At length the great
excitement in which I had so long lived, and the excessive labors in
which I had been so long engaged, exhausted my strength; my health began
to fail; I thought my constitution was giving way, so I resolved on some
change of position and occupation.
I had long suffered from dyspepsia. For twenty years I had spent so much
nervous energy in mental work, that I had not sufficient left to digest
my food. And I had suffered in consequence, not only from violent
heart-burn, but from a more distressing pain at the pit of my stomach. I
had continually, or almost continually, for months together, a feeling
as if a red-hot bullet lay burning in my stomach, or as if some living
creature was eating a hole through the bottom of it. I took medicine,
but it gave me no relief. The disuse of intoxicating drinks had once
cured me for a time,--cured me for some years in fact,--but the
torturing, depressing sensation came again at last, and seemed more
obstinate than ever.
In 1847, as I was leaving home one day in the train, I was seized with a
pain of a much more dreadful description. It seemed as if it would burst
my stomach, or tear it in pieces, and destroy my life at once. It
continued for nearly an hour. It returned repeatedly, and remained
sometimes for several hours.
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