my brief notes of this well-remembered time many records of the
extraordinary acuteness won for a while by the senses.

Not dubious, but, alas! brief, is the gain which the sensorium acquires
in this delightfully instructive passage out of death's shadow into
certain sunshine. In my own case there was a rapid exfoliation, as we
call it, of the skin, a loss and renewal of the outer layer of the
cuticle. As a result of this, the sense of touch became for a while more
acute, and was at times unpleasantly delicate. This seemed to me, as I
first thought of its cause, a mere mechanical result, but I incline to
suspect now that it was in a measure due to a true increase in capacity
to feel, because I found also that the sister sense of pain was
heightened. Slight things hurt me, and a rather gentle pinch gave undue
discomfort. No doubt a part of this was owing to my having taken a good
deal of opium, and then abruptly laid it aside. As I have elsewhere
stated, this is apt to leave the nerves oversensitive for a season. The
sense of hearing seemed to me to be less wide awake. I did not hear
better, but high notes were for a while most unpleasant. The sense of
taste grew singularly appreciative for a time, and made every meal a
joyful occasion. The simplest food had distinct flavors. As for a glass
of old Madeira,--a demijohned veteran of many ripening summers,--I
recall to this day with astonishment the wonderful thing it was, and how
it went over the tongue in a sort of procession of tastes, and what
changeful bouquets it left in my mouth,--a strange variety of varying
impressions, like the play of colors. In these days of more unspiritual
health and coarser sense I am almost ashamed to say what pleasure I
found in a dish of terrapin.

The function of smell became for me a source both of annoyance and,
later on, of pleasure. I smelt things no one else could, and more things