During the period of unnatural exaltation that has been described
he had accepted agencies which promised thousands if he could sell
millions of dollars' worth of goods, and after the subtle morphia
had infused itself through his system nothing seemed easier; but
dreams are not realities, and after grand hopes unfulfilled, and
futile efforts, he would sink into a despondency from which nothing
could lift him save the little syringe that he carried hidden next
to his heart. As its magic never failed him, he went on for a time,
blind to the consequences. At last he began to grow more alarmed
than ever before at the ascendency of the drug and his dependence
upon it, but when he tried to discontinue its use he found that he
had been living so long under the influence of a powerful stimulant
that without it he sank like a stone. Then came the usual compromise
of all weak souls--he would gradually decrease the amount and then
the frequency of its use; but, as is generally the case, he put off
the beginning of sturdy self-denial until the morrow, and almost
every day he poisoned his system with that which also poisoned and
demoralized his soul. He dimly saw his danger, but did not realize
it. With the fatuity of all self-indulgent natures he thought the
day would come when, with better prospects and health renewed, he
would throw away the spell which bound him and become a free man,
but day after day passed and he did not; his appetite began to
flag and his energy also; he would sit dreaming for hours when he
might have been at work. At best his agencies would give him but a
scanty revenue, although pushed with extraordinary skill and vigor.
As it was, they yielded him little more than personal support, and
he began to entertain the hope that if he could only obtain regular
employment he could then resume his old regular habits. Therefore
he had agreed to accept a position which was little more than
a foothold, and yet if he would go to work with a determined and