Nobody needs to be told that a habit is formed by the frequent repetition of acts or indulgences, and that some habits are more difficult to break ourselves of than others. The opium habit falls in this category. It is formed, of course, in the same way as other habits, but there are peculiarities connected with it on which those who are ready to condemn opium-eaters as degenerates might well ponder. The physiological effects of opium are such, that the wearing off of the effects of a dose are attended with the keenest mental and physical distress. No one who has not been an opium-eater can describe these adequately. The need, therefore, for a corrective of this condition becomes what seems an urgent necessity, and the only immediate corrective is “a hair from the dog.” A succession of these “hairs”—and a not very long succession—forms the habit. Unlike other habits, it is a habit that cannot be cured without immense strength of will, and a readiness to undergo great suffering: pains in the body, diarrhœa, and a general upset of the mental equilibrium. We see, therefore, that the cause of the habit lies here: _the need for opium to alleviate the pangs caused by opium_. [Illustration: AN EXCESSIVE OPIUM SMOKER] Amongst unromantically inclined people of the type who form the bulk of consumers—cultivators, coolies, artisans of all kinds, humble folk whose creed is “pice and rice”—it would be difficult (and ludicrous) to suppose that their object in taking opium is to go in their dreams to: “Woods that wave o’er Delphi steep Isles, that crown the Aegian deep, Fields that cool Ilissus’ laves Or where meander’s amber waves In lingering lab’rinths creep.” Possibly, they do have pleasant dreams; but the exertion and hard exercise they must undergo to earn their daily bread is known to counteract the sedative effects of opium; and as they take small quantities only, its effect is to stimulate them rather than to make them dreamy and sensuous; and I contend that, _primâ facie_, it is not to evoke sensuous imaginings that these people take opium. They take it because they cannot get away from it, once the pain to ease which it was given has passed. What strength of will do we expect to find in an unlettered cooly? Without any apology I reproduce here some verses which appeared in 1894, about the time when the Royal Opium Commission came to India: THE OPIUM-EATER’S SOLILOQUY. They began by mourning over my degraded moral state, Then my physical decadence they would anxiously debate. Then they raised a pious eye, And they heaved a pitying sigh, And they shuddered as they pondered on my melancholy fate. Now, I never had reflected on the matter thus, at all, For my luxuries were few, and my expenditure was small. I was happy as the day, In my own abandoned way, Till they said they must release me from the bonds that held me thrall.