Today, after twenty-eight years of experience in the cure of
stammering, I can say with full authority, that stammering cannot
be successfully treated by mail. The very nature of the
difficulty, as well as the method of treatment, make it impossible
to put the instructions into print or to have the stammerer follow
out the method from a printed sheet.

As I approached manhood, my impediment began to get worse. My
stuttering changed to stammering. Instead of rapidly repeating
syllables or words, I was unable to begin a word. I stood
transfixed, my limbs drawing themselves into all kinds of
unnatural positions. There were violent spasmodic movements of the
head, and contractions of my whole body. The muscles of my throat
would swell, affecting the respiratory organs, and causing a
curious barking sound. When I finally got started, I would utter
the first part of the sentence slowly, gradually increase the
speed, and make a rush toward the end.

At other times, when attempting to speak, my lips would pucker up,
firmly set together, and I would be unable to separate them, until
my breath was exhausted. Then I would gasp for more breath,
struggling with the words I desired to speak, until the veins of
my forehead would swell, my face would become red, and I would
sink back, wholly unable to express myself, and usually being
obliged to resort to writing.

These paroxysms left me extremely nervous and in a seriously
weakened condition. After one of these attacks, the cold
perspiration would break out on my forehead in great beads and I
would sink into the nearest chair, where I would be compelled to