When I came to consciousness I found myself wrapped up in a blanket, lying in bed, with hot bricks at my feet.  I was in the room occupied by father and mother, and the first object that met my wandering sight was the face of my mother.  The look with which she regarded me will never fade from my memory.  There was in it the sorrow and anguish of death.  She rose from her bed at sight of me, and with streaming eyes and screaming voice called the family up to bid them good-by; she said she was dying—­that I had killed her.  I sprang from my bed in such a horror of terrible suffering, mental and physical, as never swept over the body and soul of mortal man.  I felt my heart thumping and beating as though it would burst forth from my bosom; the hot, hissing blood rushed to my aching, fevered brain, and a torrent of sweat burst forth on my icy forehead.  I could not have suffered more physical agony had a thousand swords been driven through my quivering body, nor would my miserable soul have been in more insufferable pain had it been confined in the regions of the damned.  It was some time before anything like quiet was restored, but as soon as it was, some of the family went to the gate and found my hat and took charge of the horse which I had ridden.  That morning I dragged myself to school with a sad, heavy heart.  As my scholars came in, they seemed to understand that something was the matter with me, and often during the day their wondering looks were directed toward me as if they sought some explanation of my appearance.  The day was a long and weary one to me—­a day, like many another since then, of most intense wretchedness.  About noon one of my feet became so swollen that it was necessary for me to take off my boot, and by the time I dismissed school it had got so bad that I could not draw on my boot, so that I had to walk home, a distance of one mile, over the frozen ground with nothing to protect my foot but a woolen sock.  On entering the house, my mother burst into tears at sight of me.  I must have been a pitiable object, and yet how little did I deserve the wealth of priceless sympathy lavished upon me.  That night, and many nights succeeding it, the only way I could get into bed was to put an old-fashioned chair with rounds in the back, beside the bed and crawl up round by round until I got on a level with the bed, and then let go and fall over into the bed.

It is needless for me to say that I firmly resolved and honestly felt that I would never again taste the liquor which leads to madness, misery, and death.  For some time I kept my resolution; and would to God that I could here conclude by saying that I never again allowed a drop of it to pass my lips.  But I am writing an autobiography, and I have told you that I would not shrink from telling the truth.  So it will happen that other and still more desperate and disgraceful episodes of drunkenness will have to be recorded.