Having just returned from a visit to this admirable Institution in company with a friend who is one of the Directors, we propose giving a short account of what we saw and heard. The great success of the Asylum for Idiots and Feeble-minded Youth, several of the scholars from which have reached considerable distinction, one of them being connected with a leading Daily Paper in this city, and others having served in the State and National Legislatures, was the motive which led to the foundation of this excellent charity. Our late distinguished townsman, Noah Dow, Esquire, as is well known, bequeathed a large portion of his fortune to this establishment— “being thereto moved,” as his will expressed it, “by the desire of _N. Dowing_ some public Institution for the benefit of Mankind.” Being consulted as to the Rules of the Institution and the selection of a Superintendent, he replied, that “all Boards must construct their own Platforms of operation. Let them select _anyhow_ and he should be pleased.” N.E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in compliance with this delicate suggestion. The Charter provides for the support of “One hundred aged and decayed Gentlemen-Punsters.” On inquiry if there way no provision for _females_, my friend called my attention to this remarkable psychological fact, namely: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMALE PUNSTER. This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that _I never knew nor heard of one_, though I have once or twice heard a woman make a _single detached_ pun, as I have known a hen to crow. On arriving at the south gate of the Asylum grounds, I was about to ring, but my friend held my arm and begged me to rap with my stick, which I did. An old man with a very comical face presently opened the gate and put out his head. “So you prefer _Cane_ to _A bell_, do you?” he said—and began chuckling and coughing at a great rate. My friend winked at me. “You’re here still, Old Joe, I see,” he said to the old man. “Yes, yes—and it’s very odd, considering how often I’ve _bolted_, nights.” He then threw open the double gates for us to ride through. “Now,” said the old man, as he pulled the gates after us, “you’ve had a long journey.” “Why, how is that, Old Joe?” said my friend. “Don’t you see?” he answered; “there’s the _East hinges_ on the one side of the gate, and there’s the _West hinges_ on t’other side—haw! haw! haw!” We had no sooner got into the yard than a feeble little gentleman, with a remarkably bright eye, came up to us, looking very serious, as if something had happened. “The town has entered a complaint against the Asylum as a gambling establishment,” he said to my friend, the Director. “What do you mean?” said my friend. “Why, they complain that there’s a _lot o’ rye_ on the premises,” he answered, pointing to a field of that grain—and hobbled away, his shoulders shaking with laughter, as he went.