The man with a twisted lip.

Isah Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., principal of the theological college

of St. George's, was much addicted to opium.

The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college,

for having read Dequinsie's description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched

his tobacco with lodenum, in an attempt to produce the same effects.

He found, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid

of, and for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror

and pity to his friends and relatives.

One night it was in June of 89, there came a ring to my bell about the hour when a man

gives his first yard and glances at the clock.

I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needlework down in a lap, and made a little face

of disappointment.

A patient said she, you'll have to go out.

I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.

We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum.

Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark coloured stuff, with a black veil,

entered the room.

He would excuse my calling so late, she began, and then suddenly, losing herself control,

she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder.

Oh, I've been such trouble, she cried, I do so want a little help.

Why, said my wife, pulling up her veil, it is Kate with me.

...