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In the month of July, 1846, while asleep, it appeared to me that a heavenly voice, the voice of God, or of some of his ministering angels, spoke to me and said: "Keep yourself calm; your troubles were unavoidable; you could not prevent them; be patient and 'bide your time." To me these few words were the voice of God. To me it was the voice which called the wild and furious maniac from the tomb, and sent him away clothed and in his right mind. Yes, citizens, I will say to you that it was that dream which has enabled me to come forth from that sepulchre, of worse than dead men; and which has, and which still enables me to walk the streets, and attend to in business, as a free and independent citizen, after suffering all that I did in that vile den of iniquity; and still suffering, and to suffer while I live, from the horrid treatments received in that Pandemonium. To the living God I return thanks for my restoration.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CONFLAGRATION.

On the 4th of Dec., 1850, the author of this little work was in the city of Boston, to procure its publication, and that day several men were at work setting the type for that purpose, but the fates decreed that it should not then make its appearance before the public. Upon that day the astounding news reached that city by telegraph, that the Maine Insane Hospital, whose deeds of darkness this was intended to expose to the world, was in flames, and a large number of its inmates were victims to the devouring element. What must have been my reflections at that moment none can tell or imagine; none can conceive. Was it possible that God had decreed the destruction of that modern Babylon, whose iniquity had been so great as to cause his vengeance to rest upon it? was it possible that in His infinite wisdom should suffer such at human burnt sacrifice to be offered to the God of Moloch, in order to open the eyes of the people, that they might be able to see the abominations which had been practiced there, under the garb of humanity and religion, and which had been so unjustly concealed by the rulers of the people? Or was it permitted that the sufferings and woes of those victims of abuse and horrid atrocity might cease and be at an end? But the scenes of that dreadful night; who shall describe them? who can paint them in all their true colors?

Being myself absent at the time of the calamity, perhaps I may be pardoned if I give a description of the dread calamity in the language of another, who was an eye witness of the awful scene; therefore I select the following description of it from the Gospel Banner, whose editor was the writer.

"That was a dreadful night -- the 2d of December -- dreadful in its present terrors and melancholy in its results to the cause of humanity. The night was dark, the air heavy and damp dense clouds floated low in the heavens, and the winds from their ocean home wailed a mournful dirge over expiring Autumn. In its veriest darkness and desolation -- about 3 o'clock A.M. -- we were suddenly awakened by the hoarse cry of "Fire! Fire!" uttered under our window, and the ringing of our city church bells. Springing up and looking eastward -- just across the rolling tide of the Kennebec -- what a sight presented itself to the eye! -- not one red glare of burning flame embracing the whole building into the mid-heavens; but worse -- more awful -- than that!

Let the reader, if he will imagine himself standing with us, for a few moments of earnest inquiry, at this midnight hour of gloom, under the venerable white oak tree that spreads its long and generous arms over our humble domicil in front. See you those lurid flames -- whose flashes, at times visible but suppressed by the dense volumes of rolling smoke that encompass them, afford just gleams enough amidst surrounding darkness to enable us to see, occasionally at least, the outlines of that noble structure. It is a large and lofty edifice -- a magnificent structure -- built of Kennebec Granite, as handsome as marble, several hundred feet in length, with a rectangular wing, nearly as long, on the South end, and four tall stories high, including the basement, and a tier of Lutheran windows on the slated attic. It is the noblest building in the State.

But the morning light appears; and what are those black masses which the workmen have, by the aid of fire hooks, drawn forth from the ruins, and which are dragged and laid amongst the blackened cinders in rear of the walls? Many people are gathered around them; what are they? They are the bodies of the dead. The heads, the arms, the legs are burnt off, and nothing remains but the black, charred trunks that so lately contained the beating hearts of living men. The sight is loathsome; let us turn away and leave the Jury of Inquest to perform their sad duties over these fragments of humanity, and, in due time, as they will, tell the public the whole tale of causes which have produced this most melancholy calamity. It is a State affliction.

But whilst the flames have possession of the whole interior of the building -- all excepting the North wing, where the females are -- whilst the engines are at work and men are engaged in endeavoring to save what can be rescued from the burning Hospital and to protect the adjacent buildings and other property, let us take a view about the premises and see what has become of the hundred maniacs that have been brought forth from the flames. Some have come out most reluctantly; it has taken two or three men to force them from their perilous situation -- and behold! see that half naked man rush back again into the fated Asylum. He thinks the cold night air is worse for him than the heat and light of his old room; and with mad desperation he has gone back; but more friendly, because more rational, hands have seized upon him again and dragged him forth to a dark world; dark in all its prospects to him.