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