My commitment occurred on June 11th, 1901.  The institution to which I was committed was a chartered, private institution, but not run for personal profit.  It was considered one of the best of its kind in the country and was pleasantly situated.  Though the view was a restricted one, a vast expanse of lawn, surrounded by groups of trees, like patches of primeval forest, gave the place an atmosphere which was not without its remedial effect.  My quarters were comfortable, and after a little time I adjusted myself to my new environment.

Breakfast was served about half-past seven, though the hour varied somewhat according to the season—­earlier in summer and later in winter.  In the spring, summer, and autumn, when the weather was favorable, those able to go out of doors were taken after breakfast for walks within the grounds, or were allowed to roam about the lawn and sit under the trees, where they remained for an hour or two at a time.  Dinner was usually served shortly after noon, and then the active patients were again taken out of doors, where they remained an hour or two doing much as they pleased, but under watchful eyes.  About half-past three they returned to their respective wards, there to remain until the next day—­except those who cared to attend the religious service which was held almost every afternoon in an endowed chapel.

In all institutions those confined in different kinds of wards go to bed at different hours.  The patients in the best wards retire at nine or ten o’clock.  Those in the wards where more troublesome cases are treated go to bed usually at seven or eight o’clock.  I, while undergoing treatment, have retired at all hours, so that I am in the better position to describe the mysteries of what is, in a way, one of the greatest secret societies in the world.  I soon became accustomed to the rather agreeable routine, and had I not been burdened with the delusions which held me a prisoner of the police, and kept me a stranger to my old world, I should have been able to enjoy a comparatively happy existence in spite of all.

This new feeling of comparative contentment had not been brought about by any marked improvement in health.  It was due directly and entirely to an environment more nearly in tune with my ill-tuned mind.  While surrounded by sane people my mental inferiority had been painfully apparent to me, as well as to others.  Here a feeling of superiority easily asserted itself, for many of my associates were, to my mind, vastly inferior to myself.  But this stimulus did not affect me at once.  For several weeks I believed the institution to be peopled by detectives, feigning insanity.  The government was still operating the Third Degree, only on a grander scale.  Nevertheless, I did soon come to the conclusion that the institution was what it purported to be—­still cherishing the idea, however, that certain patients and attaches were detectives.