Diary Written in the Provincial Lunatic Asylum | Page 3

bread, with miserable butter, constitutes our breakfast and
tea; there is oatmeal porridge and cheap molasses at breakfast, but I
could not eat that, it would be salts and senna for me. At noon we have
plenty of meat and vegetables, indifferently cooked, but we don't
require food suitable for men working out of doors. We need something
to tempt the appetite a little.
No matter what I say, how earnestly I plead, he believes Dr. Steeves in
preference to me. If I should die here, he will still believe Dr. Steeves,
who looks so well they cannot think he would do so great a wrong.
When I first began to realize that I must stay here all winter, I begged
the Doctor to take me to his table, or change his baker; "I cannot live on
such fare as you give us here." His reply was, "I don't keep a boarding
house." Who does keep this boarding house? Is there any justice on
earth or under heaven? Will this thing always be allowed to go on?
Sometimes I almost sink in despair. One consolation is left me--some
day death will unlock those prison doors, and my freed spirit will go
forth rejoicing in its liberty.
There is a dear girl here whose presence has helped to pass the time

more pleasantly, and yet I am more anxious on her account. How can
her mother leave her so long in such care as this? Ah, they cannot know
how she is faring; she often says, "I used to have nice cake at home,
and could make it, too." She has been teaching school, has over-worked,
had a fever, lost her reason, and came here last June. She is well
enough to go home. I fear if they leave her here much longer she will
never recover her spirits. She is afraid of Mrs. Mills, and dare not ask
for any favor. Mrs. Mills is vexed if she finds her in my room, and does
not like to see us talking. I suppose she fears we will compare notes to
her disadvantage, or detrimental to the rules of the house. I think it is
against the rules of this house that we should be indulged in any of the
comforts of life.
March.--At last I have my trunk: why it should have been detained so
long I cannot conceive. I feel rich in the possession of the little needful
articles it contains.
I enquired of Dr. Steeves, some time ago, if he had not in the Asylum a
supply of necessary articles for our use, telling him I wanted a paper of
pins very much. He said they were for the indigent patients, so I got
none. My son, Tom, gave me some small silver some weeks ago, but I
was no better off. No one would do me an errand outside. I begged Mrs.
Mills at different times to buy me some pins, and to buy me an extra
quart of milk. I was so hungry for milk, but she said it was against the
rules of the house. She gives me now a glass nearly full at bed time,
with one soda biscuit. This is the only luxury we have here; some
others get the same. It is because I have tried to make her think we are
her children, left in her care. I said to her, "'Feed my lambs,' you are our
Shepherd;" and she is if she only knew it. I have quoted the words of
Him whose example we should all follow: "Do good unto others." I am
watching over those poor lambs now, to see how they are tended, and I
will tell the Commissioners in whose care the Asylum is left by the
Province. The people of New Brunswick suppose they attend to it. The
Commissioners have placed it in the care of Dr. Steeves, and they
believe him quite capable of conducting it properly. Is this the way it
should be done? I don't think so.

I observed Miss Fowler today holding her hand to her eye, which is
looking inflamed; she is blind; a well-educated, delicate, gentle-woman.
I take more than usual interest in her for that reason. I often sit beside
her and she tells me of her mother, and wants me to go home with her
to number one. She does not seem a lunatic, and she is neglected. I tied
her eye up with my own handkerchief, and a wet rag on it. I did not
mean to offend, I had done so before and it was not observed. Mrs.
Mills came along just as I had done it; she jerked it off in anger, and
threw it on the floor. I said to her, "That is not a Christian