gave a low, piteous cry (I seem to remember even this), and said, “I’m going now--watch my pulse!” Even then I felt Dr. Paxton take my wrist, and assure me in a voice that sounded very far away, “It’s all right, Doctor, all right!” The next I knew I found myself in my bed with my head turned in the opposite direction. “Polly” was moving quietly about the room; and by my side sat Dr. James holding my hand, and smoothing my arm in a kindly way. Scarcely a trace was left in the room of what had taken place there. A feeling of incredulity, almost of indignation--had nothing been done to my thumb, then, after going through with all that! I started to ask why they had not done it, but seeing my bandaged hand, and simultaneously becoming conscious of a newer sharper pain than I had ever felt, I had to believe that it was all over; but how could it be, and I not know it! Then I began laughing! I started to chide “Polly” for letting James stay in the room; but could not do so for laughter. James tried to pacify me, talking as though I were a sick child--the same way I had talked to ether patients. The oddity of this coming over me, I said, “I’m just like any other silly patient,” then laughed afresh; and the more I laughed, the less self-restraint I had. But, impressed with the necessity of assuring them that I knew what I was about, I said: “I know what I am saying, and why you are laughing, but I don’t care--I know who you are, you are Dr. James, and you’re holding my hand, and I don’t care if you do,” and I laughed in reckless abandon. “Polly” was distressed; she knew I would be angry later. James looked delighted. “Do you like it?” he asked--the rogue! “Yes, I like it--it feels so big and strong.” How he shouted! That shout sobered me. In no time I was completely myself--no more aware than before, but with the Censor at the helm. After that James used to try to squeeze my hand, reminding me that it was my real self that had spoken then--in wine (and chloroform) one speaks the truth.