"(a few excerpts)

My life is a load of sadness:-
I start from a dream of madness,
To struggle in desperation
With fiends in my dungeon-lair!
Hope loveth well to deceive me;
But Death shall ere long relieve me!

Then woe to the sprites that cross me!
For sooth I may ill forbear.

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I HAVE a strange monomonia for the novel and peculiar, the mysterious and problematic springs, of life. I never hear of a deformed child, but what I long to know its feelings.

It was this mania that induced me to visit the Insane Asylum, not long since, when it had added to its inmates a woman of peculiar mental derangement.

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Thus it is that the true woman, when fulfilling her proper mission in the world-weak, frail, helpless, though she appear-grows strong in the hour of trial, and, reed-like, only bends before the blast which often uproots the giant oak. She may weep, mourn, suffer; but she wears no signal on her brow; we hear no murmuring on her lips; but draping her heart temple in weeds, she secretly cherishes her dead hopes in the sacred tomb of memory, while all else palls-strews that tomb with autumn leaves !

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ALICE looks more lively to-day don't you think so?"

"Why, I have been observing her all the morning. She ate more sanely at breakfast than she has for three months; and the way she looks in that book, turning its leaves so regularly one would think she was actually reading"

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READER! have you ever laid upon your couch, your brain burning with fever, and your mind half crazed with pain? Do you remember the dark hallucinations that then crowded your brain-foul demons chasing you through sepulchral vaults-burning houses, with their blazing timbers, falling upon you-deeds of blood and murder harrowing your sight while beads of sweat froze on your brow, and a hell of fire raged within?

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What devilish impulse suggested to Clarence Withrow the thought of speculating upon his crazed and unhappy victim, is a mystery of wickedness too deep to comprehend. Arraying her in a manner suitable to his scheme, assisted by wily accomplices, he exhibited her as a wild woman, who had been captured in the mountains, and under an assumed name, and assisted by wily accomplices, brought her to Cincinnati for exhibition!

But, thank heaven! there was still some humanity in the "Queen City of the West." The kind citizens, shocked by the inhuman atrocity, and incredulous of the improbable story, wrested the innocent victim from the hands of her persecutors, and placed her under the kind protection of those who could sympathize with and heal her woes!"