the comicality of life. The clock smiled, the chairs moved, the coals in the grate were little giggling imps. Yet I felt perfectly at ease, and watched the transformations without any sensations of surprise, much less of terror.
Then succeeded the third stage of the influence of the hachish. Numbness seemed to steal over me. I imagined that my legs turned to lead; and the idea grew until I became wholly metallic—a living machine, an engine through whose valves the steam hissed and whistled, threatening the speedy disruption of the whole affair. While in this state I could not move; and yet when my friend aroused me I could still give broken and wandering replies to his questions. Even this qualified measure of consciousness deserted me in time, however; and I went to sleep. An hour later, or about four and a quarter hours after having swallowed the hachish, I awoke, dazed and dreamy; but a draught of cold water immediately brought me to myself, and in ten minutes more the influence of the drug had entirely evaporated. What
