sleep for several hours, though neither very refreshing nor very
sound. Those who were about me say that I was in constant motion, but
of this I was unconscious. I only recollect that wakening was a
welcome relief from the troubled activity of my thoughts. After my
morning's ride I usually walked slowly and hesitatingly to the city,
but as this occupied only an hour the remaining time hung wearily upon
my hands. I could not read--I could hardly sit for five consecutive
minutes. Many suffering hours I passed daily either in a large public
library or in the book-stores of the city, listlessly turning over the
leaves of a book and occasionally reading a few lines, but too
impatient to finish, a page, and rarely apprehending what I was
reading. The entire mental energies seemed to be exhausted in the one
consideration--how not to give in to the tumult of pain from which I
was suffering. Up to this time I had from boyhood made a free use of
tobacco. The struggle with opium in which I was now so seriously
engaged had repeatedly suggested the propriety of including the former
also in the contest. While the severity of the struggle would, I
supposed, be enhanced, the self-respect and self-reliance, the
opposition and even obduracy of the will would, I hoped, be enough
increased as not seriously to hazard the one great object of leaving
off opium forevcr. Still I dreaded the experiment of adding a
feather's weight to the sufferings I was then enduring. An accidental
circumstance, however, determined me upon making the trial; but to my
surprise, no inconvenience certainly, and scarce a consciousness of
the deprivation accompanied it. The opium suffering was so
overwhelming that any minor want was aimost inappreciable. The next
day brought me down to nine grains of Opium. It was now the sixteenth
day of December, and I had still fifteen days remaining before the New
Year would, as I had resolved, bring me to the complete relinquishment
of the drug. The three days which succeeded the disuse of tobacco