March 13.--I must write this while fresh in my mind, for fear I may forget. There is a Miss Short here--a fair-haired, nice-looking girl; she stands up and reads in the Testament as if she were in Sunday-school, recites poetry, and tries to play on the piano. I did not think her much out of order when she came, but she is now. She has grown steadily worse. Her father came to see her, and she cried to go home with him. I wished very much to tell him to take her home, but Mrs. Mills did not leave them, and I dared not speak to him. She has grown so much worse, she tears her dress off, so they have to put leather hand-cuffs on her wrists so tight they make her hands swell. I say, "Oh, Mrs. Mills, don't you see they are too tight, her hands look ready to burst--purple with blood." She paid no heed: "It does not hurt her any." Yesterday she tied a canvas belt round her waist so tight that it made my heart ache to look at it. I am sure it would have stopped my breath in a short time; they tied her to the back of the seat with the ends of it. March 17.--Another poor victim has come to our ward today--a black-eyed, delicate-looking girl. She looked _so sad_, I was drawn to her at once. I sat beside her in Mrs. Mills' absence, and enquired the cause of her trouble; she said her food gave her pain--she is dyspeptic. If the Doctor would question the patients and their friends as to the cause of their insanity, they might, as in other cases of illness, know what remedy to apply. This dear child has been living at Dr. Wm. Bayards' three years--chambermaid--that is enough to assure me she is a good girl. I think she wears her dress too tight. I unloosened her laces and underskirts to make them easy; they are all neat and tidy, as if she had come from a good home.