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I have been told they would give expression to their feelings in language like the following, and it being so characteristic of their natures, I have no doubt of its truth.

"No," Georgie would say, "mother is good enough now! and havn't I a right to my mother?"

"No," Elizabeth would say, "mother is not crazy, and you know she is not! I do think father is possessed with a devil, to treat our good, dear, kind mother as he does. We know our dear mother is good, for she has never done anything wrong -- she is kind to you, and she is kind to everybody."

The natural, unsophisticated natures of my children, rendered it very difficult for them to see the necessity of locking up a person, while they were doing good, and had never done anything wrong!

The philosophy of that kind of insanity, which requires this to be done, was beyond their comprehension. And even the maturer minds of my oldest sons, Theophilus, then eighteen, and Isaac, sixteen, were equally slow in discovering this necessity. In fact, three years was too short a time for their father to convince these children of this painful necessity.

At length, wearied with those fruitless efforts to get my children to sanction his course, he finally resorted to the authority of the father to silence them into acquiescence to his views. He therefore forbade their talking upon the subject, and made it an act of disobedience on their part to talk about their mother.

This taught them to use hypocrisy and deceit, for Isaac and Elizabeth would watch their opportunity, in the absence of their father, to talk upon their favorite theme; and when Elizabeth and Georgie could not evade this order by day, they would take the hours of sleep and talk in a whisper about me, after they had retired to bed.

Another agency he employed to wean them from me, was, he would not allow me to be spoken of in their presence, except as an insane person, and in terms of derision, ridicule or contempt. But notwithstanding all these combined agencies, he could not wean them from me, or lessen their confidence in me, according to his own statement, which he made to Mrs. Page on one of his yearly visits to the Asylum.

"I never saw children so attached to a mother, as Mrs. Packard's are to her -- I cannot by any means wean them from her, nor lead them to disregard her authority in the least thing, even now. I cannot even induce them to eat anything which they think she would disapprove of. She seems by some means to hold them in obedience to her wishes, just as much in her absence as in her presence. This influence or power is more than I can understand."

Yes, I knew full well that Mr. Packard did not understand the nature and disposition of my children, and therefore I felt unwilling to trust them with him.

"But how could I avert this fate? In no way. I had not chosen this separation-God's providence had permitted it against my wishes, and regardless of my prayers to the contrary.

"Now, what shall I do? Shall I murmur and complain at what I cannot help, and when I know it will do no good? or, must I silently submit to this inevitable fate, and trust to the future developments of providence to unravel this great mystery?

"Yes, I must submit. I must not complain, while at the same time, I have a right to use all suitable means for a restoration to my family and duties."

Therefore, as the result of this soliloquy, I concluded to avail myself of the advice given me by my Manteno friends at the depot, viz:

"Be sure, Mrs. Packard, and tell every one you see that you are on your way to the Insane Asylum -- and for what -- for possibly by this means you may come in contact with some influence that may rescue you."

Knowing that duties were mine and events God's, I determined to dry up my tears and address myself to this duty.

I announced this determination to Deacon Dole in these words:

"Mr. Dole, I am not going to cry any more. Crying is not going to help me. I am going to put on a cheerful countenance, and cultivate the acquaintance of my fellow travelers, and enjoy my ride the best I can. I may as well laugh as cry, for I have as good a right to be happy as any other person."

"That is right, Sister Packard; you have as good a right to be happy as any one, and I am glad to see you smile again."

After changing a few remarks respecting the beauty of the country through which we were passing, and the delightfully calm and clear atmosphere, so tranquilizing in its influence over one's disturbed feelings, I looked about to see who were my companions, when I met the eye of a young lady, a stranger to me, whose eyes seemed to fasten upon me with such a penetrating look, that I could hardly withdraw my own without bestowing upon her a smile of recognition. Upon this she bent forward and extended her hand, saying:

"I am very sorry for you. I see they are carrying you to the Insane Asylum, and you do not wish to go."

"Yes, that is so, and I thank you for your sympathy; but I have concluded not to weep any more about it, as I shall need all my nervous energies to meet my fate with dignity and self-possession."