ome denial of my rights--or,
as frequently happened, for not intervening in behalf of the rights of
others.

It was after one of these wrangles that I was placed in a cold cell in
the Bull Pen at eleven o'clock one morning. Still without shoes and
with no more covering than underclothes, I was forced to stand, sit, or
lie upon a bare floor as hard and cold as the pavement outside. Not
until sundown was I provided even with a drugget, and this did little
good, for already I had become thoroughly chilled. In consequence I
contracted a severe cold which added greatly to my discomfort and might
have led to serious results had I been of less sturdy fibre.

This day was the thirteenth of December and the twenty-second of my
exile in the violent ward. I remember it distinctly for it was the
seventy-seventh birthday of my father, to whom I wished to write a
congratulatory letter. This had been my custom for years when absent
from home on that anniversary. And well do I remember when, and under
what conditions, I asked the doctor for permission. It was night. I was
flat on my drugget-bed. My cell was lighted only by the feeble rays of
a lantern held by an attendant to the doctor on this his regular visit.
At first I couched my request in polite language. The doctor merely
refused to grant it. I then put forth my plea in a way calculated to
arouse sympathy. He remained unmoved. I then pointed out that he was
defying the law of the State which provided that a patient should have
stationery--a statute, the spirit of which at least meant that he
should be permitted to communicate with his conservator. It was now
three weeks since I had been permitted to write or send a letter to
anyone. Contrary to my custom, therefore, I made my final demand in the
form of a concession. I promised that I would write only a conventional
note of congratulation, making no mention whatever of my plight. It was
a fair offer; but to accept it would have been an implied admission
that there was something to conceal, and for this, if for no other
reason, it was refused.

Thus, day after day, I was repressed in a manner which probably would
have driven many a sane man to violence. Yet the doctor would
frequently exhort me to play the gentleman. Were good manners and sweet
submission ever the product of such treatment? Deprived of my clothes,
of sufficient food, of warmth, of all sane companionship and of my
liberty, I told those in authority that so long