said, consists mostly of soup with spoon meat, the impracticability of allowing the insane the use of knives and forks rendering this essential. The bill of fare is not luxurious, though better than in other institutions upon the Island. Beef soup, really meriting great commendation, is served three times weekly for dinner; mutton and salt beef once. The soup is thickened with Indian meal, and contains a variety of vegetables. Occasionally, in the season, other vegetables, such as radishes, accompany the main dish; but this is seldom. The bread is very good, and of all edibles furnished there is always an abundance. Friday is a black day with those of squeamish stomachs, for mush and molasses is then provided instead of soup. The breakfast

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The position in this Asylum of a patient from the better classes of society is not enviable. Crazy though he may be, he has yet the instincts, prejudices, and habits of the class to which he belongs, and being in daily companionship with his opposites in every respect his sensibilities are shocked on every side. Amidst the ignoble mass there are at times scholars and gentlemen. Men who have obtained distinction in their various walks of life find in this Institution a temporary resting-place or a final abode. Clever actors, fine musicians, artists, literary men, lawyers, doctors, and clergymen have been numbered among the inmates. Insanity, like death, is no respecter of persons.

Visitors to this Institution, if they come provided with the proper ticket, will, upon presenting it to the clerk, be shown through a single female hall of the main building, usually Hall 3. I have supposed that ladies are of the party; if none but gentlemen are present, they are escorted in addition through male Hall 3.

In these two halls the quieter and better class of patients are confined. The Lodge and the Retreat are, as a rule, closed from public curiosity, the indecencies in both word and action of many of the inmates rendering them unfit for scrutiny. The reason for refusing all applications to see more of the lunatics, is the

unhealthy excitement induced by an influx of strange faces among them, reviving, as it necessarily must, old associations and starting anew delusions which have almost died out. Visitors, though always treated with politeness, are not at all desired by the physicians of the place. The cleanliness and neatness every where apparent always commands admiration. The white-washed walls and spotless floors show constant attention; certain of the patients, under the guidance of attendants, sweeping and dusting the boards daily, and thoroughly scrubbing them once a week.

After contemplating the strangely attired, close shaven residents, chatting, perhaps, with some mild-eyed, ladylike monomaniac, shuddering at the approach of a haggard wretch with uncouth gesticulations, receiving urgent prayers from many to effect their release, the sight-seer descends the long winding staircase of the octagon and proceeds to the grounds for further spectacles.

Here, if the weather be favorable, he will doubtless find inclosed in a yard, profusely set with trees, a motley crowd of men. Almost every variety of dishabille is visible. Some are playing or wrestling with each other, some engaged in altercation, some in quiet social converse. Occasionally one starts as on a footrace, another jumps as if for a wager. Sing-

THE OFFICE AND DRUGGERY

279

ing, preaching, howling is heard, producing a
Babel of the most discordant noises.

Having gazed sufficiently the summer visitor strolls into the garden, the season being summer, and there consulting his watch learns he has just time in which to walk the quarter of a mile to the steamboat dock, and the whistle of the vessel coming up the river quickens his steps. He is soon after landed at Twenty-sixth Street, joyful at having "done" the Lunatic Asylum; but that he has seen and heard merely a hundredth part of what is most interesting the succeeding conversations will, I hope, prove.

With a stranger the insane are often slow to
unbosom themselves. If I occasionally seem
to push the sportive vein too far, to be insuffi-
ciently filled with compassion for misfortune,
the reader will please accept as my excuse that
I, too, have been a madman, and feel entitled
to greater license than the ordinary pleasure-
seeker.

The female patients (as well as the male)
exhibit every variety of ugliness of feature. It
would seem, from a general survey of the in-
mates, that the demon of insanity prefers the
most repelling abode. The "fair" sex is really
represented but three or four times among the
five or six hundred women in the Institution,
so at least to the casual spectator it would ap-
pear. Their close-cropped hair, slovenly attire,
and maniacal expression, are doubtless among
the causes of this. And again many have con-
tracted a habit of sitting in the broiling sun
until the skin peels off from their noses.

If a painter wished to depict the Witch Scene
in Macbeth he would here find the finest mod-
els—yet prominent among all monstrosities, a
very paragon of hideousness, stands Ann Barry.
The pen is inadequate to describe her, but the
pencil, in the accompanying illustration, may
help the imagination of the reader. Contempla-
tion of her grotesque bulk induces the thought
that, like the monster in "Frankenstein," she be-
came distracted through the sensation her ap-
pearance ever caused among her fellows. Her
gigantic head with its red, bushy, unkempt hair,
is supported by a huge misshapen body covered
usually by a coarse blue cotton gown, while her
arms and hands would astonish a prize-fighter.
Upon meeting her for the first time one expe-
riences a feeling akin to awe. Notwithstand-
ing her terrific aspect, this singular creature is
of a most tractable disposition and very useful
in the Cook-house, carrying heavy vessels. Her
conversational powers are not extensive; to all
questions she replies by monosyllables, given in
a deep bass voice like the growl of a wearied
lion. Her appetites are strong, yet she is not
devoid of love for the fine arts. Music, or what
doubtless to her is such, is her great delight.
Would you fill her soul with soft content, place
in her hands a guitar. Hugging it as though
it were the idol of her heart, she will sit ab-
sorbed in ecstacy for a whole afternoon pro-
ducing a monotonous tum, tum, tum. Though

stupid, Ann seems always happy, and doubt-
less is one of those who are satisfied with their
position in the Asylum.

With her there is usually associated in the
mind of the resident her fellow-patient, Norah.
She has the same carroty locks with the same
frizzled texture (though not so profuse). But
while Ann is sedate and rarely smiles, a con-
tinual grin overspreads the innocent face of
Norah. To glance at her is to excite a sim-
per; a protracted look will influence her risi-
bles to such an extent as to close her eyes and
involve her whole frame in wriggles and con-
tortions; then a pleasant expression upon your
face, and she will beat the ground with both
feet, turn her body from side to side, and amidst
chuckles and snickers conceal her beaming coun-
tenance awkwardly with both hands and her
apron. All this would be very pretty in a child
of three years of age, but it is supremely ludi-
crous in the forty-five years Norah numbers,
and the spectator's mirth soon equal hers. To
her concluding grunt, "Ugh, ugh! go away!
go away, there! stop it!" he is hardly able to
attend. Upon her picture being taken she went
through every variety of emotion, ending with
suspicious glances at the artist, when her mod-
esty burst forth in tears, evading all the endear-
ing words and efforts of the attendants to re-
press. Norah always impresses her acquaint-
ance as an elderly and overgrown baby. When
provoked she wears the sullen, angry look of a
spoiled boy, and emits a roar, intermingled with
broken words, while she stamps savagely upon
the ground. In person Norah is rather un-

ANN BARRY.

280

NORAH.

wieldy. She may frequently be found at the entrance to Female Hall 3, where she assumes the sinecure office of door-keeper, ever seeming in an intense state of satisfaction with nothing in particular, and indulging in a vacant reverie. She may also be occasionally met carrying pails of water from the Cook-house. Her intelligence is sufficient to enable her to eat and drink, wear her clothes and sleep when she should. She also reads in the visages of those about her

their expression, a scowl rendering her frantic; her mental acumen is not otherwise noteworthy.

It is customary, during pleasant weather, for the female attendants in the Lodge to give their charges an early morning airing. In troops of fifteen or twenty, two by two, these fantastically garbed patients proceed through the walks of the Asylum grounds. Prominent in their midst is one styled the "Queen," who may be seen in the sketch of the Doctor's Morning Round through the Lodge, rejoicing in her crown of artificial flowers and old rags. The usual number of sceptre-bearers are present in this Institution; there are some six kings; Prince Albert rows in a small boat belonging to the resident physician.

Now and then, from the motley ranks promenading, there will dart some particularly hilarious member who is soon brought back by threats, entreaties, or force. The principal of these undisciplined stragglers is a gross, portly woman, who with wheedling smiles on her sensual countenance attacks every man who may happen to be a few yards off with demands for tobacco. If her request is complied with she pockets her treasure, pats the donor on the back or cheek, in token of thanksgiving, and rejoins her companions at a pace scarcely warranted by her unwieldy proportions.

Another oddity among these poor creatures is one who seems to imagine herself a steam-boiler, her mouth being the valve. At the bidding of her keeper, or for her own ease, she will emit, during her excursions, a screech that would do honor to the whistle of the largest boat on the river. It is given with a passionate expression and an energy of purpose that are extremely comical. Leaving her and her associates to wander leisurely back to the Lodge, let us pass that building and enter the gate of

THE DOCTOR'S MORNING ROUND.

281

THE RETREAT AND YARD.

the yard of the Retreat. Here we are at once assailed by the complaining old maid Miss B.

This lady is a neatly attired personage, some forty years of age, of a plain but by no means unpleasant cast of features. Her hair is very gray and in thick curls. The only peculiarity in her appearance is induced by the great care which she takes of herself, and consists of a mask made from a pasteboard box, with two rough holes cut therein, to protect her skin from the sun. A fan of the same material is held in her right hand. The left is, as a rule, occupied in buttonholing visitors. The story of her wrongs is endless. She wishes that she could write a book to horrify the world with her dire revelations of the fiendish corruptions and abuses that exist in the Asylum. She is cognizant of murders that have been committed, and gazing carefully about informs you in a thrilling whisper that she has more awful secrets but dare not breathe them: her life would be taken should she do so. Her discourse is coherent, and she is generally judged sane by those who talk with her. The writer himself once had that belief. He knew what it was to be treated as if crazy. Since, however, she rushed up to him one day, dissolved in tears and crying "outrage," and exhibited a bruised finger, he has changed his opinion concerning her. The unheard of atrocity by which such serious

injury was inflicted was caused by a frolicksome patient snatching from her lap some needle-work. Miss B. pursuing her to regain the goods stumbled against a table and fell. Ten arsons and forty assassinations were as nothing to this villainy, to judge from her denunciations.

If it were not for that girl she would never have stumbled, if it were not for that stumble she would not have hurt herself, the girl was guilty of all—a perfect monster, should such things be, etc., etc. Poor Miss B. you are crazy, no doubt of it; but there are others as crazy unconfined. If you had friends willing to support you, you would not remain here. You are just insane enough to be wretched.

Miss B. is rivaled in loquacity by Mrs. N., who, however, possesses a far wilder imagination. Her style is different also, being that of a preacher. At times she has informed the world in general, and the writer in particular, that the whole Institution belongs to her, not a rag worn on the place but is hers; but that her servants somehow have got the upperhand and order her when she should order them, though a reckoning will surely come. Her mood changing, she has declared that every doctor now on the island, and many who have left it, is her husband. Mrs. N. has singular facility in extempore rhyming, yet occasionally the right

282

word eludes her grasp; and it is amusing to hear her without a pause, overthrowing on all sides sense and syntax, rush headlong through sentence after sentence before arriving at the destined goal.

An altercation now going on in the yard arrests our attention. Two women stand shaking their clenched hands at each other. One of them is a tall German with disheveled hair, sun-burnt skin, and toothless mouth. Her enunciation is rapid in the extreme and pitched in a high key. Part of her discourse is in her native tongue, part in broken English, but all so jumbled together, so strangely uttered as to render us unable to get at her meaning. We are less fortunate in respect to her Irish opponent—a wrinkled hag, whose maledictions, given with equal ferocity, are every where interlarded by profane expressions and obscenity.

Satisfied at length that no serious harm will be inflicted by either we approach a crouching figure, whose preternatural ugliness fixes the eye. She is engaged in embroidering strange characters on a strip of cotton cloth.

"What have you there?" we ask, irreverently.

"Take care, don't dare to touch it; hell yawns before you!" is the response; and af-frighted eyes gaze into ours.

"What's the matter?"

"This is sacred. It contains a dispatch from the Almighty God. It is worth millions on millions. I am the Queen of Heaven!"

Rash mortals that we were; we effect our retreat.

And now there advances toward us with light, tripping footstep and outstretched hand a plump female. Her clothing is soiled and slovenly worn. Her countenance is unctuous with the milk of human kindness and mutton-suet. Her discolored teeth are fixed in the thigh-bone of a sheep, and her bare arms glisten to the elbows with the fat of the animal. As she nears us she drops the bone, her head falls to one side, and her mouth expands in a loving leer. It is she—the irrepressible "Moonshine." Woe is me that I am a man. It is I who have drawn the creature to us. I have whiskers, I am therefore adored. That fearful scene is to be repeated.

She sidles hesitatingly up to me and extends her dripping digits—my modesty takes alarm—I retire. She grows bolder, pouts her lips and essays to kiss me; both arms are now extended, and a tender embrace would surely follow did I not precipitately dodge behind a companion. In a low murmur are constantly emitted expressions of affection. Finally she gets wearied by my shy manner and sportively claps me on the back. I thenceforward bear a love-token on my coat, the imprint of her greasy hand. To state it mildly, Miss M. is continually playing the ancient game of Copenhagen; without much regard, however, to certain of its rules.

But where is our accomplished friend Fanny

L. Our search for her is interrupted by a red-faced woman in the raggedest of gowns, who seizes us by both arms, and, rapidly vociferating, commands us with threats to tell father that Moll Maguire has a litter of pigs and the old sow is dead. She also insists upon our making Pat Mulrooney keep away from Biddy M'Ginnis, the ould varmint, the ugly baste. Ha, ha, did we see Tim O'Flaherty climb the greased pole—didn't he fall sudden. Ann Sullivan sha'n't wear her silk dresses into the dairy; and we must tell father that Teddy Roche doesn't mind his business, and she wants to go home.

I gravely enter a note in my pocket-book and promise all that is asked.

Fanny is at length found, and a mock introduction is given her to the familiar faces about.

"Dr. Patch, the distinguished—"

"Happy to meet you, Sir. I have heard of a relative of yours, who ascended into fame by descents into the water. He was an exceedingly decent performer—Mr. Sam Patch. Do you remember;" and forthwith Fanny recites with appropriate and striking gestures several stanzas from well-known verses in honor of the hero of Niagara Falls. Her delivery both in word and action would excite the admiration of the eloquent Gough and do no discredit to Mrs. Kemble.

"The gentleman before you," some one remarks, "is not unworthy of his illustrious ancestor. He also has jumped over waterfalls. The ladies wear them very large now, and occasionally lose them."

"Ah! then he is doubtless acquainted with the Maid of the Mist," Fanny replies, quickly; "for I presume he was gallant enough to present it to the lady, who, having let it drop, missed it."

"We have heard much of your vocal powers, Miss L., will you not favor us with a song?"

"'Sing a song of sixpence,' shall I, gentlemen? 'a pocket full of rye.' A bottle of rye whisky is meant by the poet, I surmise; it often induces singing for sixpence. Ha, ha! As for me I have only a wry face."

"Pshaw, Fanny, be serious; we are exceedingly fond of music, and would delight to hear you."

"Well, what will you have? What is your favorite style? Operatic or the simpler ballad? Sad or gay?"

"Sing us the melody you like best."

"Well, the one I sing oftenest is the Blind Girl. It suits me, for I am always groping in the dark."

She strikes at once into a plaintive air, which with its pathetic words absorbs the attention of her visitors. She sings with real feeling and true expression, and her voice, though not rich, is very sweet. Upon our repeated requests she sings another and yet another.

"We are infinitely indebted to you, Miss L., but we are not yet satisfied. We know how much farther you are capable of pleasing us,

283

and long to see you dance. You are not tired,
we hope ?"

"Oh no, I have not yet thought of retiring,
and so, of course, could not of tiring. What
will you have ?"

"Any thing you please."

She straightens herself, extends her shabby
skirts with both hands after the approved man-
ner of danseuses, and assumes a graceful atti-
tude. Then, humming the music that should
be played, she bounds into the first figure.
Chassé-ing, pironette-ing she performs many
of the more difficult feats of the Terpsichorean
art, every movement full of ease and elegance.
Her agility is surprising, for she must number
full forty-five years, and her locks are quite
gray.

We clap our hands loudly as with a superb
courtesy she sinks at our feet.

"The Cachuca, Fanny, the Cachuca!"

"Certainly, my lords. You will excuse my
slippers, they are, ha! ha! the best I have, but
their fit is charming." She protrudes her bare
toes to our gaze, and then, throwing its a smile,
launches into the wild dance with all the aban-
don of a Spanish señorita. The languor, the
fire, the passion of its voluptuous figures are
given con amore, yet chastely. Our plaudits
are renewed with fervor at its conclusion, and
we bid her farewell.

Fanny was unquestionably at one period

gifted with much beauty and more than ordi-
nary intellect; sparks of the latter even now
remain and frequently burst forth in repartee.
Yet all her fine qualities were during their per-
fection prostituted to base uses—she has been
one of the celebrities of the demi-monde. Her
acquaintance with men prominent in the world
is extensive, and she delights to relate anec-
dotes concerning them. One of the most sin-
gular of her delusions is connected with a young
physician attached to the Asylum. She believes
him the Deity, and sits daily at his door, sadly
disturbing his reflections by pouring forth mel-
ody after melody. She makes him presents
of bouquets of weeds, and grasses, and is never
happier than when she sees him.

The interesting "Moonshine" I have men-
tioned is conjoined with her in persecutions
of this doctor, but shows less good taste in her
demonstrations—being wont to fill the key-
hole of his door with gristle and fat, and thrust
into his room old pieces of newspaper carefully
tied up with various-colored string. At the
approach of evening he usually finds a dozen
of these missives on his floor.

For some reason (probably her long residence
in the Asylum) "Mrs. Buchanan" is the fe-
male patient best known to the public—she is
often inquired after by the visitor. Her name
indicates her monomania; she believes Presi-
dent James Buchanan to have been her hus-

"MRS. BUCHANAN."

284

band. A quiet, motherly-looking old lady, she is always decently attired and inhabits a comfortable bedroom in Hall 3 of the main building. A large doll is ever with her, which she sometimes imagines is one of her children, no less than forty-five of whom, she affirms, have blessed her union with the Ex-Chief Magistrate. In times past Mrs. B. had some kittens, which she also nursed as her offspring.

The writer made a call upon her not long since, and wishing to be well received, and knowing her predilection for distinguished guests, announced himself, his modesty consenting, as traveling tutor to the Prince of Siam, then visiting the United States. She hoped the king, my master, was well, and did me all the courtesy in her power, inviting me into her apartment and giving me a seat. In the course of our conversation I ventured to say that it was strange that the wife of a President should be in her position.

Oh no, not strange at all, some political end. She would soon be free, Mr. Buchanan was coming that very afternoon. (Mr. B. has been coming every day for the last six years, yet the old lady is as cheerful as a cricket.) She suffers no disappointment, for she forgets everything said or done as soon as it has passed.

I also hazarded the remark that I was informed and believed the venerable President was deceased. She burst into a laugh, and turned to my companion with the exclamation: "Do hear him!—he would impose upon me with that! No, Sir; I had a letter from him yesterday."

"Are you well cared for here, madam?"

"Well, Sir, the fare is without variety. The soup is very good—but is nothing to the ten courses to which I have been accustomed."

I burst forth into rage at the inhumanity of her spouse in allowing her to remain so long with strangers, but was brought to a stop by a horrified look on my host's features.

"Do not dare to speak so, Sir! Mr. Buchanan is as much grieved at our separation as myself. Circumstances are uncontrollable; but I am resigned to the will of my Maker." And she uttered a long homily, as most Christian old ladies would in her imagined position.

Being informed that I was an artist desirous of taking her portrait, Mrs. B., with her sweetest smile, consented to sit. Upon the completion of the picture we respectfully withdrew.

Most of the amusements of the patients are only acceptable to convalescents or to monomaniacs. Of such a character are draughts, chess, dominoes, and cards. These games are continually played by certain of the insane, and great skill is not infrequently found among them. Loggerheads and quoits are at the disposal of those to whom it is safe to intrust them, and who are desirous of exercising with them. At one time daily military drills, with drum and fife, took place in the yard of the Asylum. It was amusing and instructive to see the invigorating effect of the martial airs

upon even the demented. They would go through the evolutions, too, with an exactitude that was surprising; and stimulating the melancholic cases to exertion, the drill probably not a little helped to promote their recovery. Falstaff, gazing from afar, might think he held his ancient army in the grotesque company before him.

Fine facilities for swimming are afforded on the island; a small shanty serves as a bath-house at its extremity, and male and female patients enjoy in the season the luxury of a dash into the East River. Mention of sharks having been seen occasionally deters the timid from venturing in, but no accident from the presence of that fish is recorded as having happened to island residents. There are sometimes discovered among the patients accomplished performers in the water—men conversant with all known feats, and able to spend half a day disporting on the surface. Good skating is also to be obtained in the winter.

Each inmate is allowed, as far as is possible, if he is fit for it, to busy himself with his favorite pursuits. The penman finds ample occupation, under the doctor's direction; the cabinet-maker, painter, carpenter—all may work at their various employments. A museum until lately existed, in which specimens of the more curious work of inmates was exhibited. Drawings showing infinite patience were exposed: needle-work of the most outré character. The larger part of the museum, however, consisted of contributions from outsiders.

Fishing is to be had, but it is by no means as good as formerly. Lobster-nets are, however, set at the proper time, and not a few of the shell-fish find their way into them. There is one eccentric whose whole time is devoted to the piscatory tribe. He is a sort of hermit; has built a hut in the marsh at the upper end of the island, where he spends most of the day, coming to the Cook-house for his meals (when he has not amply provided himself), and to his proper hall at bedtime. He is called Hudson, and his grizzly hair, long as a woman's, is coiled, Chinese fashion, at the back of his head, under a variety of handkerchiefs, rags, and an old hat. He speaks little English, knowing apparently just enough to enable him to ask for fish-hooks and tobacco, for he is a continual smoker. He is of German nativity.

Another prominent disciple of Isaak Walton is "Black Jimmy," a jolly, clever darkey, whose romantic story of his incarceration, as given by himself, runs thus: He is not wholly a negro, his father having been an Indian, and he inherits some of the characteristics of the savage people to which he is allied. His former master, whose coachman he was, is declared by him to have also had Indian blood in his veins, and was once the Mayor of New York. Jimmy, as time progressed, manifested matrimonial inclinations, and as his tastes leaned toward his father's race, a young squaw became the favored object of his addresses. This most beautiful

286

pertained to the island, with its bones and
tambourine, giving concerts on the holidays.
Gentlemen from the city used to favor the
Asylum with sacred music every Sabbath, but
of late have discontinued the practice.

On the last Fourth of July a novelty was
inaugurated, a ball was given in the large hall
of the Retreat, and certain male and female
patients intermingled in the mazy dance. An
athletic Irishman distinguished himself by his
pigeon-wings and extraordinary agility. No-
rah was there, hopping up and down as though
pins were in each shoe. And Jimmy the fid-
dler was lost in ecstasy: a perpetual smile
oozed through his bristly mustache; and his
left leg beat time extravagantly to the wheez-
ings and shriekings of his instrument. But the
ball was a success—no accident occurred—pa-
tients, physicians, and visitors were equally de-
lighted.

A comic lecturer and ventriloquist well known
to the public has not infrequently given per-
formances in the Institution, and they were of
a character exceedingly acceptable to the in-
mates. His fate was most sad. He died the
terrible death of a hypochondriacal maniac;
not a single pleasing fancy illumined his pite-
ous confinement. He was an illustration of
the danger of allowing an active in-
tellect to run into aimlessness. He
obtained a competence, retired from
business, and went mad. He volun-
tarily committed himself to the Asy-
lum two years ago, and his story ran
thus:

"I bought me a house; ordered
and paid for furniture to be put there-
in; arrived at it one night and found
it empty; slept on the floor; became
disgusted and sold it next day for a
mere song. I then reflected; found I
had lost a large sum of money; knew
I ought to be under care; and came
here for it."

From the deepest melancholy he
rapidly sank into hypochondria of the
most extravagant character. He was
living in the midst of putrefaction;
he could eat nothing; his meat was
decomposed; milk was a mass of gan-
grene. He became a walking skel-
eton, and would unmistakably have
starved himself to death had not food
been forced upon him. His shrieks as
the detested viands entered his mouth
were appalling. Opium may be named
as another cause of his madness. He
had addicted himself to the habitual
use of that drug. Such got to be
the unhealthy state of his constitution
that a slight scratch on one of his feet
caused it to swell inordinately. He
would point to it with despair. "That
foot is dead! Look at it! Isn't it
horrible? It is all gangrene. Pah!
how it —! I shall die of cholera

from that foot." He finally imagined himself
a corpse. Passing his door one afternoon the
writer heard a cry (as he understood it) for
coffee.

"Bring me my coffee, my coffee!"

"What do you want coffee for, Doctor?—
haven't you had your dinner?"

"Coffee!" exclaimed the poor man, testily;
"I didn't say coffee. I said coffin. I am dead.
I won't keep long. I ought to have been bur-
ied two days ago."

Clinging to this delusion he had to be dressed
and undressed by the attendants, for he would
do nothing for himself. He was a corpse; no
such thing could be expected of him. Out of
this living death he soon now passed into the
reality. A case of more unmitigated woe I
have never seen, before or since; yet the suf-
ferer was one who had convulsed large audi-
ences with laughter at his finished imitations
of a hypochondriac!

Shortly after his decease another miserable
man breathed his last within the walls of the
Asylum. An educated Hungarian exile, he
practiced law in the city even while a patient.
His death was caused by consumption. He was
ever talking of his position in his native land—
how he was wealthy and noble. Some of his

THE PREACHER.

287

PADDY DISCOURSESING.

hallucinations while upon his sick bed were
amusing. Two holes for ventilation were in
the wall near the ceiling, and through them
he imagined the Doctor was playing upon him
with a large magnetic battery in the room
above. I tried in vain to disabuse him of this
belief, employing incontestable arguments, but
to no purpose.

We want fresh air after contemplating these
cases of extreme wretchedness. A stroll about
the grounds will recreate our sickened souls.
Coming up the pathway toward us is a form I
recognize; the placid countenance of Black
Charley is about to pass.

“How are you, Charley?”

“Quite well, tank you, massa.”

“In a hurry?”

“No, no great, massa.”

“I have here some friends who lack instruc-
tion. Will you not edify them by a discourse?”

“Can’t preach widout notes, Sah.”

I know Charley's peculiarity, and at once
hand him a scrap of blank paper. He surveyed
it for a few moments, and then rapidly enun-
ciated the following:

“Bredren, de Queen of Sheba, Moses and

de prophets, de New Jerus'lem for eb-
erlasting. Yea, berily, eben so, now
and foreber. Selah. In de beginning
was de word, and de word was made
in six days out ob nothing. Paul an
apostle to dem dat am wid Nebuchad-
nezzar—peace. Blessed am de mer-
ciful, for dey shall pluck corn on de
Sabba' day,” etc.

Charley speaks as if reading from a
book. There is no question but that
the piece of paper is of service to him;
he never was known to preach without
it. His is certainly a Scriptural dis-
course, and delivered with earnest
purpose, yet we are not sorry when
he commences singing, in his weak,
lackadaisical way, the words of an old
Methodist hymn.

While he is so occupied let us talk
with “Paddy,” who is hitching des-
perately at his trowsers in the potato-
patch yonder. He picks up his hoe
as we approach and vindictively lac-
erates the ground.

“Paddy!”

“Ah, go long wid ye; I’m busy.”
Then a sudden idea strikes him; he
rushes up to us, thrusts his bleared
eyes and haggard, twitching mouth
into my face, and catching me by the
lappel of my coat propounds the ques-
tion:

“D’ye remimber the ponies I gave
your father—three colts and a bay
mare—beauties, every son of ’em?”

“No, Paddy, you never gave them;
they were bought at a good price.”

“D’ye mind that, now? Wasn’t I
the largest land-owner in the County
Killarney? D’ye know Tim O’Brien’s tavern?
He was next door to me. Take this.” He
puts in my hand a bit of broken crockery, and
closes my fingers upon it, “Keep that, now.
D’ye mind? D’ye mind that?”

He hitches his trowsers again and is off, with
a painful, nervous step. I turn my back, won-
dering, as I move away, if he were not a horse-
jockey at one period, when my sleeve is pulled,
and lo! Paddy once more. He motions me
to extreme caution, slips another bit of an old
plate into my hand, “D’ye mind that, now?”
and is gone.

As the artist is putting the finishing touches
to a likeness of him he has picked up during
the adventure just related an attenuated and
spectacled figure looks over his shoulder at the
drawing, and then, with irrepressible indigna-
tion gleaming in his eyes and quivering in ev-
ery word, declares that he will have no such
work done in the land.

“‘Thou shall not make to thyself the like-
ness of any thing in the heavens above or in
the earth beneath.’ Dare ye disobey the Sec-
ond Commandment?”

The artist, in despair with the portrait he

288

has obtained with such difficulty, mildly sug-
gests that it can hardly be considered the like-
ness of any thing.

"New Jerusalem" looks puzzled, but solves
the question by asking for some tobacco, which
is given.

"It is mine," he returns, as he pockets it.
"All you have is mine."

We look our gratitude for the use of his
property and retire from the presence of the
"Special Messenger."

Continuing our walk we soon reach the en-
trance of the main Asylum; and there before
it, comfortably smoking under a large willow-
tree, we descry two individuals that deserve
notice.

OLD TONY

The little, bent old man with the long white
beard is the oldest resident of the Institution,
having been a patient some thirty years. An
amiable Frenchman, it is one of his boasts that
he once served under Napoleon the First. De-
voted to his pipe, he raises all his own tobacco;
and as he cures it, it would prove innocuous to
a babe. He may be subject to aberration oc-
casionally, but strongly-marked symptoms of
insanity have not been manifested by him for a
long time. He is very useful in his way, hav-
ing a great liking for the medical officers, and
doing them many services.

His companion is M—, an Irishman, who,
without any peculiar delusion, is certainly daft.
He talks sense much of the time, but is also an
utterer of the most "highfalutin" nonsense.
He has a learned friend among the patients,

with whom he is fond of discourting ethics and
politics, and a more amusing dialogue than
theirs it would be difficult to conceive. One
utters his tirade against the Government, with
a voluble intermingling of things in the heav-
ens above, on the earth beneath, and in the
waters under the earth; then the other with
the utmost solemnity will reply, and, evidently
thinking he is rebutting his friend's arguments,
talks upon an entirely diverse theme with end-
less pertinacity and confusion. A more ridic-
ulous caricature of a debate was never imag-
ined. M— ran away from the Asylum not
long since and entered the army, securing no
inconsiderable bounty-money. The state of
his mind was, however, soon discovered, and
he was sent to his former abode, declaiming
against "sycophancy and conspiracy."

As we turn from him there enters the Asy-
lum an active figure carrying a pail of white-
wash with its proper brushes. His whole per-
son from his hat to his shoes is ornamented
with the chalky fluid. His features exhibit
shrewdness which their owner does not possess.
Cassidy is a billionaire in imagination. He
lords the whole island. He lives but to amass
money, and hence we always see him in a work-
ing dress. He superintends and repairs the
Institution, declaring that if he relaxed his
vigilance for a single day the whole place would
go to ruin. He is really worth to the Commis-
sioners seven or eight hundred dollars a year;
being in masonry and other mechanical pur-
suits a valuable assistant. He is a miser with
no real wealth; the interest accruing from his
vast possessions being paid in notes of one hun-
dred dollars on the "Bank of Love." One of
the watchmen officiates as his man of business,
and delights him weekly with an account of his
accumulations. Cassidy will not, however,
part with twenty-five cents in charity. His
fancied treasures are without doubt as much
enjoyed by him as the real fortunes of many
men of his cast of mind. What a striking
satire is his history upon the lives of some called
sane!

A yell from the yard opposite us attracts our
attention. It proceeds from the throat of that
dismal being rapidly making the circuit of the
inclosure. He seems to consider himself a
vocal newspaper; his cries day after day being,
as it were, the headings to sensation items.

"Arrival of the *Great Eastern*!—Queen Vic-
toria has a set-to with the Prince of Wales!—
A Priest-Ridden Community!—Cholera Mor-
bus!—Grand smash up of the European Con-
gress!—Horace Greeley swallowed by the mon-
ster Miscegenation," etc.

All of these disjointed sentences are jerked
out at the top of his voice. Of vast importance,
too, he deems them, repeating them with em-
phasis to every stranger he may happen to see.

A conversation with "John Brown" in the
same yard would give birth to the strangest
ideas ever entertained by the fancy. He will
inform his auditor that a large nest of snakes

289

resides in his stomach which ought to be ex-
tracted.

"Now, doctor, there is only one place from
which they can be taken; under this rib. See.
Insert a knife—magnetized, you know—then it
won't hurt me at all. There is a boa con-
strictor among them. I know by his twisting."

He also says he would have been President
long ago, if it were not for, for—but his rea-
sons are more numerous than excellent.

"Dobler's" eccentricities are shown by ac-
tion rather than speech; he seems unable to do
any thing without reference to mathematical
rules. If he sees a stone at some distance
from him which he wishes, he is impelled to
approach it by a series of zigzag movements.
He first gazes at it, makes some abstruse calcu-
lation, and then with regular paces marches
away to the west of it. Here, meditating a
moment, he proceeds at a right angle. Hav-
ing thereafter described with his steps a series
of triangles, equilateral and isosceles, he is
perhaps within a few feet of it. This is an aw-
ful moment, and demands much thought. Fi-
nally a rapid advance, a sudden putting out of
his arm, and the stone is his.

Another individual not far off is either en-
gaged in the cultivation of acrobatic powers or
has inaugurated some new religious ceremony.
Ever and anon he stOPS and kisses with solem-
nity the ground between his feet.

A patient is dead; there passes us in the
road yonder a rough pine coffin on a trestle
carried by two lunatics. The first of these is
"John Dunn," an inmate of the Lodge. His
appearance is that of a savage beast; a brutal,
sensual mouth is ill-concealed by his bristly
beard, and two swinish eyes illumine his swarthy
countenance. The conception formed of his
character is not exceeded by the reality. Cruel
as he may be, he is harmless unless provoked;
and again John's ferocity seems rather the work
of idiocy than aught else. I should judge him
absolutely ignorant of what would produce a
feeling of pain in others. A playful blow from
him intended to testify to his good-humor will
as likely as not be administered to a part of the
body that will feel the injury for a month.

I hope to be pardoned for giving a striking
illustration of his selfish instincts, his total
want of humanity. A patient in the sick-room
was given up by the doctors, and his demise
being every minute expected John was told to
get a coffin ready. He mistook the order for
an announcement that the man was dead, and
soon appeared by the bedside with his "red
box." To his disgust the patient was still
breathing. He was summoned then for no-
thing, and his anger burst forth in an exclama-
tion to the sufferer, intermingled with oaths,
"M-m-m! Why don't you die? Why don't
you die?"

As we follow the coffin on its way to the
Dead House we descry, standing in the centre
of the island, with one hand upon a tree and
anxiously surveying the water upon all sides

VOL. XXXII.—No. 189—U

RAFFERTY.

of him, an example of heroic perseverance that
deserves better success than he has met with.
"Rafferty" (with some degree of education and
born in the Middle Ages) would have rivaled
all brother alchemists in perseverance in the
chase after the philosopher's stone. For the
past five or six years he has stood morning and
afternoon in that same position awaiting the
drying up of the East River. His bosom is de-
pressed or elated by the rising or the falling of
the tide; occasionally the water is very low
and then Rafferty trembles with delighted an-
ticipation. The spirits, however, sadly inter-
fere with his plans. Marine, mundane, and
aerial, they are all opposed to him. He fights
against hope, encouraged only by visions in his
dreams. Latterly he has come early into the
office before setting forth on his protracted
watch, and solicits a pass to the city from the
attendants. He is usually told he must pro-
cure a beaver hat of the latest Parisian style
and a standing collar before the document can
be granted him.

While we gaze upon him the doctor's small
boat, laden with officers, nears its landing.
Erect in the prow, and brandishing a boat-
hook, is the famous "Admiral." He is adorn-
ed, as usual, by a battered old silk hat profuse-
ly ornamented with tags of string and colored
cloths, a clay pipe showing its bowl among
them. His ragged blue coat displays an ex-
travagant amount of buttons of various patterns.
Slightly bent by his eighty years, the Admiral
yet exhibits an elasticity of muscle that is won-
derful. His head in both its facial and cranial

290

THE ADMIRAL.

formation is a puzzle to the man of science. It would appear that once, when somewhat of the consistency of soft gutta-percha, it had been caught between two heavy rocks and thereby lost its pristine regularity. One eye is much lower than the other, and over it his forehead projects, a beetling mass of bone. Remove his hat, look upon him from every point, similar abnormal developments present them-

selves. A curiosity in mind, manner, and person, his like dwells not on the globe. A story runs that he was once a pirate. No question exists that he has been a sailor, and he doubtless once served on a privateer. Much coaxing will at times induce him to sing a nautical song in which a sea-fight is represented as crowning with success the efforts of the narrator's party. He then appears a veteran relating his experience, his excitement waxing intense as he approaches the climax, his arms and features, nay, his whole body illustrating every phase of the conflict. The Admiral is much teased by his fellow-oarsmen, but though his imprecations are of a fearful nature, his bark is far worse than his bite. He seems to have an idea that he is a wit, and his attempts at it are of a most ludicrous character. His manner is abrupt and his sentences hurried and broken.

But we have arrived at the Dead House, and "Mr. Quigley," opening the door, presents himself to receive the deceased. A saturnine smile enlivens his cynical aspect, though he proceeds in a business-like way to deposit the coffin in its proper place and discharge its bearers. Mr. Quigley is happy; he is of a social nature, and has now an addition to his company. A corpse is to him a gleam of sunshine permeating his abode. When one is beside him he is in his normal condition, two or three enable him to forget every trouble, but should five honor at the same time his humble habitation Quigley is exalted to the tenth heaven of serene bliss. The occasional *post-mortem* examination made by the physicians are by him attended with professional enthusiasm.

Having promised him my skeleton after my decease, I am an esteemed and valued friend of his, and we shall be allowed to examine at our leisure the dwelling in which he passes.

QUIGLEY.

most of his time. It consists of two apartments in a small low-roofed wooden building, the first we enter being merely an unfurnished receptacle for coffins with their occupants. The second is the dissecting-room and Quigley's snuggery. Six months ago this would have delighted the soul of Dickens; a rusty, musty, dusty spectacle, it abounded on all sides with strange sights. A witch's cavern or a magician's work-shop were suggested to the mind of the beholder; an artist saw in reality the conventional den of an alchemist. Strange looking instruments lay on the floor, bits of old iron and broken plates intermingled with a miscellaneous collection of pots and pans. In the middle of the room stood a table with hollowed and metal covered surface, adorned with rags, knives, and edibles. Overhead hung the stuffed skin of an alligator, and other nondescripts in sad want of repair were on the walls; with them antiquated prints, a cracked and fanciful mirror, dried herbs, a rat-trap, a curious fish, a bird-cage smothered in dirt and feathers, ragged garments, a Japanese hat. A large stove, filling the imagination with thoughts of red-hot irons and boiling oil, gloomily rested in one corner. A whizzing above him and the visitor instinctively dodged; no, it was not the expected bat—a couple of harmless pigeons merely have flown over, and then a glance near the ceiling discovered a dove-cote with some dozen dingy denizens. One bird sits on an old-fashioned lantern rustling with a bough of withered leaves, and several cats jump over the floor to their hiding-places. The room has since been cleaned, the trumpery taken out, and now presents the appearance which our sketch indicates.

Mr. Quigley can not, perhaps, be called crazy; but, as will have been seen, his characteristics are not those of a natural man.

And now let us end our journeyings with an excursion to "Fort Maxey." At the farthest extremity of the Island the ground on which it stands has been rescued from the grasp of Neptune by the indefatigable endeavors only of its proprietor, whose name is given to the structure—Thomas Maxey, Esq., architect, mason, carpenter, civil engineer, philosopher, and philanthropist.

The fort is a circular mound of earth, on which stands a wall some four feet high, built of blocks of clay and grass dug from the marsh behind it. Through the wall project the mouths of several large wooden cannon, which, when presented to him by the Commissioners during the past war, Thomas accepted with many thanks, declaring they would be a great protection to the Island and city in frightening off rebel privateers. He has erected a house of novel appearance within this parapet containing two sleeping apartments, a kitchen, and sitting-room, together comprising a space less than twelve feet by eight. His garden shows a taste for the sublime, none but the tallest flowers being therein admitted. The hollyhock and sunflowers sadly interfere with a view of his interesting domicile. He is now building a stone magazine back of this to contain his ammunition, which exists in vast quantities—in his imagination. The whole structure, together with the long embanked road leading to it, is the work of his own hands, and has occupied more than three years of what he deems his valuable time. Nor is the work without value to the Commissioners, for in the process of construction he has, in order to render it accessible, dug several ditches through the marsh, and thus drained and rendered useful a great part of it. The extent of his labors and of the work may be understood when it is said that at least sixteen square rods have been

WITHIN FORT MAXEY.

292

GATEWAY TO FORT MAXEY.

raised from eight to ten feet, and that a great part of the material was carried a considerable distance.

He has also ornamented the causeway leading to the fort by a stone gate, the erection of which would seem to mark an era in architecture, as it is not built according to the rules of any ancient or modern school. A great incentive to his labor has been that, deeming the proprietorship vested in himself, he indulged the fond hope that the Corporation of the city would appreciate the importance of the situation and purchase the whole for the advantage of the metropolis. The engraving exhibits two large openings near the top of the gate; these, Thomas says, are to accommodate wild geese, who will deposit eggs therein and raise their progeny. As will be surmised, it is not the first time he has been after wild geese.

Passing under this gate we proceed along the embankment until we come to a bridge. This we stand admiring, for its oddities are worthy of some little attention, when there rushes up to us from the fort beyond an excited figure crowned with a woman's bonnet of antique date.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present

to you Mr. Thomas Maxey. These distinguished guests of the Commissioners, Sir, have admired all your workmanship that they have seen, but desire you will favor them with deeper insight into your domain.”

“Yes, yes, it isn't done yet; when the magazine and other improvements are finished, then—”

“It is a wonderful performance, Mr. Maxey.”

“Yes, it will be valuable to Government, no doubt of it; but my gains are small. Is this a good bill?” He exhibits an undeniable five-dollar greenback.

“First-rate!”

“Dr. —'s son gave it to me. Many gentlemen pay me well for my trouble in showing the improvements.”

“Why, yes, your pocket-book seems bursting.”

“Oh it's not all money. I wish to keep some root-beer and gingerbread for visitors; but it is hard to get them.”

“Ah, this is the house. May we go in?”

“Certainly.” And he pushes open the door. We enter one at a time, the building will not hold more than three (and they knock one against the other), so filled is it with woodwork and the masonry of an oven. The furniture consists of the refuse of the Institution. The proprietor is sorry he has nothing to offer us.

“By-the-by, Mr. Maxey, you have not yet given me the solution of that problem I once proposed to you.”

“What problem?”

I enunciate the old college question for debate: “Can a Chimera, ruminating in vacuum, disseminate second intentions?”

Mr. M. looks puzzled: “I hardly understand, Sir.”

“Pshaw! a man of your intellect! It is plain enough.”

I repeat the formula, emphasizing each word.

“Well, Sir, it is doubtful if Apollo and the Nine Muses ever sowed seeds in Urugway. The moon and the stars now revolve in their orbits; electricity and the printing-machine have worked wonders, but—”

“Do you think, Sir,” I seriously ask, “that Briareus has any thing to do with it?”

“Brirus? Well, it is perhaps probable. What did you say—the Crimea?”

“Yes.”

“Diana and mythology.”

“Pshaw! Mr. Maxey, you're a man of genius; but you can't have carefully studied the question I propounded. You are straying from it. Hadn't you better think it over?”

Tom's jaw hangs in a vacant expression as

293

THOMAS MAXEY AT HOME.

he replies: "Perhaps I had. My larnin', Sir, may not be equal to yours, but—"

"Of course you'll master it; and now good-day, Sir."

Hands are shaken around the circle, and leaving Tom jabbering at us from behind his parapet about the duties of Government until we are out of his sight. After pausing to take a sketch of "Black Jimmy," whom I see on the dock, busy at his piscatorial occupation, I take my leave, having closed my sketches of the lunatics on Blackwell's Island.

Visitors are usually eager to know the cause of this or that case of insanity, and pleasure undoubtedly would be conferred by the gratification of their curiosity. Romance upon romance lies in the past of the unfortunate patients (though occasionally they are demented through reasons too vile to mention), but it is impossible as a general rule to arrive at the facts. A large proportion of those confined here being foreigners, poverty, with its attendant ills, the want of friends, despair have driven them mad. Cultivation of one mental faculty to the exclusion of others is also a frequent promoter of hallucination.

The public mind, filled with the fictions of novel writers, indulges the notion that in all insane asylums persons of perfect sanity are unjustly imprisoned against their will. What-

ever may be the state of certain private establishments, I am confident that no instance of the kind exists in the Institution of which I have treated; none at least without good excuse. Sometimes, as has been shown, improper cases are consigned to the resident physician's care, who keeps them of course for a short period, until assured of their sound mental condition, when they are discharged. The certificates of two physicians testifying to the derangement of a patient upon entrance compels this course of conduct.

There are within the walls, it is true, a few no more crazy than many outsiders; but they are destitute of friends, and a passage to the world at large would intensify their idiosyncrasies and finally compel their return to the Asylum. Any person able and willing to take them out and try them in their respective professions would be gladly welcomed by the resident physician. They excite pity which to a certain extent can not be shown them.

The public ear would listen with credulity, I suspect, to dire tales of cruelty practiced by the officers. I can not honestly oblige it. Abuses to a limited degree unquestionably exist, and ever must, in this Institution and others of like character. While human nature is as it is, provocations of an exasperating description can not be overlooked at all times without a strength