Anderson is a man about six feet high, well proportioned, of uncommon muscular power. He told me with his own mouth, in 1870, he had been in the Troy lunatic asylum sixteen years and had not slept out of the institution one night. (Think you he entered as a patient? I do.) He has been kept as attendant and bully fighter many years. He was married to Isabella, the magdalen attendant, and when united it seemed as though there was nothing so daring or cruel at times that they could not do. And yet, when my wife came, they seemed so nice and talked so soft it seemed that butter would not melt in their mouths, as the old saying is. The devil says many fine things to bring about his designs and purposes, so do his children. The Lord keep me from such a government as the incurable house of the Troy lunatic asylum, and all others that I know any thing about. But to my revelation. Bacon's sufferings under Wm. Anderson's cruel hand. As I have stated, Bacon lodged within three feet of me, and that for more than three years, bound every night but one, some times one way, and sometimes another, with the asylum harness. Bacon was required to work like a slave under a cruel master, at almost all kinds of work, from the wheelbarrow to the dirty work of the chambers, and one winter, night after night and week after week, at a late hour, he came to the room so wet his shirt would have frozen if exposed to frost. What now? Anderson puts on his wrists cuffs, AA, and muff, E, then runs strap, B, through staples that are in A and A, locking it around his body, as seen in the engraving, then binds him in bed. LATER. ANDERSON AGAIN. HABIT A STRONG POWER. I have seen Bacon at bed-time place on his own wrists cuffs A and A and stand by his bed waiting for Anderson to come and put on the remainder of the harness and bind him in bed. Again, I have seen Anderson many a time whip him upon his naked flesh, with strap B, till his flesh was red as a piece of raw beef, and harnessed and put him to bed as heretofore. But, says one, as did another to me, perhaps he needed whipping. God forbid! No more ought a lunatic to be whipped, or abused, than the fond mother's infant child that creeps to and paddles in the water-pail, carelessly left by her upon her nice carpet. When I last visited the kitchen of the incurable house in 1874 Bacon was eating breakfast from off a coal-bin. He is no more luny, but kept as a slave to do drudgery for the benefit of the stockholders of the institution at the expense of tax payers in the county of Rensselaer, if I am rightly informed. ONE OF THE MANY SUFFERINGS OF GENERAL SCHUYLER, OF WEST TROY.