A WORD TO HUSBANDS AND WIVES.
Few there be, if any, outside of these walls that know the feelings of a husband or a wife, when visited by their friends in these places. I have seen husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, take the parting hand in these institutions and some never to meet again below the sun. I have seen young and old die in these places and no friend to smooth their dying pillow or wipe the cold sweat from their brow, or catch their dying words. O, Fathers! O, Mothers! keep your unfortunate sons and daughters from these places until a reform is brought about. You know but little how patients are treated by attendants and others. I have seen gentlemen and ladies visit this main house and walk through the hall adjoining the dining room, and remark how nice it looked, and so it did, but can such a one imagine how he or she would feel locked up in one of those side rooms as I was with a raving maniac? How mistaken are many who visit this place. Once there was a smart appearing genteel looking man walking through this hall who remarked (looking into a side room), "if I was sick I should rather be here than home." Thought I, poor deluded man you know but little about this place. In that same room I had lodged, upon the bed was a nice white spread, under the spread, to all appearance, a soft bed, but it was not so, deluded visitor. Would you like to be in that room to-day and be treated as one poor man was in the hands of two doctors and their attendant? One says, put the rope here, tie it up there, and a long struggle ensues between the parties, at length he gives a long moan, saying, "I shall have to give up."
This patient once had a kind mother and an affectionate father, but where is he now? Go visitor, to lunatic asylums as visitor, but until you go as a patient you will know but little about the secret workings of these institutions. Fathers and mothers, friends and neighbors, send your sick and unfortunate ones to these places, and you little know how they are treated and dealt with. I have learned to my sorrow how patients are treated, and I would say to one and all, know you are right before you transport any to an earthly hell.
Since I left the Ida Hill asylum, in 1871, I have often visited it, going through from center to circumference, being permitted so to do by Dr. Lomax, who was the resident medical superintendent, and is up to this time, 1874. Dr. Lomax is the only physician that I formed an intimate acquaintance with while a patient in this institution, and this acquaintance was first formed in the incurable house, and to do Dr. L. justice, in my opinion he is a gentleman. I found, in 1871, that he could not only reason, but that he was willing to hear others. After I had thoroughly weighed him in my own mind, I resolved to improve every opportunity of reasoning with him I had, for with him, I had learned, depended my permit to go home, and that I very well knew would not be until he thought me sane in body and mind. I often heard patients ask attendants if they could go home, "Ask the Doctor," was the get-off.
A few of my interviews with Dr. L. are in future pages.