make my case known to a physician. I should have done this long
before, but I had been deterred by two things--a long-settled
conviction that all recovery from such habits must be essentially the
patient's own resolute act, and my misfortune in never having found
among my medical friends any one who had made the opium disease a
special study, or who knew very much about it. The weather was
excessively disagreeable, the heavens, about forty feet off,
distilling the finest and most penetrating kind of moisture, while the
limestone soil under the influence of the long rain had made walking
almost impossible. With frantic impatience I waited until an omnibus
made its appearance long after it was due, but crowded outside and
in. The only unoccupied spot was the step of the carriage. How in my
enfeebled condition I could hold on to this jolting standing-place for
half an hour was a mystery I could not divine. With many misgivings I
mounted the step, and by rousing all my energies contrived for a few
minutes to retain my foot-hold. My knees seemed repeatedly ready to
give way beneath me, my sight became dim, and my brain was in a whirl;
but I still held on. I would gladly have left the omnibus, but I was
certain that I should fall if I removed my hands from the frame-work
of the door by which I was holding on. At length, a middle-aged Irish
woman who had been observing me said, "You look very pale, Sir; I am
afraid you are sick. You must take my seat." I thanked her, but told
her I feared I had not strength enough to step inside. Two men helped
me in, and a few minutes afterward an humble woman was kneeling in her
wet clothing in the Church of St. ----, not the less penetrated, I
trust, with the divine spirit of that commemorative day by her
self-denying kindness to a stranger in his extremity. When the paved
sidewalk was at last reached I started, after a few minutes' rest, in
search of a physician. Purposely selecting the least-frequented
streets, in dread of falling if obliged to turn from a direct course,