IV. A Strange Journey.
WHEN I was a young and comparatively inexperienced hachish-eater, I once called upon a surgeon who lived at Hammersmith and who had promised to show me a new apparatus which he had devised and manufactured for the administration of ether to patients about to undergo severe operations. When he had exhibited and explained his handiwork we went to his sanctum, and, while we were smoking together, our conversation fell upon opiates and narcotics in general. I mentioned cannabis indica, and he derided it. "It is of no practical value,” he said; "I have used it and it has always disappointed me."
"You think, then," I said, "that it produces no narcotic effects?"
"I have never seen any," he returned.
"Well, take some of mine!" I urged, as I offered him a little box of the drug that I had in my pocket.
