I observed that he wanted a great deal of room at the table, and took it without consulting the convenience of his next neighbor. I found myself much cramped for room, and his course became quite annoying to me. He would spread himself out, lay his arms on the table, slop over his tea and coffee on the table-cloth, throw his meat and potatoes off of his plate if he did not want to eat them, and had very much to say to other patients while eating. On one occasion he took his seat at the table before I did, spread himself out as usual, and laid his arm on my knife. I took my seat as usual, and sat awhile to see if he meant to remove his arm off of my knife. I saw that he did not mean to do so. I did not understand his object, but I soon found it was to draw me out in conversation, as I had not as yet spoken to him, and he began to feel annoyed about it. I at length asked him to remove his arm that I might take my knife. He turned and looked daggers at me. “What,” he said, “have you spoken? I have sat by you two weeks, and you have not spoken to me; you need not try to play possum with me?” “What do you mean,” I said, “by playing possum?” He gave his definition of the saying. I then said, “Doctor, I feel under no obligations to you; I know no reason why I should make conversation with you more than others.” This offended him; he lifted up his voice and said, “He did not wonder I was in the asylum—that my folks could not live with me at home, so they had to bring me to the asylum.” I admitted all his slang to be true, and said, “Yes, yes, doctor, that's so—you and I are here for the same reason, our folks could not live with us at home, so they sent us here.” This roused the lion—and he could roar terribly when roused—but I said no more, and as my reply got the laugh of the table on him, he cooled off, but he never tried me on again. Whether he thought he had caught a tartar, or whether he thought I was a fool and not worth minding, he did not inform me; but one thing I do know, that ever after this he treated me with respect, and died in the asylum in about two years from that time. As I have already noticed, this is called the first hall on the gentlemen's side, and is on the first floor above the basement. Between this, and what was then called the fourth hall, now I believe called the second, is a billiard room. The patients amuse themselves at this game, and some of them are expert players. I never took any interest in it; I never even took the stick in my hand to strike a ball while there,—neither did I ever elsewhere. Chess, checkers, backgammon and dominoes, were the principal games played in the asylum, but in none of these did I take any interest; indeed, I never learned to play them. I think if all these games could be confined to lunatic asylums it would be just as well for the world.