His is the
only misery that is unrelieved; his is the only burden that is too great
to be borne. To him the foliage of the tree, the murmur of the brook,
the mirror of the quiet lake, or the thunder of the heaving ocean, would
be equally acceptable. His separation from nature is no less burdensome
than his separation from man. The heart sinks, the spirit turns with a
consuming fire upon itself, the soul is in despair; the mind is first
nerved and desperate, then wandering and savage, then idiotic, and
finally goes out in death. Governments cannot often afford to protect
themselves, or to avenge themselves, at such a cost. There may be great
crimes on which such awful penalties should be visited; but, for the
honor of the race, let them be few.
We may err in our ideas of the true relations of the prison to the
prisoner. We call a prison good or bad when we see its walls, cells,
workshops, its means of security, and points of observation. These are
very well. They are something; but they are not all. We might so judge a
hospital for the sick; and we did once so judge an asylum for the
insane.
But what to the sick man are walls of wood, brick, granite, or marble?
What are towers and turrets, what are wards, halls, and verandas, if
withal he is not cheered and sustained by the sympathizing heart and
helping hand? And similar preparations furnish for the insane personal
security and physical comfort; but can they
"Minister to a mind diseased;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain?"
And it may be that the old almshouse at Philadelphia, which was nearly
destitute of material aids, and had only superintendent, matrons, and
assistants, was, all in all, the best insane asylum in America.
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