rumbling chains of the anchor, rush through the hawse-hole, as their vessel took her station in the

bay.

After going through those wearisome forms, which a foreign sea-port exacts; and which appear purposely intended, to temper the rapture of the sea-worn voyager, as he congratulates himself on once more treading terra firma; our party found themselves the inmates of the English hotel; and spent the remainder of the day in engaging a cicerone, and in discussing plans for the morrow.

The morrow came-sunny and cloudless-and the cicerone bowed to the ground, as he opened the door of the commodious fiacre.

"Where shall I drive to, Sir?"

"What were our plans, George?" said Sir Henry.

"I think," replied George, "that we only formed one plan to change it for another. Let the cicerone decide for us."

He, nothing loath, accepted the charge; and taking his station on the box of the carriage, directed the driver.

The carriage first stopped before a large stone building. The bell was rung-a veteran porter presented himself-and our party entered the court yard.

"What place is this?" said Delmé.

"This," rejoined his guide, with the true cicerone fluency, "is the famous lunatic asylum, instituted by the illustrious Baron Pisani. This, gentlemen, is the Baron!"

Here a benevolent-looking little man with a large nose, took off his hat.

"So much approved of was his beneficent design, that our noble King, and our paternal Government, have not only adopted it; but have graciously permitted the Baron, to continue to preside over that institution, which he so happily commenced, and which he so refulgently adorns.” During this announcement, the Baron's face flushed with a simple, but honest pride.

These praises did not to him appear exaggerated; for his intentions had been of the purest, and in this institution was his whole soul wrapt up.

Acme became somewhat pale, as she heard where

they were, and looked nervously at George; who could not forbear smiling, as he begged they would be under no apprehensions.

"Yes! gentlemen," said the Baron, "circumstances in early life made me regard mental disease as the most fearful of all. I observed its victims struggling between reason and insanity; goaded on by the ignorance of empirics, and the harsh treatment of those about them, until light fled the tortured brain, and madness directed its every impulse. You, gentlemen, are English travellers, I perceive! In your happy land, where generosity and wealth go hand in hand, there are, I doubt not, many humane institutions, where those, whobowed down by misfortunes, or preyed on by disease-have lost the power to take care of themselves, may find a home, where they may be anxiously tended, and carefully provided for.

Here we knew not of such things.

I have said, gentlemen, that chance made me feel a deep interest in these unfortunates. I sunk the greater part of my fortune, in constructing this mansion, trusting that the subscriptions of

M

individuals, would enable me to prosecute the good

work.

In this I was disappointed; but our worthy Viceroy, who took an interest in my plans, laid the matter before the Government, which-as Signor Guiseppe observes-has not only undertaken to support my asylum, but also permits me to preside over the establishment. That, gentlemen, is my apartment, with the mignionette boxes in front, and without iron bars in the window; though indeed these very bars are painted, at my suggestion, such a delicate green, that you might not have been aware that they were such.

This is our first chamber-cheerful and snug. Here are the patients first brought. We indulge them in all their caprices, until we are enabled to decide with certainty, on the fantasy the brain has conjured up. From this room, we take them to the adjacent bed-room, where we administer such remedies as we think the best fitted to restore

reason.

If these fail, we apportion the patient a cell, and consider the case as beyond our immediate relief.

We cure, on an average, two-thirds of the cases forwarded to us; and there have been instances of the mind's recovering its tone, after a confinement of some years."

"How many inmates have you in the asylum at present?" said Acmé.

"One hundred and thirty-six, eighty-six of whom are males. These are our baths, to which they are daily taken; this the refectory; this the parlatorio, where they see their friends; and now, if the lady is not afraid, we will descend to the court yard, and see my charges."

"There is no fear?" said George.

"Not in the least. Our punishment is so formidable, that few will incur it by being refractory." "What! then you are obliged to punish them?" said Acmé, with a shudder.

Sometimes, but not often. I will show you what our punishment consists in. You see this room without furniture! Observe the walls and floor; and even the door as it closes. All these are carefully stuffed; and if you walk across the room, there is no sound.