Here was a panacea for all human
woes; here was the
secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many
ages, at once discovered; happiness might now be bought for a penny, and
carried in the waistcoat pocket; portable ecstasies might be had corked up
in a pint bottle; and peace of mind could be sent down in gallons by the
mail-coach. But, if I talk in this way, the reader
will think I am laughing; and I can assure him, that nobody will laugh
long who deals much with opium; its pleasures even are of a grave and
solemn complexion; and, in his happiest state, the opium-eater cannot
present himself in the character of L'Allegro; even
then, he speaks and thinks as becomes Il Penseroso.
Nevertheless, I have a very reprehensible way of jesting, at times, in the
midst of my own misery; and, unless when I am checked by some more
powerful feelings, I am afraid I shall be guilty of this indecent
practice, even in these annals of suffering or enjoyment. The reader must
allow a little to my infirm nature in this respect;
and with a few indulgences of that sort, I shall endeavour to be as grave,
if not drowsy, as fits a theme like opium, so
anti-mercurial as it really is, and so drowsy as it is falsely reputed.