in debauches of hemp confections, is an evidence of the workings of the same narrow-minded prejudices under which some who abstain from alcoholic stimulants rail and rave at those whose feelings and habits lay in an opposite direction, charging upon the enjoyments of the many the excesses of the few. Friend Brooklove, drink thy tea, and re-consider thy verdict! CHAPTER XVI. GUNJA AT HOME. “Oh, kind and blissful mockery, when the manacled felon, on his bed of straw, is transported to the home of his innocent boyhood, and the pining and forsaken fair, is happy with her fond and faithful lover—and the poor man hath abundance—and the dying man is in joyous health—and despair hath hope—and those that want are as though they wanted not—and they who weep are as though they wept not.—But the fashion of these things passeth away.” “At home” may mean, that quarter-day has passed with all its terrors, accounts settled, bills filed, tax-collectors satisfied, and the horizon of finance clear and cloudless. There is no fear of duns or doctors, and John Thomas announces “at home.” Or it may mean, that having enrobed oneself in morning gown and slippers, filled and lighted our pipe, seated ourselves in an easy chair, placed our feet firmly and contentedly on the hearthrug, and commenced enveloping ourselves in a cloud like that in which Juno conveyed the vanquished Paris from the field to the presence of the fairest of the daughters of Greece, we _feel_, with reference to ourselves, and in despite of the rest of the world—“at home.” Or it may mean, that having made the “grand tour,” crossed the desert on a camel, or seen the lions of Singapore, Hong-Kong, and Shanghai, we are once more on our native soil, and no longer fear Italian banditti or Turkish plague, sandstorms or crocodiles, Chinese poisoners or bow-wow pie, that we breathe again, and are “at home”. Or it may mean half-a-dozen things beside. But to see a man at home, is to see him in all the gradations of light and shade, of sunlight and shadow, brighter and deeper, than when he covers his head and walks abroad to look at the sun. Gunja is not at home in Europe. Notwithstanding the efforts made in England and France to introduce the Indian hemp into medical practice, and the asseverations of medical practitioners in British India, who have extolled its power as a narcotic and anodyne, it has never settled upon European soil. The drugs already in use to produce sleep and alleviate pain, still occupy their old popularity, undisturbed by the visit of a stranger, who, finding the reception too cold, has retreated. In France, certain experiments were made, and by leave of Dr. Moreau, we shall take advantage of them, and of the Journal of Psychological Medicine, to ascertain the effects of this drug on those who have used it. Since the days of Prosper Albinus, both learned and unlearned have listened with wonder to the marvellous effects of those “drowsy syrups of the East,” when—