MRS. N. was the wife of a clergyman of high standing in the denomination to which he belonged. She was a worthy woman, and, as things are viewed by finite eyes, deserved a better fate than it was her fortune to meet. Some years previous to my acquaintance with her, she had a severe illness, and opium was freely prescribed, notwithstanding the opposition of her husband to its use. Being naturally of a nervous temperament, he feared that she would find it hard to relinquish a powerful stimulant, if she once became accustomed to its use. On her recovery, his fears were fully realized; for some time, she continued to take her daily dose; but at length her husband felt that the habit must be broken up, or her usefulness would be entirely destroyed. It would never do to have the parson’s wife an opium-taker, and he told her that she must give it up, for he should not get her any more.

As soon as she had used up what she had on hand, she was seized with vomiting and diarrhoea, which continued for one day, when she began to grow cold. Through the following night, the chills continued to increase, and toward morning she was taken with fainting. She could not retain a particle of food, or anything else, except brandy and water, on her stomach. By daylight, her strength was nearly exhausted, and she looked more like a corpse than a living person. It was a serious question with her husband, whether he should not send and get her some opium; but, as he was obliged to leave home on business, he resolved to wait until his return, and see if she would not get along without it.

As soon as he was gone, she took a full dose of brandy, and then started to go to the doctor’s house, which was but a short distance. She knew the doctor’s wife would supply her with what she wanted; but she did not dare to send one of her children, for she knew that they partook too much of their father’s spirit. She succeeded in reaching the door, and then fainted. The doctor’s wife, being aware of the real state of things, soon found means to relieve her, and she returned home, comparatively comfortable.

When her husband returned home, he was rejoiced to find her so much better, and he remarked that, as she had now began to amend without opium, he hoped she would not be compelled to use it again. This was a damper to her spirits, for which she was not quite prepared, as she had not thought of the results of her deception. But she was unwilling to mar her husband’s happiness by telling him the truth; so she permitted him to believe that she was, in reality, dispensing with the accustomed stimulus.

Months passed away, and she continued the secret indulgence. At length, the doctor and his wife suddenly left home, and she was again in great trouble. No opium could she get, without the assistance of her husband; and to acquaint him with her real condition, was not to be thought of. For two days she was very sick, and her husband thought she would die. A physician was called, but was desired not to give opium, lest she should again be brought under its influence. His prescription did her no good, and, finding she must die as she was, she requested to have a friend sent for, to whom she revealed her secret.

This woman was one of the few who have the moral courage to do right. Fearless of consequences, she went immediately to Mr. N., and told him of the apparent danger of one so dear, and finally procured what was wanted, for that time; but no entreaties could induce him to purchase a quantity, to keep in the house. What should she do now? Her eldest son was just married, and his wife was a kind, affectionate daughter, and a good nurse; she understood the cause of her mother’s suffering, but could not comprehend why the remedy was so cruelly withheld. She resolved to provide it herself, little suspecting what terrible results would follow such kindness.

Mrs. N. had given up in despair, and resigned herself to what seemed inevitable death, when her son’s wife came in with a largo bottle of laudanum in her hand, and presented it to her. She received it with that joy which can never be expressed by words, or in any degree comprehended, by one who has not passed through the horrible suffering which opium prepares for its victims.

Again she was able to fill her place as a pastor’s wife, and for many years she continued her course of deception, on which she had almost unconsciously entered. But it could not always last; her health declined—her mind became more and more feeble, until it seemed as though her intellectual faculties were almost destroyed. As the disease increased, she increased her use of opium, until she found herself in the iron grasp of consumption! Still, she thought opium would eventually relieve her, if she only took enough. With this idea, she one day swallowed a powerful dose. Worn out nature could no longer contend with so potent an enemy, and was on the point of giving up the contest. She became alarmed; a physician was called—the cause of the trouble and all the long train of deception brought to light. Much blame was cast upon the kind-hearted daughter-in-law, and much did she regret the deplorable results of her mistaken kindness.

The old doctor, who had been her friend and medical adviser for years, was now dead, and his place was filled by his son, who had little sympathy with such as voluntarily give themselves up to what he considered a sinful indulgence. He thought that, by breaking up this pernicious habit, he could again restore her to comfortable health. Her husband and daughter feared that she had not strength to survive the loss of her accustomed stimulus; but the doctor assured them that there was no danger—that the change in her habits should be gradual, and that, when once out from under its influence, she would not feel the need of opium.

He accordingly commenced the Herculean task, which the inspired writer truly compares to changing the Ethiopian’s skin, or the leopard’s spots. He gave her a weak solution of morphine, with other medicines; but it was only a trifle, compared with the large doses which she had formerly taken. He had prescribed for her about ten days, when I called to see her. No language can describe the unutterable anguish depicted in her countenance! She was reduced to a mere skeleton—too weak to roll from side to side, but every motion indicating such extreme nervous restlessness, as would have caused her to do so, if she had strength sufficient.

She had formerly made me her confidant, and now she felt that I should understand her real situation, and feel the deep sympathy for her suffering which she craved. As I stood by her bed, she took my hand in her own, so cold, emaciated, and corpse-like, that it sent an involuntary shudder through my frame, and said, in a whisper, “I am dying, for the want of a little opium!”

Seeing me start, as though I would speak, she said,

“No! no! don’t tell them! They don’t know how I suffer for the want of it; but you do, and you know how to pity me. O! I would give the whole world, if it were mine, for one little dose—yes, one little dose would be bliss to me!”

Ye who have hearts to feel for human woe, think, if you can, what were my feelings, as I stood beside that bed, witnessing such misery and hearing such language—well knowing, that I could do nothing for her relief, nor say anything to influence others to give her what she so much needed; and what, if she had done wrong in taking so long—who will dare to say, that it was right to withhold it from her, in that fearful emergency! But it was withheld—and in a few days she died!

Would that I could present the picture of this woman’s sufferings, to all those invalids in our land, who are beginning to tamper with this deadly drug, which at last “biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder!” Methinks they would hasten to deliver themselves, as a roe from the hand of the hunter, and as a bird from the hand of the fowler.