I have been in the New York Asylum for two years, and have been growing worse, so that for several months I have not been outside these prison walls. Recently, Mr. Gray, the superintendent, wrote my wife that I was an incurable case. Of course, I expected to remain incarcerated within those prison walls; but what was still worse, I expected my reason to remain dethroned; which in the past had been periodically. But I was growing worse; my body was quite emaciated: I had lost my appetite, and in fact, I was full of fearful forebodings, a wretched man. My case was a sad one. Here I must suffer out this brief existence, in misery--pain--sorrow--shame and remorse--and then an eternity with devils and damned spirits; and all this brought on by my own licentiousness. “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” A companion in tribulation said to me, the Lord can heal you, soul and body, and gave me this passage of Scripture: “And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.” I thought, that just covers my case--but _how_, to make it available? I was told by my comrade in distress, that I must fast and pray; which I did, until I wore my knees sore. I was then watched very narrowly, and prohibited from getting upon my knees; and finally, I was shut up at night in a crib, in order to prevent, as I suppose the doctors viewed it, a further development of my new phase of insanity. The crib is something like a large cradle, without rocker,--with a cover of slats that shut over the top, and is locked down when occupied by any one. While in this condition, I was led to think of God’s goodness to me in sparing my life so long, and I a rebel against him.
I thought of the effort I had been making to get to Him; my sins had appeared in dreadful array, which I loathed with all my heart. I felt that there was real godly sorrow in me. I had besought the Lord to pardon my sins, and heal my body. I believed that he was able to do it; yea, I thought that he was willing to do it; I thought of the promise,--“The prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.” I said O Lord, why not now! they have locked me up to prevent my getting upon my knees; but can’t the Lord bless me lying on my back? Can’t the Almighty come right through these slats?