dismissal of one of my two attendants was
expedient for the family purse; but such are the deficiencies in the
prevailing treatment of the insane that relief in one direction often
occasions evil in another. No sooner was the expense thus reduced than
I was subjected to a detestable form of restraint which amounted to
torture. To guard me at night while the remaining attendant slept, my
hands were imprisoned in what is known as a "muff." A muff, innocent
enough to the eyes of those who have never worn one, is in reality a
relic of the Inquisition. It is an instrument of restraint which has
been in use for centuries and even in many of our public and private
institutions is still in use. The muff I wore was made of canvas, and
differed in construction from a muff designed for the hands of fashion
only in the inner partition, also of canvas, which separated my hands,
but allowed them to overlap. At either end was a strap which buckled
tightly around the wrist and was locked.

The assistant physician, when he announced to me that I was to be
subjected at night to this restraint, broke the news gently--so gently
that I did not then know, nor did I guess for several months, why this
thing was done to me. And thus it was that I drew deductions of my own
which added not a little to my torture.

The gas jet in my room was situated at a distance, and stronger light
was needed to find the keyholes and lock the muff when adjusted. Hence,
an attendant was standing by with a lighted candle. Seating himself on
the side of the bed, the physician said: "You won't try again to do
what you did in New Haven, will you?" Now one may have done many things
in a city where he has lived for a score of years, and it is not
surprising that I failed to catch the meaning of the doctor's question.
It was only after months of secret puzzling that I at last did discover
his reference to my attempted suicide. But now the burning candle in
the hands of the attendant, and a certain similarity between the
doctor's name and the name of a man whose trial for arson I once
attended out of idle curiosity, led me to imagine that in some way I
had been connected with that crime. For months I firmly believed I
stood charged as an accomplice.

The putting on of the muff was the most humiliating incident of my
life. The shaving of my legs and the wearing of the court-plaster brand
of infamy had been humiliating, but those experiences had not
overwhelmed my very