The New Daily Appeal

WE HAVE WORN OUT OUR WELCOME.

Let Us Stand (as well as we can) Upon Our Own Bottom.

The California papers are grumbling because of our continuing to observe the slip-shod, half beggarly habit of quartering our insane upon the public institutions of that State; (they lie when they say that our officials ship the sage-brush lunatics over there and turn them loose—lie and ought to go West when they say so;) but we don't know that it is very unnatural that they should conjure up out of the custom the bugbear that they have; for certainly "a sovereign State" ought to be able to give housing and treatment to its crazy people, unless indeed, they get to be the majority, as the vote for Kendall seems to indicate.

There have been some semi-spasmodic movements in our more recent Legislatures toward the adoption of some sane and self-respectful policy regarding our mad people; and some gentle lunatics even went so far, two years ago, as to propose turning the Bowers Mansion into a Bedlam; but there was c. sufficient freedom from the mania of Preposterosity in that marvellous body to squelch the delirious proposition.

It is an owlish matter of wisdom of the platitudinous and fly-blown variety to say that we ought to do something, on our own hook, in the humane direction of ministering to the diseased minds of our own; and we do reiterate that un-brilliant but none the less trite and truthful asseveration; for while it is not true, as we remarked somewhat emphatically before, that we cast loose our madmen to prey upon the appalled and stricken innocents of the blissful and Arcadian land which creeps up to shake hands with her war-cradled sister across the aqueous and chimerical line of demarcation which sets the ghost of old John Bigler to wrangling with the unconstrued spook of Tahoe to decide "what's in a name;" while these charges are as false as dicer's oaths (if we may be allowed the expression) it is nevertheless true that this proud and "sovereign" State ought to stand no longer gibbering at the hopeless gates of Stockton and Woodville, reaching out its pinched pittance with one hand, and its attested enrollments of the profound proceedings of a Lunatico Inquirendo with the other, asking the considerations and manifestations of a begrudge and bellyaching charity.

After they have got through with the exciting matters of business and politics which will weigh upon their mammoth minds in the early flush and dawn of the coming Legislative session, it will be well for the wise and accustomed as well as for the pin-feathered and inexperienced sons of Lycurgus who will gather together in the name of this pure and incorrupt-ible, high spirited and underangeable people to pass an Act appropriating moneys in sufficient quantity to enable Abraham Curry or some other worthy citizen to construct here, within the limits of the Ger of the Desert, a building adequate to the purposes which now we are constrained to seek at the hands of parsimonious incompetency over on the Western Slope. This is all that need be said with regard to the matter. There is but one way to settle it in accordance with the dictates of common sense—and we have named that way.