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Dr. Shirley took the lead in the conversation, and I was delighted at the compliment he paid me in introducing subjects such as required intelligence and scientific knowledge to converse upon. Our pleasure in sustaining such an interchange of thoughts seemed to be mutually reciprocated, and I think we both parted feeling that we were wiser than when we met.

In reply to their inquiry:

"Is she insane?"

"She is the sanest person I ever saw. I wish the world was full of such women."

Now that my sanity was established beyond question, the Mantenoites resolved to liberate me, and therefore appointed a public indignation meeting for this purpose, to see what could be done to effect it.

Mr. Packard hearing of this proposed meeting to liberate his imprisoned wife, sent to Chicago and obtained Rev. A. D. Eddy, D. D., and Mr. Cooley, of the firm of Cooley & Farwell, to come to Manteno and help him to withstand and defeat this philanthropic plan. They both came and did their work up thoroughly and successfully, in that they browbeat the Mantenoites, and silenced them into submission to the dictates of this ministerial and church influence.

Thus this plan was defeated, and I was destined to another disappointment.

Mr. Blessing told me clandestinely, he had come to effect my liberation if possible.

But these Mantenoites determined that their defeat should not be a failure, and therefore they determined to try the habeas corpus act, and thus secure me a fair trial at least.

But to their surprise, they found it exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to extend this act to a legal "nonentity," unless by the consent of Mr. Packard, who stood for me in law, and of course he would not consent to any step which would allow me any chance at self-defence.

Therefore, with the encouragement and assistance of his brother ministers, and the church, he learned how to ward off this attempt successfully.

Again the Mantenoites assembled, and by their generous contributions raised a liberal purse of money, to be used in my defence. They sent a delegation to the asylum, to inform me of this fact, which they did, by carefully noting the time the Doctor's back was turned, to inform me as they walked through the prison halls. Said they:

"Any amount of money you can have, if money can help you. Send to your son, Theophilus, to take you out."

I simply had time to reply, "I can't send letters out."

This was all we could say clandestinely. Although I could see no hope of deliverance through this source, yet the thought that I was being cared for by any one outside my prison, was a great consolation to me.

Through the influence of friends, my oldest son, Theophilus, visited the asylum, and obtained an interview with me.

When I was incarcerated in my prison, Theophilus was in the post-office in Mount Pleasant, Iowa, as clerk, and had not seen me for two years. His regard for me was excessive. He had been uniformly filial, and very kind to me, and therefore when he learned that his loving mother was a prisoner in a lunatic asylum, he felt an unconquerable desire to see me, and judge for himself, whether I was really insane, or whether I was the victim of his father's despotism.

His father, aware of this feeling, and fearing he might ascertain the truth respecting me by some means, sent him a letter, commanding him not to write to his mother now in the asylum, and by no means visit her there, adding, if he did so, he should disinherit him!

Theophilus was now eighteen years of age, and, as yet, had never known what it was to disobey either his father's or mother's express commands. But now his love for his mother led him to question the justice of this seemingly arbitrary command, and he, fearful of trusting to his own judgment in this matter, sought advice from those who had once been Mr. Packard's church members and deacons in Mount Pleasant, and from all he got the same opinion strongly defended, that he had a right to disobey such a command.

He therefore ventured to visit his mother in her lonely prison home in defiance of his father's edict.

I was called from my ward to meet my darling first-born son in the reception-room, when I had been in my prison about two months. After embracing and kissing me with all the fondness of a most loving child, and while shedding our mutual tears of ecstasy at being allowed to meet once more on earth, he remarked:

"Mother, I don't know as I have done right in coming to see you as I have, for father has forbidden my coming, and you have always taught me never to disobey my father."

"Disobeyed your father!" said I. "Yes, I have always taught you it was a sin to disobey him, and I do fear you have done wrong, if you have come to see me in defiance of your father's command. You know we can never claim God's blessing in doing wrong, and I fear our interview will not be a blessing to either of us, if it has been secured at the price of disobedience to your father's command."