thought of epilepsy, I dreamed epilepsy, until thousands of times
during the six years that this disquieting idea persisted, my
over-wrought imagination seemed to drag me to the very verge of an
attack. Yet at no time during my life have these early fears been
realized.

For the fourteen months succeeding the time my brother was first
stricken, I was greatly harassed with fear; but not until later did my
nerves really conquer me. I remember distinctly when the break came. It
happened in November, 1895, during a recitation in German. That hour in
the class room was one of the most disagreeable I ever experienced. It
seemed as if my nerves had snapped, like so many minute bands of rubber
stretched beyond their elastic limit. Had I had the courage to leave
the room, I should have done so; but I sat as if paralyzed until the
class was dismissed.

That term I did not again attend recitations. Continuing my studies at
home, I passed satisfactory examinations, which enabled me to resume my
place in the class room the following January. During the remainder of
my college years I seldom entered a recitation room with any other
feeling than that of dread, though the absolute assurance that I should
not be called upon to recite did somewhat relieve my anxiety in some
classes. The professors, whom I had told about my state of health and
the cause of it, invariably treated me with consideration; but, though
I believe they never doubted the genuineness of my excuse, it was easy
matter to keep them convinced for almost two-thirds of my college
course. My inability to recite was not due usually to any lack of
preparation. However well prepared I might be, the moment I was called
upon, a mingling of a thousand disconcerting sensations, and the
distinct thought that at last the dread attack was at hand, would