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Life In The N.Y. State Lunatic Asylum; Or, Extracts From The Diary Of An Inmate

Creator: n/a
Date: January 1849
Publication: American Journal of Insanity
Source: Available at selected libraries

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DR. BRIGHAM: --
Dear Sir, --

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A few evenings since, when I was relating some of my own experience and observations while a sojourner in the little world over which you preside, it was suggested to me by an esteemed friend, that a few extracts from the diary which I kept while there, would form an interesting article for the "Journal of Insanity." In consequence of this suggestion, I have selected the following notes of the eccentric "goings and sayings" of those associates who most particularly attracted my observation after my own convalescence. The subject, though somewhat a novel one, will not, I think, be without interest to many of your readers; the majority of whom, I take it for granted, are deeply interested in all that relates to the welfare and present condition of that unfortunate class of our fellow beings to whom these notes more particularly refer.

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To avoid a more extended communication than you will wish to publish, I have selected from my diary the notes of only one of the sixty weeks which I passed in the New York State Lunatic Asylum, as a patient; and have noted, as precisely as my "small individuality" would permit me, all I saw worthy of observation during that time.

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I am,
Dear Sir,
Yours, Very Resp'y,
S. R.

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MONDAY, Nov. 20th, 1848. -- The bell rang this morning as usual, at half-past 6 o'clock, when I dressed myself, and made my bed,: this duty, after much perseverance on my part, I now perform with all the precision of the most scrupulous "fille de chambre." All those gentlemen who are able, invariably make their own beds; and it really presents a most laughable, and sometimes exceedingly ludicrous spectacle, to see man, in all the varieties of his character, engaged in this very sober and domestic occupation. I think I might assert, with truth, that the art of "bed making" has been brought to the ne plus ultra of perfection in this Institution. I suggested, this morning, to a jovial, weather-beaten old veteran of the War of 1812, Mr. S., who prides himself very much in the mathematical precision with which he makes his bed, -- that, as all the male population of the United States had not enjoyed the same privileges which he had, viz., of being initiated into the mysteries of "bed making," that it would be an act of charity in him to write a short essay on his "latest and most improved plan." The old gentleman replied, that if I thought the production of such a work would stimulate our sex to manly competition, and thereby have a tendency to meliorate the condition of the opposite sex, he would most assuredly take the subject into immediate consideration.

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The breakfast bell rings every morning, at this season, at 7 o'clock, precisely. With one exception, all the patients on this hall have excellent appetites; and I could not but remark to myself this morning, at the breakfast table, that I thought some gentlemen then present, would, if permitted to do so, avail themselves of the opportunity of eating sufficient to serve them for the rest of their lives. I observed, with much alarm, that Mr. P., on my right hand, swallowed nearly half a mackerel (bone and all,) at one mouthful. I asked him why he did so, he told me he did it "for greens." After I left the breakfast table this morning, I found three potatoes in my pocket; this produced much fun at my expense. Mr. S., however, to whom I have before alluded, did not feel disposed to look upon the matter as a joke; he advised me to discover "who had put them there, to demand satisfaction, and to fight it out like a man;" he assured me that he considered himself bound to act in the affair as my friend, and that if I fell he would avenge me.

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Mr. S. is sixty-one years of age, very excitable, and always under the impression, that folks wish to tread on his feet or otherwise hurt his toes, which have been sore since he came on this hall. He sweeps a good deal; this occupation seems to afford him much pleasure, and while, in possession of the formidable broomstick, he says, "he knows nobody will trouble this child." He "puts himself through" the sword exercise with all the energy of an enthusiastic young warrior, during which exhibition, he appears to realize with Richard, that his soul's in arms and ready for the field. On these occasions he frequently challenges the two "bully hands" of the building, and with a glow of satisfied pride, asserts his confidence in the successful issue of a mortal combat. He is fond of reading, chiefly religious, historical, and political subjects; the last mentioned, however, forms his favorite topic of conversation. He is a man of general information, loves argument, and is a great logician in his way, but if crowded, soon loses his self-control, and then his most powerful argument lies in the broomstick, which at times is known to be remarkably striking. He sings some, but most unfortunately never commences this delightful recreation till after midnight, when he shouts a hymn with the most annoying composure, there-by incurring the displeasure of his now "wide awake" neighbors, who, with one accord, commence a chorus of sounds anything but harmonious, in testimony of their disapprobation of this very untimely proceeding. At length, the attendant succeeds in restoring tranquility, and Mr. S. quietly falls asleep, vowing vengeance and the annihilation of every "scallewag" in the United States, through the medium of "self and broomstick."

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