During the discussion a new thought struck me. It was a child's thought, perhaps; and yet it was interesting, and not to be despised for its simplicity and childishness. It was that I would take my opium, what I had in the house, and after carefully enclosing it in my pill box, would make use of the box as a nucleus for the twine I was daily using. "When I am inclined to break my resolution," thought I, "nothing shall be done till I have unwound the ball of twine. I shall thus gain a little time for reflection; and perhaps before I come to the opium, I may permit reason to return and to mount the throne. The trial shall, at all events, be made." My resolution was carried into effect, and steadily adhered to. The opium was fairly entombed in the twine, where, for aught I know, it still remains. Most certainly I never saw it more; nor have I ever tasted any of the opium or laudanum family, from that day to the present, whether in sickness or in health. CHAPTER LV. BLEEDING AT THE LUNGS. Having occasion to go to the metropolis, one day, I took the most expeditious public conveyance which the times and the season afforded. It was January, 1832. Railroad cars were not so much in vogue that I could step into one of them, and, unless in case of accident, be there in four or five hours, as I now could. It required something like twenty-four hours to perform the journey I proposed, especially in the winter. We started at three o'clock in the morning. It had recently snowed, the snow was deep, and the path was not well broken. Of course it was not daylight when we set out, and as it was cloudy, it proved, as is not unfrequent in such cases, to be the darkest time in the whole twenty-four hours. However, we did as well as we could--driver, horses, passengers, and all. Our company consisted of seven males and two females. The coach was small, and we filled it to the brim. The weather was by no means very cold for the season; at least, it was not extreme. There was a sound of rain,--the January thaw, perhaps, as we are wont to call it,--but as yet, fortunately for us, the storm had not begun. We had proceeded about ten miles, and the day had not yet dawned, when, in passing around the point of a hill and winding our way among the deep drifts, our driver and his charge missed the path, and we were precipitated down a steep bank. The horses stopped immediately. Every effort was made to rescue us from the stage-coach, which was lying on its side, deeply embedded in the snow. I was so situated at the first moment after the overturn, that most of the affrighted passengers made use of me as a stepping-stone in their endeavors to reach the door above, which was either opened or broken. At last we were all fairly outside of the coach; no one appeared to be seriously injured.