This is exactly right.

In January 1893, it happened that I had for a few weeks been in the habit of taking an occasional

dose of one of our stock dispensary mixtures, a tonic containing, amongst other things,

a fair dose of strychnine. On the morning of Tuesday, January

10th, I went into the dispensary to take a dose of the tonic. I at once noticed a much more intensely

bitter taste than was usual. I did not know quite what to do, and my first impulse was to take an

emetic. But as the swallowing of saliva

lessened the bitter taste every minute that I hesitated, I persuaded myself that the difference

might only be fancy. Fifteen minutes elapsed, and I began to feel very restless. An indescribable

nervous sensation came over me, as if there were rope pullies

running down to my extremities, which were gradually being drawn tight. I had to make an effort to

prevent my mouth closing too soon as I spoke, and to dig my pen into the paper and write thick

as if to form a fulcrum over which to lever my hand along the pages,

while a contra force in my arm strove to dash the pen to the floor. My limbs were throwing off the

control of will and moved erratically. When I wished to go on, my legs stopped. And when by a violent

effort I forced them to proceed, I could not pull up to a standstill

without walking against a bed to steady myself. What I said or did, I cannot remember, but I managed to

get along somehow, though feeling as if head, hands, and legs belonged not to me, but to three

separated individuals, like a mechanical

doll that has had all its limbs pulled with a jerk of the string.

I said to Dr. Considine, I am really very ill. I feel sure I am suffering from strychnine poisoning.

I had taken six-tenth of a grain. I remembered that half a

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