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Do you see that other man, who is walking with such a powerful step, and who turns so quick, and twists his head so short that you would think he would snap his neck at every turn? He is naturally a very smart, active man, and his insanity is the result of disappointed affection. Stop. You see that he has set down and is tuning his violin -- but hark, what tune does he strike upon first? -- Why, he is playing Highland Mary, the Scottish air by Robert Burns. Yes, that is naturally his first and last to play or sing, but ask him and he will give you any tune that you can name. Well, he has struck into a lively dancing tune, and in a moment you see that five or six of the patients have gone to dancing to the tune that he is playing to help them for a brief moment wear away the time that hangs so heavily upon them. Such is the power of music. The Musician is, apparently, perfectly happy, and nothing gives him uneasiness. Unfortunate man, his violin and himself have gone down to the ashes of the dead, in that terrible conflagration.

But friend, stop a moment. Do you see that man who steps so quick. He even runs when he sees the doctor come in, and calls for medicine. He has been a celebrated physician, and he knows what medicine he needs. Look him in the face a moment. You see he is a perfect picture of a maniac; wild as a hurricane, and his name is legion. He is apparently possessed of as many devils as was his namesake who inhabited the tombs, eighteen centuries ago. But what is the cause of his present wild and furious appearance? His reason has been dethroned by allowing himself to be carried away by religious fanaticism, and when he talks upon that subject, he will tell you that he is lost forever, and an eternal hell is his sure portion: that there is no remedy; he has sinned away the day of grace and repentance. Poor deluded man -- is a religion the true religion of the Saviour of the world that will thus destroy the human intellect and leave man without hope, or the true spirit of the great Redeemer to carry him down through the dark valley and the region and shadow of death? Poor, disconsolate mortal -- thy spirit has long since gone to that bourne from whence no traveler returns to give us tidings.

Visitor, will you look a moment out of the window, into the back yard. -- There, do you see that elderly man at work with his shovel, rake and wheel-barrow? Do you see how neat, clean and tidy he has made the yard look? He came from the backwoods of Maine, where he had cleared himself a noble farm from the wild land. He had toiled hard and long, and had built him a farm that was almost a Paradise, beautiful to the eye to behold, and which produced fruit, grain and cattle, and every thing the heart of man could wish for, and a wife, and children who were the delight of his soul. He was a man respected and beloved by all who knew him -- a peace-maker in his neighborhood and town -- out of debt, and possessed of a competence. But, you will ask, how came he here in this dismal abode of such wild and furious spirits? Ah, that is a sad case of his. Sickness entered his bower, his Paradise, his abode of heavenly bliss! A raging and virulent fever went through his family, and the grim messenger of death snatched for one of its victims his oldest and beloved daughter, who was the delight of his eyes and heart; and weary and worn with months of ceaseless watching, his spirit and his body sunk under the weight of care, his reason became dethroned. In a moment of despair, in his hallucination he was a homicide. -- Ah, yes; in the twinkling of an eye as it were, his flowing cup of bliss was dashed to atoms. He was a maniac, and gone from his Eden, never more to inhabit it. Now you see him calm and rational, but doomed to end his days in this human pandemonium.

Do you see that tall, stout man? You see that he walks the length of the gallery and back again, and sits down a moment, then goes over the same again and again. You see that he has an idiotic laugh, as though something pleased him very much. You see that he has set down and takes the Bible. He is the Elder, the Infant, or the Giant. He thinks there is no passage in the Bible but what he can answer, and give the correct interpretation. But let us see. The Parson asks him if he will tell him who was the father of Zebedee's children -- Well, that was a poser. He thinks and thinks again, but no response is given. He is put to his trumps: no answer is made, and he feels that he has lost his reputation for a perfect knowledge of the scriptures. He is lost, and boasts no more. His insanity was produced by religious excitement. You see he is possessed of great muscular power, and if he knew his strength, when he asks the doctor to send him home and he refuses to do so unless he will go out doors and work three months, which he declares he will not do unless they will pay him for it: if he were disposed he has the strength to take a bedpost and clear himself from that institution in a very few minutes; yet he is docile as a lamb unless under great provocation. He again asks the doctor to send him home, and says that he is kept unjustly. The doctor tells him very distinctly that he shan't do it. He is angry with such treatment and goes to the shower box and takes out the scrub brush, which is very heavy and has a long handle. He makes for the doctor and aims a blow at his bead, but he sees and dodges it, thus saving himself from instant death. Then the "Giant" becomes like an infant. He does not know his strength, for if he did he would slay the whole of these keepers, and leave; but, instead of that he is instantly put into maniac harness and kept until he is taught that it is better to remain peaceable and quiet; when his harness is removed he is again as docile as a lamb. Well, restless mortal, thou art free from that prison and those bonds. Thy spirit has ascended to thy Father and thy God, through those lurid flames, which consumed thy prison and thy body at the same time. Peace, peace to thy ashes and thy troubled spirit. Thou wilt rest in Abraham's bosom.