In the labour department, every patient is as freely trusted with
the tools of his trade as if he were a sane man. In the garden,
and on the farm, they work with spades, rakes, and hoes. For
amusement, they walk, run, fish, paint, read, and ride out to take
the air in carriages provided for the purpose. They have among
themselves a sewing society to make clothes for the poor, which
holds meetings, passes resolutions, never comes to fisty-cuffs or
bowie-knives as sane assemblies have been known to do elsewhere;
and conducts all its proceedings with the greatest decorum. The
irritability, which would otherwise be expended on their own flesh,
clothes, and furniture, is dissipated in these pursuits. They are
cheerful, tranquil, and healthy.
Once a week they have a ball, in which the Doctor and his family,
with all the nurses and attendants, take an active part. Dances
and marches are performed alternately, to the enlivening strains of
a piano; and now and then some gentleman or lady (whose proficiency
has been previously ascertained) obliges the company with a song:
nor does it ever degenerate, at a tender crisis, into a screech or
howl; wherein, I must confess, I should have thought the danger
lay.
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