TEN YEARS AND TEN MONTHS

IN

LUNATIC ASYLUMS

IN DIFFERENT STATES,

BY

MOSES SWAN,

WITH SOME REMARKS UPON HIS LIFE AND PARENTAGE.

CHAPTER I.

I, Moses Swan, was born in the town of Hoosick, Rensselaer county, New York, March the 4th, 1812. My father was a native of Tyngsborough, Berkshire county, Massachusetts. My mother was born in Greenfield, Massachusetts, and there lived with her honored parents until my father who being a mechanic, at the age of one and twenty years old, bade his parents good-by and went out into the wide world, like other young men, to seek his fortune, and by the by, as I have often heard him say, he stopped at Greenfield, and worked a few months in the fall, and then and there he became for the first time acquainted with Abigail Clark, who in the course of time became my mother.

From Greenfield, my father crossed the Green mountain, with his pack upon his back, down into North Adams, and whilst I am writing, methinks I see him trudging along with his Yankee pack upon his back, from Adams along to Williamstown, and by the old brick college and on, and on he travels between the rugged rocks of Pownal, and the little river that winds its way along down to old Hoosick. Here he finds himself at Hoosick Four Corners, a pilgrim and a stranger in a strange land, doubtless tired, but yet he presses onward a little farther, to the west part of the town, to what is called the Cross neighborhood, where he hired his board of Captain Ebenezer Cross; here he set up business, for he was a cooper by trade and a practical farmer; here doubtless he labored with industry and economy, having an eye out for this Greenfield Abigail. And a kind providence smiled upon him, and he returned to Greenfield, in search of Abigail Clark, and they were married.

He was now in his twenty-fourth year. This year he was married to her, who then left her parents' house and came with my father to Hoosick; here, by their industry and economy, they soon saved enough to purchase a small farm, about two miles and a half west of Hoosick Falls, where I was born. I was the third son and the fourth child, one of seven sons and a daughter, which my mother bore to my father.

Here upon the old south-western hill of Hoosick, upon the self-same farm my parents lived and toiled together, until my father fell asleep. I well remember the 27th day of February, 1842, when I stood by my father's dying bedside and smoothed his dying pillow and wiped the cold sweat from his brow, yes, I remember very well of closing his eyes in death. I do not, I can't, I must not wish him back to this lower world of sin and sorrow, of toil and woe, though there be joys in Christ for his children, who walk not according to the course of this world.

While I am writing the foremost part of my little narrative, it will be remembered, that I am speaking of things far back in the distance, when things of a temporal kind were far inferior to what they now are. Fifty years has made great changes and improvements in arts and sciences in this country; true it is of Americans as the scripture says, "ye have sought out many inventions."

And while writing, my mind is carried back to my boyhood, some fifty years ago, when I, for the first time, took my father's oxen and went to the field to plow, with one of the best of Pardon Cole's plows. Were I to describe this wonderful plow, and we had its picture, we should judge it more appropriate for a comic almanac than for an agricultural show case. It truly was a huge looking thing, the beam or neap as the Yankee would call it, was made of wood, and the land-side was wood and the mould-board was wood, and then we had a little wooden paddle to paddle off the dirt off the wooden mould-board at every corner when necessary; and now for the point, it was forged out by a common country blacksmith, one would suppose at the present day it was more fit to iron off a hog's nose than to be used for a plow-share, in short, it was what the Yankees call a hog plow. Let us compare this with the plows now in use and be thankful for what we have. Well may it be said by the inspired writer, "ye have sought out many inventions."

We might take most of the minor implements of the farmer, and speak at length of the glorious improvements in farming utensils for the last fifty years. But we will speak of but one more of this class, and that is, the wonderful buggy or mowing machine, sweeping through our meadows, drawn by horses where fathers and sons, fifty years ago, sweat with an iron hook in hand to mow down their fields. What an onward march is our world making in the things that are seen which are but temporal that must decay with their usage.

Once more, I well remember when I was some ten or eleven years of age, my parents promised me a visit to Troy for the first time, and I, like most of other country boys, thought much of going to see the great place; the buildings were so thick I could not see the city, as the saying is. At the time, I had no shoes, and they were difficult to get at that time, for I had first to get the shoemaker's promise and then wait for the fulfillment. I got the promise, and the shoes were to be done the day previous to my going to Troy. I went for the shoes at the appointed time, and behold, I had the shoemaker's promise, for they were not done. And this makes me think of an anecdote which took place between a shoemaker and his wife, the wife says, "What made you promise the lad when you knew you could not fulfill," the husband replies, "It is a poor man that cannot make a promise:" there I was disappointed.

Again we might speak of the many mechanical improvements, such as the housewife's sewing machine, the telegraph, the steam powers and the railways, and many other things of note that we have seen at our town, county and State fairs. But lest I digress too far from the great object I have set forth and have still in view, I will hasten to it.

I feel incompetent for the great work I have undertaken. It always was hard work for me to write out my thoughts or speak before my superiors, and many there are whom I esteem better than myself, yet, however good my neighbors may be, they cannot do my duty nor stand in the judgment for me.

I remember of asking my dear mother, many years ago, how old I was when she took me by the hand and walked along by the side of the wall, and from thence to the old log-house, where lay a young lady asleep in death. Mother informed me that I was then three and a half years old. I speak of this because it was the first person that I saw a corpse, and to show that early impressions upon the tender mind are hard to be eradicated. I have just been speaking of things that transpired in 1816, and, as it is true that one thing leads to another, my mind is called to think of my beloved parents, and the early trainings they gave their children; the beloved words of our Saviour is, "train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."

At this early day of my life neither of my parents were joined to the Saviour by a public profession; they were eastern people brought up strictly under the Presbyterian order. I am very thankful they taught their children to strictly keep the Sabbath and read the Holy Scriptures, for they are the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth, to the Jew first, and also to the Gentiles, and the Saviour said, "they are they which testify of me."

Old as I am, never have I heard one of my father's family use a word of profane language, so far as I know, not one intemperate drinker. But we are not a family without faults. In early life I became sensible that I was a sinner; when but ten or twelve years of age the spirit of the Lord strove very powerfully with me, and from time to time I grieved its gentle influences from my heart, saying, like Felix, "go thy way for this time," promising, that when I had a more convenient season I would seek the salvation of my soul. I often felt sorry that I was not a Christian, and many a time the tears would trickle down my cheeks in penitence when but a child.

At this early period of my life, country children did not have the advantages they now have, and it was so even with children living in villages. I was a farmer's son, and I now well remember the shoemaker that came from the east, and whipped the cat, as he called it, then I got my year's stock of shoes, consisting of one pair; if these did not last me till the cat-whipper came around again, I had to go barefoot till he came again, or get the promise for another pair of some other shoemaker, and that was about the same as going barefoot. I well remember this day, in the days of my youth, many a time washing my feet in the cold months of autumn, and my mother oiling them with sweet cream, and putting me to bed. Many a time have I went to the old district school-house to hear Rev. Aaron Haynes preach, when a boy, and that too barefoot. I also remember of once hearing an old Rev. Bennet, who came from Pownal to our school-house, and preached; the text I do not remember. The prayer he made I cannot reiterate. But I very well remember an anecdote he told, concerning himself, when he was a young man (and methinks he was a little hypocritical at the time). Be that as it may, it appears it was in a time of some excitement, and he said he was away from home on a visit among some of his friends; sitting one evening with his friends, it being nearly time to retire to rest, he says to his friends, "Shall we have a word of prayer before we retire?" "If you please," was the response. And now for the prayer. It was a premeditated prayer, as he said, and he was not a Christian at this time; the prayer he had framed up by his own wisdom and strength, he thought very appropriate and very nice for the occasion; then said he, "I bowed upon my knees to reiterate this nice prayer, and for my life," said he, "I could not recall a single word of it to my mind. I was upon my knees, ashamed, and could not pray my nice prayer. I quickly arose from my knees and ran for bed, leaving my friends to say their own prayers, covering up my head in bed, with shame, to rest for the night." I would here remark, if any there be who are now feeling they need to pray, come to Jesus and ask him to give you that faith which works by love and purifies the heart, and he will teach you to pray in spirit and in truth, and you will not be ashamed nor confounded. Here one passage of Scripture comes to my mind, and it is this: "Man know thyself." Men are very apt to know their neighbors better in their own estimation than they know themselves. First pull the beam out of thine eye.

Self-examination and the study of human nature is a great work, I think, if I have the right estimate upon them, having studied myself and others, having the Scriptures in my mind more than forty long years, as the scale whereby to discern between right and wrong, truth and error; yet, if the truths of the Scriptures are not sent home upon the heart by the Divine Spirit, they will be like the moon-light upon the cold snow.

I feel thankful to-day that my mother, though long dead, taught me in early life to read the Scriptures, for they are the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth. Not only good fathers and mothers teach their children to read the word of God, but our Divine Redeemer says, "Search the Scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and they are they which testify of me."