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 RC 552.N5C62 
 
 The autobiography of a neurasthene as to 
 
 3 1924 012 158 261 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924012158261 
 
The autobiography 
 of a neurasthene 
 
 AS TOLD BY ONE OF THEM 
 AND RECORDED BY 
 
 MARGARET A. CLEAVES, M. D. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 I9IO 
 
 X) 
 
Copyright 1909 by Richard G. Badgrer. 
 
 All Klgbts Reserved 
 
 
 The Gorhau Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 ''/I 
 
Dedicated 
 
 To Another 
 
 Physician, Friend and Counseller 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THIS Is the biography of a physician. The 
 actual conditions are recorded. It does 
 not matter whether it was really a 
 man or a woman. The complete ex- 
 haustion of supreme nerve centres as in 
 this case rarely befalls a woman. So far as the ful- 
 fillment of professional duties, the achievement of a 
 definite purpose with this tremendous handicap is 
 concerned, it was done. The physician whose story is 
 told, and also the physician in attendance both knew 
 from their own experience the worst of this condition 
 without a pathology, but which evidences a definite 
 pathological physiology. Never for one moment 
 did either the one or the other abate their interest in 
 their professional work, nor their manifold duties in 
 relation to life. The physician in attendance did not 
 know from his own experience the anguish of pain, 
 inability and all it meant to keep up courage and 
 activity until after fully eight years of attendance 
 upon the patient whose biography is recorded. There 
 had been premonitions as early as at the time of his 
 patient's complete break. While /hg never coddled 
 himself and while he has always been the quiet, calm, 
 
 5 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 self-poised and kindhearted physician, he has had 
 since his own experience a better appreciation of the 
 condition of his patient, and while there is neither 
 fretting nor moaning on the part of the one or the 
 other, there is a stronger bond of mutual confidence 
 and understanding between them than before. 
 
 The patient felt at times that her condition was not 
 fully appreciated by him, but after all his optimistic 
 view, his constant effort to encourage the use, not the 
 waste of such energy as was possessed, was infinitely 
 better than the opinion given him by an eminent 
 neurologist, to whom he confided the story of his 
 muscular contractions, similar in nature to those of a 
 progressive spinal cord lesion, of the intense neuritis, 
 the loss of power to the same extent as with the 
 patient whose story is told, so that objects would fall 
 from his hands. The patient had been through the 
 same experience. It was with the greatest difficulty 
 at one time in the experience of both to even use knife 
 and fork at the table, while the routine carving was 
 an impossibility. It was diflicult for him to get about 
 to make his professional calls because of the weak- 
 ness of the leg muscles, while at night the cramping 
 was of such a nature as to bring him out of bed with a 
 bound. The throat muscles and all those essential 
 to mastication and deglutition in both cases grew very 
 weak as well. There were uncomfortable dreams, 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 terrors and profound depression. The specialist whom 
 he consulted told him that he had seen three similar 
 cases, but that they all died. The physician patient, 
 as did I, told him he had neurasthenia. He is not 
 only not dead, but feels so well as to say he could not 
 live if he felt better. I, who record this history, know 
 the condition of both intimately and as a physician my 
 professional experience has been largely with nerve 
 and mental conditions. . 
 
 This story is written with the definite purpose of' 
 removing, if possible, the sting and opprobrium 
 which the essential neurasthene bears because of the - 
 long continued pose of the neurasthene who does not 
 exhaust neuronic energy, but poisons it by his way i 
 of living. The one is just as unphysiological as the 
 other, but it not infrequently happens, as in these two 
 instances, that the stress and strain of meeting life's 
 obligations is too much even though life is lived care- 
 fully and without dissipations of any sort. A sympto- 
 matic neurasthene who has been under my profes- 
 sional observation for the past seven or eight years, 
 was told many years since by a practitioner that she 
 had an arthritis, that she never would be well and 
 that she could eat as she pleased, it would make no 
 difference. She has set herself resolutely to the carry- 
 ing put of his prognosis and following his advice in 
 the matter of eating — she weighs two hundred and 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 sixty-five pounds — is never well. The term arthritis 
 is rolled under her tongue as a delicious morsel. She 
 has absolutely nothing of the sort, but unless physio- 
 logical stimuli are pretty constantly used to keep up 
 good tissue change, she gets by reason of her toxin- 
 laden blood sore nerves and muscles. Her mental 
 activities are all centred upon herself. If she had to 
 work as hard as either one or the other of these phy- 
 sicians, she would be a well woman to-day, as she has 
 never had any great stress or strain in her life. I 
 have always had great sympathy with the husband 
 who has told her many a time that she would be well, 
 if she had to wash for a living — and so she would. 
 That is a different condition from the one recorded 
 or from that of the attendant physician. 
 
 Both of these were born potential neurasthenes, 
 both have worked hard all their lives in their chosen 
 profession, both have achieved success and both have 
 been tremendously handicapped. Neither of them 
 has lost their courage, their professional acumen, 
 their humanitarian instincts, their enjoyment of life in 
 its highest and best sense and they face their work 
 to-day with the same indomitable will as heretofore, 
 with the same cheerful optimism and the same sense 
 of humor. 
 
 Their professional brethren are often in evidence 
 at medical meetings when they are not. But this does 
 not mean that they fail in keeping abreast, even in the 
 
 8 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 advance guard of the science of medicine. They 
 never fail the needs of those who come under their 
 care in their single-hearted devotion, but they are 
 constantly face to face with life's most interesting 
 problem, the conservation of energy. I, who chron- 
 icle these things, know this. 
 
 If this book teaches a better understanding of this 
 condition from the patient's point of view to the end 
 of a more intelligent and appreciative care of this 
 class of cases, a less frequent sending of them from 
 one specialist to another for this or that operation to 
 the end of inviting still greater disaster, it will have 
 served its purpose. 
 
 The patient whose story is told has not escaped 
 suggestions as to the change of her architecture, in an 
 operation upon the extrinsic muscles of the eye by her 
 oculist, but she has always laughingly told him that 
 her regard for the integrity of her anatomical struc- 
 tures was such that it could not be considered for one 
 moment. 
 
 The pathological physiology of the neurasthene 
 may be in some instances for aught that is known the 
 forerunner of an actual anatomical lesion, the quiv- 
 ering or fibrillary contraction of exhausted or toxic 
 muscles, may be the forerunner of a progressive mus- 
 cular atrophy. On the other hand it may not. Give 
 the patient the optimistic view. Hope is the inspira- 
 tion of life. Without it we are rudderless. I, the 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 chronicler, know this all so well. Even this morning 
 I write, I arose without a ray of hope or light in my 
 day. This was because I was too tired on the 
 yesterday. I did not give up or lie by, but went to 
 work to complete this story and have simply put out of 
 mind the depression, ennui, sense of bodily and mental 
 fatigue, and taken on by supreme effort a content of 
 mind that will go far towards recovering my best 
 poise. This too upon the morning when I was to 
 have gone to a nearby city, as the guest this evening of 
 an organization of medical men for their annual meet- 
 ing and banquet as well as for the usual after dinner 
 speech which I had anticipated because of the spirit 
 of camaraderie with many of its members, but which 
 I had to give up, because the conservation of neuronic 
 energy was absolutely essential to the proper per- 
 formance of my professional duties and the meeting 
 of life's obligations. 
 
 No I It is not easy to always do this, but while in 
 the profession, there is no other course. 
 
 A much more careful and less exacting life is pleas- 
 urably anticipated in the not distant future, but I do 
 not know whether it will bring the same content of 
 mind, the same sense of satisfaction as is experienced 
 in meeting the demands of a professional life. It is 
 however the hope of the trio. All are tired — tired 
 oftentimes with a fatigue so overpowering as to 
 smother and crush all the joy of living. 
 
 10 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter. Page. 
 
 I — "To withdraw Something from Thyself to 
 give to Others — that is a Point of Human- 
 ity and Gentleness, which never Taketh 
 away so much Commodity as it Bringeth 
 again." Sir T. More, Utopia 15 
 
 II— "The Childhood shows the Man 
 As Morning shows the Day." 
 
 Milton, Paradise Regained 23 
 
 III — "On the dark stair where a bear is 
 
 So liable to follow one." 33 
 
 IV — "It's the dieting and rubbing the race horse 
 that makes him thin as a flash, that he may 
 be as swift too." 
 
 W. M. Baker, New Timothy 
 
 "Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet." 
 
 Milton, II Penseroso 43 
 
 V — "The trouble with you, doctor, is that you 
 
 have sprained your brain." 56 
 
 II 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter. Page. 
 
 VI — "To his capable Ears Silence was Music 
 from the Holy Spheres." 
 
 Keats, Endymion 
 
 "Nature compensates those whose world is 
 restricted with an ability for Concentra- 
 tion and Intensity of Effort of which the 
 average Person is ignorant." 69 
 
 VII — The Garden of an Inn at Fontainebleu 95 
 
 VIII — "In States of extreme Brain Fag the Horizon 
 is narrowed almost to the Passing 
 Thought." Mind 
 
 "And of their wonted Vigor left them 
 Drain d. Exhausted, Spiritless, Afflicted, 
 Fallen." Milton, Paradise Lost 
 
 "Great Exhaustion can not be cured with 
 sudden Remedies no more in a Kingdom 
 than in a natural Body." 
 
 Sir H. Wotton, Reliquae 105 
 
 IX — "A Mother is a Mother still. 
 The Holiest Thing alive." 
 
 Coleridge, The Three Graves. 
 
 "Mothers should never die." 124 
 
 X — "It does not matter so long as you do not hate 
 
 the other." 133 
 
 12 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter. Page. 
 
 XI — "You shall find them Wise on the one Side, 
 and Fools on the Other." 
 
 Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy 
 
 "Think with the other Side." 148 
 
 XII — "Type of the Wise who Soar but never Roam, 
 
 True to the kindest Points of Heaven and 
 
 Home." Wordsworth: To a Skylark 
 
 "And to me 
 
 High Mountains are a Feeling, but the Hum 
 
 Of Human Cities Torture." 
 
 Byron: Childe Harold 
 
 "Never mind you can obtain your Revenge 
 by writing the Autobiography of a Neu- 
 rasthene." 159 
 
 XIII — "As the unthought accident is guilty 
 
 Of what we wildly do, so we profess 
 Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
 Every wind that blows." 
 
 Shakespeare : Winter s Tale 167 
 
 XIV — "Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad 
 with troubles." 
 "Sing and disperse them, if thou canst." * * 
 " * * * jjj sweet music is such art: 
 "Killing care and grief of heart. 
 "Fall asleep, or, hearing, die." 
 
 Shakespeare, Henry VIII 180 
 13 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter. Page. 
 
 XV — "Psychic Susceptibility and Psychic Control 
 or The Wireless Transmission of Thought 
 or Brain Waves by the 'Carriers of the 
 Air.' " 203 
 
 XVI — "O my Dear Father, such a Change is Nature, 
 "So great an Alteration in a Prince! 
 "He is Bereft of all the Wealth he had; 
 "The Jewel that Adorned his Features most 
 "Is filch'd and stolen away — his Wits bereft 
 him." Hamlet 214 
 
 XVII — "The Allegory has another View." 
 
 Bacon, The Physical Fables 
 
 The Point of View or "It will do you Good" 223 
 
 XVIII — "Human Experience like the Stern Lights 
 Of a Ship at Sea, Illumines only 
 The Path which we have Passed Over." 
 
 Coleridge 232 
 
 14 
 
The Autobiography of a 
 Neurasthene 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 "To withdraw Something from Thyself to give to 
 Others — that is a Point of Humanity and Gentleness, 
 which never Taketh away so much Commodity as it 
 Bringeth again." 
 
 Sir Thomas More 
 
 IT was Heincich Heine who devoted the people 
 who passed under his observation in the course 
 of his travels, to his desires and needs. For 
 example a particularly billowy, cushiony, 
 plump, well lined millionaire suggested to his 
 mind the luxury of a roomy, well upholstered and well 
 appointed arm-chair, known to the French as a chaise 
 percee, and he at once proposed to himself that the 
 proceeds from his ready pen in treating this subject 
 should be devoted to the purchase of just such a lux- 
 urious chair. 
 
 Similarly I propose that the sufferings I have en- 
 dured both from the fact that I am a neurasthene as 
 well as the suffering I have endured from the oppro- 
 brium which applies to even the true neurasthene, be- 
 cause of the frequent counterfeiting of the condition, 
 should serve in retrospect as a mental divertisement. 
 It is further hoped that their expression in this way 
 
 15 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 will lead to a better appreciation of the condition and 
 needs of the unfortunate neurasthene of the essential 
 type. 
 
 In these ways I expect my return for the days, 
 weeks, months, years even of pain and much disabil- 
 ity, while it is possible that I may with Heine devote 
 any pecuniary emolument accruing from my relation 
 to the publishers as a means of providing some es- 
 pecial luxury of comfort, which appeals to me. I 
 fancy that the nearest things to my heart are radiance, 
 air, space, quiet, books, music and congenial friends. 
 These can all be bought save the friends, and they 
 are always mine. 
 
 The condition was not invited, but came as the 
 result of an unstable nerve organization, my birth- 
 right, for after all animals, other than the human 
 ones, have the best chance. This and my duty 
 towards the obligations of life which had to be met 
 alone and unaided, proved too much for my limited 
 endowment of strength. No one ever worked harder 
 and suffered greater hardships of certain kinds, nor 
 In the judgment of others accomplished more under 
 the severest of handicaps, than have I. Although my 
 life has been filled with pain and suffering, yet despite 
 my physical condition it is said I have done more 
 than my share of the world's work, to have made for 
 
 i6 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 myself a name and fame as well as to have added to 
 the sum total of human good. 
 
 But that is neither here nor there, for it is a recog- 
 nized fact that the work of the world is largely done 
 by neurasthenes. An eminent neurologist has written 
 of the passing of neurasthenia. Neurasthenia is not 
 passing. It is the age of neurasthenia. The strenu- 
 ous high pressure life of the day favors its develop- 
 ment. The fashionable sufferer or the Beautiful N. 
 E. of Augustus Hoppin, upon whom the physician 
 like the housefly is in chronic attendance, is not so 
 much in evidence now as when Hoppin wrote his 
 satire on the Nerve Exhausionist. The entire trend 
 of modern life is in favor of out-door sports and ath- 
 letic exercises which are inimical to the development 
 and perpetuation of the neurasthenic condition. It is 
 no longer fashionable to lie in the cloistered seclusion 
 of luxurious surroundings with all the paraphernalia 
 of interesting invalidism about one. On the contrary, 
 life in the open is the mode and flying over the coun- 
 try in motor cars, riding across country, perhaps fol- 
 lowing the hounds in the pursuit of luckless Reynard, 
 playing at tennis and golf, boating, swimming do not 
 contribute to the neurasthenic state formerly so ultra- 
 fashionable. The radiant energy of the sun, the fresh 
 air, the rapid motion and the varied interests are all 
 against the existence of the neurasthenic condition. 
 
 17 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 True neurasthenes are born initially, not made. 
 The conditions of life may favor the development of 
 the condition, but there is inherent at birth a funda- 
 mental nutritive lack of the nerve centres which pre- 
 disposes under favorable environment to its develop- 
 ment. Neurasthenia not only has been, but still is a 
 much abused term, and hosts of men and women, 
 especially the latter, cloak themselves in the panoply 
 of the neurasthene, bringing the true sufterer thereby 
 into disrepute. It is a condition too little understood 
 and appreciated by the average physician. 
 
 The suffering of the essential neurasthene is not 
 imaginary by any means. It is as real as the pain 
 from a fractured bone. But because of the absence 
 of anatomic lesions or a pathological anatomy, the 
 pathological physiology is ignored in an estimate of 
 the physical suffering and mental torment endured 
 and its genuineness questioned. But it is the most 
 real of all suffering. The pain of an ulcerated tooth, 
 of a ruptured ankle-ligament, of fractured ribs slips 
 from the memory, but the anguish of the neurasthenic 
 state, while it becomes dulled with the passage of 
 time, never totally disappears. The least little over- 
 fatigue, shock, anxiety, strain of any sort, the things 
 that cannot be avoided in life, precipitates a crisis 
 and the anguish is reawakened in the memories of the 
 cerebral cells. It is because the nerve cell v/ith its 
 
 i8 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 branches is a unified organism, a self-contained living 
 being physiologically, the sole active principle in 
 every vital function, that the anguish of the neuras- 
 thene is never quite forgotten and is so easily reawak- 
 ened. It could not be otherwise, for it must be re- 
 membered that the neurons are the medium of sensa- 
 tion will and even thought — the highest of psychic 
 functions. Once they have passed through the travail 
 and anguish associated with complete exhaustion of 
 their stored up energy and temporary inability to 
 function as generators of energy or have been poison- 
 ed by the products of incomplete chemical change, 
 painful impressions are easily reawakened. 
 
 This is well illustrated by the mental state of the 
 chronic neurasthene the following morning which is 
 not apt to be a happy one, in fact I have often feltl 
 that it was not in any sense better than that of those 
 who linger long over their cups. The utter lassitude 
 of body, the weariness of mind, the painful cerebra- 
 tion, the feeling as though one had committed some 
 direful deed over night, the sense of physiologic sin, 
 the loss of self-confidence, the depression, the accentu- 
 ation of every nerve pain from which one ever suffer- 
 ed, in fact the utter discord and lack of harmony be- 
 tween the mind and body, between oneself and the 
 external world is well nigh maddening the day after, j 
 All this is wrong and should not be. The only op- 
 
 19 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 portutilty for better conditions than these is to be 
 found in a strict observance of the neurasthene's 
 golden rule, never to go beyond the point of fatigue. 
 Not only is this necessary, but also long golden care 
 free days with congenial friends and in an environ- 
 ment, inviting content and happiness. These things 
 are difficult to encompass always, but constant effort 
 should be made in their direction. My experience has 
 been both extensive and bitter, but it has taught me a 
 lesson that never would have been learned in any 
 other way, and for that matter would not have needed 
 the learning in the sense that it has, had I not broken 
 so badly under the stress and strain of life, and that 
 lesson is one of the most beautiful in nature, the con- 
 servation of energy. Whatever our handicaps are, 
 we can overcome them always to lesser or greater de- 
 gree by conservation of our forces, to the end that 
 life's need and obligations be met whether we take of 
 life its bountiful largesse or not. Deprivation does 
 not necessarily stunt nor mean starvation. Joy and 
 beauty are everywhere, if we only learn to perceive 
 them and the degree of health which one learns to 
 maintain is rich with possibilities in the way of 
 achievement and best of all content and happiness. 
 
 I know these things as few people know them, and 
 while I have suffered much, been deprived of much 
 and disappointed of achieving much for which I have 
 
 20 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 had the desire, ambition, thirst and talent by reason 
 of my handicap I have had in many ways a life filled 
 to the brim. If I may trust the onlooker, I should not 
 desire one thing more than has been mine. That I 
 do, however, is only human nature. The observer 
 only reads that which spells success and knows naught 
 of the long weary hours of pain and disability with- 
 out achievement of any sort. In all these varied ex- 
 periences of mine all the untoward occurrences chron- 
 icled, my course of conduct did not invite them only 
 in so far as my course of conduct was governed by 
 the inexorable law of need must. In my professional 
 relation to my patients, there is no undue coddling. 
 On the contrary the most bracing and tonic regime 
 which can be made to appeal to fj^e best in the pa- 
 tient's nature is used. Exception is always made, 
 however, when it is a question of exhaustion as was 
 mine. I had to work, but no'patient in the condition 
 in which I found myself should take strenuous exer- 
 cise. In attempting it, I interfered with my best 
 good, expending energy unduly, not conserving it. It 
 is true that by reason of their inheritance and environ- 
 ment there is a large class of people, for whom but 
 little physical exercise Is necessary to keep them in 
 good condition. By environment is meant fresh air, 
 suitable temperatures, proper food, clothing, bathing, 
 dwellings and all the various hygienic conditions and 
 
 21 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 surroundings that tend to promote health. When 
 one of such an intense temperament as mine and as 
 constant intellectual activity is so environed, the equiv- 
 alent for a certain amount of bodily exercise is pro- 
 vided. Persons so situated may often find in the 
 pursuits into which they enter earnestly and enthusias- 
 tically, a physical equivalent for a certain amount of 
 bodily exercise. Again there is often experienced by 
 those who take large views of life and fully realize 
 the dignity and importance of their mission, a physical 
 equivalent for exercise in their mental work. This 
 has always been true of me and there has always been 
 a tremendous expenditure of energy in meeting the 
 requirements of professional work. Still further con- 
 stituted as I am, when I read, write, speak or think, 
 I do it all over and feel the effects of it in every fibre 
 of my being. But fortunately or unfortunately, ac- 
 cording to the viewpoint, most people are not so 
 highly organized and have to resort to other methods 
 to secure good physical results. 
 
 2a 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 "The Childhood shows the Man, 
 As Morning shows the Day." 
 
 Milton, Paradise Regained. 
 
 BORN a neurasAene. Yes, but oh the de- 
 light of my childhood. I wonder was it 
 as beautiful to me at the time as in the 
 retrospect. The memory of it has com- 
 pensated for many weary hours of suf- 
 fering and sense of uselessness in later life. My phy- 
 sician father left his New England home as a young 
 man, because the raw bleak cold of the northern At- 
 lantic coast made it impossible with his susceptible 
 lung tissue and recurring pulmonary hemorrhages to 
 live there. It was during the pioneer days of the 
 Middle West when the tide of emigration set from 
 New England and the Southeastern states, Virginia 
 among them, to the fertile and alluring prairies of 
 first Ohio, then Indiana, Illinois and the then terri- 
 tory of Wisconsin. 
 
 On horseback my father wended his way tarrying 
 a time in Ohio and subsequently in Indiana. In both 
 
 23 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 of these states he entered the offices of experienced 
 preceptors, with whom in lieu of a medical college he 
 studied. His thorough fundamental education in ad- 
 dition to the power of a well poised mind, abundant 
 common sense and sound judgment beyond his years 
 helped him to become one of the most judicious of 
 medical advisers, one who rarely made mistakes and 
 who in a long and large country practice endeared 
 himself to all the people for whom he cared and with 
 whom he came in contact. He was in every sense the 
 beloved physician, and of him and his influence I 
 shall often care to speak. From Indiana, with his 
 spurs newly won, he travelled to the garden spot of 
 this territory and took up his residence in a country 
 to which nature had been generous with prodigality. 
 There he met my mother, the eldest daughter of a 
 large family who had but recently arrived from Vir- 
 ginia. Her father, my grandfather, a sturdy Scot of 
 the Clan of Cameron, had left Edinburgh to seek his 
 fortunes in the New World. Entering by way of 
 Canada, he drifted to Virginia where he met my 
 grandmother of good old North of Ireland stock and 
 gentle birth. The then far west allured him and of- 
 fered to him opportunities for his rapidly growing 
 family not afforded in Virginia. Thus my father met 
 my mother, married her and made a home. 
 
 The first three years of his sojourn in what was 
 
 24 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 then the far West he practiced his profession in the 
 county seat of one of the older and more populous 
 counties. At the end of this period, he was called to 
 a village in a neighboring county to take charge of a 
 proposed college. It was his purpose when he left 
 his New England home for the west to engage in the 
 calling of a teacher for which he was peculiarly fitted, 
 but the college scheme was never carried out and he 
 devoted his life to the practice of his profession. He 
 was twice chosen to represent his county in the State 
 Legislature, and that when it was not so much an 
 empty honor as now. His sterling qualities of mind 
 and heart commanded respect and esteem as a citizen 
 as well as a physician. Both my father and mother 
 possessed in the highest and most beautiful sense 
 Christian attributes and both belonged to that noble 
 company of sturdy pioneers who by their diligence 
 and virtue gave to the state of my birth the noble 
 name it bears to-day. My father's home was a haven 
 of refuge for a band of congregational home mission- 
 ary pastors. They were a band of noble, intelligent, 
 cultured young men, imbued with the highest ideals 
 as to their calling and possessing the best qualities of 
 mind and heart. I do not recall that any one of them 
 ever did aught to prejudice their calling, which after 
 all Is saying very much. One of them still lives, a 
 dear silvery haired man, widely known both there and 
 in the East and universally beloved. 
 
 25 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 They were constantly the guests of my childhood's 
 home and unquestionably exercised a helpful influence 
 upon the developing minds of my sisters and myself. 
 
 f- My mother was the embodiment of all the highest 
 qualities of wife and mother, than which there is no 
 place for which woman is better fitted or in which 
 
 J she can find greater happiness. The pioneer life call- 
 ed out the best and most sturdy qualities on the part 
 of all. Seven children came to brighten their lives 
 and not one of them was unwelcome, save that the 
 sister next older than myself rebelled most bitterly 
 when the last one came. That sister rebelled at many 
 things. She was less elemental than I, as were my 
 other sisters, and her fiber was more that of remote 
 ancestors, whose lives were spent in an environment 
 of greater ease than was possible to the children of 
 pioneer parents in a pioneer land. Had she lived, 
 she would have joined the vast army of those evi- 
 dencing a symptomatic neurasthenia, although she 
 would never have been an essential neurasthene, for 
 her calibre was not that of immolation, nor had she 
 the mind that found its highest interest in exacting 
 studies. She was essentially the sweet and sensitive 
 woman with a temperament that was poetic and artis- 
 tic and withal pleasure-loving. I recall her vividly 
 as she appeared in the months following my father's 
 death: tall, slender, willowy, with an oval, dreamy 
 
 26 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHfiNE 
 
 face, long ringlets of beautiful brown hair hanging 
 over her shoulders, dressed in densest black fashioned 
 with long unbroken lines which accentuated her slen- 
 der grace. The pathetic melancholy of her face en- 
 hanced by her garb was to a certain extent inherent, 
 but the death of her fiancee, which followed within a 
 few months of that of our father, served to heighten 
 her air of dreamy melancholy. Luckily for her as 
 she was absolutely unfitted for the buffetings of an un- 
 sheltered life it was ended before she felt the strain 
 that came from my father's being taken away. 
 
 The sixth child was my little brother, my father's 
 namesake, ^nd all who know fatherhood and mother- 
 hood know what his birth meant to my parents. 
 When he was but seven months old we all had whoop- 
 ing cough. I remember as but yesterday how I clung 
 to one or the other of the posts of the old-fashioned 
 high poster bedstead in my paroxysms of coughing 
 with no especial care because of three younger ones, 
 one the dear little brother whose sensitive lung tissue 
 lacked the necessary resistance to withstand the in- 
 vasion of the pneumonic germ. Then it was a lung 
 fever, not pneumonia, and the pneumonic germ was 
 undiscovered. It was June and the world was a riot 
 of beauty. One day, I was from six to seven years of 
 age, when everyone having any responsibility or ap- 
 preciation of the tragedy being enacted were con- 
 
 27 
 
 \ 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 cerned for the dear little baby and my broken-hearted 
 parents, I wandered away into the seclusion of the 
 sunny orchards, where wild strawberries were grow- 
 ing in abundance. I was apt as a child, and still am, 
 when trouble or change came to find my way to some 
 secluded spot and I have never known anything dearer 
 or sweeter than the orchards and the meadows of my 
 childhood's home. In my childish way I wanted to 
 do something that would be helpful and kind to my 
 little brother and as I wandered under the trees and 
 over the grass, I stooped to pick the delicious wild 
 strawberries, breaking the stems off near to the 
 ground as I would a flower. With a beautiful cluster 
 — the picture is just as vivid after all these years as it 
 was on that radiant June day, I walked back to the 
 house and sat down on the doorstep with the sun- 
 shine all about me, holding fast the cluster of berries. 
 This memory came back to me in fullest force one 
 beautiful day in May when in crossing the Appen- 
 nines on the way from Florence to Bologna and 
 thence to Venice a picturesque group of olive-skinned 
 Italian children presented just such clusters of berries 
 for sale. In a flash I was back in that pioneer land, 
 a little scrap of humanity sitting in the sunshine 
 awaiting, I knew not what. Something seemed 
 to tell me not to go inside; I remember 
 it was so still and hushed, there was no 
 
 28 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 one about as I sat there quiet and expectant. It was 
 my dear father who came, and taking me on his 
 knee told me that my little brother had left us. I re- 
 member nothing more until the day of the funeral 
 when once more memory recalls the being placed in a 
 carriage and the slow processional drive to the ceme- 
 tery and the lowering of the little white coffin into the 
 open grave. 
 
 From that time on I was my father's "boy" and we 
 were close companions and comrades. 
 
 What a peaceful memory that is of my childhood's 
 home, when the wild wood was in flower, in the midst 
 of the turmoil, ceaseless activity of this busy, bustling, 
 yes hustling city. Here I have lived for many years 
 and question if I would be content anywhere else or 
 away from all its activities, but I hold these childish 
 memories as precious and priceless and have a feeling 
 of intense pity for every city-born child. 
 
 The years slipped away uneventfully save for the 
 delightful Saturday afternoons in the autumn, when 
 my father arranged, for at least one or two after- 
 noons, his professional calls so that he might be free 
 to devote himself to his children. Then we were 
 bundled into the light wagon, I know one, two or 
 more of my sisters were with us, but it is only my 
 father who stands out clearly in my memory. I have 
 no recollection of being separated from him at all on 
 
 29 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 these delightful occasions when we went nutting — or 
 rarely for that matter. 
 
 The beauty of those primitive woods along the 
 banks of the creeks and rivers of a section to which 
 nature had been prodigal in her gifts. In the spring 
 time the rolling meadows and praireland were cov- 
 ered with a wealth of beautiful flowers, regal in their 
 beauty of coloring, their height and their queen' like 
 pose in the midst of vast stretches of unbroken space. 
 I have often heard my mother say that in her first 
 glimpses of the prairie on her way with her father and 
 family from Virginia there was revealed the most 
 beautiful sight she had ever seen. It is not the same 
 today, there is lacking the beauty of youth and prime- 
 val times. This is true it would have had less charm, 
 had it not been for the woodlands bordering the in- 
 land streams. These oftentimes had steep and pre- 
 cipitous banks, springs were concealed here and there 
 along them, while the formations were such as to 
 command the interest of the geologist far and near. 
 But the wild wood all alone made a picture that has 
 never left me and that I have never seen reproduced. 
 The nearest approach to it I found several years 
 since some seventy miles distant from the big city of 
 my adopted home and its similitude led to the acquire- 
 ment of a bit of land and the building of a home 
 ^hereupon. Wild cherries, wild plums — the delicious 
 
 30 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 chickasaw plum — ^wild apples and hosts of wild flow- 
 ers, quiet, peaceful, rippling streams or roaring tor- 
 rents according to elemental conditions, oak, hickory, 
 maple, walnut, butternut trees, hazel bushes galore, 
 blackberries, raspberries, wild gooseberries, grapes 
 and currents all combined to make a wilderness of 
 beauty. In the autumn the foliage was brilliant and 
 beautiful. The sumach added its brilliancy to the 
 foliage of forest trees and the little growing things 
 beneath one's feet were no less beautiful in their va- 
 ried autumn tints than in their dainty spring time ver- 
 dure. 
 
 The joy of those long afternoons in the autumn's 
 golden Indian summer radiance with the invigorat- 
 ing air like wine, free from school and every care, 
 with my father and sisters. The delight of gathering 
 the nuts already fallen and as they fell in response 
 to the furious onslaught of my father's blows. When 
 the various bags and baskets were all filled, black 
 walnuts, white walnuts or butternuts, hickory nuts 
 and hazelnuts, then with bits of gorgeous autumn 
 foliage, gaily decorating every part of the wagon, 
 we drove home through the rapidly falling twilight. 
 The nuts were cared for by myself and sisters and fur- 
 nished forth the entertainment with apples and cider 
 for the winter evenings, whether we were alone or 
 had guests. 
 
 31 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 There is a memory worth reliving. At this mo- 
 ment I am longing for the country and in this retro- 
 spect I have a comfort. All this beauty awaits us in 
 different parts of God's country, but we rarely lift our 
 eyes from the drudgery which environs us and have 
 practically no conception of such a picture as I still 
 see and have tried to draw. I am glad my childhood 
 was environed in this fashion and that its memories 
 have not escaped recall. 
 
 32 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 "On the dark stair where a bear is 
 So liable to follow one." 
 
 THE little climbing figure on the stair 
 clutching her skirt with one hand and 
 looking back over her shoulder in her 
 terror to the foot of the stair, vividly 
 illustrates the feeling from which neu- 
 rasthenes suffer, whether children or adults. I recall 
 the terror I used to feel as a child when my father or 
 mother sent me upstairs after dark on some errand. 
 In a pioneer land there was no general lighting of 
 the house, lamps provided the illumination of living 
 rooms, while candles served for the bed rooms. But 
 the children were not permitted to carry them. I 
 would turn cold with fear and dread of what I did 
 not know, but I was taught to obey and my fear was 
 never voiced. Trembling and alone I would go to 
 the room specified to get the desired object. This I 
 could do with considerable courage because I knew 
 what and whom I left behind me in the warmth and 
 light, but when I turned my bapk on the silence and 
 darkness of the upper floor I ran downstairs in a per- 
 
 33 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 feet panic, but always with the thought in my small 
 mind that ray precipitate descent must not be notice- 
 able,. — for so strong was the Spartan spirit of my 
 early life and environment that even then I felt that 
 my parents must not know my fear and cowardice, 
 for so I regarded it. I know better now and when I 
 have the care of nervous children, while I endeavor 
 to teach them self-control and courage, I try to spare 
 them needless suffering. Certain instincts are en- 
 nobling, others are debasing, but all are instinctive. 
 Fear of darkness is one which among others in neu- 
 rasthenes is emphasized. 
 
 The religion of my puritan father was orthodox in 
 the extreme. One of the books to which I had access 
 and sought because it was illustrated was the Bible 
 Dictionary. I can this moment as I write see the 
 exact place on the page of a picture of a heathen god, 
 made of iron and with a roaring furnace fire inside, 
 into which little children not of the elect were being 
 condigned. It always gripped me with terror. Had 
 my dear father known this he would have explained 
 it all to me so as to rob it of its terrors, but I never 
 told him nor any one until since my illness I told my 
 physician, and then only when we were talking of the 
 means to be used to prevent the development of the 
 neurasthenic condition in children predisposed. A 
 younger sister whose coming interfered with my baby- 
 
 34 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 hood (I think the early deprivation of nature's food 
 is one reason why milk has been my standby all my 
 life) and who was larger and stronger than I, used 
 to keep me in perfect terroT by telling me that she 
 had swallowed a pin, a needle or a button. So far as 
 I can understand she did this out of a spirit of 
 mischief pure and simple, for the difference in our 
 ages was such that naturally we had the same habits 
 of work and play and were always very happy to- 
 gether. I never told my mother or my father of these 
 things, as I was brought up not to tell tales on my 
 sister nor my playmates. But this sister of mine gave 
 me many a mauvais quart d'heure. 
 
 When a child of about three or four I begged my 
 mother to let me go to school with my elder sisters. 
 She preferred the request to my father who said 
 Yes ! I could go, if I wanted to do so. The teacher, 
 a New England woman, was given a home by my 
 parents because there was no other suitable place in 
 that pioneer land. I do not recall the going, but I 
 remember distinctly of standing before this teacher 
 who insisted upon my using the book provided for 
 the regular class. I refused to do so, for I had with 
 me my greatest treasure, a book my father had given 
 me, and what he did or said was final with me. She 
 knew I was not to be regarded as a regular attendant 
 and she was also indebted to my father and mother 
 
 35 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 for her home and many courtesies. But she kept me 
 standing before her, insisting that I should read from 
 the school book and finally, when my stubborn little 
 soul would not yield, took up the ever ready ferule 
 to punish me. With that the two younger sisters of 
 my mother and my elder sisters interfered and told 
 her she should not. The next morning I begged my 
 mother to let me stay home saying if she would I 
 would be so very good and learn all my letters. The 
 matter was again referred to my father who said by 
 all means, I was too young for school and that he only 
 assented because of my desire. I taught myself the 
 alphabet to read and spell, going to my mother in the 
 midst of her multifariously busy life, as the wife of a 
 country practitioner in a pioneer country as well as the 
 mother of young children, asking "What does that 
 spell, mother?" She always stopped to tell me and I 
 never went to school again until I was about eight 
 years of age and was reading in what was known as 
 the Fourth Reader, having finshed the others at home. 
 My hatred of that teacher which was intense remain- 
 ed with me until my adult life. The experience did 
 me no good, nor did that with another teacher who, 
 when I was from eight to nine years of age, stood me 
 up on a table before the whole school, because I could 
 not give the entire multiplication table. I got as far 
 as the nine's and there I floundered. I can recall all 
 
 36 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 the intolerable anguish of it, the publicity, the feeling 
 that I had failed, and that to me was ignominy. 
 Doubtless these and other experiences emphasized the 
 condition of nerve instability which was my birth- 
 right. My parents would have known nothing of 
 this, for we were brought up to obey, and a punish- 
 ment at school might mean another at home, had not 
 my aunt visited the school on the morning in question 
 and been witness to what she felt was the grossest 
 indignity and injustice. This teacher was almost 
 brutal in her treatment of the older children, especial- 
 ly the boys. 
 
 Shortly afterwards she became the wife of a phy- 
 sician friend of my father's of whom I was fond, but 
 I could not understand why he made her his wife. 
 Later on a little son was bom. Many a time did my 
 mother send me there out of the goodness of her heart 
 to rock the baby's cradle or watch him while his 
 mother attended to duties elsewhere. Such were the 
 neighborly customs in this primitive country in which 
 we lived. I used to ponder over the matter in my 
 childish mind and wonder if I might not punish that 
 baby in some way in payment for what his mother 
 had made me suffer. But I never did and was always 
 loyal to the trust reposed in me. 
 
 All these things have made me very considerate of 
 children and childish terrors. I have the guidance 
 
 37 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 now of a young girl of thirteen, who from her baby- 
 hood has suffered from neurasthemc dread and fears. 
 Fully a year before her birth her father, an essential 
 neurasthene, was my patient suffering profoundly 
 from an accentuation of his neurasthenic condition. 
 In response to my questioning at his first visit as to 
 whether he had suffered from dread, terror or mor- 
 bid fears I found that he had. As a child and boy, 
 if he had been away from home for a day or a part of 
 day, upon his return he would leave his horses unat- 
 tended and rush madly up the hill to his home to be 
 sure that his father was not dead or that nothing had 
 befallen the family in his absence. Replying 
 to my specific question as he sat at the end 
 of the big desk in my consulting room, "Why, 
 doctor, if you should put ten one-thousand 
 dollar bills down on that desk and tell me 
 I could have them if I would go from here to Chi- 
 cago alone, I would not touch them. I would rather 
 be in the company of the worst person living than to 
 be alone for five minutes." He is now very well in 
 these regards, although apprehensive to a degree if 
 any of his family are not well. The little daughter 
 was bom a potential neurasthene and has been afraid 
 of a nameless something nearly all her short life. The 
 development of obsessions came between the fourth 
 and fifth years of age and were excited by stories of 
 
 38 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 the Devil, told her by the child of the colored mammy 
 cook. Still, by an absolutely free untrammelled open 
 air life, with her dogs and pony cart and a judicious 
 mother, she is doing very well. Her education has 
 to be carried on at home as she is in constant fear 
 even when the nurse and coachman of from fifteen to 
 twenty years' service accompany her to the private 
 school and bring her back, of some terrible disaster. 
 I question whether a different course would answer 
 in her case, for she has not the sturdy qualities of 
 courage and independence which were of necessity a 
 part of my childish life. I was imbued at an early 
 age with a feeling of responsibility towards life. 
 
 One of my earliest recollections is of my mother's 
 slipping out of the lighted living room where we all 
 gathered at night to the long low characteristic ve- 
 randah of the farm house in which we lived, when my 
 father had not returned from his professional visits 
 which took him far afield even to fifty or more miles, 
 with the woods full of wild cats, the prairies of wolves 
 and occasionally Indians crossing his path. The house 
 overlooked a beautiful lawn which stretched in its 
 luxury of acreage to the high road, a magnificent 
 osage orange hedge defining its limit, while an avenue 
 of locust trees helped to complete the wind break for 
 the extensive orchards of apples, peaches as well as 
 all the small fruits to the side and rear of the house. 
 
 39 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 I cannot recall leaviiig the room with her but I re- 
 member distinctly becoming conscious of the vastness, 
 silence and mystery of the night, sometimes with the 
 stars twinkling overhead, often only blackness but 
 never of moonlight, ( I fancy she was less anxious on 
 moonlight nights) , the howling of the prairie wolves 
 in the distance, and of standing there not much more 
 than a baby with my hand in hers and disposed to 
 childlike questioning, when suddenly my mother who 
 stood in strained listening attitude, would whisper- 
 ingly say "Hush, hark", and then way down the 
 highway there would come the first faint sound of the 
 horses' hoof beats, I hear them still, to reward her 
 anxious patient solicitude. It was my father return- 
 ing from his weary round. While the free untram- 
 melled out of door life I led was the best of preven- 
 tive measures, undoubtedly this anxious watching and 
 waiting did me noi good. But after all what is wom- 
 an's life, — whether wife, mother or that of a doc- 
 tor, but watching and waiting. One night when my 
 physician was coming to see me (I was far from 
 well) he was late beyond his usual hour and I grew 
 very tired and despondent waiting. When he came 
 he expressed his regret that he should have kept me 
 waiting so long, to which out of the depths of my 
 fatigue and depression I replied "I have waited all 
 my life, doctor. I began it for my father, while I 
 
 40 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 was but a baby and it still goes on. I have waited for 
 the little expected life while the mother was in agony, 
 I have waited for the dying, I have watched and 
 waited every blessed minute of my life and I suppose 
 I shall end it all by watching and waiting for death. 
 It is woman's life." To which he answered "Yes; 
 and I am thankful I am not a woman." 
 
 My heart was wrapped up in my father. He un- 
 derstood me and my needs and with his gasping breath 
 while dying, his last words were those of concern 
 for me and my future. He never punished me save 
 by calling me to kneel at his side and voicing a word 
 of prayer asking that I should be forgiven my little 
 wrongdoings. It was the hardest punishment to 
 bear I could have received, however, and the memory 
 of it has remained helpfully with me all my life. On 
 the other hand, he saved me from punishment and 
 reprimand by my mother who understood me less 
 well. From the time that I could reach the table by 
 standing on a footstool, it had been my duty to help 
 in the washing of the dishes. One summer morning 
 I remember, perhaps I was ten or eleven, — that a 
 very large and valuable soup tureen slipped through 
 my hands and fell crashing to the verandah floor. My 
 father was coming down the garden walk from the 
 barn, where he had been to direct his man about the 
 "buggy" and horses for his professional visits. My 
 
 41 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 mother felt that I had been careless and was about to 
 punish me, when my father's voice rang out on the 
 quiet of the summer morning "Don't punish that 
 child my dear she cannot help it." Was any one ever 
 so grateful as I and with what diligence I applied 
 myself to the little tasks he set me. 
 
 It is my hope that these experiences of mine may 
 suggest to father and mothers the need of knowing 
 and meeting their children's needs, to the end of as- 
 suring them a fair degree of health. It is only since 
 my severe illness nearly thirteen years since that I have 
 ceased to dream of being a child cradled in my fath- 
 er's arms, the luxury of which I never fully realized 
 until convalescent from an attatck of "membranous 
 croup". I have missed him long years and I still miss 
 the comfort of that dream. I felt the sense of pro- 
 tection which I have often experienced the need of in 
 the publicity of my professional life. In a sense it is 
 a life as public as that of the footlights, and the only 
 way I have been able to bear it and keep my courage 
 up has been by the withdrawal of myself into the 
 quiet cloistered enclosure of my library, with my 
 books, pictures, music and an occasional friend. 
 
 42 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 "I^s the dieting and rubbing the race horse that 
 makes him thin as a flash, that he may be as swift 
 too." 
 
 W. M. Baker, New Timothy. 
 
 "Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet." 
 
 Milton, II Penseroso. 
 
 ALL my life I have been called to account 
 because I did not eat enough. In this 
 opinion my physician has always agreed. 
 In fact, it has afforded him much merri- 
 ment from time to time when, in re- 
 sponse to his inquiry as to my appetite — ^what did I 
 take and how much, I have told him of one French 
 chop. Before I could mention in detail the remainder 
 of my dinner, I was met with a smile and the exclama- 
 tion : "Why, I eat those things with a spoon". Often 
 and again has he recommended me to take half an 
 ounce of bird seed. Now, this has not been willful nor 
 a pose on my part. As a child I have no recollection 
 but that I ate well. I can recall very distinctly how 
 much I enjoyed things and that the home table was 
 all gracious with nutritious, well-cooked and whole- 
 some food. Comparatively few sweets or kickshaws 
 
 43 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 were provided and the pleasure of the palate which 
 has lingered with me all the years, was home-made 
 pot-cheese, gooseberry jam, bread and cream. The 
 pot-cheese was always made from the sour and clab- 
 bered milk of the dairy and hung out to drain in the 
 kitchen garden. It was placed in a cloth or napkin 
 of thin material kept for the purpose, and only one 
 other thing gave me the same gustatory delight as 
 biting a hole in the napkin and sucking such portion 
 of the cheese therefrom as I could safely take without 
 interfering with my mother's plans for the table. I 
 do not know why I took it in that way for I could 
 always have it for the asking. I fancy there was an 
 intuitive knowledge of Metchnikoff's discovery of the 
 intestinal bacilli foreshadowed in my mind. At any 
 rate, my fondness for and appreciation of all fer- 
 mented milk stuffs, buttermilk, clabbered milk, pot- 
 cheese, is life-long. Now the prepared milk foods 
 enter largely into my dietary and have for twenty-five 
 years. They do not, however, replace the buttermilk, 
 clabbered milk and pot-cheese of my childhood. 
 
 My other favorite dish, although served in abun- 
 dance on the table, was most enjoyed when obtained 
 in a predatory manner. To get into the pantry ad- 
 joining the dairy and with a slice of home-made 
 bread, a jar of gooseberry jam, a pan of milk covered 
 with cream, I was content. My mother used to win- 
 der why the cream did not rise, 
 
 44 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 But just two months before my fourteenth birth- 
 day myphysician fatherwho had just reached the time 
 of life when his professional career promised ade- 
 quate financial returns for the needs of his large fam- 
 ily, fell ill with a typhoid pneumonia. It was a fore- 
 gone conclusion in his mind that he could not get well 
 from the start. That naturally prejudiced the result, 
 and in two weeks life had slipped its moorings for him 
 and my mother was left with six daughters — two old- 
 er andthreeyounger than myself — and but a few thou- 
 sand dollars. With my father's death I lost the best 
 friend I had, the one who understood my tempera- 
 ment and my needs. On his deathbed my future was 
 the one that concerned him most. He knew I was not 
 strong and that to insure the best of conditions I 
 should be carefully cared for. Instead, at the age of 
 fifteen I began teaching country schools in order to 
 pay for the education I wanted. In the homes of the 
 primitive farm people, where I could obtain board, 
 with foodstuffs abundant the cooking was so badly 
 done that I could not eat, and away from home, with 
 no one to look after me, my nutrition naturally suf- 
 fered, while from trying to eat the coarse food pro- 
 vided for the working man, my digestion was preju- 
 diced. Tea and coffee, which I had never been al- 
 lowed at home, were taken off and on to supply the 
 stimulus which should have come from the ingestion 
 of suitable food. More than that, if I was not im- 
 
 45 
 1 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 mersed in a book, my head was in the clouds. I led a 
 very practical life on the one hand for young as I 
 was I gained the reputation of being one of the best 
 teachers in the county, but on the other hand I led a 
 dreamy, introspective sort of life. I could always — 
 not only then, but now as well — make my mind to me 
 a kingdom. It has been a saving clause throughout a 
 peculiarly secluded life in a social sense, although a 
 very public one in its business relation. 
 
 The teaching off and on throughout my early life 
 alternated with my college days, as I had to provide 
 the money. At college I cared for myself much of 
 the time and food interested me less than books. In 
 this way unquestionably desire for food and digestive 
 ability were lessened. I can recall while a student that 
 studies were never neglected and that I made book 
 after book my own, but I never stopped long enough 
 to get anything but cornmeal mush and milk to eat. 
 It cost little money, was easily prepared and I liked it. 
 When finished, if it were summer time with book in 
 hand I sought the nearby woodland and finding a 
 comfortable nook, would at once lose sight of every 
 material thing. 
 
 Upon my return to my mother's house for the vaca- 
 tion I remember that much was said as to my physical 
 condition and I know I was anaemic and badly nour- 
 ished. All through life there has been stress and 
 
 strain with no one to look after my needs. The years 
 
 46 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 have beerii so filled with care for others, and I have 
 been so utterly worn and exhausted that when meal 
 time came the thought and sight of food has been 
 repugnant. I have always taken it, however, and 
 always to my full digestive ability. Luckily I have 
 rarely been unable to take milk either in its natural 
 condition or the fermented milk preparations. But 
 too often I have gone to my arduous exhausting work 
 insufficiently fed. I knew it as well as others, but I 
 have done the best I could, and tO' have eaten more 
 meant such physical distress that I could not. Had 
 my father lived these things would not have been. 
 My education would have been provided, and I would 
 have been carefully watched and guarded. He always 
 called me his boy; my only brother succumbed at 
 the age of seven months to pneumonia, as has been 
 told, and I was just as far as possible his constant 
 companion. I read French with him every day when 
 a small child. I learned to harness his horse into the 
 doctor's buggy in which he drove long distances over 
 the country from less than a mile to fifty and more on 
 his professional visits, and was more than content if, 
 when not too long a distance, I was asked to go along. 
 He taught me to drive, and for miles and miles we 
 would jog along, I with my feet hanging from the 
 "buggy" seat, because my legs were not long enough 
 to reach the floor, the reins in my hands, while my 
 father talked with me, answered my questions or 
 
 47 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 repeated to me the thought of the best writers wheth- 
 er in prose or verse. He had always been a student 
 and an indefatigable reader. 
 
 Although we lived in a pioneer country, none but 
 the best literature was provided. Books were few, 
 for they cost money and we lived far from any centre. 
 My daily companions were the Bible, Bible Diction- 
 ary, Shakespeare, Milton, Tom Moore, Bums, Tup- 
 per's Proverbial Philosophy which had slipped into 
 the little collection of books somehow, the Scottish 
 Chiefs Scott's novels. Fox's Book of Martyrs and later 
 Dickens. I remember with what delight I listened in 
 the long winter evenings to my father and also an uncle 
 as they read aloud to the assembled family. Shakes- 
 peare was apt to furnish forth our intellectual feast, 
 but I had great happiness in listening to Little Dorrit, 
 while as a child the rhythm and story of Hiawatha as 
 read by my father gave me great delight. Children's 
 books I rarely had, and it was not until after my fath- 
 er's death and in my fifteenth year that I knew the 
 delights of Grimm's Fairy Tales. The Little Pil- 
 grim, published in Boston, was the children's maga- 
 zine then and its periodical visits were more than wel- 
 come. The picture of the "Little Pilgrim" on the 
 cover interested me greatly, but I wondered why he 
 was represented with the toes of both feet squarely 
 cut off. I know now that this was not true, but that 
 
 the illusion was due to the very sturdy square toed 
 
 48 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 shoes affected by the "Little Pilgrim". This maga- 
 zine which was edited by Grace Greenwood was for 
 a long time the delight of the children of this country. 
 I do not recall in all these years having notions 
 about food, simply a persisting inability to take care 
 of it because of my chronic fatigue. If fame to that 
 extent were mine, I would with Voltaire be willing to 
 give not only three hundred years, but eons of it for 
 one good digestion. I mean to have it before I get 
 through living. One of these days I am going to 
 have a beautiful rest, days filled with content and 
 happiness. That Is the way happiness comes, through 
 content and with the rest obtained from long days 
 of repose spent in the open and enveloped in radi- 
 ance with loving thought about me, I shall reap the 
 aftermath of life's harvest. As In the life of every 
 conscientious physician there are many who rise up 
 to call me blessed, and in remembering their better- 
 ment, appreciation, gratitude even., I shall forget the 
 hours, days, years of sordid effort, the periods of 
 utter exhaustion accompanied oftentimes by so in- 
 tense a desire for food that I have dreamed while 
 snatching a few minutes' rest before going on of the 
 most delicious beefsteak or of the country fried chick- 
 en of my childhood. No I could not eat either, and 
 had to go on with the accustomed simple pabulum 
 of which I was unutterably weary. This Is all wrong. 
 Not long since I was sought In my office by a man of 
 
 49 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 prestige, position, wealth, because of his persistent 
 malnutrition', and later at their residence I visited his 
 wife who was equally impoverished and whose neu- 
 ronic energy has been severely told upon by her lack 
 of nutrition. In her case a tubercular taint had em- 
 phasized the trouble. I never lose sight of the gulli- 
 bility of human nature, but I was impressed anew as 
 to its degree and extent from my professional inter- 
 views with these two really very charming people. 
 They seemed to have encompassed all the fads and 
 cults extant in their search after health, after hav- 
 ing exhausted the resources of their farmer regular 
 attending physicians as well as new thought, mental 
 healing. Christian Science on the psychical side, while 
 on the dietary they have Fletcherlzed toi their undo- 
 ing. A few years since I took care of an elderly pro- 
 fessional woman who, in the heyday of her life, had 
 enjoyed the so-called good things of this earth to her 
 satisfaction. In no way, perhaps, had she been more 
 self-indulgent, than in the matter of food — a gour- 
 mand in fact. As the years slipped by, she came to 
 have the usual untoward conditions which are pretty 
 sure to follow in later life if youth and middle age 
 have not been considerate of the chemism of life. 
 This led tO' a cultivation of all kinds of fads and 
 she Fletcherized almost to the point of inanition. Her 
 flesh dropped off by the pounds, her digestion gave 
 out and her nerves went all agley. She could not 
 
 SO 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 speak without weeping and was practically impossible 
 tO' live with, as her nurse and companion experienced 
 daily. In directing her care and in response to her 
 queries as to her dietary habit and methods, I said 
 without embellishment, "For heaven's sake, doctor, 
 be sensible. Chew your food, yes, and chew it well, 
 but get away from fads. Do not be afraid of sim- 
 ple, wholesome, wellcooked food, but do not be a 
 gourmand, nor yet an ascetic." 
 
 A more liberal diet was ordered, my advice tak- 
 en, flesh regained and nerves lost their instability. 
 Now ! She had every chance, plenty of money, and 
 nothing tO' do but to pleasure herself. A young man 
 who knew her asked me what she did besides being a 
 new thought devotee. I replied "cuts off coupons". 
 She would have been better off with less selfish and 
 more vital interests. Just so these charming people, 
 man and wife, have in their effort to regain their 
 health jeopardized their best interests by their quest 
 of fads and their hourly watching themselves and 
 weighing the pros and cons as to the merits and de- 
 merits of different articles of food. 
 
 I have a problem before me, but I mean to meet it 
 and out of my own experience will come the knowl- 
 edge which will serve their needs. To' know how best 
 to serve one's fellow man in the capacity of physician, 
 hard as it is for oneself, is to have passed through the 
 fiery furnace. I only know this, that with the abun- 
 
 51 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 bant means and opportunity that they have, I would 
 not with my mental attitude toward life, let many 
 months pass before I should know a fair degree of 
 health which means nutrition. 
 
 Radiance is all about me as I write this and the 
 possibilities in the way of complete health with its 
 opportunities rises before me alluringly. I would hie 
 me away to a simple life in the country, they are twain 
 and they should be content, or get on a Mediterran- 
 ean steamer and sail on and on, taking still other 
 steamers, forgetting nerves, stomachs and self in the 
 beauty and delight of it all. Fresh air, radiance, 
 changing scene, different peoples, but in the midst of 
 it all never forgetting that the best cannot be obtained 
 without giving thought to the needs of one's kind. 
 Vital interests are necessary to health and nothing is 
 more vital than living beings. So many need help 
 of all sorts, interest, affection, companionship, as well 
 as the more sordid wherewithal. 
 
 I can but wonder what would happen to these two, 
 barring the tuberculous aspect, which while curable 
 prejudices the case, if they had to take on my many 
 duties and I could have their abundance. This one 
 thing I know, I would have the most beautiful 'gor- 
 geous time imaginable. There are so many for whom 
 I should at once ease the financial way, not with an 
 out-and-out gift — for that it seems to me is unwise — 
 but with such an addition to their income as would 
 
 52 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 make the way easier to the end of less fret, strain, 
 carking care and therefore better health. What a 
 life it would be — an inspiration that would last to 
 the end of their and my days. There are ways of 
 doing these things for others without injury to their 
 inborn pride and independence. 
 
 This done then there are two charming young 
 women, one a few years younger, the other just over 
 the thirtieth milestone, both potential neurasthenes 
 and both with the condition actually in evidence much 
 of the time, because life's obligations have to be met 
 out of a limited nerve reserve. They are not only 
 capable and intelligent with well trained intellects, 
 but in common with the rest of us psychical as well, 
 not in any untoward way, but more of the soul than 
 the material world. So keen and brilliant are they 
 that one does not grow weary in their company and 
 so appreciative of all good things that come their way 
 as to give the keenest pleasure to the one that pleas- 
 ures them. They would immediately be commanded 
 to be ready with the simplest wardrobe and accoutre- 
 ment to sail away into a restful radiance for an un- 
 limited absence and bade to leave all care behind. It 
 would take me but a little time to cut off my interests, 
 less to prepare for the journey and in it with this com- 
 panionship, without care and work I should get rested 
 and strong. Dear me, I have worked and waited for 
 this all my life. I am said to obtain whatever I set 
 
 53 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 my heart upon, therefore this must come and before 
 I lose my perennial youth. 
 
 A physician who would meet the requirements of 
 his calling in the highest sense, should in addition to 
 his medical care of his patients, be able to tide them 
 over financial difficulties as well, for to the physician 
 usually confessions are made which lay bare the whole 
 fabric of life and they know all the internal needs of 
 those seeking advice. 
 
 Let multimillionaires, bent on bettering their kind 
 and getting rid of some of their unnecessary wealth, 
 for they cannot take it beyond, if beyond there be 
 other than transformed energy, put their thought to 
 this problem. 
 
 I began these pages in relation to diet, but in this 
 wide divergence I have never lost sight of my theme 
 and all that I have said bears an intimate relation 
 thereto. After all, work that is not beyond one's 
 strength, fatigue which is happy not sordid — there is 
 such a vast difference between them and their influence 
 upon the intelligence and spirit, how vast I only fully 
 realized recently — is not harmful, but to the good of 
 every living being. 
 
 It was morning and my office hour. There was 
 every reason why I should be very tired and show the 
 evidences of it in my countenance. There was no 
 neuronic record of sordid fatigue — on the contrary. 
 I was in conversation with a patient concerning her 
 
 54 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 condition, when she suddenly interrupted her story, 
 looked at me and said: "You don't look tired this 
 morning, doctor, you look as though you had some 
 beautiful memory or some pleasant expectancy." This 
 was true, but I do not know what gave her the 
 prescience to see it. It was something which I per- 
 sonally had not analyzed, and more I was entirely 
 unconscious of the fact that I was carrying impris- 
 oned in my countenance such a tell-tale record. There 
 came to me like a flash a realization of the difference 
 between sordid and happy fatigue. I had not so 
 often known the latter as to have recognized this 
 truth. Additionally I realized that I must set a guard 
 upon my tell-tale face, not to shut out the happy look, 
 but the one of fatigue and care which she had noted 
 and with which she contrasted the one that suggested 
 a beautiful memory or some pleasant expectancy. 
 There would be more such happy facial records, did 
 we more often lend the helping hand all along the 
 way according to our abundance and in so doing, the 
 literal as well as the figurative weight would be lifted 
 from the solar plexus and good digestion would more 
 often wait upon appetite as well as the latter be 
 healthfully stimulated. 
 
 55 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 "The trouble with you, doctor, is that you have 
 sprained your brain." 
 
 I HAD been working very hard and steadily. 
 There had been no let up nothing to lighten 
 the burdens I was carrying financial or pro- 
 fessional. My environment had reached a 
 degree of supersaturation with the pains and 
 problems of life. 
 
 In addition to an active private practice command- 
 ing the best energies of mind and body, I did a great 
 deal of clinical work and threw myself into it heart 
 and soul. I served the different organizations of 
 which I was a member as chairman of committees, as 
 secretary, and as president, while executive work was 
 sure to find me sooner or later. In addition there 
 was a great deal of teaching as well as writing. My 
 clinical work brought me in contact with the host of 
 chronic conditions for which people seek relief, and 
 especially nerve conditions. The universality of my 
 human interest brought me the confidences of all of 
 them, the most intimate even, and with the tales of 
 suffering as well as by reason of illness and lack of 
 independent means life was to me a veritable Gethse- 
 
 56 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 mane. Of course this was the time that grief and 
 trouble came, and the heat of summer told severely 
 upon my small reserve. 
 
 An opportunity presented itself for the doing of a 
 piece of work in collaboration with another. This 
 involved careful research and constant hours of labor 
 in order to complete it at the time promised. A pa- 
 tient, long since gone to her rest had placed at my 
 disposition her ancestral home, over a hundred years 
 old, on a beautiful island in the beautiful Sound of 
 Long Island as it slips away to the sea. In July with 
 my servants and secretary I took possession. All my 
 papers, data and books of reference accompanied me, 
 and as soon as the household was organized and set- 
 tled to the requirements of our Robinson Crusoe sort 
 of life — for we were absolutely isolated, having no 
 neighbors save only the boatmen who carried us back 
 and forth to the main land — I got to work. Every 
 morning we rose early and immediately upon the com- 
 pletion of breakfast — ^by half past seven always — I 
 began my labors. Hour after hour I tolled interested 
 beyond words in what I was doing and unconscious 
 of the fact that I was hour by hour exhausting my 
 nerve centres. I always suspended work for a time 
 in the afternoon to give my secretary a rest. During 
 this interim it was my custom to lie down, but I rarely 
 slept not even at night. I was profoundly anaemic, 
 white as the driven snow almost, and cared nothing 
 
 57 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEUMSTHENE 
 
 for food. There was never a moment's freedom 
 from pain, nor had there been for a year. An injury 
 to a nerve trunk of an upper extremity had Initiated 
 the vicious circle which my grief, overwork, and im- 
 paired physical condition perpetuated. Every nerve 
 trunk hurt from morning until night, but especially 
 from night to morning. I could not always control 
 myself and many times have had no resource but to 
 voice my distress in a subdued moaning. My bed 
 room was sufficiently remote from the others that I 
 could safely Indulge in this luxury of expression with- 
 out disturbing any one. 
 
 Before the summer was spent, a friend a trained 
 nurse, came to spend a few days with me. Her room 
 adjoined mine, and I was betrayed into an expression 
 of pain as It got beyond my power of control. In- 
 stantly she was on the alert and wanted to know if she 
 should not come In and give me a gentle massage. It 
 was my right sciatic nerve which was in such evidence, 
 as It had been for many weary sleepless nights, and 
 finally after a long time I said she might If she would 
 be very gentle. I had never been able to take mas- 
 sage even from the most skilled operators, nor when I 
 was In fair health as It always left me limp and 
 exhausted, while the presence of another and the per- 
 sonal touch was, and for that matter is a pain beyond 
 words. The morning following the rubbing found 
 
 me haggard, limp and worse. I went to the City, 
 
 ^8 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 however, to keep a professional appointment, but 
 found it extremely difficult to meet the day's duties 
 and return to my island home. For once I was glad 
 there was a self-reliant person under my roof, al- 
 though in response to her inquiry at bed time if she 
 should not rub me, I said by no means. The anguish 
 of nerve pain and exhaustion was well nigh beyond 
 me and the vibrations of another personality so inti- 
 mately close was beyond my power of endurance. The 
 dampness inseparable from our island home served to 
 still further depress me, and every vestage of my 
 color disappeared. Twice since I have tried summers 
 on the north shore of Long Island Sound, but each 
 autumn has found me profoundly anaemic and suffer- 
 ing an accentuation of my nerve exhaustion. This 
 experience renders me cautious in the matter of send- 
 ing neurasthenic patients to the shores of land-locked 
 bodies of water, especially the north shores. A so- 
 journ on the south shore of the Sound or the north 
 shore of Long Island was never accompanied by such 
 complete lowering of vital resistance. 
 
 But I did not give up my work. I had been brought 
 up with the stern sense of duty — ^mistaken oftentimes 
 — which characterized my Puritan ancestors. To 
 have given a promise that I would do the work upon 
 which I was engaged and have it done at a certain 
 time was tO' me like the laws of the Medes and Per- 
 sians absolutely unalterable. There was no other 
 
 59 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 course to be entertained for one moment. The six 
 weeks for which I had accepted the house gradually 
 drew near their close. I was to stay until the first 
 of September. Before that date I began to feel very 
 strangely, but I relaxed none of my effort in bringing 
 my work to completion. Finally there came to me 
 a sense of dread and terror beyond my comprehension. 
 My eyes caught the muscles of my colorless hands 
 quivering one day similarly it seemed to me as the 
 fibrillary contraction of a progressive muscular atro- 
 phy. I was saturated with the atmosphere of organic 
 nerve conditions clinically as well as in the work I 
 had been doing. It struck terror to my heart despite 
 the fact that I had often been so worn as to have 
 other muscles quiver, but I never before had known 
 the strange incomprehensible feeling of desolation 
 and danger. There was no one I could ask to come 
 to me save my nurse friend. I wrote and also tele- 
 graphed, asking her to come on a definite train Sat- 
 urday afternoon, but giving no time for an answer. 
 I felt that I could brook no delay. Saturday fore- 
 noon I worked with my secretary, bringing every- 
 thing into final shape. Just before I started in the 
 boat for the main land to meet the train I tried to 
 give her a final paragraph, but after stumbling about 
 in my mind as to its proper phrasing, I said, "Never 
 mind that is all, finish your typewritten copy, put the 
 MSS. all neatly together in proper sequence, pack up 
 
 60 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 all these books ready to be sent back and have neither 
 book nor paper in evidence upon my return." Then 
 I wearily walked to the water's edge, stepped into the 
 boat, and the boatman took up his oars and pulled 
 across the Sound. All was beauty about me, every- 
 thing was full of the joy of life, but I could not feel 
 it. I knew it was all there, that everything was just 
 the same, but I had neither part nor parcel in it. 
 I was glad my work was done, simply because I could 
 not strive any longer. 
 
 We reached the main land and I waited at the sta- 
 tion for the train I had specified. Upon its arrival 
 I closely scanned every figure and face, looking long 
 after there was a reasonable hope, and when I found 
 my friend had not come it seemed to me that I could 
 no longer endure. I felt like a rat caught in a trap. 
 There was no way out, and I had looked forward to 
 unburdening myself to her feeling that her experience, 
 training and unusual fund of common sense would 
 enable her to say something comforting or suggest 
 what I should do. There was nothing to do but to 
 patiently endure. I went back to the Island glad of 
 the presence of my servants and secretary, but I did 
 not impose my burden upon them. Horror-stricken 
 as I was, helpless as I felt, I could not impose upon 
 their youth and inexperience my mental anguish. 
 
 The next morning I asked them if they could take 
 the responsibility of putting the house to rights, pack" 
 
 6i 
 
 6 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ing belongings and shutting it up. They assured me 
 
 that it would all be done as I wished. I then tried 
 
 to pack my trunk. All my life I had served my own 
 
 needs and the additional horror I felt when I could 
 
 not lift an article to place it in the trunk, could not 
 
 stand, seemed more than could be endured. Such a 
 
 sense of shame I felt when I had to call my secretary 
 
 and ask her to pack it for me. She was untravelled 
 
 and had not the slightest conception of how a trunk 
 
 should be packed. I sat down on the floor by the side 
 
 of it and laboriously directed the doing of what had 
 
 always been a pleasure and pastime. 
 
 In the Sunday evening's sunset glow the boatman 
 
 took me and my belongings to the station on the main 
 
 land and put me on the train. Arriving in the City I 
 
 went to a hotel where a friend permanently resided. 
 
 I had telephoned her to secure me a room. She tried 
 
 to reassure me, but her words brought no comfort. 
 
 The next morning after my breakfast I went to my 
 
 office and looked up the addresses of my neurological 
 
 friends. I selected the names and addresses of three 
 
 well known men. One has long since gone beyond 
 
 the other twoi are living. I reached my decision as to 
 
 the one I should consult by a process of elimination 
 
 and, save for a brief time to which I shall refer later 
 
 on, I have never regretted my decision. I went to his 
 
 office and sent in my card. He saw me as soon as 
 
 possible, and in advance of other patients. I knew 
 
 62 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 him, but not in any intimate sense. I told him aU 
 this tale of woe, of my past life, of the blows received 
 upon my head at the hands of insane patients, of a 
 sunstroke and overwork with much responsibility 
 immediately following, answered all his questions, 
 and when I felt that I had laid bare my soul to the 
 professional confessor, when my heart had been ex- 
 amined and my pulse felt, he looked at me quizically 
 and said, "The trouble with you, doctor, is that you 
 have sprained your brain." Well, even though I had, 
 and an eminent authority had told me so, the outlook 
 was not so hopeless because of his cheerful optimism 
 and his kindly humor. He took a specimen of my 
 blood, told me what I was to do, prescribed for me, 
 and told me to report the following day but one. I left 
 him reassured although inadequate, and returned to 
 the hotel for a day or two until the return of the ser- 
 vants. His directions were absolutely obeyed. Upon 
 my return after the morning greeting and a question 
 or two he said, "I examined that bit of gore you left 
 the other day, and I thought it was Croton water." 
 
 The secretary and servants came home and my 
 apartment was opened. After a few days I discharged 
 all save one to keep the apartment in order wait upon 
 the door, and resumed my work. 
 
 Meanwhile I had for the time permanently placed 
 myself in one of the best of the City hotels by my 
 physician's suggestion and desire. "You need to see 
 
 63 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 a different side of life". Dear me, I had never seen 
 anything but grind, sickness and suffering, had never 
 known want, but had never known what it was to be 
 free from perpetual struggle for the wherewithal. 
 There had been storm and stress always, no peaceful 
 anchorage, but I never lost courage. The hotel life 
 was in lighter vein, offsetting the tragedies of the con- 
 scientious physician's life. Work proceeded wearily 
 enough, but I managed to do it and gradually grew 
 stronger. After three months I went back to the 
 house and home keeping keeping up as well my pro- 
 fessional work. Promptly upon this change came a 
 most appalling attack of grippe. This was for years 
 thereafter a constantly recurring experience and kept 
 me with lowered vitality nearly all of the time. 
 
 I had always known interesting, brainy people and 
 had many warm friends among them. At this junc- 
 ture there were several men with keen, intellectual 
 minds among the scientific people I knew. I saw 
 much of them, and my restless, active, daring brain 
 was stimulated to the highest point of activity. Scien- 
 tific experimental work was begun which I never had 
 strength to finish. Others have taken up the same line 
 of work and brought it to a satisfactory conclusion, 
 mine remains only a bit of wreckage on life's tem- 
 pestuous sea. 
 
 My physician believed most thoroughly In exercise 
 and I was directed to take bicycle lessons, and as soon 
 
 64 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 as possible got out into the open. Here is where mis- 
 takes are apt to be made in the care of neurasthenic 
 patients. Had I been a neurasthene by reason of im- 
 perfect chemical changes due to overindulgence, had 
 I had had habits other than those of work and in- 
 sufficient eating, in a word, had I been toxic instead 
 of exhausted, and prone to coddle myself, a symp- 
 tomatic instead of an essential neurasthene, the advice 
 would have been good. He did not know me well, 
 and a physician who sees much of functional neuroses 
 is apt to become very skeptical in his estimate of char- 
 acter, and I have a habit of always appearing at my 
 best in the presence of an intelligent and congenial 
 personality. At any rate, I was told to take lessons 
 and ride. I obeyed although I fell off my wheel from 
 sheer exhaustion again and again. The result was 
 disastrous. I should have been counselled to spend 
 every hour not needed for my duties in a hammock, 
 preferably out of doors. But this was impracticable 
 in the city and in the apartments in which I was living. 
 
 The spring following the "spraining of my brain" 
 I began doing very arduous and responsible dispen- 
 sary work, teaching clinically at the same time. I 
 moved into a house from the apartment, which meant 
 greater stress and strain on my part, although giving 
 me the comforts and pleasure in my surroundings to 
 which I had always been accustomed. 
 
 These changes were made in the interest of pro- 
 
 6S 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 fessional advancement. I threw myself into my work 
 and studies with an abandon of interest. Untoward 
 happenings distress, depress and disturb me most 
 keenly always, but they also arouse my fighting in- 
 stincts. This tim,e was no exception, but I did not 
 reckon with my limited reserve of stored up energy. 
 While there was replacement, it was not sufficient to 
 stand the physical, mental and particularly financial 
 strain of a life like mine. I had been shaken to the 
 foundation by these untoward happenings, my trust 
 and confidence in my fellow beings had been destroy- 
 ed. When I told all the story to my physician, know- 
 ing how much it had had to do with my utter break, 
 he looked at me gravely and asked, "Do you mean to 
 tell me doctor, that you believe and trust the people 
 about you that you have faith in human nature?" 
 "Why, doctor," I said, "if I did not have faith in 
 human nature, if I did not trust others, I could not 
 live." I had lived long enough to know life, but I 
 did not. I learned lessons then which have left an 
 indelible impress. Meanwhile I am aware that in my 
 work — nothing else — I lived at the top of my speed. 
 The active minds about me stimulated mine to greater 
 effort. I was happy in my work and in it I forgot my 
 sensitive aching body and the hard blows life had 
 rained upon me. I cared nothing for food and took 
 no pleasure. My patients received my utmost devo- 
 tion. I have often been told that I spoilt them by 
 
 66 
 
\ 
 
 AjUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 I 
 my c^evotion. Perhaps I have, but they are my family 
 
 and itiy friends. I have none other, and science is my 
 mistress. 
 
 Following my convalescence from the attack of 
 grippe referred to, I did not see my physician in that 
 capacity for over a year, nor did I tell him of the 
 extra work I was taking on. I do not know why, but 
 I am not sure but that I felt he would discourage me 
 and I simply had to do it. The impelling force with- 
 in me, which is always driving me at full speed, would 
 not down. To me it is infinitely better to wear than 
 to rust. Inactivity is stagnation. As I write these 
 pages, I am living at top speed and white heat. Is it 
 good for me? That depends upon what we regard 
 as our best entity. If it is mind, not body providing 
 we may for the nonce separate them, then it is. Still 
 I know perfectly well now how far I dare go. I did 
 not then. Even now I would not be awakening neu- 
 ronic memory of pain, sleeplessness, mental anguish, 
 impaired physical strength, if I had not a purpose 
 in it not only the one named in the first pages, but 
 another and a better one, to show if possible that a 
 life may be usefully spent even though tremendously 
 handicapped, and that happiness and content may be 
 secured though one may only walk in the busy arena 
 of life through the medium of books and one or two 
 friends. Social functions always palled upon me. The 
 next morning I was sure to feel a sense of disgust and 
 
 67 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 repletion, if I may so express it. Not so a quiet chat, 
 or even silence with a congenial friend. I like the 
 charm of people, their manysided repartee and sword 
 play, the scenario of brilliant social occasions, the lit 
 of the music, and the poetry of beautiful dancing, but 
 more than a glimpse of it is sure to leave me with a 
 sense of disgust. I think this has almost always been 
 so. It is not true of the quiet fireside talks, because I 
 do not invite into my own environment other than 
 congenial souls. Yes ! there is a loss. I realize that, 
 but not so great a loss as there would be, if I spent my 
 time in vainly regretting an undue and unjustifiable 
 expenditure of precious nerve energy from the effect 
 of attending functions, whether social or for the pur- 
 pose of amusement. Work was and is second nature. 
 It meant not only the means of living, but life the 
 power to do and to be. 
 
 68 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 "To his capable Ears Silence was Music from the 
 Holy Spheres." 
 
 Keats, Endymion. 
 "Nature compensates those whose world is restrict- 
 ed with an ability for Concentration and Intensity of 
 Efort of which the average Person is ignorant." 
 
 IN less than two' years of seeking the services of 
 my physician the first time I was again in 
 need. I had worked hard but successfully, 
 and had not worry and financial strain, 
 caused in this instance by the dishonesty of 
 others come into my life, I might possibly have been 
 spared the final crash. But — Kismet — it was not to 
 be. I did not for a long time consult my physician. 
 I had a feeling that I must not trespass upon his busy 
 moments, for I knew how necessary it was to use 
 one's energy for remunerative work, and his cour- 
 tesy to me in these ways had been of the finest. At 
 the time I was taking care of several physician pa- 
 tients, as I almost always am, in this instance all 
 men, as well as the several members of a physician's 
 family besides my clinical work without money or 
 price, and I knew exactly what it meant. Finally the 
 
 69 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 father of two youtiig women patients in whom I was 
 much interested, whoi saw my great need, urgently 
 advised me to ask the doctor's advice again. I sum- 
 moned up my courage and went once more to see him. 
 Again he put forth every effort to save me from ab- 
 solute disaster, but the weary days lengthened from 
 May into June, until one day I was told that I need 
 not come toi him again, that he would come to me 
 and that I should spare myself every effort. 
 
 I was in constant and severe pain. There was not 
 a nerve trunk but cried out night and day with the 
 anguish of it all. The sense of cerebral and spinal 
 exhaustion was extreme, and to make it all worse 
 there was congestion of the sensory cortex which made 
 me intolerant of the vibrations of light and sound, 
 in fact — the external worlds — but I could not get 
 away from them. Had it not been for the financial 
 losses to which I have just referred, I could have 
 stopped before it was too late — perhaps. At this time 
 I seemed to never sleep, the mental and physical an- 
 guish were too great, my eyes were ever ready to- fill 
 with tell-tale tears, my nights were spent in weep- 
 ing and my days in hard work, giving to others in 
 trouble all I had of strength and courage. Yes ! I 
 know it was wrong — I did not then. Life has had to 
 teach it to me. I had my own Sinai to climb before I 
 learned it. Who does not? No one profits by the 
 
 70 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 experience of others. Generations and generations 
 come and go, but each and every individual must 
 learn their own lesson. 
 
 There was constantly the sensation of hot blood 
 pouring into my right ear at this time and its lobe 
 would become very red in marked contrast to my face 
 which was so white, that on several occasions medical 
 men of my acquaintance had exclaimed when they 
 saw me, "Good God! Doctor, how white you are." 
 I could not seem to get over my persistent anaemia. 
 This sensation in my ear was most trying and often, 
 in adjusting myself to the needs of my patients in 
 making examinations or otherwise, it was sO' extreme 
 that it seemed to me nothing could keep the circula- 
 tion within bounds, that It must break through the 
 enclosing walls of blood vessels and surrounding tis- 
 sues. I was exposed at this time, both by the nature 
 of my professional work and the city-walled environ- 
 ment of my home, to the stress and strain of constant 
 noise. The effect was almost maddening, but I could 
 not get away from it and continue my work. My 
 Puritan and Scotch ancestry must always be remem- 
 bered and also my early training in connection with 
 my Casabianca-like treading of the burning deck. 
 Had I done differently, it would not have been my- 
 self, but, oh the pity of it all, I sometimes think. This, 
 however, is In my moments of self-indulgence and 
 coddling, which are rare indeed, still they come. I do 
 
 71 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 not pretend toi know what all this life means, but I 
 cannot believe it means to simply think of self. If, 
 however, disregard of self means creating conditions 
 which are prejudicial to others, then it is the most 
 wrong and selfish course of conduct one can pursue. 
 I think I can say with honesty that no one has suf- 
 fered because of my condition, save my faithful and 
 overworked physician, and he is gracious enough to 
 say that he has not felt it in that way. My mother and 
 family friends were never told. They lived nearly 
 two thousand miles away and knew only what I chose 
 to tell. 
 
 Prior to the time of "spraining my brain," I had 
 a very severe attack of neuritis involving my right 
 arm, and had to give up the use of my pen for fully 
 a year. My dear mother used to send me by my sister 
 this message, "I do hope you will be able to write 
 before long, for the typewritten letters do not sound 
 like you." To this day this is true, that the presence 
 of a stenographer disturbs the poise and rhythm of 
 my thought processes to such an extent that work 
 done in that way is always most unsatisfactory, unless 
 it be simply a business letter. This moment I am re- 
 cording this story with my own pen, as I do all of rhy 
 writing even from a hundred or two to eight hundred 
 or more pages. My mother was simply told that I 
 had overtired my arm and hand. — she was not told 
 what I am laying bare to the world. Nor were my 
 
 72 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 friends. My patients saw me from day to day, and 
 as they not only accepted but sought my services, I 
 evidently did not fail them in their need. This is 
 true, that I have not only held, but increased my prac- 
 tice and income, despite my handicap, but at the ex- 
 pense of myself. 
 
 At the same time that the conditions detailed in 
 regard to pain, sleeplessness, congestion of my sensory 
 cortex, with profound circulatory disturbances and 
 the sensation of hot blood pouring into my ear with 
 great weakness especially of right side, I had a con- 
 stantly recurring dream out of which I always waken- 
 ed in a condition of terror and which left me shaken 
 and trembling for hours dreading with a nameless 
 dread to go to sleep again. This was of a mad cat 
 gnawing at my head always at the one spot and that 
 directly over the middle lobe of the right half of my 
 brain. Why a mad cat I do not know any more than 
 I can understand why a medical man, also a neuras- 
 thene should have a dream of a vampire fastening it- 
 self upon him at the base of the brain, nor why that 
 vampire should take the form and features of a medi- 
 cal man of, his acquaintance. In both instances the 
 distress was great. While I had no penchant for cats 
 and had been told in a laughing conversation by one 
 of my scientific friends that he could conceive nothing 
 in common with mine and the feline nature, still I did 
 not dislike them. I had owned two in the course of 
 
 73 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 my life. The one Daniel Deronda and the other 
 Benjamin Franklin, but their care and petting had 
 always been left to the servants. 
 
 There was left me for several years an utter horror 
 at the presence of a cat. I did not need to be told 
 that there was one in the house, I knew it instinctively. 
 No ! I cannot say how in other words than I have, a 
 nameless indescribable horror and terror. Luckily 
 there was no opportunity of giving way to this feel- 
 ing, but I never lost it entirely until I became the wel- 
 come and honored guest on occasional "week ends" at 
 the home of friends and patients as well. I had taken 
 care of three generations in this family and they 
 endeared themselves to me in many ways. Among 
 the household pets were two beautiful tiger cats, 
 "Flossie" and "Billie", the latter christened Wil- 
 liam Napoleon by the eldest daughter whose 
 sunny presence has often been good for me. 
 These cats were of such goodly proportions that when 
 lying before the immense fire place of the noble draw- 
 ing room, they almost gave the appearance of a 
 hearth-rug. They were enjoyable in every way and I 
 shall never forget our merriment and delight over 
 their catnip "jag." It was inimitable. So intimately 
 were they associated with the family that they were 
 permitted to perch upon the backs of the chairs about 
 the table in the dining room at meal time. Billie was 
 the especial favorite of his mistress, the eldest daugh- 
 
 74 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ter, Flossie of her intimate girl friend and oftentime 
 guest. Both Billie and Flossie had the most engaging 
 habit of laying a detaining paw on one's shoulder, 
 arm, hand, or cheek even, when a choice bit of food 
 was being conveyed to one's mouth at meal time. 
 They were simply irresistible and I soon found that I 
 too wanted to pet and feed them. The elemental in 
 my nature responded to that in theirs. Their requests 
 were preferred so simply and gently that it was diffi- 
 cult to refuse, as ever and anon we all had to, when 
 the head of the house had one of his moods as to the 
 perfect fitness of things and the implicit obedience of 
 his family. For the most part he was oblivious by 
 reason of his many business and other interests. One 
 day he laughingly said to me, when Billie was getting 
 what he had so fascinatingly asked: "Doctor, this 
 family is spoiling you". But I guess not. However, 
 since my intimacy with Flossie and Billie I have lost 
 my aversion to cats. The twain are such wholesome 
 cats and more than all so loved and respected. To 
 see the family about the table at which one or more 
 guests are always present with these beautiful animals 
 perched on the backs of their accustomed chairs, or if 
 rebuffed by one, which rarely happens, making the 
 rounds from one chair to another, stopping where 
 they have reason to believe they will be most kindly 
 treated, is a beautiful picture. After all we are no 
 better than they, and who knows what a cat thinks. 
 
 75 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 As for the dear old mongrel, part collie, when he 
 lays his nose along my knees, I feel that I have, at 
 least one worshipper at my shrine, and am always re- 
 minded of the saying that the dog as he sits on his 
 haunches, looking into the face of man with a look of 
 adoration, regards his master as a god. Just so this 
 collie is in the habit of regarding me. 
 
 The last time I recall having this dream was the 
 second night I spent in Paris and the one preceding 
 my going to Fontainebleau. It was also the most 
 vivid and terrifying of all my experiences, and left 
 so profound and intolerable an impression that when 
 morning came, I put the few things back I had re- 
 moved from my travelling bag, notified the landlady 
 that I should not want the room, ordered a carriage, 
 went to Cook's office and secured the hotel address 
 at Fontainebleau, the story of which will be told later 
 on, leaving on the first train. At this juncture almost 
 thirteen years later, it gives me a feeling of momen- 
 tary terror to recall that room and night. Unques- 
 tionably there was an increase of congestion from the 
 effort made to reach Paris from Cologne and to se- 
 cure comfortable quarters in the former city at mod- 
 erate expense. It was soon after this and while still at 
 Fontainebleau that I began to suffer from the most 
 severe pain in the right side of my head, to the front 
 and over the cranial vault. This was so severe as to 
 exhaust me and was so piercing, boring and agonizing, 
 
 76 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 that I could not dismiss it as neuralgic as I would now. 
 It was of that character, but it indicated a serious 
 trouble as time has shown. 
 
 Two years later the trouble in my right ear about 
 my mastoid and right side of head increased in sever- 
 ity. The disturbed circulation was constantly in evi- 
 dence, the right ear and right side of my face at times 
 intensely flushed. I had had a vasomotor disturbance 
 ever since I exhausted that centre along with the oth- 
 ers, and in so far as it disturbed my general cerebral 
 circulation, I was in the habit of dismissing it with 
 the flippant statement that my vasomotor center had 
 slipped its trolley. But this was different and seemed 
 to be a distinct disturbance by itself. Finally one 
 evening when my physician was paying his custom- 
 ary visit — I in my hammock as usual — I told him of 
 some of the sensations I experienced and the great 
 distress I suffered because of them. He asked was 
 there any impairment of hearing. I said I did not 
 know, that I had never tested it. While I observed 
 the different phenomena characteristic of my condi- 
 tion, there was no undue dwelling upon them. Life 
 was too intent, too full of work and duty to spend 
 time in this way. I asked him for his watch, as mine 
 was upstairs, that I might test it. The watch was 
 given me and I listened carefully first with the left 
 ear and then with the right which had forced itself 
 so obtrusively into my consciousness. No, I said, I 
 
 77 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 can detect no difference. But the mischief was there 
 all the same. Of course, it was the most natural 
 thing for the doctor to regard the circulatory dis- 
 turbance in and about my ear as the usual neuras- 
 thenic hyperasthensia, and later on when the hear- 
 nig began to perceptibly diminish, as evidenced by the 
 most exacting tests, it was set down to the customary 
 auditory fatigue. I felt that I knew better, and after 
 all patients have not only oftentimes a very much 
 better idea of existing conditions than their phy- 
 sicians, but have contrary to the usual attitude of the 
 latter certain rights even though patients. It seemed 
 very strange to me that this dear good patient doctor 
 of mine could not understand exactly what I suf- 
 fered and the extent of disability which I recognized. 
 But he did not. However, it made no difference in 
 my feeling of trust and confidence, for I had been 
 guided through such tempestuous seas and over dan- 
 ger lurking shoals, as to be very grateful, and while 
 longing to be well and to get rid of my distressing 
 symptoms, I was after all, content for life though 
 handicapped was rich in its relation to knowledge and 
 to my work. There was less physical pleasure in 
 radiant mornings and evening time than now, while 
 my lack of physical strength kept me from an out 
 of door life or from living any differently than in 
 the quiet of my home, when the day's duties were 
 ended. Still, there were moments when his utter dis- 
 
 78 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHfiNE 
 
 belief In any trouble with my precious sense of hear- 
 ing gave me a sense of injustice which hurt and - 
 rankled. But some humorous remark would appeal 
 to the like quality in myself and I would let the mat- 
 ter drop, although as time went on, the tinnitus or 
 confusion of sounds became almost insupportable. As 
 indicated, I was during these years exposed to almost 
 incessant noise which unquestionably tended to the 
 exhaustion of my sound centre. The blood seethed 
 and boiled as though in a caldron over a red hot fur- 
 nace fire, bells rang, cymbals clashed, and there was 
 the constant undercurrent of roaring as in the sea 
 shell. These might all have been the usual neuras- 
 thenic symptoms, but they were not. There was 
 great pain in my ear, deep in all along the tract of 
 the auditory nerve and the entire mastoid area was 
 exquisitely sensitive as was the entire right side of my 
 head and sometimes the left as well. Even so, my 
 fears of disaster were not recognized and several 
 times when I had made a more strenuous and pitiful 
 appeal than usual, he teasingly whispered — "Hys- J 
 teria." My feeling of hurt and indignity was ex- 
 treme, I felt I could never forgive him, then there 
 would come the memory of all he had done for me, 
 all he had meant for it Is no small thing to go down 
 to the depths of such utter exhaustion of supreme 
 centres as I had done, and the one who had walked 
 
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 through that valley and shadow, was not one to be 
 vexed with because of a laughing remark. 
 
 Time slipped by the trouble increased, I knew 
 neither peace nor comfort night nor day. There 
 remained all the usual pain of nerve trunks of 
 peripheral nerve endings, the exquisite sensitiveness 
 of body, the inability to bear a touch heavier than the 
 brush of a butterfly's wing, the insomnia, lack of 
 strength, the recurrence of depression of spirits, the 
 inability to use my brain at my study and writing as I 
 wished (I used it much of the time however), but 
 this trouble with my auditory centre and nerve of 
 which I never lost sight. I could not. It was from 
 five to six years after my complete crash and subse- 
 quent to an acute illness that there was an accentuation 
 of all the symptoms. The confusion of sounds in- 
 creased, the disturbed circulation was not only evi- 
 denced by my senses, but to the onlooker by the crim- 
 soning of my ear and the same side of my face. This 
 unilateral flushing was often very marked emphasiz- 
 ing the pallor of the opposite side. My hearing con- 
 tinued to diminish while the temperature of the entire 
 right side of my head as well as of my mastoid area 
 was perceptibly increased to sense of touch. A sur- 
 face thermometer was not used. While I regard all 
 measures of exact observation and record as of abso- 
 lute necessity in medical work, and use them, I often 
 recall a talk with my preceptor in the very first of my 
 
 80 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 medical life. I was telling him of a patient to the 
 end of having his counsel, when I spoke with some 
 emphasis of the thermometric reading. At this mo- 
 ment I do not recall the case, save that I seem to re- 
 member it as one of those where the experienced phy- 
 sician would recognize the little value of the ther- 
 mometric reading as compared with the entire clinical 
 picture. He said, "Doctor, do not place too much 
 importance upon your thermometer. There are so 
 many other clinical conditions to receive recognition 
 and which tell so much more of truth." By his 
 analysis of the case and its symptoms with his accus- 
 tomed clearness and force of diction, I was taught a 
 clinical lesson that has served me well in all my years 
 of wo'rk. Exactness and precision in observation are 
 essential, but successful medicine means so- much 
 more. 
 
 The entire clinical picture of this trouble in and 
 about my right ear never failed to say to me that 
 there was no question of a simple circulatory hyperes- 
 thesia with auditory fatigue. The distress increased 
 to such an extent that I felt I must have some advice 
 in relation to it and went to my oculist who had a few 
 years before devoted himself to the care of both eye 
 and ear, one of the most absurd specialties in medi- 
 cine, for if the ear should be specialized it should pre- 
 ferably be done with nose and throat because of their / 
 
 intimate anatomical and physiological connection. Of 
 
 8i 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 this I am confident that to no one should the intimate 
 anatomy, physiology and pathology of the ear be re- 
 garded as so absolutely an essential part of their fund- 
 amental grounding as to the neurologist and psychiat- 
 rist. The psychic symptoms of aural disturbances are 
 tremendous. A medical man whom I knew by sight 
 only, but of whom I knew a good deal, constantly 
 evidenced great irritability irascibility and mental con- 
 fusion as the result of a middle ear trouble. His symp- 
 toms at times were so extreme as to lead to the remark 
 "of course he is crazy". At such times he was pretty 
 nearly unbalanced, threatened to kill himself, got 
 very angry and abusive and was altogether an objec- 
 tionable person. At other times he was quiet and 
 gentlemanly. So long as no untoward act is commit- 
 ted, his peculiarities will receive no other recognition 
 than a pitying remark as to his suffering and the 
 cause for it. That man I was sorry for although his 
 nature was such as to make no appeal to me whatever. 
 But I have some idea of the torture he suffered, al- 
 though my experience has not changed my mental 
 characteristics or interfered with the integrity of my 
 Intelligence. Yes ! This exception — if I am exposed 
 to constant and exhausting noise, It is difficult not to 
 be Irritable, or If too exacting demands are made upon 
 my time and energies ; while the subsequent exhaustion 
 which is extreme, is with difficulty recovered from in 
 
 the limited time at my command. 
 
 82 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 I sought my oculist, because I could not endure the 
 thought of going to a stranger and telling all my 
 story again and more than that the personal qualities 
 of the physician whose professional advice I seek 
 means so much to me that given several physicians of 
 practically the same attainments I always select the 
 one whose honesty of purpose and conduct, single- 
 minded devotion to the best in his profession and life 
 sets him above his fellows. He knew of all my dis- 
 asters. I had told them from time to time seriously 
 enough for him to understand, but always concluding 
 with some joking or flippant remark. What is the 
 use of crying — it does no good. We have to take of 
 life what it gives us and on the rebound from trouble 
 and disability there is pretty sure to be some com- 
 pensation, for that is the law of life. Circumstances 
 are often beyond the control of man, but conduct is 
 in his power. 
 
 My ear was carefully put through its paces. The 
 result confirmed my own. The hearing was very 
 much impaired for distant sounds and practically nil 
 for the watch test. The pain had been that of an in- 
 tense neuritis, there had been present all the symptoms 
 of a neuritis of the auditory nerve as well as in the 
 auricular nerves. This trouble dated back to 
 the "Spraining" of my brain, as recorded, for at that 
 time I began to have periods of tasting and smelling 
 phosphorus, which would last for several days then 
 
 83 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 disappear. I have seen this in some authority set 
 down as a symptom of nerve trouble within the laby- 
 rinth and auditory canal. More than that the noises 
 to which I was constantly exposed without reserve of 
 neuronic energy, tired and exhausted me beyond en- 
 durance. There was every reason why the sound 
 center should suffer. 
 
 The first winter, following my complete crash I 
 was returning from my clinic one evening in company 
 with one of my assistants when we found it had sud- 
 denly grown very cold. The wind blew a gale and 
 struck the right side of my face and right ear with an 
 intensity of cold and pressure I had never before ex- 
 perienced from exposure to the weather. He placed 
 himself between me and the wintry blast at my request 
 for I felt such exposure presaged mischief. That was 
 the side which had been so weak all the previous sum- 
 mer as to lead me to anticipate a facial paralysis. But 
 paralysis, nor sudden death, nor yet organic disease, 
 save this damaged auditory nerve are evidently not 
 to be my portion. I have known the utter weakness 
 of all my right side from exhaustion of my left motor 
 centers, have received violent blows on my head at 
 the hands of insane patients, have suffered a sun- 
 stroke, a ruptured ankle ligament, an injury to my 
 spine from catching the heel of my slipper in going 
 down a flight of stairs, have been knocked down by 
 an automobile and had three ribs broken, a foot con- 
 
 84 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 tused, suffered from shock, damage to my best frock 
 and the Ignominy of injured dignity from having to 
 be picked up in the street where I lay biting the dust 
 so to speak, as well as the further indignity of having 
 an ambulance recommended, which I indignantly re- 
 fused and ordered a hansom while two mounted 
 policemen escorted me to my apartment. What more 
 is necessary to show that I am not to be killed, not to 
 be paralyzed, not to suffer organic disease, nor to 
 have the integrity of my gray matter interfered with. 
 It does seem as though fate had preordained my life. 
 Despite all my early training I believe I am just as 
 much a fatalist as is the Mohamedan. 
 
 But the mischief went on and on, the congestion in 
 and temperature of the right half of my head was 
 sensibly increased, while the sensitiveness of my right 
 ear, mastoid area and right side of my head and face 
 became so extreme that I could not lie upon that side 
 and rarely even now. Down pillows had to be sub- 
 stituted for feathers and the sheerest fabrics for pil- 
 low slips in place of the ordinary muslin or linen. So 
 great was the heat in my head that I had to turn my 
 pillow ten, fifteen or twenty times a night to be com- 
 fortable, according as to whether I kept ice caps on 
 or not. Leeches were applied, but there was no mid- 
 dle ear trouble, nothing save the mischief in the audi- 
 tory nerve. There was not only cutaneous hyperes- 
 thesia, but anesthesia all about the ear. There was 
 
 85 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 also at one time the most excruciating and severe 
 facial spasm lasting for days and because of which I 
 came very near having my teeth extracted on that 
 side. But my own desire to conserve my anatomical 
 integrity, which had always been great was encour- 
 aged in this instance, because my dentist who had 
 looked after such needs as I had had for years refer- 
 red all patients requiring the removal of teeth to a 
 surgeon dentist and I felt that I could not for one 
 moment allow the intervention of a stranger even 
 though recommended by one in whom I had confi- 
 dence. Time has shown that it would have been a 
 mistake to have had them removed. I had had and 
 was having a summer of great strain, grief and 
 anxiety. I had taken a Queen Anne cottage not far 
 from my city home in a secluded and restricted park, 
 furnished, for the summer months and when domi- 
 ciled had yielded an assent to the request of a very 
 dear old gentleman — a patient whom I knew could 
 not long survive his accumulation of chronic difficul- 
 ties — and his sister to spend three weeks with me in 
 my suburban home in transit from their sojourn at 
 one of the most desirable of spring resorts to their 
 summer place in the White Mountains. My dear 
 nurse was in charge of the patient and I felt with her 
 to aid and abet my effort I could do it, have the quiet 
 and pure air of the country, look after my office prac- 
 tice and at the same time carry the extra financial 
 
 86 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 burden which I had assumed more easily than with- 
 out this extra income. 
 
 As the end of the three weeks approached my 
 patients asked me, if I would not keep them two 
 weeks Ipnger. I was very worn and hesitated, but 
 finally consented for his personal appeal was very 
 gracious and he had from the first won my sympathy 
 and kindly regard. The day they were to have gone 
 originally the nurse fell ill with a peritoneal inflam- 
 mation, and for two weeks longer I had all three and 
 a second nurse in my little cottage. At the end of the 
 extra two weeks the patient and his sister left, also the 
 nurse attendant upon my nurse. She had not been 
 satisfactory and instead my nurse's sister came and 
 we devoted ourselves to getting the patient on her 
 feet again. It was ultimately accomplished, but in 
 my thought I attended her funeral services every 
 morning on my way to the city as I passed the subur- 
 ban cemetery, and every evening upon my return. 
 
 The extra strain incident upon the routine profes- 
 sional duties in my city office, the professional care of 
 the patient, the duties of hostess and director of the 
 house had been enough, but the serious illness of my 
 dear nurse and all its attendant care and anxiety sap- 
 ped every bit of my vitality and this time in addition 
 to the usual phenomena of utter exhaustion of nerve 
 energy was this excruciating facial spasm. It would 
 call me up standing while engaged with a patient or 
 
 87 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 the many physicians who sought my advice and in- 
 struction. These latter could not always be lied to 
 even though I covered the right side of my face with 
 my hand that the anguish of pain might not be 
 noticed. In order therefore that no comment might 
 be made nor anything thought of it I flippantly said 
 that it was simply an indication that I was indulging 
 in meditation and prayer. We can always better 
 afford to laugh at our physical infirmities, than have 
 our little world pity us. In my youthful days I had 
 known a young man of brilliant mind and attractive 
 personality who was hunchbacked from a spinal con- 
 dition in earlier life. His deformity was marked and 
 he often suffered agonies of pain especially at night. 
 But he never flinched nor lessened his exterior of 
 courage and bravery. Sometimes as a relief to his 
 extreme sensitiveness regarding his condition I have 
 heard him ask his closest friend — a man — before a 
 coterie of gay young people if he knew why he was so 
 misshapen, and without pause reply that his mother 
 let him fall into the water when he was a child and 
 upon being laid out to dry, he warped. He said this 
 in the midst of a company of the gayest of gay young 
 people, of whom I was one, one night when laughter 
 and merriment was universal. The laughter died on 
 my lips and tears filled my eyes, though no one knew, 
 at the pathos of it all. Just so I have turned my many 
 disabilities into a joke and gone on. It is much better 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 so. Life at best is a tragedy and yet as I say it, I see 
 the farce, comedy, the melodrama, so keenly that I 
 cannot let the remark stand without this modification. 
 And withal it is so beautiful' — so elementally beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 The troubles of this summer were lived through, 
 although my winter was prejudiced by the summer's 
 stress. The dear old gentleman died in the following 
 spring, and my devoted nurse who returned to him 
 as soon as she was able cared for him to the last and 
 in the absence of his family friends administered to 
 his last moments ifi so beautiful a way that her mem- 
 ory is cherished by them as lovingly as by myself. 
 
 To this day I suffer in untoward barometrical con- 
 ditions, associated of necessity with lack of radiance, 
 from the most intense pain within that auditory canal 
 and great sensitiveness, even soreness in all the ex- 
 ternal parts just as I do in my right sciatic nerve. The 
 tinnitus never ceases, the hearing is practically nil, to 
 the speaking voice and entirely to the watch test. At 
 one time I had a very severe attack of labyrinthine 
 vertigo, after that the evidences of injury were more 
 marked. It is known only to half a dozen people, 
 whose Intimate association with me has led to its ob- 
 servance. 
 
 That blessed doctor could not for a long time real- 
 ize it, but does now and makes up not in sympathy 
 nor talk, but in friendship for his earlier lack of ap- 
 
 89 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NElJRASTttfiNfi 
 
 preciation of my condition. He is in no sense to 
 / blame, the combination of conditions is most unusual, 
 practically unknown and nothing would have saved 
 me save a long and peaceful rest, summers and win- 
 ters in beautiful dry, fragrant pine woods or the latter 
 in sunny lands with congenial friends about me as 
 well as the comforts of life. These are things which 
 one can always command by well directed effort, but 
 they require money. Mine I had to work for, the 
 daily need I had to meet and one dares not especially 
 in a big city let go their foothold for one or more 
 years. Even had I done this there was no balance 
 on my side to defray the expense of those years. Lack 
 of ill-health is an almost universal cause of poverty 
 in the world's history. Poverty is not mine, but on 
 the contrary. Still, had I given up all I can see would 
 have been a dependent and more or less friendless old 
 age. Instead I am free, and should I drop out to-day, 
 I would leave my sole dependents sufficient without 
 aught else to care for them the rest of their lives for 
 in common with many others I am worth more dead 
 than alive, but the fruition of my hopes is not far 
 away. This bad ear will be mine to the end of my 
 days, and since the injury sustained to my head in the 
 4 two successive attacks of syncope which I have re- 
 corded, I am more than careful of my preternaturally 
 sharp left ear. This disability in addition to the lack 
 of a reserve of neuronic energy necessarily restricts 
 
 90 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 my world, but I can honestly say not my usefulness, 
 nor on the other hand my happiness and content. 
 Towards the voices of my friends and towards all 
 beautiful sounds I turn my open ear just as one should 
 always keep the windows of one's soul and intelli- 
 gence open to the dawn, whether it be the physical one 
 of radiance or the intellectual one of truth. This 
 moment as I write, a little city-bred sparrow is piping 
 his spring time matin lay near the window towards 
 which my appreciative sound center is turned. Nature 
 compensates always and rewards those whose world 
 is restricted with an ability for concentration and in- 
 tensity of effort of which the average person is igno- 
 rant. This ability for concentration and intensity of 
 purpose characterized that greatest of English poets, 
 John Milton. For fourteen years his eye sight was 
 failing and for the last nineteen years of his life he 
 was totally blind. Yet these years were prolific of 
 some of his greatest works, the famous epics of "Par- 
 adise Lost and Paradise Regained;" the tragedy 
 "Samson Agonistes", while L' Allegro and II Pense- 
 roso were written during the time that his eye sight 
 was failing. Michel Angelo strove by indulging his 
 solitary tastes to maintain his central energies intact 
 for art "joining in no rebellious conspiracies against 
 the powers that be, bending his neck in silence to the 
 storm, avoiding pastimes and social diversions which 
 might have called into activity the latent sensuousness 
 
 91 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 of his nature. He seems to have purposely sought by 
 the seclusion and renunciations of a life time, self- 
 coherence, self -concentration, not for any mean or 
 self-indulgent spirit, but for the best attainment of 
 his intellectual ideas." These things are not possible 
 when one is constantly in evidence and life would have 
 lost much of its charm had I been denied my lonely 
 hours on the heights and in company with the choicest 
 minds and spirits of those who live in the expression 
 of the best within themselves, whether in art, music, 
 science or literature. In books which I love as a girl 
 loves her lovers, "as in a vial are preserved the purest 
 efficacy and extraction of that intellect that bred 
 them." It is possible in this day of overmuch making 
 of books Milton would have lacked the inspiration 
 which led him to write : "Many a man lives a burden 
 to the earth, but a good book is the precious life blood 
 of a master spirit embalmed and treasured up on pur- 
 pose to a life beyond life". But it is just as true of a 
 good book to-day as when he wrote it and good books 
 go on living to the good of nations and peoples, for 
 the revolutions of ages as he divined do not recover 
 the loss of a rejected truth. My veneration for books 
 is as great as was his, although I live in a different 
 age. Still with him I can "divine a homicide, yes a 
 martyrdom in the spilling or destruction of the sea- 
 soned life of man preserved and stored up In books; 
 while if it extend to a whole impression, whereof the 
 
 92 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 execution ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, 
 but strikes at the ethereal essence, the break of reason 
 itself — slays an immortality rather than a life." 
 
 On the heights! the beauty of those precious mo- 
 ments for here it is we only come to know ourselves 
 and not to have this knowledge "means to be uncon- 
 scious of all the divine that throbs in man." By the 
 revelation of the divine that is in us we may discover 
 the divine in others, but this revelation does not come 
 unless we give the godlike in us — the soul, a chance to 
 free itself from earth-bound chains. In the long, 
 peaceful quiet hours with books, in which I have great 
 happiness, there comes infinite return for the more 
 gregarious life I am denied for at even the slightest 
 signal, no matter how inperceptible, every one of the 
 gods will respond for needs must the one god beckon 
 to another. In this sordid work-a-day life of mine 
 surfeited with pain and fatigue, my soul would have 
 lost its courage, had it not been for the humanitarian 
 side of my work. This same soul of ours we are apt 
 to relegate for its whole life long to utter darkness 
 and desolation. Some day there comes an awakening 
 and with Maeterlinck whose "Inner Beauty" is to me 
 inspiriting and uplifting, "I doubt whether anything 
 in the world can beautify a soul more spontaneously, 
 more naturally, than the knowledge that somewhere 
 in its neighborhood there exists a pure and noble 
 
 93 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 being whom it can unreservedly love." This applies 
 with equal force to our love of and for humanity. 
 
 I often feel that I want every neurasthene to read 
 these thoughts of his, for it seems to me if they would, 
 less energy would be expended in a vicious circle with- 
 in — "A thought that is almost beautiful — a thought 
 that you speak not, but that you cherish with you at 
 this moment — will irradiate you as though you were a 
 transparent vase." That is what my patient saw in 
 my face. I knew I was not earth bound that morn- 
 ing. To look upon life this way from within, to 
 possess the inner beauty that shines out radiantly and 
 triumphantly, simple living is necessary, and in no 
 way more than in inviting the clean cut chemical ac- 
 tions necessary to health — which is after all radiance. 
 
 In this ability for concentration and intensity of 
 effort I have great joy. All the same I am keenly 
 grateful for the ability to perceive sounds of musical, 
 harmonious and inspiring nature left handed only and 
 just now for the song of that same sparrow. A little 
 later and I shall find my way to some suburban place 
 for a week end where the robin with hosts of other 
 feathered songsters shall minister to my needs in royal 
 fashion and they shall never divine that my apprecia- 
 tion is after all but left-handed. 
 
 94 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 THE GARDEN OF AN INN AT FONTAINEBLEU 
 
 I AM distinctly elemental and I have revelled all 
 my life in the warring of the elements. In 
 the gathering of the clouds, the blowing of 
 the winds from the lightest zephyr to the 
 roar of mighty blasts, the roll of the thunder 
 and the flashing of the lightning, I had always 
 found the pleasure which the elemental man or 
 woman feels as none other, but never had they 
 given me pain. I knew no fear in the severest electri- 
 cal storms, nor have I come to know fear. I shall 
 never forget, however, the crushing power of the first 
 severe electrical storm I experienced following upon 
 exhaustion of my supreme nerve centers. I was not 
 by any means a drivelling idiot, nor had I a distorted 
 sense of my relation to the phenomena of life, but 
 I was incapable of any sustained mental effort while 
 necessary thought for my personal needs let alone 
 that of the routine of work was practically beyond 
 me. My physician had consented that I should go to 
 Europe for the summer. This had been my plan be- 
 fore I completely broke down, and when I told him 
 he gave his permission believing that the sea voyage 
 would do me good. 
 
 95 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 I was sitting in the beautiful and secluded garden 
 of a quaint inn near the Forest of Fontainebleau, fur- 
 nished in keeping with the time of Marie Antoinette 
 and Louis XVI. The hour was nearing that of twi- 
 light, the storm had not broken, and did not for many 
 hours. Suddenly I became conscious of a feeling of 
 overwhelming weight. I was not consciously afraid, 
 but I seemed to be crushed to the earth and wanted 
 someone near me. This was contrary to my usual 
 desire and habit, for I have always been a lonely soul 
 in the sense that human companionship meant prac- 
 tically nothing unless it was that of a definite person- 
 ality, with mental traits and personal characteris- 
 tics which made them a pleasure and comfort to me. 
 These I have met but rarely, not that there are not 
 many such people in the world, but the secluded al- 
 most isolated life I have had to live for many years, 
 in order to keep at my work and make my bread and 
 butter, incidentally achieving my professional repu- 
 tation, has effectually prevented my being thrown in 
 contact with them. 
 
 This feeling of a crushing weight bowing me to 
 the earth, as it were, and associated with a feeling of 
 dread, lasted until the breaking of the stOTm. 
 
 Ever since that time, now thirteen years ago, I 
 
 have always known twenty-four to seventy-two or 
 
 more hours beforehand of the coming of such a storm. 
 
 Sometimes it has been through pain in some one of 
 
 96 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 the larger nerve trunks, sciatic for example, or the 
 branches of the facial nerve, but more often there is 
 no pain but a feeling of intense restlessness, super- 
 posed upon a sensation of some impending disaster. 
 
 Suddenly there comes a sense of peace and quiet 
 again either during waking hours or upon awaken- 
 ing. When this feeling is experienced, I always know 
 that I will find the direction of the wind changed, 
 the elements descending or the sky cleared. I am 
 much more conscious of these elemental disturbances 
 when in the country, in the mountains, by the ocean, 
 than in the city, although I feel them keenly there as 
 well. As for an east wind Mr. Jarndyce of Jarn- 
 dyce, the creation of that clever and accurate ob- 
 server, Charles Dickens, with all his sensitiveness to 
 an east wind, could not appreciate its presence or its 
 coming better or as well as I do. The influence of 
 barometric changes and of electrical storms precedes 
 their coming by varying hours. In both instances it 
 is a matter of my physical condition and resistance. If 
 I am overworn, my nutrition impaired, and subjected 
 to severe stress and strain, it is easier for the dis- 
 turbed atmospheric conditions to be transmitted, and 
 they are felt therefore a longer time preceding the 
 breaking of the storm or definite change. In my 
 palmiest days I am not influenced so long before- 
 hand. That the human brain though not proven acts 
 as a coherer, I can readily believe. Certain I am that 
 
 97 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 under the influence of oncoming electrical storms mine 
 does not function, i. e. discoheres. Under these con- 
 ditions the only thing I can do when I have gone the 
 wearied round of daily duty, is to lie down and go 
 to sleep. It is imperative that I do this. I cannot 
 keep my eyes open, nor think easily and consecu- 
 tively. This is always the worst misfortune that 
 can befall me, for my life is spent in my books and 
 with my pen when the daily round of professional 
 duty is done. The desire for sleep limits itself and 
 I waken to greater comfort, but as a rule feel very 
 unequal until a night's repose has intervened. 
 
 My physician had warned me, that if I did not stop 
 4 work, he could not answer for the integrity of my 
 intellectual centers, and as soon as I could secure 
 suitable accommodation within ten days from this 
 opinion, I sailed for Hamburg. Before the steamer 
 was out of New York harbor, however, the inevita- 
 ble had occurred. It seems to me that every neuron 
 was for the time hors du combat. As for courage, 
 will power, motor ability, all that makes us capable 
 sentient beings, I was temporarily at least without 
 them. I literally grovelled in my mind. I could not 
 eat, never could very much for that matter, could 
 barely dress and undress myself, and had no right to 
 do that even. My head hurt, and my mental anguish 
 was great. No one about me understood what I was 
 suffering, in fact the suffering of the true neurasthene 
 
 98 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 is but little appreciated at any time, not always by the 
 attending physician even. The exhaustion implicated 
 my left cerebral center, as is usually the case. My 
 right leg and arm had no reserve of strength, and a 
 few__moments' effort was enough to bring about a 
 condition of motor inability. The sensation in my 
 right leg from above the knee was as though my stock- 
 ing were constantly slipping down and a few mo- 
 ments' effort aggravated the condition to such an ex- 
 tent that I was confident I should never walk again. 
 
 I arrived in Hamburg no better than when I sailed 
 save in so far as the pure air had been beneficial. Af- 
 ter several days' rest ashore I went on to Cologne 
 and there in the seclusion of my room overlooking the 
 court of the hotel which was abloom with flowers, I 
 stored up a little energy and rested my jaded nerves. 
 Fortunately the hotel cuisine provided food I could 
 eat, and I gained a little strength. One beautiful day 
 early in July I felt so much better that I took the 
 morning steamer up the Rhine. On board I fell in 
 with a charming American man and his wife. They 
 were the first since leaving my physician to under- 
 stand how really ill I was, I did not tell them, they 
 saw it, and were most kindly. They urged me not 
 to attempt to get on to Paris, which was my objec- 
 tive point. But despite my experience of two years 
 previously, I could not believe that sitting in the 
 train to make this journey would be productive of 
 
 99 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 mischief. At any rate I took it, and after forty-eight 
 
 hours in Paris fled incontinently tO' the seclusion of 
 
 the inn referred to at the edge of the beautiful Fon- 
 
 tainebleau Forest. In all my travels at home or 
 
 abroad I have never been a Cook's tourist, but I 
 
 shall always be grateful to their Paris office. I did 
 
 not know the environs of Paris, I was too ill tO' look 
 
 into the matter or to call upon my medical confreres 
 
 to ask for assistance. It was almost impossible to 
 
 command the necessary will power to order a carriage, 
 
 but I did by dint of supreme effort, and managed to 
 
 get to Cook's office. In a few words I told them of 
 
 my need and asked them to recommend me to the 
 
 nearest suburban place to which I could go with the 
 
 least expenditure of energy providing the greatest 
 
 comforts. 
 
 They at once recommended me to the Hotel de la 
 
 Ville at de Londres at Fontainebleau. With them it 
 
 was a commercial matter entirely. To me it seemed 
 
 if not a matter of life and death, one of sanity and 
 
 insanity. From the time that my physician had told 
 
 me that he could not be responsible for the integrity 
 
 of my intellectual centers, if I did not give up my 
 
 "^ work and rest, I had never been able to rid myself 
 
 of the feeling that he meant I would really become 
 
 insane. I assumed that a dementia was the form my 
 
 lack of intellectual integrity was to take. To say that 
 
 I suffered is absolutely inadequate. Mental anguish 
 
 loo 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 is harder to endure than physical pain. I know, for 
 I have suffered both. I had had a very considerable 
 experience in the care of nerve and mental cases and 
 this I constantly reviewed in my mind. Nothing is 
 more prejudicial tO' the recovery of neuronic energy 
 than this ceaseless round of painful thought. The 
 exhaustion of storage batteries or one's neurons is 
 repeated again and again. Self-repression is most 
 harmful and psychical elimination a necessity. Ex- 
 hausting as it has been and prejudicial to being, I 
 have thanked the fates every day for my professional 
 work, and while I have returned from my clinical 
 work worn to the uttermost and gone to it not only 
 with an aching body but often with an aching heart, I 
 have found in my work for others without any pecu- 
 niary relation, a comfort and satisfaction beyond 
 words. Could I have found some less exhausting 
 way of securing the necessary expression of myself, 
 it would have been better for me, but I was in and 
 of the profession and had no choice, had I wished 
 which I did not, but to keep myself abreast with its 
 progress and demands. 
 
 There was never a time when dressed and on my 
 way from my room to the invalid chair in a little 
 court, so to speak, of the hedged in and tree-shaded 
 garden of the Inn, that I did not glance in a pier or 
 glass on the stair landing at my pale, worn and hag- 
 
 lOI 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 gard face, to see if the right side of my face was not 
 drawn out of shape. 
 
 The sense of muscular weakness was so great that 
 it seemed impossible for the integrity of nerve and 
 muscle to be maintained. Sometimes I was not satis- 
 fied until I tried to whistle, not that I had ever been 
 much of a whistler, and had been discouraged in my 
 childhood in my efforts because I was a "girl," but 
 I understood the art. However, I was not always 
 reasurred, nor comfortable, despite the ability to 
 pucker up my lips in suitable fashion and give ex- 
 pression to a diminutive whistle, lacking in force and 
 carrying power, but correct in technique. 
 
 During my stay in this charming Inn I only ate in- 
 doors twice, and then because rain was falling. All 
 my meals were served in a little box-hedged court set 
 apart for me from among the many with their wind- 
 ing and intersecting alleys or paths. These were 
 flower-bordered while trees were everywhere afford- 
 ing grateful shade and seclusion. 
 
 The inn, as is the custom of houses in France, open- 
 ed its kitchen and administrative doors to the narrow 
 cobble-paved street with high walls on either side 
 effectually shielding the house, court, garden and 
 guests from the observation of those passing along 
 the street. It is a custom which I can but feel might 
 be honored more in observance in this country. Here 
 
 we are always in evidence, always posing, there is no 
 
 1 02 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 shutting one's gardengate and Inviting one's soul. We 
 seem never to forget that we are treading the boards. 
 The inn surrounded this quaint garden on one side 
 entirely and partly on another, while the remainder 
 was entirely shut off from the street and neighboring 
 property by high enclosing gardenwalls. In one of 
 these was the gate which was always closed save upon 
 the arrival and departure of guests. Here I spent all 
 my daylight hours save for the early afternoon hours, 
 at which time the sun was very hot when in accord 
 with the custom I retired to my room for a siesta. I 
 did nothing, occasionally read a little very little how- 
 ever for my tired brain was not receptive, but watch- 
 ed as I reclined in my canopy-covered chair, the life 
 of the inn drifting about me. The guests and the ser- 
 vants flitted to and fro for the breakfast and the 
 dejeuner hour, ever and anon the gate bell rang and 
 new arrivals were welcomed by Madame or her cap- 
 able aide, while carriages were announced for those 
 going to drive in the forest, or bent upon other er- 
 rands. Occasionally Madame or her assistant would 
 pause a moment as they were going to and fro after 
 the comfdrt of other guests and the routine care of so 
 large a menage, to give me a kindly encouraging 
 word, but always in French. This restricted conversa- 
 tion, for while I had always known French, I had not 
 been In the habit of talking it, and a momentary effort 
 fatigued me beyond the ability to rest. Some day I 
 
 103 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 would like to go back there and renew my impressions 
 of the place. No ! It would not seem the same, 
 places nor people rarely are. Time and experience 
 change one's points of view and human experience is 
 characterized by mutability. To-day I have a friend 
 who is renewing his impressions of the past in Egypt 
 and then Italy, who has gone back to his remoter 
 past, to drown the memories of a recent past, but I 
 am afraid he will not be wholly successful, for after 
 all wherever we go and whenever we take ourselves 
 with us and if we lack in happiness and content, the 
 experiences thus obtained are proven to be most dis- 
 appointing. But while this is true change of scene 
 and environment is helpful under most circumstances, 
 now and then. 
 
 104 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 "In States of extreme Brain Fag the Horizon is 
 narrowed almost to the Passing Thought." 
 
 Mind. 
 
 "And of their wonted Vigor left them Drain'd, 
 Exhausted, Spiritless, Afflicted, Fallen." 
 
 Milton, Paradise Lost. 
 
 "Great Exhaustion can not be cured with sudden 
 Remedies no more in a Kingdom than in a natural 
 Body." 
 
 Sir H. Wotton, Reliquae. 
 
 MY trip abroad was ill-fated. The sea 
 voyage did me no good, neither did 
 my sojourn on the other side. I gath- 
 ered myself together a bit during my 
 stay in the charming inn near the for- 
 est of Fontainebleau. As soon as I felt that I had 
 the veriest atom of energy my brain began to teem 
 with the many things I wanted to do all in the direc- 
 tion of professional betterment. I felt that I could 
 not return without at least making a bluff at them. 
 
 My expenses by reason of my physical handicap 
 had greatly exceeded former visits and to come back 
 without the accomplishment of my purpose was not to 
 be considered for one moment. All my life I had 
 
 105 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 summoned my courage and will power to my aid, and 
 despite desperate odds had always taken ttie gambler's 
 chance, arriving somehow. I saw no reason despite 
 all my past experience why I should not do it again. 
 I did not realize what I was doing. One does not 
 when it is the precious energy of their neurons that 
 they are lavishly using up. Neither patient nor friend 
 has crossed my path since then nor ever will, without 
 being warned and carefully watched and guarded to 
 the conservation of neuronic energy. 
 
 After two weeks at Fontainebleau I made my 
 preparations to go to Paris preparatory to crossing 
 the Channel to England. I was very lonely and 
 homesick, there were neither English nor American 
 people staying at the inn, although two American 
 young women came one day for dejeuner and after- 
 wards to drive in the forest. This I had been unable 
 to do. The mistress of the inn referred them to me 
 as I reclined in my invalid chair for an answer to some 
 question concerning the Forest of Fontainebleau. I 
 gave them such information as I could, and when all 
 was said and done they asked me if I could bear the 
 fatigue of the drive. I replied that I would gladly 
 risk it for I should regret going away without visiting 
 the forest, that it was such a comfort to hear my own 
 tongue, for while I spoke and understood French, I 
 was like the Scotchman who, when asked if he joked, 
 said "Yes, but I jock with great deffeculty". The 
 
 io6 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 constant thinking necessary to the adjustment of my 
 phrases in French tried me beyond measure. 
 
 The drive was charming, but I became very tired 
 and felt I could never have gone alone. I have often 
 thought of those young women, have wished that I 
 might meet them and express to them once more my 
 sincere appreciation of their thoughtful courtesy. It 
 was the cup of cold water to the wayside wayfarer, 
 the value of which is but little realized in these days 
 of hurry and selfish pursuit of personal happiness. 
 
 Before I left my retreat I managed to creep about 
 the beautiful grounds of the interesting chateau or 
 palace of Fontainebleau. Everything about the 
 chateau appealed to me, as historic sites, buildings 
 and people always do, and I was unwilling to go 
 away without glimpsing its magnificent interior. I 
 got no further than the Gallerie de Henri II or Salle 
 des Fetes. I undertook the visit without a thought 
 of disaster the only thing concerning me was the good- 
 for-nothingness of my right leg. I felt afraid it might 
 weary In well doing before I had saturated my mind 
 with a knowledge of the many points of interest and 
 beauty. But I was utterly unprepared for the sensa- 
 tions I experienced immediately I was within its four 
 enclosing walls. It was one of nameless horror, a 
 feeling as though they were crowding in upon me with 
 crushing force not only upon every side, but from 
 
 above as well. I never was, nor am I In the habit of 
 
 107 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 giving up when I undertake to do a thing. I felt as 
 though I could not remain long enough to attain my 
 purpose, but I tried the old trick of setting my teeth 
 together and saying "I will". It was no use. The 
 sense of dread, horror and impending danger of what 
 I knew not, as well as the increasing helplessness of 
 my right leg was so great that I turned to the door 
 and fled incontinently to the grounds of the chateau. 
 Never shall I forget how wearily I crept down the 
 massive and beautiful Escalier du Fer a-Cheval and 
 how heartbroken I felt. It seemed to me that there 
 was nothing to be gained by trying any longer to keep 
 up the weary struggle for existence. Nol I had no 
 suicidal impulse. I was too down and out for that, so 
 far as nerve energy was concerned. I simply felt 
 hopeless. There was not a ray of light in my horizon 
 — neither towards the dawn, nor the sunset time. 
 No matter how tired I had been in the years of work 
 and effort back of me I was rarely without a desire for 
 achievement and a belief that I would yet more nearly 
 reach my goal. On the other hand I was always able 
 to look towards a quiet sunset time spent as long as 
 strength and ability was mine, which I intended 
 should be as long as I lived in a little professional 
 work, enough to keep me alert and active and to en- 
 able me to give to others out of the fullness of life's 
 rich and varied experience and for the rest with my 
 books and pen. 
 
 io8 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 Two years previously, when I first "sprained my 
 brain," there had come into my life as a patient — 
 a woman of seventy with a charm of personality be- 
 yond words, a depth of humanity and loving kind- 
 ness that was Christ-like, an experience of life varied 
 and rich and a youth that was divine. She was the 
 only guest I entertained under my roof over night, 
 for while I had a care for and of her, she under- 
 stood my need and so met it out of her largesse, that 
 she did not add to my fatigue as most people did. 
 I never felt so rich as when she was with me. After 
 a strenuous day to go down to my library with its 
 soft light all the dear familiar things about me, my 
 white hammock given me by twoi South-American 
 patients, husband and wife, made by South-American 
 Indian women of the cotton they had grown, stretched 
 invitingly before the fire and to find this lovely sil- 
 very-haired, soft-voiced, womanly woman with her 
 dainty head drapery of Fayal lace, always with a 
 book or her writing pad on her knee, and seated in a 
 low, highbacked Spanish chair of two hundred years 
 gone by, gave me a sense of comfort and richness as 
 does not come too often in life. She had an active 
 brain and great versatility and was the widow of a 
 well known literati of this country in the earlier part 
 of the nineteenth century. Her intelligent memory 
 had stored away the fruits of her life's experience. 
 By reason of her sound sense, good judgment, dis- 
 
 109 
 
 8 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 criminating taste and cheerful philosophy she was 
 enabled to bring forth the fruits of all her experience 
 for the good and enlightenment of all with whom she 
 came in contact. To me she was a comfort beyond 
 words, and not the least of her helpful influence was 
 due to the universality of her motherhood. My 
 mother, blessings on her memory, had not meant to 
 me that which my father did, and the charm of this 
 dear woman's motherliness was therefore all the 
 greater to me. She came into my life at the age of 
 seventy and remained cloistered there, so far as I was 
 concerned, until her death at eighty. A few months 
 before her death she sent for me to come to see her 
 in another city, saying "They," referring to her med- 
 ical attendants, "do not tell me, but I read between 
 the lines and I know I have not much longer to stay, 
 and I would like to look into your dear face again 
 before I go. There is also a little professional ser- 
 vice you can render me. May I expect you for the 
 week end?" Dear lady. The service, yes, I ren- 
 dered it, but had I not divined the beautiful thought 
 and kindness back of the enclosed check, I would 
 have preferred to render it without even the remu- 
 neration of traveling expenses. Her loveliness of 
 character, her perfect exemplification of the truth that 
 whom the gods love die young, for that means not 
 young in years of necessity, but young in all the divine 
 attributes of mind and heart whenever they die ap- 
 
 IIO 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTMENE 
 
 pealed to the best that was in me and I promised my- 
 self that despite pain of such constancy and severity 
 that many an unwilling moan was wrung from my 
 lips, despite sleepless nights spent in tossing from side 
 to side, trying to find a position in which I could be 
 comfortable, despite a weariness of body and mind 
 that was well nigh unbearable, and an anguish of 
 despair over the incompleteness of result from my - 
 honest effort, from that time on I would as far as lay 
 within my qualities of heart and mind make myself 
 mean to others as much as she meant tO' me. Many 
 a night when worn and hurt almost to the limit, when 
 I could not sleep and when every nerve and nerve 
 ending cried out with an intolerable agony of pain 
 and I felt so alone in the misery of it all that my eyes 
 would fill with tears, my thought traveled to her dear 
 wrinkled face, so calm and happy and to her cheer- 
 ful helpful influence. Seldom did the thought of her 
 fail to strengthen resolution, and although the condi- 
 tions of my life were such that I could not always rise 
 above them, and weakness and despair were often the 
 controlling influences, still to her I feel I owe so much 
 that I cannot forbear this tribute to her memory. No 
 woman has ever filled her place in my life and never 
 will. There are those who say I mean to them in 
 these ways. In so far as this- is true, their debt is to 
 these memories of my dear gracious lady rather than 
 
 to myself. 
 
 Ill 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 At this juncture, however, there was neither retro- 
 spect nor prospect. It seemed the end of things and 
 days were required to store up enough energy to give 
 me sufficient hope and courage to take my weary way 
 back to Paris. I had but a few weeks that I could 
 absent myself on the other side from my responsibil- 
 ities which were accentuated by reason of trouble, 
 financial loss and illness. 
 
 The journey to Paris required a herculean effort 
 but it was made. Again there followed exhaustion 
 of my forces. By dint of resting the most of the day 
 as well as the night I managed to do a few of the 
 things which took me to Paris. I then went on to 
 London but upon my arrival I had to go to bed again. 
 It was dreary and heartbreaking in the extreme. I 
 was all alone and dependent upon myself for every- 
 thing. I suffer it all again when I know of others 
 who are passing through a similar experience. I tried 
 a West End boarding house, but it was so triste I 
 could not stay. Upon advising with a physician who 
 had entered my life through the medium of corres- 
 pondence only and whom I met personally for the 
 first time I secured a room in a large and beautiful 
 hotel on the Thames Embankment and in the heart 
 of the city, where I could have the quiet and solitude 
 of my bedroom or the grateful diversion of life as it 
 streamed about me. The sun room, though but little 
 radiant for it was London, overlooking the Thames 
 
 112 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 and the many bits of historic interest was a great 
 comfort to me, when I could expend the necessary 
 energy to go there. But much of the day had to be 
 spent in bed utterly helpless and entirely alone. After 
 several days of rest I managed to store up enough en- 
 ergy to take a hansom and call upon two or three 
 medical men in whose work I was much interested.' 
 Following this I was again hors du combat and at 
 last I came to a realizing sense of my condition. My 
 disposition is to be so intent upon whatever concerns 
 me, that my awakenings are apt to be very rude. It 
 was well into August and the date of my sailing was 
 for the twenty-second of the month that I might 
 reach home in time to take up my work the first of 
 September. My fund of common sense and life long 
 experience as well as the impelling necessity made it 
 clear to me that I must get back and try to get well 
 through complete rest in order that I might take up 
 my work again and meet the financial obligations 
 which were increasing daily by reason of my helpless- 
 ness. I went to the tourist office, booking my passage 
 to be transferred to a steamer sailing at an earlier 
 date. I tried to explain my need so as to secure a con- 
 cession from the officials of steamers already over- 
 crowded for the return voyage, but what could they 
 do. Now I know that but then my need was so great 
 that I felt that I should be their first consideration. 
 My lack of self-control — it seems to me that, that 
 
 "3 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 winter, spring and summer there never was a time 
 that my eyes were not full of unshed tears, was so evi- 
 dent that the least word, look, an unspoken thought, 
 would cause them to flow, thereby prejudicing my 
 cause. I knew it but I could not help it. I was help- 
 less and powerless. My right leg, arm, and right 
 facial muscles were weak and served me badly. My 
 head was so tired, there never was a sense of rest. I 
 was profoundly depressed and I ached so wearily 
 from head to foot, and at the same time every part of 
 my body was so exquisitely sensitive to touch that I 
 well nigh despaired. A letter at this juncture from 
 the trained nurse friend of whom I have already 
 spoken helped me once more tO' decision. I secured 
 my passage In a steamer sailing one week earlier than 
 my original date, sacrificing one half of my passage 
 money to this end, wrote her to take no case, to in- 
 struct the caretaker to open my house, to have every- 
 thing ready for my reception, and to stay with me 
 until I was well. She had spent an hour with me the 
 evening before I sailed and helped me in my prepara- 
 tions for the voyage. She said but little, but while 
 caring for me afterwards said "I never saw any one 
 for whom my heart ached as it did for you and I won- 
 dered what that "big doctor" of yours meant by per- 
 mitting you to go on that voyage and alone. You 
 should have been put to bed." 
 
 Dear me, don't I know that now, and did not I 
 114 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 know it before I sailed for home. But the patient is 
 not the one to know it. Whoever is in authority, 
 whether a father as in the case of the man referred 
 to in a subsequent page, a family friend or the phy- 
 sician, must assume the responsibility. For a little 
 time, while still on the other side and on the voyage 
 home I was disposed to blame my physician and to 
 feel unkindly towards him. That soon passed and 
 now in the calm retrospect after all these years, I 
 realize that by reason of my strong will, tremendous 
 courage, I dominated the decision as I know I often 
 do, therefore I can but hold him blameless. 
 
 The voyage was not well borne. I could not eat 
 but again the outdoor life was good for me. I was 
 fortunate in meeting some old acquaintances. Still 
 it was believed I could do more than I did. The hurt 
 of that as I felt it then and as I have felt it during all 
 these years rankles still. So profound was the exhaus- 
 tion of my left motor centres that the loss of strength 
 and the feeling of being paralyzed, extended through- 
 out the entire right side of my body, invading the left 
 after a day of tempestuous seas. No one knew I was 
 coming and even so there was no one belonging to me 
 whom I could have asked save my nurse friend, and 
 I could only hope she was at the house as I had di- 
 rected. Putting aside all pride, I told the custom 
 officer of my weakness and begged him to inspect my 
 little luggage quickly. He did it as promptly as 
 
 "5 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 possible, but if red tape could take cognizance of one's 
 need at such time it would be a saving clause. Never 
 shall I forget that weary ride uptown. The streets 
 were so rough and the reverberations through their 
 canon like depths in addition to the jolting exhaus.ted 
 my little remaining force. It was such a comfort to 
 reach my own threshold again, but it was a very sad 
 home coming. I had left crushed and broken, but I 
 hoped much. All had come to naught. The house- 
 keeper let me in and said the nurse was on my bed- 
 room floor. Before attempting the weary climb up 
 the stairs I went into my office to get my mail. Be- 
 fore the accumulated mail of eight weeks, medical 
 and scientific journals, reprints, letters from far 
 and near, all pregnant with the memory of 
 past effort and future requirement, I fled dis- 
 mayed, taking only one letter from a very 
 dear friend which had just been received and was 
 therefore on top. It seemed good to have it to wel- 
 come me home written as it was by a very busy and 
 earnest man. By dint of holding on to the bannisters, 
 I managed to climb up the stairs to my rooms. It 
 was weary work, however, and left me so wretchedly 
 tired that my friend's cheery voice of welcome was 
 more than grateful. As soon as the greetings were 
 over, I said you are going to stay, are you not, or have 
 you a case? No, she had no case, "but you will not 
 
 need me but a day or two, doctor, and I will stay that 
 
 ii6 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 long." In my inmost soul I knew better, but I was 
 tired of combating the opinions of others as to how I 
 was when I would be better, and what was good for 
 me as I still am. Just two friends have I that under- 
 stand and they have trod and still tread the weary 
 way. I crept about the room putting, with the nurse's 
 assistance, my things away. Before an hour was done 
 I said there was no use, I cannot keep up any longer. 
 She made my bed comfortable, helped me into a negli- 
 gee, in this instance a silk night dress, which a patient 
 who could not pay money had made for me, that my 
 sensitive body need not suffer any more hurt, for in 
 all my busy, hardworked life I had never owned a 
 negligee, just business clothes, and an occasional 
 ■'dress up gown". Words cannot convey to others, 
 unless they have had a similar experience, my appre- 
 ciation of the luxury, the comfort, the peace of my 
 environment again. This was increased by the pres- 
 ence of a faithful, congenial nurse who for years had 
 stood by the bedside of my patients and who had 
 never failed me. She still lives to be called blessed 
 by those for whom she cares. I shall never forget 
 how despite aches, pains, and helplessness, I revelled 
 in all this and also in having my food brought to me 
 at the proper time without any thought or care on my 
 part. It was the beginning of weeks of the closest 
 companionship and beautiful care. To-day, nearly 
 
 thirteen years later, she is as she has been since first I 
 
 117 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 knew her nearly a quarter of a century ago as dear a 
 friend as I have. No other nurse In all my experience 
 with nurses has ever replaced her in my affection and 
 esteem. I told her how I felt I should not have been 
 allowed to go away and said it made me feel as 
 though my physician had not understood my needs 
 and discussed with her the advisability of sending for 
 another neurologist. But when all was said and done, 
 I said No ! I will not call in any one else, he knows 
 my condition and he helped me to pull through hap- 
 pily before and had I been the physician and another 
 the patient I should be better able to care for the 
 case a second time than another. 
 
 A message was therefore sent. This was Saturday, 
 but he was at his country place for the week end. 
 Therefore he did not see me until the following Mon- 
 day. When he came, I was at once reassured and my 
 confidence restored. This was but just, for his pro- 
 fessional attainments were such as to command my 
 respect and his personal characteristics my esteem and 
 confidence. The comfort of feeling his strength back 
 of me was tremendous, and it has never left me in all 
 these years. On the other hand I realize fully how 
 much his cheerful optimism and fund of humor has 
 served my needs. 
 
 He looked me all over, asked a few questions, not 
 many, but I told him in broken sentences and feeble 
 voice of my dreary experience, of my good-for-noth- 
 
 u8 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ing leg and arm, my weakened facial muscles, how I 
 had tried to comfort myself by standing before the 
 glass to see if I could put the muscles of my mouth 
 in shape to whistle, of how during the voyage my 
 whole side had been weak and helpless, and of the 
 last distressing indication of exhausted nerve force, 
 the losing of one and sometimes two toes. 
 
 They would disappear absolutely, so far as sensa- 
 tion of having them was concerned, for hours. I was 
 not worried about them, I was too exhausted to be 
 worried about anything, still it was a comfort to have 
 the nurse come with a fresh hot water bottle, when I 
 called to her that I had lost my toes again. 
 
 I think it was not until after his second or third 
 visit that I summoned up sufficient courage to tell 
 him of the horrible haunting fear I had carried away 
 with me, that had never left me during all the time 
 I was gone, that had been with me ever since the day 
 he told me that, if I did not stop my work at once 
 and get away, he could not be responsible for what 
 would befall me, that my intellectual centers would 
 suffer and that that fear still remained. I finally man- 
 aged to confide to him all this horrible dread. I 
 never had the slightest mental aberration and I went 
 over and over all my experience with mental cases to 
 try to know just exactly what the point of attack 
 would be. The only thing I could see about myself 
 
 was my utter inability to do anythting, tO' see any joy 
 
 119 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 in living, but I did not want to die. It was not a 
 feeling of depression as I had known it both before 
 and since, but of utter lack of interest in everybody 
 and everything. Had I possessed the inherent po- 
 tential a profound melancholia might have been my 
 fate, but I did not. I dragged myself about per- 
 functorily before I sailed, attending to my routine 
 duties, professional and otherwise, and though ut- 
 terly weary and ennuied when the end of the day 
 came, would still perfunctorily drag my weary foot- 
 steps to some nearby hotel for my dinner, hoping to 
 strike a cuisine that would give my flagging appe- 
 tite a little stimulus. It never came, but I kept on 
 trying as the doctor had impressed upon me the ne- 
 cessity of being fed. There is one hotel which I par- 
 ticularly aifected at the time, because it was not far 
 distant from my house, and because the inner court 
 had a fountain and growing plants. These gave my 
 exhausted and wearied senses a momentary refresh- 
 ment, but by the time my dinner was eaten and I 
 was back in an easy-chair in my library, it was all 
 gone, and the pall of inertia, dread and despair had 
 again settled down upon me. I tried to read as was 
 my wont, but there was neither intellectual, emotional, 
 nor spiritual response, just a feeling of having partak- 
 en of husks or of the apples of Sodom and Gomorrah. 
 There was an actual physical sense of utter lack of 
 osmosis, or transfer of liquids through cell mem- 
 
 I20 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 branes in my brain as it were — if one could take cog- 
 nizance of so intimate a physiological process — a feel- 
 ing of intense dryness and aridity. 
 
 That hotel I have religiously avoided ever since. I 
 think nothing would induce me to sit down in that 
 dining room or to partake of a mouthful of food there 
 again. Oh yes ! I would go were there a necessity, 
 but not otherwise. That is one of the lessons I have 
 learned, to avoid the doing of anything not neces- 
 sary, if in the doing painful thoughts and feelings 
 will be awakened. This is in order to conserve my 
 energy for the sake of life's obligation. If however 
 occasion demands I can meet any emergency at any 
 time and place. 
 
 On the other hand my obsession if you will but 
 really it was not, for the doctor had emphatically said 
 "If you do not stop at once and get away, your intel- 
 lectual centres will suffer", in regard to insanity was 
 never discussed. I was too hurt and sensitive at the 
 thought that anything of that sort could befall me, 
 that I would not talk about it just as to-day there are 
 many things I do not speak of even with him, simply 
 because of the neuronic anguish awakened. We skim 
 across thin ice occasionally, but there is always a joke 
 attached so as to appeal to my sense of humor. It 
 has been the saving clause in my life and a rule of the 
 office is to try to keep it in such evidence as to rise 
 above the pathology seeking attention. The only 
 
 121 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTMENE 
 
 thing ever said was in the first instance a positive re- 
 assurance that there was no such danger and then and 
 subsequently a teasing play upon words which would 
 arouse all the fight in me. Gradually this intolerable 
 fear disappeared and while I have been through very 
 much since, it has never recurred. I know within 
 myself that I am not one of those to cross the border 
 line unless from a traumatism. Were I inclined to 
 arterial changes they would be postponed indefinitely 
 by reason of my simple life, but thank heaven I am 
 not. Again — Kismet — I question whether I will ever 
 suffer a head injury that will prejudice my mental 
 health save in being head weary for I have had four 
 serious injuries to my head, no one of which preju- 
 diced my health more than the sunstroke. A medical 
 man, other than my physician in expressing his inter- 
 est and concern, said, "But never mind, doctor, your 
 gray matter has not been interfered with." Even 
 without all these untoward happenings my brain could 
 never have been more alert, active and capable of 
 understanding, but it would have been capable of 
 greater sustained effort than it is. I do not spend my 
 days in repining but in thankfulness for that which 
 the gods have provided. 
 
 Nothing was said as to my fiasco save one day I 
 summoned my courage to my aid and I asked "Why 
 did you let me go, doctor?" He answered "You are 
 the only neurasthene I ever did let go on a journey, I 
 
 122 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 always keep them at home, but to tell you the truth 
 I did not realize how far gone you were." That is 
 the key note. He would have realized more fully, 
 and I would have had to suffer less, had it not been 
 for the symptomatic neurasthene who dominates the 
 field by reason of their greater frequency, their per- 
 sistent pose and often hysterical conditions. The case 
 of an utterly doWn and out, hard-worked physician, 
 whose physician and friends have united in saying 
 "she is all brain and no body" was very different. 
 As to the truth of the above opinion I can say nothing 
 save that my mind has been to me the delight of my 
 life. The conditions and pleasures which have preju- 
 diced its best activities, even the most simple friendly 
 and social diversions, of which the world never knows, 
 created in me only a sense of disgust and dissatisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 123 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 "A Mother is a Mother still, 
 The Holiest Thing alive." 
 
 Coleridge, The Three Graves. 
 
 "Mothers should never die." 
 
 THE first thing I did upon my arrival from 
 my voyage on that morning late in Au- 
 gust just two years from the culmination 
 of my previous but incomplete break, 
 just a "sprain", and five days less than 
 two years from my first visit to my physician, I sent 
 a telegram to my mother announcing my safe return 
 to this side of the water but saying nothing of my 
 health. She always felt happier to know her brood 
 even when they were grown and responsible women 
 were under the same roof with herself, and in this 
 instance on the same side of the Atlantic. I was the 
 only one who had given her this pain, this was my 
 third visit and I was very glad to send her word of 
 my arrival. About the middle of that first week at 
 home with my physician and nurse in attendance, my 
 business man came to see me and I went over all my 
 business affairs with him. I had overdrawn my ac- 
 
 124 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 count and ill as I was I had to decide upon ways and 
 means. Bills for professional work were long over- 
 due but when are they not. At last everything was 
 said and I decided upon my course of action and in- 
 structed him what to do. I had a few dollars cash, 
 my nurse had a few, and our friendship was such that 
 mine was her's and her's mine if need existed. There 
 was no question. It was simply done, without any 
 pose or affectation, just as she met all my needs even 
 to serving me the most delicious sweetbreads prepared 
 in many different ways to my gustatory delight as 
 appetite returned and all made from calves brains 
 bought for a few pennies instead of the more expen- 
 sive luxury. 
 
 From this interview I was left in a much worse 
 condition than when I arrived home. The congestion 
 in the right side of my brain was aggravated and 
 involved the entire hemisphere. I was in great mental 
 and physical pain. Ice caps were kept on my head 
 and my nurse in her anxiety called in another physi- 
 cian who happened to call at the house on business as 
 my own doctor was still at his country place save for 
 his stated hour and day. This man increased her sense 
 of anxiety. To me he meant nothing, just something 
 extremely distasteful to be gotten rid of as many peo- 
 ple. Servants, stenographers and typewriters for ex- 
 ample whom I have had to employ. Just as fast as 
 possible I get rid of them or, if it is necessary to use 
 
 125 
 9 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 their services I use them, burying them meanwhile 
 ten thousand fathoms and more deep in the pool of 
 oblivion. If I am to live my allotted days, fulfill 
 my mission in ife, such people must be as though 
 dead to me. Their vibrations disturb all the beauti- 
 ful harmonies of life. The doctor in question pre- 
 scribed some camphor pills — exactly why camphor I 
 do not know. For that matter doctors write innu- 
 merable prescriptions for innumerable conditions that 
 have absolutely no meaning nor bearing upon the 
 case in question and then prate learnedly of the inex- 
 actness of medical science. In their hands inexact 
 — ^yes — because they have not learned the first fun- 
 damental underlying therapeutic principle. With a 
 well known physician an earnest man and extensive 
 contributor to medical literature I believe it to be "a 
 sin to have therapeutists tell us that therapeutics is 
 'a confusion' today and to have things as they are, 
 when we know what therapeutics means guaged from 
 the standpoint of human suffering." 
 
 The next day my own physician came. When the 
 nurse told him of my condition of the day before, of 
 the heart disturbance, the pain in my head, my tem- 
 perature, he asked when she had finished what the 
 doctor gave me. I told him, camphor. Instantly 
 came the quizzical smile and joke which I so much ap- 
 preciated and had learned to watch its coming, "what 
 for, to keep off the moths ?" I was pretty ill for some 
 
 126 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 days as well as exhausted. Saturday at midnight one 
 week from my arrival I heard the door bell. The 
 nurse was in an adjoining room. I called to her ask- 
 ing if she would mind answering it. She at once went 
 down and although she returned promptly, it seemed 
 to me that it took a long time to receive the message 
 and come up two flights of stairs. When she came 
 up she had a telegram in her hand which she opened 
 and went to the dressing table light to read. Stand- 
 ing motionless she put it back in the envelope but said 
 nothing. I waited a moment or two and then said, 
 "You may as well tell me, I know what it is." She 
 then read a message from one of my sisters, saying 
 "mother ill, please come." I knew before she told 
 me. My mother had not been entirely well. There 
 was nothing to do but to dictate a message of "love 
 and sympathy, too ill to travel." It was the first they 
 knew of my illness. I told the nurse where she would 
 find the nearest telegraph office and between midnight 
 and the first morning hour she slipped out quietly to 
 send it. It seemed very strange that I who had al- 
 ways been so active and energetic had been the one 
 upon whom demands were made in sickness, suffering 
 and trouble, should be lying all alone in that big 
 house helpless for all practical purposes. There was 
 no fretting nor moaning, no expression of grief nor 
 interest. I was too utterly down and out for that. 
 The remainder of the night passed somehow and the 
 
 127 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 morning dawned. I was as usual awake with the 
 dawn. The nurse came in as the door bell rang again. 
 Once more she went to answer it and once more I 
 waited what seemed an interminable time. It was as 
 I knew another telegram. She opened it, standing by 
 my bed side and read, "mother died at midnight." 
 With the reading of this message my body slipped 
 away from me entirely. It was as though I had no 
 body nothing but a head. All consciousness of my 
 physical self disappeared absolutely. The batteries 
 were exhausted and for a time there was no communi- 
 cation. As the effect of the shock passed I gradually 
 stored up sufficient neuronic energy to establish com- 
 munication again with the rest of my body, but con- 
 tinued for many days to lose my toes. I did not fret 
 do not recall having wept — just lay there quietly 
 thinking vaguely how the old home was broken and 
 wondering how they were all bearing it. I also vague- 
 ly wondered if they would take her back to my child- 
 hood's home to lay her by my father, sister and 
 brother. In my mind I relived my father's illness, 
 death and funeral services. Even now it seems it 
 must have happened only yesterday. There had been 
 days of pain and suffering, physician friends had come 
 and gone all of them in the village, for my father was 
 respected and beloved, every measure had been ex- 
 hausted, but he lay dying. I was called in to bid him 
 goodbye. He was gasping for breath — a pneumonia 
 
 128 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 — and moving his hands restlessly back and forth as 
 though fanning the air. There was no merciful oxy- 
 gen stored then to be used. Our home was built as a 
 typical New England house with its brick oven in the 
 kitchen, as well as the kitchen range, and a great set 
 copper boiler, while contiguous wood house and work- 
 room were equipped with my father's work bench 
 where he loved to recreate and where I laboriously 
 wrought out of bits of pine board with plane, saw and 
 hammer furniture for the houses of mine and my 
 sisters dolls. The house was filled with physicians, 
 family friends and neighbors. Some one of the family 
 friends, my grandmother I think had prepared the 
 weekly baking of home made bread. It was much 
 needed with all the guests there were in the house, 
 and there was no village baker. It had been placed in 
 the brick oven, but in the absence of my mother there 
 was no one who understood how to care for or re- 
 move it. Some one said to call me that I knew. I 
 was not quite fourteen. Intent upon its care I went 
 to work, but before I had finished a hand was laid 
 upon my arm and I was taken away to join my mother 
 and sisters because my father's life was ended. Why 
 is it that one must for the time end all one's duties and 
 suspend one's relations to life and its interests, when 
 the life of a dear one goes out. It is so unwise to cut 
 one off from all the daily homely duties which after 
 
 all often serve to prevent despair. The feeling of a 
 
 129 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 friend of mine upon the death of his wife to whom 
 he was devotedly attached, that he was the one to take 
 her in his arms and place her at rest in her grave, is 
 much more nearly right, it seems to me. But I went 
 to complete the group, the widowed wife and mother 
 with six daughters, the youngest almost a baby. On 
 the following Sunday my father was buried. With 
 the tolling of the church bell, our pet dog began his 
 utterly mournful heartbroken cry. Know — of course 
 he knew that his beloved master was gone. To this 
 day I see the long procession wending its way through 
 the village streets to the cemetery where my little 
 brother lay. Not carriages — yes, some — ^but what 
 meant more, every description of pioneer and farm 
 wagon, even to the ox cart. The owners of all were 
 there to show respect to his memory and to tell of the 
 great love they bore him. If the honors paid after 
 death are worth while, then give me the tribute of 
 affection, esteem, confidence and respect which the 
 village and countryside pays the finest expression of 
 a medical man's life, the country practitioner. I would 
 be glad to know, did it make any difference that my 
 body was to be followed to its last resting place by a 
 gathering of such sincere and rugged souls and not 
 perfunctorily cared for by paid hirelings. And so he 
 was laid to rest in the forest embowered cemetery, 
 near the homes of the people he had cared for, to one 
 
 130 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 of whom his last professional service was rendered 
 that cost him his life. 
 
 I lay in my bed quietly recalling all this and pic- 
 turing how the many friends of my mother from the 
 home she sought after my father's death in order that 
 her daughters might have better educational advan- 
 tages than were possible in the village near where we 
 were born, would accompany her and my sisters, how 
 they would be joined by family friends still living 
 near the old home and by many who had known my 
 father. It was a beautiful day and afterwards I 
 knew, but not for a long time as my physician did not 
 let the nurse read me the home letters that at sunset 
 time they left her with rose-crowned coffin, seventy- 
 six American beauty roses, the number of her years 
 and the offering of her youngest sister to rest by him 
 who had won her heart so many years before and 
 with whom she had borne all the privations and toil 
 of the pioneer physician's life. To all who knew her 
 she was blessed and no matter who came into her life, 
 they soon fell as those before them into the habit of 
 speaking of her always as mother . 
 
 There was but little said by my physician or my- 
 self — just a little warmer hand clasp and the quiet re- 
 mark, with a suggestion of his usual smile, "Mothers 
 should never die." Later on when stronger, the nurse 
 who had known my mother and family well, told me 
 of the letters from home, of the messages sent me, 
 
 131 
 
Autobiography of a neurasthene 
 
 but It was many weeks before the letter telling me of 
 her short illness, her peaceful dropping to sleep and 
 of the last sad rites, fragrant with the loving kindly 
 acts of her lifelong friends, among them the father 
 of the little baby whose cradle I used to watch and 
 wonder if I could revenge myself on him because of 
 his mother's treatment of me as child at school, as 
 well as those of later years. Of these one said to my 
 sister: "Your mother must have thought beautiful 
 thoughts to have such a sweet happy look remain on 
 her face." The wealth of white pinks and tea roses, 
 the parting thought of my sisters for one who dearly 
 loved flowers and every thing beautiful were dropped 
 gently into the evergreen lined grave by my little 
 nephews, her grandsons, one of whom crept close to 
 his mother's side, whispering softly: Oh, see mama, 
 the grave is all mossy." How much more appropri- 
 ate, more beautiful, to await the transformation of 
 energy, through which our bodies must pass in so 
 simple and natural an environment, than in casket 
 after casket of the least perishable materials placed 
 within the hermetically sealed tomb or vault, the ex- 
 pense of which is enormous and is often met, by per- 
 mitting the physician who has sacrified time and 
 health in his care during life to wait weary months 
 for his much needed honorarium. 
 
 132 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 "It does not matter so long as you do not hate the 
 other." 
 
 THE late fall, winter and spring following 
 my complete fiasco, was a very busy one 
 in its professional relation both in my 
 office, at my clinic and in my lecture 
 room. They were filled to the brim. 
 The doctor wisely permitted me to go to my office for 
 two hours each morning as soon as I had stored up a 
 sufficient reserve of nerve force in order that I might 
 sit and direct the care of my patients. I was not per- 
 mitted to do any actual work after my consultation 
 with the patient had led to the formation of an opin- 
 ion other than in the direction of his or her care. I 
 ha.d a good assistant in the person of a very capable 
 man, the son and brother of dear friends. He served 
 my needs off and on not only in such ways, but in 
 many an act of brotherly kindness from the year pre- 
 ceding my crash until his death from acute Bright's 
 disease seven years later. I was not allowed to see 
 him during his illness, although in his delirium he 
 constantly called me by name asking where I was. 
 The attending physicians one of whom had been my 
 
 133 
 
AUl'OBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 student and the other for whose mother I had cared 
 professionally as well as my own physician, refused 
 their consent to my visiting him, because they all felt 
 that the effect upon me would be disastrous. The last 
 time I saw him in my office just a short time before his 
 illness, he told me of his suffering, saying: "I cannot 
 stand it any longer, doctor; another night like last 
 and I shall get out of it." The dearest son, brother 
 and friend in his late thirties, had shipwrecked his life 
 when still quite young and long before he studied 
 medicine by marrying the wrong woman. This hap- 
 pens too often. Marriage after all is just like life — a 
 gamble — and one takes the gambler's chance. Those 
 who win recognize the truth of this just as well as 
 those who fail. 
 
 When they told me he had finished life's battle, I 
 sent beautiful fragrant flowers and went despite my 
 utter lack of reserve strength to comfort the mother 
 and sisters my patients as well as friends, but I was 
 not permitted to go to his home, nor to attend the last 
 sad rites. For that matter I had to hold myself aloof 
 from death all these years. No I I am not afraid to 
 die nor of it, but always there has been the need must 
 and my nerve force could not be trifled with in any 
 way. I have missed and still miss him sadly, for I 
 had looked forward by reason of my seniority as well 
 as his good qualities to his ultimately taking and car- 
 ing for the practice which I had built up. 
 
 134 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 Lying on a couch in my office with him for my 
 assistant to take all steps, I began my work. As energy 
 increased I kept my entire office hour, the conven- 
 tional one from nine to one often going over until two 
 o'clock. But I lacked in content and one day when 
 the doctor came in response to his various queries, I 
 said "I am so ennuied, doctor, that life is insupport- 
 able." With a prevision for which I have always 
 been grateful, he said after a little kindly talk, "very 
 well, you may resume your clinic and teaching next 
 week". What a joy I felt that once more I could 
 enter the arena. Up to this time I had been obliged 
 by his direction to go to my bedroom and lie there 
 quietly for the earlier afternoon hours, recharging 
 my exhausted storage cells. Towards four to five 
 j'clock I made my toilette in a lovely soft cashmere 
 leagown of becoming color, and went to my library. 
 There upon my return from my first clinic day I 
 "ound a hammock, the money for which my sister had 
 sent while I was so ill to buy fruit and flowers, but 
 vhich my sensible nurse refused to use in that way as 
 fruit she said I had to provide for myself, flowers I 
 could do without, and the hammock I needed. In 
 collusion with my assistant it had been purchased and 
 stretched diagonally across my library a room of 
 noble proportions, just in front of the fire place, that 
 I might bask in the warmth, glow and cheer of my 
 grate fire. 
 
 135 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 There I spent the little time that was left of the 
 afternoons of my clinic, almost all of the four other 
 afternoons and all my evenings absolutely idle, save as 
 I have indicated. There the few choice spirits, the 
 dear ones came to me for a moment or two, some- 
 times later on when stronger for an hour or more. 
 They expected naught of me, I did not have to get 
 up to talk unless I felt equal to the effort. This life 
 might and often does make one inordinately selfish 
 and I said one evening to a scientific friend who often 
 came and whom I knew well: "Do you know I have 
 grown very selfish since all this happened." "No," 
 he replied, "you have only learned the art of self- 
 defense." Dear me, it is an art I have had and still 
 have to practice. But the saving clause in my case 
 was actively in evidence always. It is impossible to 
 minister to the needs of others as a conscientious phy- 
 sician must and become very selfish, especially when 
 from eight to ten hours a week are given to the needs 
 of those who come without money or price as in dis- 
 pensary work. Sometimes I animadvert upon my 
 profession because of their many failures in relation 
 to their patients, but more times I bow down to the 
 Christ-like expression of very much of their profes- 
 sional work and relation to human needs. That they 
 fail sometimes should never — ^unless there is culpable, 
 ignorant and criminal conduct — ^be charged up 
 against them. They are not infallible — no one is, 
 
 136 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 and "human experience, like the stern lights of a ship 
 at sea, illumines only the path which we have passed 
 over." Fundamental training no matter how thor- 
 ough and good never takes the place of this experi- 
 ence. 
 
 Later on my first hammock gave place to the white 
 one from South America. One evening, the one of 
 the doctor's weekly visit, found me there as usual. 
 It was my natal day. I have a foolish habit of never 
 ignoring my milestones, although each one takes me a 
 year further on in life's journey and a year nearer the 
 end of all that I love so much. He came to my ham- 
 mock as usual to greet me, and I saw when he passed 
 the intervening library table that he held in his hand 
 a magnificent bunch of American Beauty roses. In- 
 voluntarily my hands went up and I cradled them in 
 my arms with an exclamation of delight. It seemed 
 incredible that such a busy professional man could 
 take the time and the thought to bring me a "posy". 
 My hard matter of fact life and relation to human 
 needs, which justly or unjustly to myself I recognized y 
 as greater than mine own had resulted in an almost 
 complete deprivation of all the little attentions and 
 devotions which women love. Perhaps this was my 
 fault for I was intensely and most earnestly devoted 
 to my profession. My practice grew, and borrowed 
 moneys were gradually returned. In this I had great 
 satisfaction and comfort. 
 
 137 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 But as the busy months slipped by, I grew unut- 
 terbly weary. Spring came, bringing with it the 
 recognition on the part of my physician and myself 
 that I would have to have a vacation for this one 
 summer whatever happened in the future. 
 
 When I told him that a patient wished me to go 
 with her and her family in order to help her back 
 to health to a private club in the Adirondacks for 
 July and August, he at once encouraged my going. 
 One morning in June I was much less well and my 
 exhausted irritable heart muscle was acting badly, he 
 came in during my office hour to see me. I received 
 him in my consultation room instead of the library, 
 as patients were waiting to be seen and cared for. 
 After looking me over, the question came up as to 
 whether I had given my patient an answer. To this 
 I replied that I had not, and when he rather urged it 
 upon me, out of the depths of my pathological sub- 
 mergement, I replied that it seemed to me, if I did 
 it, I should hate my sex as long as I lived. To which 
 came the prompt retort, "It does not matter so long 
 as you do not hate the other." However, it was ulti- 
 mately decided that I should go because it meant less 
 financial strain than would otherwise have obtained. 
 Still there were several talks before it was fully de- 
 cided, for I did not want to go, I was very weary 
 and at that time I had not grown so accustomed to 
 unutterable fatigue as since and in my innermost self 
 
 138 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 I rebelled. Days of rain and dampness accentu- 
 ated all my weariness and pain, as it always does, 
 for I am essentially a child of the sun. He came in 
 one afternoon during all this gloom and wetness. The 
 answer had to be given to my patient. He still en- 
 couraged my going and finally in desperation at the 
 thought of continued professional care, I said "we 
 must be sure to do' the right thing this summer, doc- 
 tor, for we made a mistake last summer," to which 
 he promptly replied: "Yes, I made two but I buried 
 the other one". My sense of humor came to the front 
 again, I laughed and said : "Very well, I will go." 
 
 With the first of July I went to the Adirondacks, 
 finding the patient and her family as arranged. The 
 journey nearly killed me, the heat on the train was 
 well nigh insupportable; the stay at the little hotel 
 from which I was to take the stage the next morning 
 for the lake bordered and mountain-environed club 
 house far from comfortable while the cuisine offered 
 nothing to tempt my appetite. However, it was all 
 done, and I arrived in the late afternoon after the 
 drive through the beautiful mountain land with all its 
 varied interest in time to see the sunset's reflected 
 glory mirrored in the bosom of the mountain lake. 
 
 I experienced the delicious sense of community with 
 my kind from the warmth and cordiality of the greet- 
 ing of my patient and her family. After refreshing 
 myself with necessary ablutions and toilette my even- 
 
 139 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ing meal which had been kept after the usual time for 
 me on account of the lateness of my arrival was 
 served. While eating but little I not only was but am 
 absolutely dependent upon quality as well as regu- 
 larity. I had always had it. Impaired appetite and 
 weakened digestion made it necessary. Cold unin- 
 viting food prejudiced my digestion for days, weeks 
 even, and still would if I permitted myself to be 
 placed where I should have to partake of it. But 
 the years of handicap have given me independence of 
 thought and action, so far as these material things are 
 concerned, as experience has taught me that I can 
 not afford a different course. My room was a great 
 disappointment as it was on the first floor and so 
 placed as to receive but little sunshine. I consoled 
 myself, however, by the thought of the long beautiful 
 hours I should spend out of doors when my daily pro- 
 fessional duty was done, but I did not reckon with 
 the days and days of downpour, characteristic of 
 mountain and lake countries in wet seasons. Scarcely 
 a day but it rained, and it was the wettest rain I had 
 ever known. Everything dripped with moisture, the 
 skies, the trees, while an enveloping dampness was 
 everywhere. We scarcely ever went on a nearby pic- 
 nic excursion in the woods or for a row on the beau- 
 tiful lake, but it rained, rained; while all the creep- 
 ing, biting creatures that inhabit the Adirondack 
 
 woods in July were most actively in evidence. Mos- 
 
 140 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 quitos, gnats and the familiar little black fly, all were 
 there and all conspired to make my sensitive body 
 and nerves hurt afresh. Then there were the hosts 
 of creeping things that came out suddenly from under 
 the little growing things, worms and beetles galore, 
 as well as snakes. I had known all these creatures 
 intimately from my childhood up, had never been 
 afraid of them, preferred snakes to worms and had 
 never been willing to impale the latter when I had 
 spent idle hours on the banks of an inland stream, a 
 mountain brook, or off the rocky coast of Maine, 
 upon my fish hook. They were so cold and soft that 
 they gave me a sense of having touched some unclean 
 and dead thing. This is an impression which has 
 remained, and at one stage of my prolonged conva- 
 lescence was so great that to find a worm in the nuts 
 which I sometimes had served for my desert, threw 
 me into a perfect terror. I recall one evening, the 
 regular one for my physician's weekly visit, he was 
 very late and my faithtful "Ti" had served my din- 
 ner. I knew by my growing weakness and depres- 
 sion that I needed food. Nuts were served that even- 
 ing and inside one of them which I took up to eat 
 was coiled a big fat white worm. Involuntarily I 
 threw it from me, sprang up from the table, shiv- 
 ering with terror, and caring nothing for the com- 
 pletion of my dinner. • For a moment I walked back 
 
 and forth in the library adjoining my dining room 
 
 141 
 10 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 but shrinking from going into the latter with a 
 horrible dread because that grewsome thing was 
 crawling somewhere on the floor. I rang the bell, 
 ordered the doors closed, the table cleared, told "Ti" 
 to find and remove a nut I had dropped on the floor, 
 sat down at my ever-ready writing table and formu- 
 lated my wish that when I died my body should be 
 cremated, signed it, and when the Doctor came as 
 he did later, asked him to please sign the statement 
 as a witness, which he did without question when I 
 told him what had led me to do it. That paper re- 
 mains with my business papers to this day, for I suf- 
 fered much mental anguish in relation to the processes 
 through which our bodies pass, when my dear gra- 
 cious lady of whom I have written died. At the time 
 of my mother's death my horizon was limited to the 
 passing thought, and I did not trouble about these 
 things. 
 
 It is true that I was very worn and exhausted at this 
 time, but such conduct as this had never been my cus- 
 tom. I did not like the little reptiles, but I ignored 
 them when well. With exhaustion of neuronic en- 
 ergy, will power was more or less in abeyance, and 
 untoward impressions and happenings could not be 
 met in a calm and rational manner. Snakes I have 
 always known. I fancy most of us have since the 
 Garden of Eden. I mean this literally, however, for 
 the pioneer prairie home of my childhood was in- 
 
 142 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 fested with snakes and chief among them I recall the 
 inoffensive garter snake, the rattlesnake, and the im- 
 mense black snake like the great cowhide whip of the 
 drivers of vehicles of primitive constructions which 
 were drawn by oxen. Rattlesnakes abounded, and 
 they were killed every day in the garden, orchard or 
 on the farm. Often when hunting strawberries or 
 gathering wild flowers, I heard their warning rat- 
 tle, and young as I was I knew that to advance or 
 interfere meant danger. But they did not trouble 
 me, nor did I dislike them as I did worms, while to 
 the bete noire of most women, mice I paid no atten- 
 tion whatever; did not mind but enjoyed them and 
 their play. 
 
 In my exhausted condition bugs and creeping 
 things troubled me. It was when I retired, that 
 the worse befell for my bed perfectly suited to 
 the sportsmen and those in health, whether men or 
 women was impossible for me. I tried my best to 
 get used to it but it was so hard bumpy and uncom- 
 fortable that I hurt and ached all the time in every 
 nerve trunk and could not sleep. An effort was 
 made after a few nights to make it more comforta- 
 ble for me but the necessary means were lacking. The 
 first days slipped into a week, then into two weeks, 
 and finally I almost never slept going to sleep per- 
 haps at midnight and wakening at three or four 
 o'clock in the morning, while to close my eyes was to 
 
 143 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 see all the bugs, spiders and creeping things of infi- 
 nitely greater magnitude of proportions and horrible 
 appearance than in reality. It was a regular case of 
 what I am in the habit of terming "jim jams", a con- 
 dition which has made me very tolerant of the ter- 
 rors of patients even those of the alcoholic. The 
 altitude was more than my weakened circulatory ap- 
 paratus could bear, my head ached constantly, I had 
 no peace, nor joy; was just "pretty miserable thank 
 God." The professional work taxed my little strength 
 and became intensely repugnant to me. I wrote my 
 physician of all these things, saying if he felt that 
 the environing conditions were prejudicial and the 
 altitude bad, tending to increase my cerebral conges- 
 tion, to write, expressing his opinion and saying what 
 I should do as I did not wish my patient to think I 
 was leaving her unnecessarily. She knew that I was 
 far from well, and she needed me much less than I 
 needed rest and care. The answer came promptly, 
 directing me to come home at once. This I did and 
 after a few days in the city went to the quaint little 
 village of Siasconset at the extreme end of Nan- 
 tucket to spend the month of August. 
 
 The journey was exhausting, but the Sunday af- 
 ternoon of my arrival was divinely beautiful and the 
 air of that ocean environed land at its far eastern and 
 southern extremity, the most delicious I had ever 
 
 144 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 breathed. Not even on ship board had it seemed so 
 pure and life giving. 
 
 I spent the month of August and the first week of 
 September there, taking after the first three days' of 
 hotel discomfort a furnished cottage for the balance 
 of the season and in addition to rest playing at home- 
 keeping, while incidentally in order to gratify my de- 
 sire for achievement as well as to meet a duty I com- 
 pleted a piece of writing. 
 
 It was a beautiful restful holiday. No I I was not 
 always equal — far from it — and some days it was 
 with difficulty I found my way to the beach, but when 
 I could not, there was my hammock on the verandah, 
 the life-giving ocean breezes and radiance was the 
 rule. August was compensating for July. Of the 
 people I met a few kindred souls were cultivated, but 
 I found that Nature, the home-keeping, my books 
 and writing sufficed for the most part. 
 
 Towards the end of my stay, the first days of Sep- 
 tember, there were severe storms and wrecks. These 
 with the never failing whale prevented the possibility 
 of monotony. As I sat by my drift wood fire in the 
 evening reading one of Stevenson's stories of ship- 
 wreck and murder the roar of the ocean, the breaking 
 of tremendous tides along the shore and the sweep of 
 the wind over all enveloped and environed me, pro- 
 viding most a realistic atmosphere. There was also 
 suggested by the characteristic coloring of the flames 
 
 145 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 of the burning sea saturated drift wood the beautiful 
 and fairy like tales of chemical science. Sometimes 
 the tragedy of shipwreck in connection with the 
 tumult in nature depressed me greatly, but quite as 
 often in my thought I was ready to do battle with the 
 life-saving boat and crew for those who were endan- 
 gered. 
 
 The next day in my idle lounging on the beach 
 every bit of wreckage no matter how trivial brought 
 me a message from the sea. 
 
 I came home very much refreshed and looking bet- 
 ter, but of course with very limited reserve which 
 under the pressure of work was daily exhausted. It 
 proved to be really the only out and out rest and holi- 
 day I have had in all these years. I have been away, 
 yes ! but every time there has been a professional duty 
 attached and as told in a subsequent chapter a business 
 as well as professional duty. But I do not repine, 
 only of this I am sure that this summer the most rest- 
 ful and enjoyable conditions which I can command 
 shall environ me. Just now desire takes the form of 
 a simple furnished cottage, not too remote from the 
 heart throb of the big city to which I am accustomed, 
 not too isolated topographically, nor yet gregariously, 
 where I can see the first of the dawn, the rising and 
 the setting sun, the dew on the grass, the star-lit night, 
 watch the clouds drifting idly above me, listen to the 
 
 song of the birds, feel the fresh untainted air all about 
 
 146 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 me, busy myself with simple "homey" duties, cook 
 even if I wish, play I am a woman not a doctor, read, 
 write, have my music, lie in my hammock or walk and 
 drive as conditions are best met, and best of all bring 
 the few friends whom I love so dearly and who meet 
 my needs so well about me for friendly communings. 
 Never before in my life have I wished for all these 
 things more or as much. That this is true, is due to 
 the fact that a few years since I had to give up the 
 housekeeping in order that neuronic energy might 
 encompass all other duties. I miss the home feeling 
 it gave me beyond words and can not for one moment 
 enter into sympathy with the hotel and apartment 
 dweller. Just a little house and a tiny acreage with 
 content and happiness environing me is my heart's 
 desire. 
 
 147 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 "You shall find them Wise on the one Side, and Fools 
 on the Other." 
 
 Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy. 
 
 "Think with the other Side." 
 
 I HAVE never in all these years been allowed 
 even if I would have done so had I been left 
 to care for myself entirely, to get notions 
 about any disability I possessed. On the con- 
 trary, I have often felt that I was to be com- 
 pared with a young robin in its nest being urged to fly 
 by its ambitious mother, and as occasionally happens 
 even when following nature's laws undue urgency has 
 resulted disastrously. My physician believed, as I do 
 myself, that it was best to make diligent effort. Some- 
 times disaster has come. The neurasthene who gets 
 reasonably well on his feet is after all best equipped 
 for life's battle. The hardest cases I have had to 
 take care of professionally are those who have ac- 
 quired the rest cure habit. I have a physician under 
 care now, this time a woman, who regrets piteously 
 that she was not given something to feed her intelli- 
 gences instead of an unqualified rest cure. Her con- 
 
 148 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 dition at no time approached that of mine, but to-day 
 I am infinitely stronger and more self-reliant than 
 she. I am a constant surprise to all my friends and 
 patients because of the amount of work I do. Every- 
 body thinks I do it easily, but that is far from being 
 true. When it comes to work with my pen once I g6t 
 into the thought or swing of it according as it is strict- 
 ly scientific or more along these lines, if not disturbed, 
 I work readily and happily. 
 
 The years following the complete exhaustion of my 
 supreme nerve centres were spent in hard work dur- 
 ing the office hours and in my clinic days, but almost 
 every moment other than the need of being in evi- 
 dence at the one or the other had to be spent in the 
 quiet of my own home usually save for a siesta, in my 
 library where my white hammock was invitingly 
 stretched before a beautiful grate fire of anthracite. 
 In a negligee of the softest fabric an actual necessity 
 for I was sensitive and hurt all over and with the 
 Sybarite would have been conscious if there had been 
 even a crumpled rose leaf under me, I alternated be- 
 tween the big Morris chair and the hammock. My 
 hands would drop languidly by my side after a few 
 moments' attempt to hold a paper, magazine or book, 
 and I simply drifted. The servants would come for 
 an order or my nurse friend drop in occasionally for a 
 little chat, but as a rule my quiet was rarely disturbed 
 
 in the afternoon and but little in the evening then 
 
 149 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 only by the few friends so near and dear, whose spirits 
 were of the finest and most congenial. This sounds 
 self-indulgent, but it was not for the mornings and 
 three afternoons were spent in the hardest kind of 
 work and I had no choice in the intervening after- 
 noons and all evenings but to lay down my arms. 
 
 One evening at the usual hour of his professional 
 call on his way home to dinner the doctor had risen 
 to go, I left my hammock and at the same time was 
 responding to what he said. I was very tired and it 
 was my dinner hour. Although eating but little, it 
 was necessary to have that little at the moment it was 
 due and after the first few weeks I have not at any 
 time been in the habit of pouring down at more or 
 less frequent intervals milk, raw eggs or fermented 
 milk. I could only take care of so much food, and my 
 good was prejudiced by adding a fraction of an ounce 
 to my regime just as it was by permitting the intimate 
 presence of others than my closest friends for short 
 visits, by staying up after my regular hour for retir- 
 ing or by expending a fraction of a foot pound of 
 energy after the necessary work for the day was done. 
 This evening I could not catch my thought and there 
 was an indescribable sensation of exhaustion and dis- 
 tress in the part of my brain which had been most 
 actively congested. Involuntarily my hand went to 
 that part of my head when the doctor said with his 
 reassuring smile, "Think with the other side". I 
 
 150 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENfi 
 
 have had to do it many times and I have never allow- 
 ed any part of it to fall into disuse. It would have 
 been very easy all along the way because of the ex- 
 haustion and fatigue which gripped me. 
 
 One afternoon while at my clinic with physician 
 students all about me and every room full of patients, 
 I was taken very ill with an intolerable distress in my 
 head accompanied by a severe congestive chill. It so 
 happened that my nurse friend had dropped in that 
 afternoon. She left me with my most capable assist- 
 ant, the son and brother of dear friends to whom I 
 have referred, saying she would go to her apartment, 
 leave necessary instructions as to her whereabouts, 
 and also a message for the doctor to see me and then 
 come to me for the night. 
 
 My assistant got a carriage and accompanied me 
 home. I shook so violently that my tired sensitive 
 body hurt all over and I was utterly worn. The re- 
 lief of being met at my own door in response to the 
 bell, by a flash of light and my capable Japanese ser- 
 vant "Ti" of blessed memory, for so I always think 
 of him the first and best in rather an extensive experi- 
 ence with them, was great. He immediately lighted 
 the library fire while I was helped to my hammock. 
 The comfort and luxury of it all. For just a little to 
 be watched and tended, to bask in the warmth and 
 glow of the fire and a few minutes later to have the 
 comfort of a favorite tipple — a cup of freshly boiled 
 
 151 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 hot water. It seemed worth while to have suffered 
 for the sake of all this comfort. I had had but little 
 experience of being cared for in these ways, for I al- 
 ways had cared for others. In their rare occurrence 
 they were like angels visits few and far between and 
 appreciated to the full. I remember experiencing the 
 same sensation as a child when I had the measles, 
 after very excruciating earache to which I was more 
 or less prone and in convalescence from an attack of 
 membranous croup which would have cost me my life 
 but for my mother's (my father was absent on pro- 
 fessional duty) presence of mind. 
 
 In due time the nurse returned, I was made com- 
 fortable in a negligee, and a little later the doctor 
 came. The story was told, my irritable heart action 
 noted, a prescription written, a humorous remark as 
 well as a reassuring comforting word and I was or- 
 dered to bed. I kept my office hours as usual the next 
 morning although pretty wan and worn. But I did 
 it and have every day of my life other than some 
 Sundays and the few weeks I was kept in bed. This 
 has been true through seven or eight successive at- 
 tacks of grippe, my arch enemy. Because of my 
 lowered vitality and resistance I fell an easy prey 
 to any grippe microbe wandering my way. Several 
 times I was violently ill, chills, temperature, malaise 
 and pain requiring a long weary pull to get back to 
 my usual condition. No doubt the attacks would 
 
 152 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 have been much more severe, if I had not lived so 
 quietly, regularly and eaten so abstemiously. There 
 was no chance for the "balling up" of my leucocytes 
 and temperatures were soon controlled. There have 
 been two attacks when if I had not been bom "to be 
 killed with a club" I might have finished the game. 
 The first one of these the doctor regarded seriously, 
 while in the last one every one save the doctor and 
 myself thought I would die. But there are some of 
 us that never do what is expected of us and I just 
 kept on living. A medical woman friend, another 
 memory out of the past, used always to say to me, 
 "you are like a cat, doctor, you always come down on 
 your feet." But it was not only the sense of utter 
 cerebral fatigue with which I had to contend, and 
 which I have overcome many times, not only by think- 
 ing with the other side, but by calling upon and re-ed- 
 ucating the reserve energy of my cerebral neurons, 
 but with the untoward mental processes characteristic 
 of these cases. 
 
 I had no time to dwell upon them unduly, but they 
 were always present and the never ending round of 
 purposeless thought has worn me more than my work. 
 I never invited it, did every thing to avoid it, but 
 sometimes found it very difficult with my disturbed 
 cerebral circulation to secure perfect control. 
 
 I have said but little as to the neurasthene's mental 
 processes and the disposition to magnify and distort 
 
 153 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 everything in their own minds, the doubts and appre- 
 hensions, obsessions even. They exist and prejudice 
 the individual's well being in every sense. The day's 
 duties are lived over long before they have begun. 
 Matters the most trivial are discussed with oneself, 
 not audibly, but in thought, until the neurons of the 
 supreme centers are tired and worn. There is no 
 normal psychical elimination and the result is the au- 
 tointoxication which comes from this purposeless ac- 
 tivity and ceaseless reiteration. 
 
 I am constantly advised to lie down and do noth- 
 ing — to stay in bed late in the morning. In those 
 ways trouble is apt to come. Energy that is usefully 
 directed usually is productive of good, but energy that 
 is permitted to run to waste or to follow lines of least 
 resistance as in the mountain torrent, may be and usu- 
 ally is productive of mischief to a greater or less 
 extent. This truth I have always recognized, but 
 it was borne in upon me when on my ill fated trip 
 at the time of my complete exhaustion. 
 
 In going from London to Southampton I was 
 placed in a compartment with a very charming group 
 of English people — a gentleman and two ladies — . 
 They were on their way across the Channel and to the 
 picturesque and interesting Brittany country. My 
 appearance was such that the condition of impaired 
 health was easily read without a word from me. It 
 was in this instance. At the usual hour for afternoon 
 
 154 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 tea the travelling hamper was opened and tea was 
 deftly and daintily made by the gentleman, whose 
 appearance bespoke the man who suffered pain. I 
 found later that It was an excruciating sciatica and 
 he at once had all my sympathy, for I had not been 
 without It for nearly three years then. The ladies 
 arranged the thin bread and butter and cakes to the 
 convenience of all. I was at once most hospitably and 
 cordially Invited to share with them a cup of tea and 
 some refreshment. The English people do this sort 
 of thing with a simplicity that gives their hospitable 
 act a charm beyond words. It was not the material 
 food that appealed to me, but the frank expression of 
 hospitality and the gracious manner in which it was 
 given. This led to conversation and without my re- 
 ferring to my illness the gentleman expressed his 
 interest and concern, saying that I looked very ill and 
 weak. To this I simply answered that I was a phy- 
 sician, that I had overdone and had taken the voy- 
 age across with the hope of benefit, but that I was 
 returning in no better condition than when I left 
 home and that I was hastening back to try to get on 
 my feet for my season's work. He replied that It 
 was unfortunate that I felt I must go before ImprovcT 
 ment had been established and that while I needed 
 rest and change sadly, I needed also to have my 
 "brain fed", without that I would make slow pro- 
 gress. I was most forcibly impressed, it was no new 
 
 155 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 truth, but coming as it did from a layman, a stranger 
 on hospitality intent, it seemed to have a new mean- 
 ing. 
 
 During these weary years my effort has con- 
 stantly been to keep my intelligence fed with things 
 other than professional, for neuronic activity has 
 been so long and so strenuously concerned 
 with those matters that I have no choice, 
 but to seek other lines of thought and work in 
 obtaining the necessary pabulum. Fiction is used 
 when exhaustion is so great that neuronic activity is 
 prejudicial, but while this is true, it must have vital 
 thought. Trash will not answer ever. But even so, 
 fiction does not suffice. The best food is that which 
 invites active intelligent interest and the more nearly 
 one's heart and soul, using these terms in their accus- 
 tomed figurative sense, are Implicated in this interest, 
 the better it is for the tired nerve centers. 
 
 That the solar plexus is the seat of what we choose 
 to call soul and the great sympathetic nerve system, 
 that of the moral nature, seems from much personal 
 and clinical observation to be true. Let sordid work 
 take on a personal charm through any of the various 
 channels that brings happy thought, anticipation 
 hope, and later confirmation in realization or the cul- 
 mination of one's hopes and it may be carried on to 
 one's well being, not to their undoing. But on the 
 
 other hand let there be hours and days of hard work, 
 
 156 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 listening only to the woes and miseries of others, 
 spending every atom of electrical force and radiance 
 environed in one's chemical cells, then there is no lift, 
 physiological processes are interfered with, or there 
 is an absolute arrest. The result is disastrous. I 
 have found it especially difficult, because after stren- 
 uous office hours motor ability was not sufficient to 
 encompass change of environment, while exhaustion 
 was so great that carriage exercise required an expen- 
 diture of energy above and beyond my capacity. The 
 effect of overwork without any uplift is always dis- 
 astrously experienced in my abdominal brain and the 
 cerebral centers suffer through that. 
 
 In a very extensive experience in the care of these 
 cases in a private home for them I have invited 
 mental activity, diversion in every way that I could 
 devise, neglecting no opportunity for uplift and in- 
 spiration. In doing it for others I have necessarily 
 added to my own exhaustion, the reward came 
 through their betterment. 
 
 What a world it would be if we could let the best 
 of which we are capable in thought and deed shine 
 out in this way. To secure the best good, however, 
 the degradation of fatigue should not come through 
 or by reason of the effort. That should be so spon- 
 taneous, happy and really effortless, as to secure re- 
 sult without. Physicians owe it to themselves as well 
 as to their patients to look well to this part of their 
 
 157 
 u 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 work. Its neglect is a very serious reflection and by 
 reason of it their patients seek the relief to be found 
 in the various cults. It could be so much more sanely 
 and sensibly done by the physician, if he but realized 
 the mental and moral as well as physical need of those 
 seeking his services. There is not needed any especial 
 or significant attitude, just that of a wholesome in- 
 spiring nature, blessed with a desire to give hope, 
 courage, content and happiness to their fellow crea- 
 tures. 
 
 As I write there comes a blessed memory to me 
 that rarely has or does a patient leave my oiEce with- 
 out saying, "I feel better than when I came." To 
 feel better is to be better despite the nature of the 
 pathology. It does not necessarily imply the removal 
 of the latter, but it does imply its lessened activity — 
 temporarily at least. 
 
 iS8 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 "Type of the Wise mho Soar but never Roam, 
 True to the kindred Points of Heaven and Home." 
 Wordsworth : To a Skylark. 
 
 "And to me 
 
 High Mountains are a Feeling, but the Hum 
 Of Human Cities Torture." 
 
 Byron: Childe Harold. 
 
 "Never mind you can obtain your Revenge by 
 writing the Autobiography of a Neurasthene." 
 
 EIGHT years after my crash and ten years 
 from my first knowing her, my dear gra- 
 cious lady, whose friendship meant so 
 much to me, died. The season had been 
 full as usual of work, I was utterly worn 
 — there never was time to get rested, and as is al- 
 ways the case under such conditions, grief told on me 
 very badly. I have missed her all these years and 
 shall as long as I live, unless perchance some other 
 equally congenial and satisfying friend comes into my 
 life. Even so she will never be forgotten and in 
 memory I shall often relive the precious hours spent 
 with her. At the time a good deal of care, 
 
 159 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 anxiety and additional financial strain was mine be- 
 cause of duties other than to myself and my profes- 
 sional obligations. I was also engaged in extra work 
 with my pen. The housekeeping care fell heavily 
 and was very different from the homekeeping which 
 I had known the most of my life and which is after 
 all the highest and best form of living. I decided 
 very suddenly to give it up. This is my habit even 
 when very considerable interests are at stake. I seem 
 to arrive at a decision which is intuitive. I fancy we 
 all do, if we analyze our mental processes, and it is 
 after all an intellectual cognition. I go over the pros 
 and cons of a proposition, but even if I seem to be 
 undecided for a time, I am always conscious, that 
 back, shall I say in my subconscious mind, I know 
 exactly what I am going to do. This characteristic 
 I do not feel applies with the same force to the trivial 
 details of life, for example whether I shall put on 
 one or another gown in the morning, as it does to the 
 larger interests. They are almost without exception 
 met very promptly and decisively. 
 
 In giving it up, I came later on to realize very 
 keenly that it had been home after all. Never shall 
 I forget the sense of satisfaction with which I took 
 possession of it. I had been living in an apartment, 
 and to be able once more to shut my garden gate be- 
 hind me and to enter my own house, was a joy. But 
 
 I knew I had acted wisely, for in addition to the never 
 
 1 60 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ending care it was very expensive and I realized that 
 the years were not bringing me additional reserve of 
 energy, therefore the need must be met by a conser- 
 vation of that which I possessed. For over a year I 
 rarely went to bed that my old home did not stand 
 out before me with its beautiful great rooms and sun- 
 light, but more than that, the precious associations and 
 memories clustered around its hearthstone. 
 
 Yes ! In it I had known the keenest physical suf- 
 fering and most complete exhaustion. But even so, 
 my heart hungered after and longed for it, for the 
 friends who had slipped away somehow seemed 
 nearer to me there than in strange places. I once 
 more domiciled myself in a suite of large, airy, sunny 
 rooms which my friends and patients have always 
 liked, but which for a long time seemed absolutely 
 unhomelike to me. This change was made now five 
 years since, but from the first and until within this 
 last year I have walked blocks out of my way to avoid 
 passing the old house. I became so utterly home-sick, 
 that in the spring following I took a house out of 
 town for a year and fitted it up very happily. The 
 offices remained as they were in the city, and I went 
 back and forth to my office hour and professional vis- 
 its, daily during the spring and three times a week 
 when the warmer weather came. My physician did 
 not consent to this, nor did he say not to do it — only 
 
 "I am afraid you cannot stand it." It is the only 
 
 i6i 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 time I have gone contrary to his advice and I laugh- 
 ingly tell him that, while I came to grief, I had come 
 to grief sometimes when following it. At any rate, 
 the strangeness, loneliness, extra fatigue, the damp- 
 ness from the water, a land locked body was near, the 
 loss of friends by death and removal beyond my hori- 
 zon, the stress of work and strain of meeting my obli- 
 gations to life, all proved too much for me and I 
 broke again. I had no strength, could not walk a 
 block without great fatigue, just dragged myself 
 along perfunctorily. I was horribly depressed, and 
 finally I decided to give up the house and return to 
 the city and to my apartment. This I did, sublet- 
 ting it for the balance of the year. Gradually I have 
 grown accustomed to the change and now take com- 
 fort and satisfaction in my environment, but for fully 
 a year and a half, if not two years, I suffered keenly 
 in my absence from the old home. 
 
 The winter following this experience, in a visit I 
 had to make in the lower and more canon-like streets 
 of the city, where sunlight rarely enters and the reek 
 and filth fills the air with noisome smell, while damp- 
 ness reigns supreme, I encountered a grippe microbe, 
 which, judging from the severity of the illness follow- 
 ing, must have had the proportions of the dragon in 
 Siegfried. At any rate, I was ill, it seemed to me 
 more ill than ever before, although my physician 
 
 thinks there was one other time when I was really 
 
 162 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 more ill and much nearer the danger point. How- 
 ever that may be, I did not suffer auch excruciating 
 pain in my head and right auditory nerve at that time 
 as this. Those who saw me other than the doctor 
 thought I would die. I dropped my flesh by the 
 pound and I had not the pounds to spare. Despite 
 the pain and my really serious illness I dressed and 
 went into my office every day, but an assistant did the 
 work. For four weeks I was housed. At the expira- 
 tion of that time I went out of town to make a pro- 
 fessional visit to a house full of patients, ill with the 
 same trouble. Two more weeks I remained housed. 
 Not that I was worse from my trip, but I had no 
 strength and there were all the untoward conditions 
 characteristic of March in a northern sea-environed 
 land. 
 
 It was during this illness that one evening at the 
 time of his belated visit and in response to my expres- 
 sions of pain — pain so severe that as I write of it, I 
 feel, and now I have strength and health as compared 
 with then, that should I have to endure it again I 
 should want to die at once, for the anguish would be 
 beyond me — and discouragement, my physician said 
 to me : "Never mind, you can obtain your revenge by 
 writing the autobiography of a neurasthene". The 
 seed fell on fruitful ground, and in the weary days of 
 convalescence when strength would permit, I penned 
 a few, but very few of these pages. The thought has 
 
 163 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ever remained with me, and before undertaking many 
 of the other things which I have in my mind to do in 
 a part of my leisure time, to the bettering of condi- 
 tions, the more complete rounding out of life's experi- 
 ences as well as the pleasuring of myself, an impelling 
 force compels me to have this story chronicled. 
 
 I made a good recovery and in the summer 
 which followed spent three months in the hill country 
 farther north, engaged in an interesting professional 
 duty as well as in an effort to store up a reserve of 
 neuronic energy. Luckily, while disadvantageously 
 placed in some respects, the woman with whom I 
 stayed for those months, devoted herself to providing 
 me with dainty and easily digested food. With the 
 utter quiet, the beauty of hill, vale, woodland, river 
 and distant mountains, the life-giving air, an ability 
 to be much in the open, despite a good deal of profes- 
 sional care, I gained in strength and avoirdupois. 
 Since that time I have worked harder than ever and 
 to the good. I have not been equal always, far from 
 it, but the needs of those seeking me as well as my 
 own have been met and not only as well met as In for- 
 mer years, but better. After all the experience of the 
 passing years brings so much of good in one's own 
 development which one can apply helpfully to the 
 good of others. Here again is one of life's compensa- 
 tions. In youth and the heyday of life we look upon 
 
 any one who has reached middle age with a degree of 
 
 164 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 pity and commiseration that is entirely uncalled for. 
 Every year of life, so at least I find it, brings with it 
 compensations, while the succession of years brings 
 opportunity for the acquirement of additional knowl- 
 edge as well as for achievement. It is my purpose 
 always to add something each year to my mental 
 equipment to the betterment of myself and others. 
 
 The experience of this long summer time away 
 from the heat, noise and turmoil of the city was to me 
 delightful, and in the added zest and interest of my 
 work content walked alongside of the happiness which 
 always comes with a duty conscientiously met. From 
 my physical betterment there came a deep and abiding 
 comfort. This improvement was not lasting, but 
 could have been had there been less work and strain. 
 The harvest was ready for my reaping, and I did not 
 dare be found wanting. Still these duties might all 
 have been more happily met, had there not been 
 anxiety and extra work besides, because of the serious 
 illness of a member of my distant family. But then 
 that is life, and there is nothing to do but to accept 
 what comes, controlling the conditions as best one can. 
 
 The professional interest of this summer was en- 
 grossing and in it I had great satisfaction, but more 
 than that the patient embodied in himself a very 
 charming and lovable personality. Although of 
 world-wide reputation, there was neither pose nor 
 affectation, no panoply of artificiality, just sweetness, 
 
 165 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 humility, generous instincts, simplicity and directness. 
 So far as I have known them, this is true of the really 
 great ones of the earth whatever their pursuit, 
 whether scientists, writers or artists. Their lives are 
 spent in the doing of their work, with the best the 
 world knows and it seems to me they instinctively 
 learn to rise above so much that is petty and grovel- 
 ling in life and with which we really need have no 
 concern. With the right mental attitude the most 
 menial even of life's duties may be met on the plane 
 of high living and thinking. In order, however, to 
 secure and maintain this attitude, there should be cor- 
 rect living which after all is simply physiological liv- 
 ing. The individual who maintains the best physio- 
 logic condition, even though it must be secured by 
 restricting his life, instinctively deports himself in re- 
 lation to life its duties and humanities ideally. 
 
 Through this charming patient I lived in an at- 
 mosphere of the best in literature, the drama, music 
 and art, and it proved a great rest to me for my inter- 
 ests had for so long and wearily been concerned with 
 scientific studies as well as medicine. 
 
 The so-called science of medicine is still so inexact 
 as to fail in the giving of satisfaction as pure science 
 does and at the same time by reason of its intensely 
 dramatic human side is very exhausting. No ! all phy- 
 sicians do not feel this, but the best I have known 
 
 never lose sight of this aspect of the question. 
 
 1 66 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 "As the unthought accident is guilty 
 
 Of what we wildly do, so we profess 
 Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
 
 Every wind that blows." 
 
 Shakespeare : Winter's Tale. 
 
 THERE is again an elemental disturbance 
 of some description somewhere in space. 
 For seventy-two hours I have been utter- 
 ly wretched. First there were hours of 
 increased mental activity, then came an 
 almost Intolerable anguish of brain and intelligence, 
 while the aching way back in my eyes extends into 
 my brain and is felt most down deep Inside from the 
 vertex or top of my head. This has been experienced 
 in these ways ever since two successive fainting fits 
 induced by overfatigue and anxiety from too great 
 professional stress and strain. I was called to the tel- 
 ephone to get the report of an anxious daughter as to 
 her mother's condition when in fainting I fell, strik- 
 ing the back of my head to the left side first and 
 against the sharp triangular comer of a book case. 
 Upon the return of consciousness and attempting to 
 rise, the floor rose with me. It required the exertion 
 
 167 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 of all my indomitable will to get to my feet, when I 
 promptly fainted again, falling with a tremendous 
 crash and striking the same locality against the edge 
 of the door just where the sharp edge of the lower 
 hinge is placed. Never shall I forget that awful 
 sickening thud and the horrible throb and ache in 
 my head. For nearly thirteen years my brain had 
 never been free from congestion. First it began in 
 the sensory cortex and, as has been told, invaded the 
 brain itself. At all times my head has been so sensi- 
 tive that if the hat brim of my neighbor in a street 
 car for example touched mine, the jar was such tor- 
 ture that I almost always felt that I would prefer 
 being hit with a club. Just so the jar of sounds, the 
 multitudinous noises of the city, a crusade for the 
 suppression of which would have been entered upon 
 long before the time it was, if I had had strength to 
 take the initiative and do my own work, and the 
 vibrations of voices was torture. Sunlight which was 
 essential to my wellbeing, at times could not be borne 
 at all, and in the summer time rooms had to be kept 
 pretty constantly darkened and ice caps worn. Un- 
 questionably the sun stroke from which I suffered in 
 the earlier part of my professional life, while engaged 
 in a professional duty, was the exciting cause. For a 
 year after it happened, although doing the hardest 
 kind of professional work, fortunately indoors in an 
 institution, I never went out for a drive or walk save 
 
 i68 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 in the early morning and after sunset, lived in dark- 
 ened rooms, employed a secretary because of my eyes 
 diagonised by my oculist as a retinitis but by myself 
 as retinal congestion. 
 
 Upon my recovery from my second attack of syn- 
 cope I managed by holding on to doors, walls, half 
 creeping and walking, to get into an adjoining room, 
 but after a few steps finding myself going again, I 
 let myself down on the floor in a recumbent position 
 on the rug. For some minutes I did not move, did 
 not dare to do so, for the distress in my head was so 
 great that I simply could not take any chances. Yes ! 
 1 was alone. I put my hand to my head and brought 
 it away wet. Then I knew I had cut the scalp, but 
 that did not trouble me save for the uncleanly sensa- 
 tion — the damage whatever its nature I felt was deep- 
 er in. Finally I got into my bed room — It was night 
 — and sitting on the bed tried to clean my blood- 
 soaked hair and then made my preparations for the 
 night. But on account of my great distress I felt I 
 had better telephone the doctor. By dint of holding 
 on to the furniture I got to the telephone, took off 
 the receiver, but feeling myself going, managed to 
 hang up the receiver and crawl to the bed. The lux- 
 ury of arriving. Immediately upon assuming the 
 recumbent position and to the left side, the point of 
 injury, there was experienced the sensation of the bed 
 rising at the foot and the head going down to the 
 
 169 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 floor. At the same time there was experienced a se- 
 vere pain in my left ear and a feeling as though some 
 foreign body was lodged there just back of the drum 
 and also a pain in my throat on that side. Because of 
 the feeling of obstruction I tried if Inflating my 
 Eustachian tube or going through the act of blowing 
 my nose would not secure relief, but neither the one 
 act nor the other could be performed on account of 
 the great distress in ear and throat. The question of 
 a possible dislodgement of a bit of wax was carefully 
 considered, but nothing could be found In the audi- 
 tory canal. The slightest change in position and the 
 bed would again rise at the foot end, while the pain 
 In the head was extreme. The next day my physician 
 came. When he had heard all about my fainting and 
 after having scolded me soundly for making two and 
 three visits a day to the bedside of a very sick patient 
 in addition to my office hours because of the wishes 
 of the patient and her daughter, we talked the symp- 
 toms over, taking into consideration the Intimate 
 anatomy and also physiological relations of the struc- 
 tures involved, and agreed that the force of the con- 
 cussion must have expended Itself at the base of the 
 brain and upon the semicircular canals. I was treated 
 again to the kindly quizzical smile and humorously 
 told that "there was not blood enough toi go round". 
 For six monthts upon resuming the recumbent and 
 left lateral position the bed continued to stand upon 
 
 170 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 its head while a quick turn brought the same sensa- 
 tion. In order to minimize the distress due to this 
 phenomenon, I lifted my head absolutely free from 
 the pillow and then let myself down well towards the 
 front so as not to touch the injured spot which some- 
 how seemed to localize the point of mischief. The 
 aggravation of the symptoms was due, not as might 
 be inferred, from pressure but from position and con- 
 sequent disturbance of physical conditions within the 
 semicircular canals. We agreed that the ear condi- 
 tion should not be submitted to an aural specialist, 
 simply because we both knew that this was a time 
 and a condition when nature was the kindest, best and 
 most intelligent physician. I was wan and worn in 
 appearance, and while I visited my patient the next 
 day, a medical assistant went with me although I pre- 
 ferred he should not. I kept my office hours at all 
 times and made the necessary calls on this patient for 
 some days after the accident or until her death. 
 
 From the time of the injury my digestion became 
 less good, my stomach extremely sensitive, the sense 
 of nausea such as is felt in greater or less degree al- 
 ways from injury at the base of the brain was experi- 
 enced and the only way I could take food was by using 
 champagne to the amount of a tablespoonful with my 
 luncheon and dinner. I am very susceptible to the in- 
 fluence of any sort of spirits, vinous or malt liquor 
 and need only to eat a piece of pickle or take beef 
 
 171 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 juice to feel as though I had taken one or the other. 
 My pathologist says he can not get a "jag" so cheap- 
 
 ly- 
 
 Gradually nerve tone improved, but the effects of 
 this injury still remain with me. Atmospheric 
 changes emphasize the distress. The sense of heavi- 
 ness and weight at the base of my brain is very great 
 as well as the pain through the eyes deep into the 
 centre of things to the vertex. It is apt to be accom- 
 panied by a feeling of mental anguish, from which I 
 cannot get away. It is not a feeling of depression, 
 although naturally it depresses me. It is as I have 
 said, a mental anguish, and the sensation is of a phy- 
 sical condition from which I cannot escape. This has 
 been so great for the past forty-eight hours that I 
 have been absolutely no good, at least from my point 
 of view. Every neuron of my supreme nerve centres 
 I fancy is experiencing the same sort of distress which 
 in peripheral conditions we know as neuralgia, a neu- 
 ronic anguish. I long intensely in such untoward 
 weather conditions for a life in a sunny land. — not 
 too bright, but genial warmth and a dolce far niente 
 existence. Oh yes, I have earned it, and if I may 
 believe what is said, I have an extensive bank ac- 
 count "up yonder" greater than it is here, but unfor- 
 tunately I have no way of securing access to the pay- 
 ing teller. 
 
 When I have an opportunity I sit down before a 
 172 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 great big arc light and allow its radiant energy sifted 
 through a screen of blue glass to flood my eyes and 
 the base of my brain. In this way I am always re- 
 lieved, but do not actually find myself again until the 
 storm breaks. There is a northeast wind, the sky is 
 lowering the air most chill and penetrating. For 
 half an hour in the early morning the sun shone, the 
 air was less damp and chill, for the wind had not then 
 changed, and I thought relief was in sight. But not 
 yet. Let the normal interchange of courtesies in my 
 chemical cells be interfered with, and they constantly 
 are by reason of my chronic fatigue as well as by the 
 changes induced in osmosis by reason of untoward 
 barometric conditions ; for if the sun disappears, as it 
 often does for consecutive days in the sea bound 
 northern climate, the pressure of light is withdrawn 
 from the body's surface, or by the ingestion of more 
 than my allowance of "birdseed" or the wrong kind 
 of food, by the slightest excess, one record of music 
 too much in my glorified gramophone, the simplest 
 social diversion, and all this neuronic anguish in the 
 very centre of my brain is accentuated, while the per- 
 sistence of anxious thought increases the congestion. 
 This interferes with happy functioning of the intelli- 
 gence, does not prevent it, but makes it difficult, 
 fatiguing, sometimes to me purposeless, never to a pa- 
 tient if I am to believe them. Routine duties are al- 
 ways met. 
 
 173 
 12 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 The atmospheric disturbances which I felt so keen- 
 ly at this time, culminated locally at about eight 
 o'clock of the third day, when a period of greater 
 mental comfort ensued. Farther afield, within a 
 radius of two thousand miles there had been severe 
 and extensive elemental disturbances, high winds al- 
 most cyclonic in nature with rain and sleet. 
 
 When a medical student I used to be tremendously 
 interested in the experiments of the professor of 
 physiology, another man of great intellectual vigor, 
 clever and telling conceits, great ability as a teacher, 
 of Scotch birth and one of nature's noblemen. In an 
 acquaintance extending over a quarter of century I 
 never knew an act of his incompatible with what I 
 have said. His teaching resulted in inspiring me with 
 the greatest interest and love for physiological truths, 
 his dry rather sarcastic wit impressed many a whole- 
 some lesson and his beautiful, sincere interest in his 
 work and in humanity endeared him to us all. Cut 
 off untimely through his devotion to his profession, 
 and it was devotion, not the aggrandisement of 
 wealth, his loss remains felt throughout his wide 
 circle of friends, students and patients. Not many 
 years my senior I shared with him the honor of the 
 friendship and confidence of our mutual preceptor 
 whose teaching and practice left an impress of the 
 right sort on both our minds. 
 
 None of the experimental work interested me more 
 174 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 or as much as those upon the spinal cord and brain. 
 The classic experiments upon a pigeon involving in- 
 jury to the semicircular canals with the resulting dis- 
 turbances of equilibrium, to the point of not being 
 able to stand at all were fascinating to me In the ex- 
 treme. Did I have a certain prescience that I was 
 going to experience in a degree the sensations of the 
 poor unbalanced birds with the pendulum-like move- 
 ments of their heads? Now while I had no pendu- 
 lum-like movements save in the first week from the 
 accident and then not noticeable to others, just a sen- 
 sation of desiring to execute movements similar to 
 those of a Chinese mandarin in his kowtowing, my 
 equilibrium was disturbed for some weeks, I had to 
 move more carefully than was my wont (I usually go 
 as though shot out of catapult, at any rate am very 
 quick, active and alert), did not dare to jump up 
 quickly and had the same sense of disturbed equilib- 
 rium when sitting in a reclining attitude with my head 
 in left latero-posterior position. I lived very quietly, 
 but worked very hard. Gradually all these sensations 
 have grown less and less, but the distress In untoward 
 atmospheric conditions Is great as I have described. 
 On radiant days a very considerable degree of com- 
 fort is experienced sometimes a sense of extreme well 
 being. 
 
 There must as a result of two successive falls, 
 striking practically the same spot each time, have been 
 
 175 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 a disturbance in the current of the endo-lymph. The 
 sensation of backward and forward movements of my 
 head, also the sinking of the head of the bed to the 
 floor indicated that the expenditure of energy was 
 most felt by the posterior vertical canals, while the 
 sense of disturbed equilibrium pointed to a more or 
 less general disturbance in this current. 
 
 The withdrawal of radiance from which the lower- 
 ed barometric pressure in inseparable, interferes tre- 
 mendously with the amount of atmospheric pressure 
 to which the body superfices is subjected normally. 
 There are no startling results when light impinges on 
 very large bodies, as for example being lifted from 
 one's feet and tossed into space. 
 
 Let the impact of light on exceedingly small masses 
 be calculated and the relation between light pressure 
 and weight (gravitational pull), then the mechanical 
 possibilities of a shimmering ray becomes stupendous. 
 There is a great solar motor on an ostrich farm in 
 Pasadena which has an indicated output of eleven 
 horsepower with two hundred and ten pounds of 
 steam, which can pump water at a maximum rate of 
 1 ,400 gallons per minute. If the radiant energy fall- 
 ing upon the deck of an ocean liner could be utilized 
 and the radiation were not cut off by air, it is sufficient 
 to propel the ship with greater speed than is now ob- 
 tained from carbon. 
 
 Pressure acts superficially, it is proportional in 
 176 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A isTEURASTHENE 
 
 amount to the surface. On the other hand the entire 
 mass is affected by weight or gravitation. This has 
 been illustrated as follows. Let a cannon ball weigh- 
 ing one thousand pounds be divided into ten balls of 
 one hundred pounds each, the total weight remains 
 the same, but the surface presented by the ten balls is 
 greater than the original ball. This means a greater 
 area presented to the pressure of light. If this pro- 
 cess of subdivision bie continued until many little balls 
 no larger than buskshot are produced, an enormous 
 superficial area is obtained. The total weight how- 
 ever still remains the same. There is no change pro- 
 portionally in the gravitational pull on the entire mass 
 of little balls, but the effect of radiation is proportion- 
 ally increased. According to a computation by the 
 savant Arrhenius a point is finally reached, where the 
 balls obtained are so small that the light pressure ex- 
 actly counterbalances the pull of gravitation. In other 
 words, the globules obtained will remain suspended, 
 wherever they may happen to be placed — pulled by 
 solar gravitation and pushed by light with equal 
 strength in opposite direction, perfectly balanced in 
 the great scales of cosmic forces. 
 
 This perfect balance between the pull of solar grav- 
 itation and the push from light pressure means abso- 
 lutely physiological processes. It is the perfection of 
 life. Chemical actions and reactions are clean cut, 
 
 the transference of fluid of the one density to that of 
 
 177 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 another or osmosis is normal, conditioning the elec- 
 trical stimulus and radiance within the cell. Life 
 goes on in a fashion even though this perfect balance 
 does not exist at all times, but it is a life devoid of 
 the best effort and result, not to speak of a life, in 
 those more sensitively attuned, of pain and dimin- 
 ished effort. 
 
 In the soul saturated atmosphere according tO' the 
 theory of Fournier d'Albe the pressure of radiance 
 must be more actively in evidence and the pull of so- 
 lar gravitation proportionate, else the soul life he 
 predicates would be impossible. 
 
 Unquestionably the sensation in the ear of the in- 
 jured side, my good one, is largely due to whatever 
 prejudices and disturbs cell function. It finds its 
 local expression there because of the traumatism, but 
 it is evidenced in ways that are general as well. There 
 is a definition of the bones of the cranium within and 
 without as well as those of the left superior maxilla 
 by reason of the neuralgic outlining that is most un- 
 canny. To have consciousness of the shape of bones 
 within is not usual and adds materially to the pain due 
 to consciousness of the nerves and structures. 
 
 The occipital and sub-occiptal aching, more than 
 the usual neurasthenic ache is difficult to endure. It 
 is accentuated not only by unfavorable weather con- 
 ditions, but by overwork or impaired nutrition. Con- 
 sciousness of disturbances of the great sympathetic 
 
 178 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 nervous system of the abdominal brain is much 
 greater than ever before. In fact this is one of the 
 experiences, which I gladly would have done without, 
 and in retrospect I can but regret that I did not take 
 the vacation I needed and leave the patient to pass 
 beyond under the ministrations of another. But that 
 is not my nature. I sometimes wish it were, for after 
 all while I make a joke of all these things, I have 
 grown very tired of pain and disability. 
 
 I know of nothing that would do me any more 
 good or as much, as to be enveloped in "Spanish sun- 
 shine" as a friend sojourning in that sunny land has 
 wished for me. Probably by midsummer I shall have 
 a surfeit of radiance but it is not human nature to see 
 it that way in February and March. 
 
 179 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 "Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with 
 
 troubles." 
 "Sing and disperse them, if thou canst." * * * 
 " * * * In sweet music is such art: 
 "Killing care and grief of heart. 
 "Fall asleep, or, hearing, die." 
 
 Shakespeare, Henry VIII. 
 
 IT was not until nearly thirteen years from the 
 most profound exhaustion of my cerebral cen- 
 tres, and fifteen from the "spraining of my 
 brain", that I came to feel it my right as 
 well as privilege to try to live my own life. 
 For many years the care of others was paramount. 
 The need must still remains, but it has become more 
 nearly possible to expend my energies in the direction 
 of conservation of financial potentialities and pro- 
 fessional achievements rather than to fight my way 
 inch by inch. I had become very neurasthenic again. 
 The year had been full of hard work, day after day 
 without any respite or change. I had carried the 
 burdens which others brought to me because of ill- 
 ness and grief, even to those of a scientific friend on 
 the other side of the water whom I had never met, 
 
 until I wa« supersaturated. My necessary isolation in 
 
 1 80 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 order to conserve energy left me without opportunity 
 for any inspiring uplift. 
 
 This matter of change had been my bete noir all 
 these years. Compelled to work for the daily needs 
 of life, impelled to the highest mental activity always, 
 lacking in happiness and content unless achieving, 
 there was never enough of me to endure any less com- 
 fortable surroundings, than I had provided for my- 
 self. Born, so to speak, in the midst of Illimitable 
 space, on the western prairie, even when well I could 
 never seem to breathe and live, if I were shut in. For- 
 tunately my home during these years afforded me 
 abundant space, light and air. There were great, 
 old-fashioned high ceihnged rooms with large folding 
 doors, by means of which the drawing room floor 
 could all be made one, windows on every side but 
 one, extending to the floor and open fires every- 
 where. Here I had space, air, sunshine galore, hours 
 of indoor quiet, although the roar of the busy city 
 was all about me without. My bedroom was spa- 
 cious, well ventilated, sunny, while my eastern win- 
 dows looked out upon the green-clad walls of the 
 house beyond my garden gate. I had taken it, be- 
 cause it was an ideal physician's location and had 
 been occupied by none other for nearly twenty years. 
 I could not afford such comfort elsewhere for any 
 part of the summer months, could not receive the same 
 care and attention in the matter of food, as I had in 
 
 i8i 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 my awn house, and more than all could not endure 
 travel, whether by rail, water or in a carriage. But 
 at this time I had been out of town for two months 
 enduring, as best I could, the discomforts of hotel 
 environment and the unwholesome menu provided, of 
 which, however, I partook very sparingly always. 
 During that time I had been overlooking improve- 
 ments on a country property. It was a matter involv- 
 ing a considerable expenditure of money, but it was 
 not undertaken without knowing the amount, where it 
 was coming from for immediate use and how I was 
 to be reimbursed. Despite all this, however, and des- 
 pite the fact that I approached the matter in a per- 
 fectly philosophical spirit, knowing that the work 
 tended to the assurance of an ultimate constant and 
 good income from the property, I found after a few 
 weeks that I was once more becoming profoundly 
 neurasthenic. The weakest link was actively in evi- 
 dence. My poor tired brain worked overtime in the 
 most distressing and exhausting fashion. Wherever 
 I went, whether to overlook the work, for a motor 
 car ride, back and forth in the train, sitting on the 
 hotel verandah, resting In my room, or at night, I 
 added, multiplied, divided and subtracted — In fact 
 had such a gorge of mental arithmetic, that I was 
 worn out. My head which has ached much of the 
 time for many years, for as has been said, I had 
 
 never been free In all these years from more or less 
 
 182 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 congestion of my brain, ached with an unbearable 
 intensity, while the consequent mental anguish from 
 which I suffered, left me without happiness or hope. 
 Again and again I sought the aid of my physician 
 friend, and again and again he tried to serve my 
 needs. There was no response to measures which 
 heretofore had been efficient. I incontinently fled to 
 the mountains for eight days, but returned without 
 any betterment of the condition for which I went. I 
 pulled myself together to the best of my ability, and 
 wrote an article on a subject which was as a household 
 word to me, but which before I got at it, cost me 
 hours, yes, days and nights of mental pain. It seemed 
 to me I never could do it, but I did. In the cordial 
 complimentary reception which it received as well as 
 in retrospect, I know it tO' have been a successful 
 effort. None the less, however, it was written with 
 an absolute questioning of my ability toi do it and to 
 do it well. This is my experience whenever I under- 
 take a new bit of writing despite the fact that I am 
 constantly at work. That occasion over and ex- 
 periencing no relief from the incessant physical and 
 psychical distress, I ran off to Atlantic City for a few 
 days before settling down for the season's work and 
 deliberately played. In a sense I enjoyed it, but not 
 as I enjoy the accomplishment of something useful, 
 either to my own betterment or that of others. Af- 
 ter a few days I returned, and while assuming the 
 
 183 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 care of my daily routine once more, I also cast about 
 in my mind to know what I could do to secure relief 
 from the constant distress which I suffered. The 
 pain and mental anguish were consequent upon, an 
 aggravation of the cerebral congestion. For years 
 chronic exhaustion and exhaustibility had been my 
 arch enemy and lack of appetite with impaired diges- 
 tive function were due not to wrong food, but to fa- 
 tigue, constant care and anxiety. Drugs offered no 
 relief. I held on during the waking hours for the 
 sake of the oblivion which sleep would bring. I 
 cared for nothing and almost for no one. A sense 
 of trust, confidence, protection^ had always been in- 
 spired by my physician, and as the friendship and 
 comradeship of year after years of the relation of 
 patient and physician slipped by, it continued in full 
 force. This one exception remained. All the rest 
 of the world, even my immediate relatives whom I 
 rarely saw by reason of widely separated homes, elic- 
 ited no responsive interest. 
 
 I had always been passionately fond of music. For 
 these fourteen years it had been impossible for me to 
 indulge this taste. For many of them I could not even 
 endure the singing of some simple melody known to 
 my childhood,while the distant strains of a band heard 
 on the balcony of my window in the open air was 
 enough to send me trembling back to my hammock, 
 
 184 
 
Autobiography of a neurasthene 
 
 not a perceptible trembling, but a sense of tremor all 
 through my body and most marked in my brain. 
 
 This would leave me limp and exhausted and was 
 only recovered from by a period of absolute physical 
 repose and mental inertia. The opera and especial 
 the Wagnerian opera had been to me an unalloyed 
 delight. I had not been able to attend for years, nor 
 for that matter upon simple concerts either. The 
 vitiated air inseparable from the congregation of 
 many people, the vibrations of the latter all about me, 
 as well as the vibrations of the music, served to ex- 
 haust every atom of stored up energy and left me 
 quivering with exhaustion. 
 
 I had been literally starved not only during these 
 years of invalidism, but for that matter all my life, 
 and not only in so far as music was concerned, but the 
 drama as well. To witness a play meant again the 
 vitiated air O'f badly ventilated theatres, the ceaseless 
 vibrations of those about me which served to sap and 
 exhaust my energies, while the climax and anticli- 
 max were beyond my recuperative power within the 
 limited time afforded from one business hour to 
 another Fortunately my earlier theatre going had 
 been of the best and my recollections are therefore 
 happy. More or less a gregarious animal, I could 
 not endure people. One or two congenial friends, 
 preferably but one at a time, for the crossing of 
 voices, the varying opinions voiced all served to 
 
 185 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTMENE 
 
 weary me. Books were my constant companion, when 
 not engaged in active professional work or busy with 
 my pen. I only wearied of them when I no 
 longer had sufficient energy to read. They never 
 bored me, although in my professional reading I 
 have written tomes in my mind, giving expression to 
 my dissent and non-approval of the published views of 
 other writers. But I had not the strength to really 
 express my views on many subjects, even though they 
 had been developed and clarified as the result of a 
 very extensive experience. 
 
 Pure science interested me most and, when too 
 weary for that, fiction was my solace. The habits 
 of a lifetime had to be changed, and I no longer 
 worked save under pressure in the evening after din- 
 ner. If not too weary, my scientific reading and med- 
 ical journals commanded my attention, but I would 
 find so much in the latter to arouse my fighting in- 
 stinct that I read them at night under protest only. 
 With good fiction it was different or interesting bi- 
 ography and travel. Still the novel was my strong- 
 hold. Separated from every relative I had, with- 
 out strength to mix with people socially congregated, 
 my resources were limited. The movement of the 
 characters in a good novel peopled my solitude in the 
 evening, not loneliness, for that I felt only occasion- 
 ally, and in living their lives without any responsibil- 
 ity for their opinions or actions, I was rested. When 
 
 1 86 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 convalescent from the utter exhaustion of cerebral 
 centres, I could read but little, even of fiction, and 
 other reading I had to have, for my intelligence had 
 to be fed. The brain that is left without any inter- 
 ests or pabulum, for its neurons is in the way of utter 
 ruin and destruction. I had so little physical strength 
 that to hold a newspaper was a weariness, let alone 
 a book. Because of inability to do and with no one 
 peopling the silence of my home, save the servants, I 
 was often ennuied. Music I craved then. A scien- 
 tific friend who filled the chinks many a time by his 
 talk on scientific subjects over my open fire, as I lay 
 in my hammock, a man of such keen intelligence and 
 so alertly alive as to be able to appreciate my need, 
 suggested that I should get a mandolin and teach my- 
 self to pick out some simple melodies. I tried it, but 
 my tired arms and hands with every nerve exquisitely 
 sensitive and tender, were not equal to the task. I 
 could only hold the instrument for a few moments, 
 when I would sink back into my hammock to the 
 luxury of passivity. But remember, while all this was 
 true, every morning of my day was given to my pro- 
 fessional duties, and three afternoons a week to clin- 
 ical work. I never neglected a professional duty, and 
 my life has literally been sacrificed to its demands. I 
 then installed a piano and a patient, a well known 
 musician, used to play for me in an adjoining room, 
 when he came professionally, while he awaited my 
 
 187 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 leisure. Likewise a woman patient. But it was in 
 the evening I felt the need, when the days' work was 
 done. Therefore my need was not met. The time 
 had come again when I longed for music and longed 
 for impressions that would sink deep down into my 
 brain to aid in eradicating the mathematical problem 
 constantly going on in my mind. Heretofore I had 
 always been able to control the situation by my read- 
 ing, but this time my eyes were tired beyond the 
 oculist's power to rest with different glasses. This 
 would never have persisted and exhausted me, as it 
 did, had it not been for the fact that since I was fif- 
 teen, I have had to provide for myself in every rela- 
 <i tion of life, and had always carried heavy financial 
 responsibilities. The feeling of never arriving so to 
 speak, becomes at times well nigh insupportable. It 
 had done so in this instance. Luckily I was stronger 
 physically and therefore better able to cope with the 
 problem. For the first time I fully realized that 
 neither the most rational prescriptions of my phy- 
 V sician, nor yet his cheerful optimism met my needs. 
 This is an experience which our patients must often 
 tiiTies share and which unquestionably explains their 
 gullibility in regards to the various cults. He was 
 always a comfort and his cheerful view of things, his 
 sense of humor, his understanding, his positive as- 
 surance that all would yet be well, had heretofore 
 never failed me. This time there was only a momen- 
 
 i88 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 tary sense of relief, when the intolerable distress 
 would recur. Two years previously, because of my 
 experience in the medical care of a well known man 
 of sensitive nerve organization and with great appre- 
 ciation of artistic values from most points of view, I 
 had wondered vaguely if there were any of the mu- 
 sical mechanisms for the reproduction of voice or in- 
 struments which would be grateful to me. I had 
 never had time nor strength to learn any instrument 
 myself and had always laughingly threatened that, 
 when the time of need came, I should install a hand 
 organ and a monkey. Upon investigation I decided 
 not. This was before that wonderful mechanism, the 
 apotheosis of the gramophone had been brought to 
 its present state of perfection. In looking into the 
 matter again, I was fortunate in enlisting the services 
 of a man who had been through a similar experience 
 to mine in the way of a complete nerve break, but 
 who fortunately had a father who not only helped 
 him to the necessary rest for a time, but provided him 
 with intelligent and watchful care, looking to his liv- 
 ing physiologically in every way. All financial strain 
 was removed and a sojourn under sunny skies helped 
 him to restore his neuronic energy. His recov- 
 ery, therefore, had been more complete than mine. 
 However by reason of this experience he understood 
 my needs at once. I told him of the untoward effect 
 
 of strenuous music, of loud voices, indicating that 
 
 189 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 minor music had always appealed to me. For the 
 first time in my life I spent money absolutely for my 
 own delectation other than, is demanded of a phy- 
 sician to the furthering of professional interests. With 
 the characteristic hesitancy of a neurasthene I could 
 not decide for a week or two. Eventually I did, al- 
 though I would have found it more difficult, had it 
 not been for the kindly offices of this gentleman. The 
 instrument was installed, and a half dozen or more 
 choice records of classical music sung by the best op- 
 eratic stars, Schumann-Heink, Melba, Farrar, Eames, 
 Calve, Homer and Caruso, were provided. To these 
 were speedily added others among them a number 
 of exquisite Instrumental records as well as some of 
 the ballads dear to my earlier life. They were se- 
 lected very carefully and with an eye, or rather ear 
 to my needs. Nothing strenuous was sent up, Chop- 
 in's Nocturne, Handel's Largo, Greig's Morning and 
 Roger's Paraphrase of Kathleen Malvourneen, af- 
 forded me the most exquiiste pleasure, while the won- 
 drous dignity, beauty and calm of the incomparable 
 voice of Schumann-Heink soothed and rested me as a 
 beautiful sunset time with its wondrous glory of af- 
 terglow and exquisite tuneful silence. 
 
 The evening of its installation was a red letter one 
 to me, and one in which my artistic senses revelled. 
 
 In the conversation which ensued the scientific prin- 
 ciple involved came up for consideration as well as the 
 
 I go 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 historic. It was all most delightful. Recognizing 
 that the best results were obtained by the imprison- 
 ment so to speak of sound waves in the cylinder of 
 wax, by the horizontal rather than the perpendicu- 
 lar method, the work of Mr. Edison, received 
 just and generous recognition. While personal rem- 
 iniscences of the great inventor, many of which I had 
 shared before with others who had worked with the 
 "old man" as they fondly loved to call him, increased 
 the charm of and interest I felt in my new posses- 
 sion. But the fact that many hundreds of years ago 
 vibration was found to be in symmetrical waves by an 
 accidental observation of a man sitting on the sea 
 shore beating a tattoo on a drum, upon the head of 
 which had gotten some grains of sand, and as the 
 head vibrated, they took form, had escaped my at- 
 tention in the study of physics. The story was told 
 so charmingly that I felt as though I were in fairy- 
 land. This is by no means a new experience to me 
 in my scientific studies, especially in the domain of 
 physics. I was led along the evolution of the instru- 
 ment up to the present date, or until the development, 
 as I have chosen to regard it, of the apotheosis of the 
 gramophone with its infinite artistic possibilities. 
 
 I had known of Edison's work from the first in this 
 relation, and knew that to him all homage was due, 
 had been invited years before to place my voice auto- 
 graph on record in his laboratory, and had even used 
 
 191 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 a business phonograph in my work, had heard the 
 ordinary instruments, without pleasure however, but 
 it was not till I possessed this artistic cabinet of the 
 most satisfying of woods, mahogany with its empire 
 decorated key and knobs and with every suggestion 
 of mechanism shut away from view, and was taught 
 by an artist in his understanding and use of the in- 
 strument that I realized its beautiful possibilities. In 
 this I am not alone, nor is my appreciation due to 
 my many years of deprivation and starved senses. 
 My friends and patients have shared the pleasure 
 with me and they unanimously find the music exquis- 
 itely beautiful and satisfying. This is so, because 
 there is nothing but music in the records. They are 
 selected for their melody, their harmony, their ability 
 to speak to me. They are always played soft and 
 low. I need no inspiration to go forth to battle. That 
 I have been doing all my life, and achievement always 
 had been my metier. I needed something to rest 
 and divert me. In that my need has been beautifully 
 met. 
 
 Instead of the ceaseless reiteration of tiresome fig- 
 ures associated with all the unfortunate impressions 
 incident to the employment of mechanics of all sorts 
 with their characteristic delay, there was left the 
 beauty, melody, harmony and grandeur, according 
 to the selection lilting Its way through my brain cells. 
 The rest and peace of it will never be forgotten, while 
 
 192 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 life lasts, and there will ever be felt by me despite the 
 fact that it was simply a commercial acquisition, a 
 feeling of gratitude to the combined scientific and 
 commercial effect which made it possible. 
 
 In time I hope the pleasure I had in the possession 
 of my country property, beautiful to> me to the point 
 of pain, when I have sat on the verandah, overlook- 
 ing the amphitheatre of encircling hills, in which it 
 is set, forest-clad, in one direction to the remoteness 
 of the Adirondacks while in another, the shining 
 stretch, curves and wondrous beauty of the sound, 
 dotted with an ever moving fleet of whitewinged 
 yachts, and outlined by its distant island shore, met 
 my view. For the time it is lost and the memory of 
 the care and anxiety continues paramount. 
 
 It is an exquisite pleasure to me to watch the faces 
 of my guests on a quiet "At Home" day, when a few 
 congenial friends only are asked, to witness not only 
 their appreciative intellectual pleasure, but as well in 
 response to some dainty, beautiful bit of orchestra- 
 tion or voice, to see the soul shining out of their 
 eyes. Why enlarge upon this? the reader may ask. 
 Simply because from a professional view point I wish 
 to make the value of music as a help to the best con- 
 ditions obtainable by those who have been so unfor- - 
 tunate as myself, absolutely clear. I could not have 
 it in the ordinary way, as subsequent pages will show, 
 for I never had an opportunity of restoring nerve 
 
 193 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 energy to such a degree that I could both work and 
 play. The work had to be done, for I had to meet 
 all my obligations to life. There was no one else to 
 do it. Music is recognized by the medical profession 
 as an agent of no small value in the care of nerve and 
 mental cases. It acts, when used, in moderation as a 
 physiological stimuli of very great value. In my own 
 case it has been priceless. The sordid side of life has 
 dropped away from me. An amount of neuronic en- 
 ergy which I did not realize that I possessed, has been 
 called into activity. It is easier for me to think and 
 express myself in intellectual ways than formerly. 
 This effect is more marked than the effect upon my 
 emotional nature, although I have the most exquisite 
 pleasure in the thrillingly sweet vibrations of some 
 of my favorite bits of music, just as I always felt the 
 exquisite beauty of the thrush's even-song — or the 
 robin's liquid matin notes. 
 
 The energy of my neurons had been exhausted by 
 the sordid drudgery of much of a physician's work. 
 This had been emphasized by my devotion to scien- 
 tific studies, delightful as they were and are. In 
 them I can still lose myself to the world, but as I can 
 only follow the work of others, much of this sort of 
 reading exhausts me, because it arouses desire tO' do 
 which can not be satisfied. Meanwhile there lay 
 dormant a power I knew I possessed and which all 
 
 these weary years almost unconsciously I had looked 
 
 194 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 forward to the exercise of, but which was valueless 
 tO' me because of my wellnigh insupportable chronic 
 fatigue and exhaustion. I had done everything in 
 my power and suggested by my physician to get well, 
 but I could not because I had to work. 
 
 In conversation one day with a young medical man 
 of brilliant mind, a mind of such a nature and calibre, 
 that I felt always I must help save him from himself 
 — an alcoholic of many years standing; but at this 
 time trying to control his vicious habit, he said "I 
 wish I were dead". In response tO' my remonstrances 
 he added "But I would like two' weeks of golf first." 
 We were both worn and depressed, he by reason of 
 his dissipation, I by my steadfast application to work 
 and duty. It has never been my habit tO' wish I were 
 dead. I enjoy life too' keenly for that. This time, 
 however, there was nothing to lift and inspire, there- 
 fore it was easy to say "yes, I wish it were all done;, 
 but, oh, how I would like to get rested first." Poor 
 misguided man — his own worst enemy always. It 
 was the beginning of all his bad habits again. De- 
 spite the fact of his degeneracy, his mental activity 
 was so great and possessed of such a charm that I did 
 not give up until his desire for indulgence led to such 
 dishonesty that I could no longer trust him, as I had 
 been doing In my effort to help advance his profes- 
 sional interest. One day In one of our talks relative 
 tO' an advance in scientific medicine he gave expression 
 
 195 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 to a very interesting thought, but before there was 
 time for me to respond, he added "I wonder what 
 crevice of an alcoholic brain that came out of." I 
 am afraid I shall always feel that, if I had had 
 strength and money so as to have controlled his en- 
 vironment, he might have been saved simply because 
 of the result obtained in a case of equal magnitude, 
 for which I had cared, but as he had been the subject 
 of much and earnest effort before I knew him, it was 
 doubtful. 
 
 I believe so thoroughly that many of the untoward 
 chronic conditions of nerve and mind can be happily 
 met, that I do not despair when they come to me. 
 There is a residual energy in the neuron which has 
 not yet undergone complete degeneration that may by 
 appropriate stimulation and education be aroused 
 to activity. This is true in the commonly known 
 spinal cord lesion of tabes dorsalis, and I have found 
 it true in the alcoholic, and also in the woman in 
 whom the moral sense seemed lacking. There are 
 reasons for these untoward conditions — physical rea- 
 sons always which of necessity react upon psychical 
 conditions to the detriment of mind and soul. My 
 own experience in finding an available stimulus cap- 
 able of taking my inner and best self out of the sordid 
 environment of work and worry has taught me so 
 much that in the future professional effort will never 
 
 be spared, as it never has been in the past, to help 
 
 196 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 even the apparently most hopeless cases. Just so long 
 as an absolute degenerative change has not taken 
 place, there remains the possibility of arousing physi- 
 ological activity within the neuron, to the betterment 
 even if not the recovery of the patient. 
 
 But I forget my theme, just as I always do, when 
 the tocsin of professional responsibilities is sounded. 
 
 As I have already indicated, I found that in con- 
 sequence of the possession of this instrument and the 
 ability to listen to the best of music, seated in my fav- 
 orite chair by an open fire, in a room of goodly pro- 
 portions, well ventilated and artistically "homey", 
 all my old love for, and satisfaction in music, both 
 vocal and instrumental, was aroused. 
 
 As I grew more and more accustomed to it, I felt 
 
 an increased desire to go again to the opera or to the 
 
 Symphony Concerts. One evening, some two months 
 
 after its acquisition, I permitted a patient to beguile 
 
 my attendance upon the opera. She selected Rigo- 
 
 letto, but long before its conclusion I was conscious 
 
 of neither enjoyment, melody nor harmony. My 
 
 sense of duty and the fitness of things kept me until 
 
 its close. So complete was my exhaustion that I have 
 
 no memory save that of a confusion of sights and 
 
 sounds, which after all characterizes much of opera. 
 
 My neurons had completely failed to register a single 
 
 note of satisfying melody. All that remained was 
 
 the, to me, irritating orchestral refrain, which was 
 
 197 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 absolutely unsatisfying and fatiguing beyond words. 
 This despite an all star cast. So painful and ex- 
 hausting was its constant reiteration in my brain that 
 I could not get quiet nor comfortable upon my re- 
 turn home. 
 
 In my discomfort and despair at the prospect of a 
 sleepless night I placed in the instrument the record 
 of a ballad, sung by a beautiful sympathetic tenor 
 voice, and as the pleasing strains filled the room, the 
 memory of the irritating and exhausting sounds and 
 the confusion of scene slipped away, and by the time 
 I was ready to retire, I felt reposed and able to read 
 a few pages, as was my custom. Sleep came less 
 readily than usual, but my better physical condition 
 helped me to woo the drowsy god much more quickly, 
 than formerly. 
 
 The morning found me exhausted, however. I did 
 not want to hear the sound of a voice. The hum of 
 the city's noise I was accustomed to and, although 
 exhausting, I could within the walls of my apartment 
 shut the worst of it out of my consciousness. 
 
 Fortunately it was a Sunday morning. There was 
 no office hour, and no one to disturb the quiet of my 
 apartment. My writing table was littered with all 
 the unfinished ends of the work of a professional per- 
 son. There were letters to write, literally from one 
 end of the world to another. Case books and ledgers 
 needed attention, but after a few moments' effort I 
 
 198 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 laid my pen down, walked to the library and en- 
 sconced myself in an easy chair with a book. By 
 afternoon I had stored up sufficient energy to enable 
 me to write the home letter due, but the sun went 
 down with nothing else accomplished. This was not 
 all. It took me weeks to get over the exhaustion. 
 All this fatigue seemed so purposeless, and I could 
 not be patient for having permitted myself such an 
 experience. Had it only left me with one blessed 
 memory of pure harmony, but it did not. This was 
 partly the character of the opera. Had it been a 
 different kind of music, while the exhaustion would 
 have been as great, there might have remained at 
 least the memory of one bit of pleasing melody. At 
 least this is the impression which remains with me. 
 
 A month later, the Sunday following Christmas 
 day, I went toi the gala Wagner performance by the 
 New York Symphony, Frank Damrosch, conductor. 
 
 My years of deprivation rendered me all the more 
 keenly alive and susceptible to the exquisite beauty 
 of the Wagnerian music. His operatic scores had al- 
 ways appealed to me, as French and Italian opera 
 never did. I had not only a feeling of the sense 
 harmony, but of intellectual pleasure as well. My 
 soul particles, or "psychomeres" soared into the 
 realms of purest and most exquisite pleasure, as I 
 listened again to the prelude of Lohengrin, Tann- 
 hauser's Pilgrimage to Rome, the Prayer from Act 
 
 199 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 III of Tannhauser, the Magic of St. John's Eve 
 from Die Melsterslnger, the Siefrled Idyll, Siegfried 
 pressing through the flames surrounding the sleeping 
 Brunhllde, and the Prelude and Finale from Tristan 
 and Isolde. I was in the seventh heaven of delight 
 and, although conscious of fatigue, my neurons regis- 
 tered the exquisite melody and the intellectual striv- 
 ing. I came home charmed, stimulated, and felt de- 
 spite fatigue as though I had been above and beyond. 
 At the same time I realized more keenly than I had 
 from time to time, how I had been cheated and de- 
 frauded of my birthright. As I write that sentence, 
 I involuntarily pause, for there rise before me the 
 beds of the sick, suffering, to whom I have minister- 
 ed, the days and years of striving to teach those who 
 came to me for advice, the better way of living which 
 always means health, the confessions to which I have 
 patiently listened waiting until I could speak the 
 words of comfort and help so sadly needed directing 
 the way to health of body and mind, the knowledge 
 that I have never failed to "stand by" when needed, 
 that to the pale-faced pathetic-eyed daughter whose 
 mother's doom I had pronounced. I did not say nay, 
 when she said "Don't go for your vacation yet, doc- 
 tor (I had never had but one or two in all my life, 
 and they were usually of work-a-day character) , I do 
 not think you will have to wait long," although be- 
 fore the end came. It meant such exhaustion for me 
 
 200 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 as to lead to an accident from the effects of which I 
 shall never recover, and I can but ask, why should I 
 regret not having taken of life a surfeit of pleasure, 
 when I could do these things by giving up the pleasur- 
 ing of self. In my case only one thing could be done, 
 and such talents as were my endowment have been 
 laid on the altar of my profession, to which in my 
 teens I felled impelled. 
 
 Better to see the face of the suffering, dying even, 
 light up on entering the sickroom, to hear almost the 
 last words in a cheery voice of one just on this side 
 of the hereafter, "Oh, there is my doctor, I am so 
 glad you have come; you have won out, I have no 
 pain and I am better — much better", than to have 
 linger in neuronic memory the strains of music only, 
 no matter how satisfying, enthralling and uplifting i 
 they may have been. 
 
 Of course, my friends think it all wrong, and my 
 physician calls me to account in no measured terms 
 ever and anon. Yet with all my apparent careless- 
 ness and neglect of my physical self, it really does not 
 exist. I am careful and cautious to a degree in most 
 things. My work must be done and well done and I 
 must do it according to my own lights, not according 
 to others. Humanity demands that of me and one 
 must be true to one's self. 
 
 My necessarily shut-in life other than professional 
 hours renders me therefore very grateful to those 
 
 20 1 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 who have made it possible for me to again be rested, 
 enthralled and inspired by beautiful music. I suffer 
 no deprivation through the absence of the singers or 
 players physical presence. On the contrary, the only 
 deprivation is the lack of an invisible sprite whose 
 duty should be the removal and placing of the de- 
 sired records. 
 
 Occasionally a very congenial friend, who instinc- 
 tively recognizes that my two hands are tired as well 
 as my brain, does this for me to my very great com- 
 fort and enjoyment. 
 
 202 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 "Psychic Susceptibility and Psychic Control or The 
 Wireless Transmission of Thought or Brain Waves 
 by the "Carriers of the Air" . 
 
 IT is nearly fifteen years since I "sprained my 
 brain", and nearly thirteen years since I 
 smashed it entirely. Many of the untoward 
 conditions still remain however. Yesterday 
 I was on the heights, happy and equal to every 
 effort. The day was devoted to my professional 
 work, and I gave of my largesse, counsel, cheer, en- 
 couragement, smiles and jokes to each and every one, 
 as I felt their need would best be met. In addition 
 to the routine errands at the pharmacists, the bank, 
 the academy of medicine, I did a shopping errand 
 and wound up with a social call. It was this latter 
 which did the mischief, for I precipitated myself into 
 an environment which I could not control, while more 
 than that it delayed my dinner hour which demands, 
 as has been noted, prompt recognition if it is only a 
 glass of fermented milk. As a result of all this I am 
 today tired, body and soul, weary beyond words, my 
 head aches with an ache which beggars description, 
 while I am gripped by the most profound depression. 
 
 203 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 There is no uplift nor inspiration from the usual 
 mental stimuli, nor is there physical strength for ex- 
 ercise. However, although the sun is shining brightly 
 and the skies are clear, there is a barometric change 
 due. This I know full well. It may not be here 
 for forty-eight or more hours, but it is on the way 
 with absolute certainty. I think if I were enveloped 
 in cotton wool and hermetically sealed within a metal 
 sheathed room, I would know when an easterly storm 
 was coming and long before the veering wind, low- 
 ered barometer and enveloping gloom of the foggy 
 atmosphere told the sitory. This, which has always 
 been more or less true, was increased by my illness, 
 but the injury which I received in two successive faint- 
 ing fits to my head, which were induced by the ex- 
 treme of fatigue and exhaustion, has emphasized it. 
 These lines, however, penned almost thirteen years 
 after the very complete exhaustion of my supreme 
 nerve centres, had their inspiration, if Inspiration can 
 be said to exist under such circumstances, in the un- 
 toward condition produced by a storm, accom- 
 panied by winds and heavy snow fall, followed by a 
 drop in the temperature, with lessened barometric 
 pressure and the best of electrical conditions. Seven- 
 ty-two hours before it came I was restless with a 
 nameless restlessness, moving about from one thing 
 to another, not desiring to read consecutively nor 
 think along the lines of my work as was my wont. I 
 
 204 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 was also tired — oh, so tired and depressed to a de- 
 gree. This is what happens always, and the seismic 
 disturbances of this winter, 1908-1909, although far 
 away, had unquestionaby exercised a profound influ- 
 ence upon the earth which could readily be appreci- 
 ated by a sensitive nerve organiaztion. The same 
 force which causes the trembling of the sensitive seis- 
 mic needle is capable of causing disturbances in a 
 nerve organization so sensitively attuned as was mine. 
 I have been most wakeful, not the distressing insom- 
 nia of the years before and following the breaking 
 down, but wide awake, alert, intolerant of repose, 
 but happy and contented, despite my numerous sun- 
 rise experiences. I call them sunrise "jags" in order 
 to keep my friends from taking them seriously. They 
 think I should stay in bed until the conventional city 
 hour. After all, why should I not be up before the 
 first of the dawning? Why not enjoy one of the most 
 beautiful sights to be seen on this beautiful earth, 
 and why not have the soul pleasure which comes too 
 seldom in this busy work-a-day world ? It is not con- 
 ventional in a big city, unless one labors with hands 
 and pick-axe, to rise before the sun, but it is my de- 
 light and always has been from my childhood to be 
 astir, that I might feel the first mysterious movement 
 of the dawn, and mine has been the triumph and 
 glory when his royal majesty appeared. Similarly, 
 the sunsets have drawn me along the shafts of light, 
 
 205 
 u 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 into the sunset's jewelled splendor. Had I lived in 
 the days of the sun worshippers I could readily have 
 become one of them. 
 
 I am constantly picking up etheric vibrations, and 
 unless saturated with the toxins of fatigue, have a 
 prescience of coming events or the dawning of new 
 truths. In order to keep at least one foot on earth in 
 its relation to my work, I regard it simply as a scien- 
 tific imagination. It is possessed by many others and 
 life would be despoiled where I deprived of mine. I 
 never lose sight of scientific facts however. 
 
 The day the storm whose coming had been told me 
 by the "carriers of the air" or etheric vibrations to 
 which I was attuned, without any knowledge of 
 weather forecast, any nerve or muscle pain, I was up 
 at half past five and seated at my writing at a few 
 minutes after six o'clock. There had been days of 
 warmth, melting snow, rain, fog and storm. I had 
 seen no forecast of a change. I longed for it, not 
 alone because of what it meant to me, for without 
 radiance I am crushed, but because of the profound 
 depression of a friend who was in great grief. I 
 felt that if the sun would only shine and the baro- 
 metric pressure change, he would be able to^ get a 
 grip of himself. Radiance is essential to the best 
 physical and physiological conditions, not to speak of 
 life itself. 
 
 Before beginning my work, I was impelled to write 
 206 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTMENE 
 
 a note to this friend who had many years since passed 
 through a similar experience to mine in the way of 
 exhausting his storage batteries. The memory and 
 influence of the dear, gracious lady who had meant 
 so much to me, influenced me always to step aside, if 
 necessary, to brighten the way for others when I 
 could. This friend seemed peculiarly in need of com- 
 fort. I wrote that I was having a "sunrise jag" 
 and spoke of the unutterable beauty of the sunrise. I 
 never saw a more beautiful one, not with vividness 
 of coloring, but intensity giving way to an almost 
 blackness in its depth. I said I was not crazy and that 
 I would come down to earth a little later on. In less 
 than an hour after the letter was written it was posted 
 and on its way. To my great chagrin the sun dis- 
 appeared and the pall of gloom and fog once more 
 settled down over the city. I felt that my sunrise 
 letter would not be appreciated, but I reckoned with- 
 out that subtle etheric force and the transmission of 
 our mutual brain waves by its means. 
 
 The next morning I had a letter acknowledging my 
 "radiant letter" saying that at the same time he was 
 walking "in the twilight of the sunrise" on the edge 
 of a wood overlooking a beautiful river and drinking 
 in the beauties thereof to the good of his stricken soul. 
 He was psychic to a degree, although very practical 
 withal. I in turn had a sufficient development of the 
 psychic sense to receive the etheric vibrations, in oth- 
 
 207 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 er words our mutual transmitters and receivers were 
 in good order. Could we only listen with our soul 
 sense, what a world would be open to us. But we can 
 not, because we clog up the human furnace with 
 overstoking and interfere with the clean-out actions 
 and reactions of our chemical cells not only by too 
 much, but by the wrong food products, by our petty 
 cares, worries, and anxieties, too often by dissipation 
 and lack of content. Much depends upon the state 
 of mind which results from satisfaction with present 
 conditions, a degree of satisfaction which holds the 
 mind in place, excluding complaint, impatience or 
 further desire. 
 
 We live in the midst of eternal and never ending 
 vibrations, and our myriads of chemical cells are 
 ceaselessly vibrating to the end that nerve energy may 
 be stored, transmitted and recorded. This sort of 
 psychic communication is only possible when life is 
 simple. By our habits of life — bestial if you will, 
 although the beasts are of better conduct than men — 
 neuronic wires are down and the higher vibrations 
 fail to reach us. We grovel upon the earth and are 
 absolutely oblivious of the wealth of knowledge lying 
 about us, of the higher realm of thought to which we 
 may ascend, which means an atmosphere after all 
 saturated with radiant energy, in which the "psychom- 
 eres or "soul body" of the physicist Fournier d'Albe 
 reside. To me it seems not only possible, but proba- 
 
 208 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ble, that this theory of d'Albes is fundamentally true 
 and if so that these soul particles are opaque to ultra- 
 violet light. If they have as he believes consciousness 
 and power of locomotion or energy it is probably ob- 
 tained from the ultra-violet rays of the sun. Some 
 day they may be made visible by a more powerful 
 optical means, than we now possess. This I know, 
 that the higher virtues of justice, kindness and sym- 
 pathy which, according to d'Albe's theory, the "soul 
 body" is engaged in cultivating, are infinitely more in 
 evidence when life is simple and absolutely normal 
 chemical action and reaction is going on in the won- 
 derful chemism of life. That this may be true in the 
 highest and most complex sense, there must be ex- 
 perienced a strange content and happiness. This must 
 envelop and environ one to the best that is in them. 
 
 When the first announcement of Roentgen's dis- 
 covery was made by the daily press, I sent the clip- 
 ping to a scientific friend with the question "do you 
 believe this is true?" By return of post came his 
 reply: "I do not think so, but it may be." His neg- 
 ative opinion did not influence me, for although pos- 
 sessing much less knowledge, I had the prescience to 
 know it true. Just so then do I believe it possible 
 that more powerful optical means may come to our 
 aid rendering visible d'Albe's "psychomeres" and that 
 future generations may look back with a pitying 
 
 209 
 
 U 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 smile on our density and ignorance of actual physical 
 and psychical conditions. 
 
 This is the only theory in regard to life after 
 death, which has ever appealed to me. Its ability to 
 appeal depends upon its physical basis. There should 
 be nothing sad about this dying, it is after all but a 
 part of living and no thought could be more beauti- 
 ful, more satisfying than that my radiant energy will 
 live in the "psychomere"-saturated atmosphere above 
 us, basking in a radiance far beyond what I know 
 this beautiful winter morning, as the just risen sun 
 floods my room, my writing and my person with de- 
 light. 
 
 To follow d'Albe still further is to pass into a 
 state of transcendent radiance, for after thirty thou- 
 sand years of this existence in the soul-saturated at- 
 mosphere, he suggests a further transformation into 
 a state of existence suited to the environment which 
 is to be found in interplanetary space, implying as 
 suggested by yet another, the final cosmic union of all 
 souls and ages. No amount of theorizing will settle 
 this question which has excited the thought and inter- 
 est of all peoples and all times. There is a natural 
 desire for immortality inherent in all of us. In the 
 natural processes through which our bodies pass 
 when they are no longer needed, there is a transform- 
 ation of energy which should it seems to me yield sat- 
 isfying content as to immortality. However nothing 
 
 2IO 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 could be more beautiful than to be a part of radiance 
 whether sentient or not. After all radiance and life 
 are one. 
 
 I know a man, neither doctor nor priest, not a be^ 
 liever in new thought, mental healing. Christian Sci- 
 ence nor the Emanuel Church movement, a man of 
 such elemental vigor, with an appreciation of the 
 need of mankind bought by an experience of life so 
 varied and deep as tO' sound in the telling like a fairy 
 tale, which has left him as simple and direct as a 
 child, whose influence for good among those whom 
 he daily meets in the routine transaction of his busi- 
 ness is tremendous. He hates shams and veneer, 
 his ideals of life are the noblest, and yet he has come 
 into it all without prestige of position and birth, but 
 out of an experience which has led tO' the unrolling 
 of all the successive pages of life, to the end of know- 
 ing by heart the characters with which they are writ. 
 This experience has served to develop and bring out 
 the noblest in his character, has given him the widest 
 possible humanitarianism and made him very 
 thoughtful and gentle to> and for others. His psychic 
 control over all whom he meets in the daily walks of 
 life is constantly being used to their good. There is 
 no pose, no talk of suggestion, of New Thought, 
 
 211 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 mental healing, no connection with any of the cults, 
 while Christian Science he regards as neither Chris- 
 tian nor scientific. But there is simple, happy, con- 
 tented living, with his kindly thought and actions 
 reaching out to everybody with whom he comes in 
 contact. His personal magnetism, when he chooses 
 to use it, is very great. This is the sort of a personal- 
 ity which, when acting as one of the agents of these 
 many cults and fads, gives them their prestige. But 
 in this particular instance there is back of it all a 
 practical working knowledge of fundamental medical 
 science. 
 
 There is no question of the value of this power of 
 psychic suggestion in the cure and treatment of nerve 
 and mental states, but unless left in the hands of the 
 thoroughly trained, experienced scientific physician, 
 it is an agent of harm. Just as medicine is learning 
 to know something of the physical conditions under- 
 lying nerve and mental states, why it is that nerves 
 and nerve centres become irritable, exhausted, poison- 
 ed, why there is deficient mental activity, mental de- 
 pression, elation, confusion, insanity even, the church 
 steps in with the idea of using a similar power for 
 the healing and welfare of the people. It is a step 
 back into the dark ages, when priestly control, the 
 casting out of devils, hypnosis even took the place of 
 scientific medical care. 
 
 The extreme commercialism of everything modem 
 
 212 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 and in the physician's life the habit of continuous 
 scientific thought, contact with morbid conditions, the 
 constant need of holding themselves aloof on a plane 
 different from that of the average mortal, especially 
 in the care of nerve and mental cases, narrows the 
 field for frank and innocent expressions of emotion. 
 This prejudices the best of conditions for the repres- 
 sion of emotions and natural instincts may readily 
 result in a selfpoisoning of the mind, while their 
 legitimate expression can not but favor the best of 
 psychic elimination. Disturbance of the complex and 
 intimate chemical changes equally well results from 
 such a condition of things as from excess in eating, 
 drinking and other habits of life. The habit of in- 
 trospection by the varied mental cults is unwholesome 
 in the same way. The medical mind is scientifically 
 trained and will withstand this sort of thing better 
 than the untrained mind of the laity. Therefore, the 
 danger is greater tO' the latter. In all my hard and 
 bitter experience I have recognized this, but with the 
 conditions of my life it could not be helped. I have 
 rarely given up to this side of the question, but have 
 always resolutely set myself to work to fill up the 
 chinks with some change of occupation, even though 
 within my own four walls, in order tO' prevent the ex- 
 treme of unphysiological conditions. 
 
 213 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 "0 my Dear Father, such a Change in Nature, 
 "So great an Alteration in a Prince! 
 "He is Bereft of all the Wealth he had; 
 "The Jewel that Adorned his Features most 
 "Is filch' d and stolen away — his fVits bereft him." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 MANY times my physician has said to 
 me, I wish you were more of a 
 pachyderm, while others who knew 
 me well have voiced the opinion that 
 I should be wrapped in cottonwool 
 and carefully put out of reach of the multitudinous 
 and distressing impressions of the exterior world. 
 
 It would have been a great comfort oftentimes in 
 my life, and still would be, if I were so' constituted 
 that I could shut myself away from the untoward 
 and disturbing happenings, but on the other hand it 
 would deprive me of moments, yes hours, of the keen- 
 est pleasure. I enjoy life in all its varied complexity 
 so keenly that it compensates to a considerable ex- 
 tent for the many hurts it gives. I have always 
 been noted for my courage even as a child. The 
 ■i. more high-spirited and uncertain of conduct a horse, 
 the better I liked to ride him and I was always tempt- 
 
 214 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 ing Providence to the uttermost in my daring. If it 
 was the ridgepole of the bam, that was the height of 
 my ambition, the ridgepole of the bam it had to be, 
 no matter how difficult the task. If disaster came as 
 a result of my daring, I learned not to cry, but to 
 pick myself up and dare again. So it has been through 
 life, and when blow after blow has fallen by reason 
 of lack of strength of body to control my ambition, I 
 have likened myself to a set of ninepins which had 
 been bowled over. Perhaps a sob, a long breath, 
 possibly a few days of being hors du combat and I 
 have set my teeth together and begun again. This 
 quality of mine has enabled me to keep the shuttle 
 going, weaving back and forth amidst all the vicissi- 
 tudes of life and despite its hardships. I have never 
 slipped out of the traces, nor jumped over them, but 
 have always been enabled to keep steadfastly on 
 towards the goal I had set for myself when a child, 
 and that to live to such purpose as would tend to the 
 sum total of human good and for achievement. But 
 while this is true, I have endured sufficient vicarious 
 suffering to have atoned for the sins of the world. 
 Just now I am having a surfeit of pain and anguish, 
 because a medical confrere, simply an acquaintance, 
 but a man of good mental qualities, patient, hard- 
 working and kindly, has in the midst of the fullness 
 of professional life, suddenly so far as those about 
 him realized, developed delusions of grandeur. He 
 
 215 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 had always been poor, had worked faithfully and 
 striven hard to better his condition, but at the same 
 time thinking more of his duty and work in a pro^ 
 fessional relation, than of personal aggrandizement. 
 But when the balance wheel of his intelligence finally 
 slipped its cog, his spoken, and written thought all 
 turned upon the untold wealth that was his, enabling 
 him to shower comfort and pleasures upon those he 
 loved and giving him a surcease from the daily grind. 
 In this instance but not necessarily always it was the 
 form of his delusions that named his insanity, but 
 despite one's knowledge one can but wonder how 
 much his constant toil, his necessary and petty econo- 
 mies, cooking for himself and sleeping in his office, 
 while keeping up, as a physician must, a brave front 
 in appearances, had to do with coloring his delusions. 
 Poor man, hopelessly insane and doomed tO' the going 
 out of his life in absolute darkness. It is inexpressibly 
 saddening, and there seems to^ be something not quite 
 right in the relation of the conscientious physician to 
 the people, when faithful, intelligent and conscien- 
 tious work should be so ill requited that years of toil 
 leave nothing. In his insanity he is happy and con- 
 tent because of his delusions of grandeur. The world 
 is at his feet and he has unlimited powers, whereas 
 before he was eternally planning and scheming how 
 best to keep up the appearance demanded of a phy- 
 sician and make both ends meet. But those of us 
 
 216 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 whose view point is from the sane side of the border- 
 land, have aching hearts because of the magnitude 
 of his calamity — a reason dethroned. What a nar- 
 row line that borderland line is and how readily it 
 can be crossed; for the crossing is very narrow and 
 there is no depth to the separating current. But in- 
 herent in every individual there is despite all that can 
 be said, I feel and think, a potential one way or the 
 other that controls under adverse winds the sanity or 
 insanity of the individual. This is a recognized 
 truth. I am absolutely aware that I live on a differ- 
 ent plane from the average human being ; yet, despite 
 all life's stress and the most extreme nerve exhaustion 
 from which one can suffer, there never could arise in 
 the minds of others a question as tO' my perfect mental 
 balance. I am conscious, however, that had I a dif- 
 ferent potential, I might have worse befall me than 
 an essential neurasthenia. Without doubt a dietary 
 limited by my Insufficient digestive capacity and a 
 strenuous life — strenuous beyond its physical back- 
 ground — keeps me more keenly alive, alert and in- 
 tuitive, than though my myriads of chemical cells 
 were struggling to reach that perfect interchange of 
 courtesies which means freedom from toxic nerves 
 and brain. One dietary indiscretion makes me un- 
 happy, one mouthful of food more than I need gives 
 me not only a sense of repletion, but of physiologic 
 
 ai7 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NeUrASTHENE 
 
 defilement. It may be food of the simplest character, 
 but the result is the same. 
 
 While this is true, I know if I could work less 
 hard, have the luxury of being cared for, change my 
 environment more often, I would eat more and have 
 increased digestive capacity — perhaps might even be- 
 come bovine In my atmosphere of placidity. — I will 
 not say contentment, for contentment I have. But 
 I would lose precious moments on the heights, such as 
 this midwinter morning for example. Awake since 
 half past four, up and breakfasted at half past six 
 o'clock and seated at my work before seven. The 
 sun has just climbed to sufficient height to reach my 
 lofty windows and penetrating the atmospheric gloom 
 of fog shines in upon me as I write, illuminating and 
 irradiating my mind, body and surroundings. Un- 
 happiness Is not possible in its radiance if wholesome 
 habits of living form the background. How few 
 people among city dwellers know the beauty and the 
 precious charm of the early morning. The night 
 may be beautiful, peaceful, glorious even, but noth- 
 ing can take the place of the dawn's awakening. Be- 
 fore the first streak of light, In that darkest hour just 
 before day, there comes to me a sense of possibili- 
 ties, of abilty to do and a feeling that the world is 
 mine with all its wealth of knowledge and charm. 
 The rising sun does not dissipate this, but by the time 
 It is two or more hours high, I become conscious that 
 
 218 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 after all the world is peopled, that it does not belong 
 to me, and this consciousness indicates that my wire- 
 less receiver is in good workng order and that I am 
 picking up the ceaseless vibrations of the external 
 world. Whether these be for pain or pleasure, de- 
 pends upon my physical condition. If there is no im- 
 mediate problem before me, if the electrical and ba- 
 rometric conditions are favorable to physiological 
 conditions, beauty is everywhere, duty is a pastime, 
 and joy and contentment reign supreme. Greig in 
 his "Morning" has musically given a charming con- 
 ception of the joy of the dawning and the triumphal 
 entry of the sun upon the scene again. 
 
 At one time in my professional life before these 
 experiences of mine I had staying in my house and 
 under my guidance and care a young girl of about 
 sixteen, whose mother had been under my care pre- 
 viously and had died hopelessly insane. The father 
 of this girl, wise beyond his opportunities with a wis- 
 dom that comes from the fullness of life, rich with 
 all its varied experiences, realized that the time had 
 come to try and save his daughter. She had begun 
 to show symptoms of mental disturbance and her 
 eldest sister was insane. He came to me to know if 
 I could take his daughter into my home, watch and 
 guard her to the end that she might escape her moth- 
 er's and sister's fate. He was not a man of means, 
 
 on the contrary a hard working man at laborious and 
 
 219 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 dirty work for a daily wage. Such were his sterling 
 qualities of mind and heart, and so wise and farsee- 
 ing was his appeal, that I told him yes and arranged 
 the business relation to his satisfaction. She re- 
 mained with me a year to the end of overcomng all 
 evidences of mental ill health, the attainment of a 
 perfect physical condition and the overcoming of a 
 snobbish feeling towards her father because of the 
 character of his work. In order to see her he was 
 sometimes obliged to stop at my home for a few 
 hurried moments on his way to or from his work at 
 his luncheon time without changing his working 
 clothes. Despite his working clothes and coal be- 
 grimed hands — he was a Welsh miner — I treated 
 him in the same manner as the best groomed among 
 my men friends, but this young girl could not for a 
 long time realize what it all meant, and simply ex- 
 perienced a feeling of resentment because of his ap- 
 pearance. He could not see her otherwise, all else 
 in his little family circle had gone down in the storm 
 and he treasured the one that still had a chance be- 
 yond words. 
 
 The reward is that father's in which I am honored 
 to share. Only a few years since he wrote telling me 
 of her perfect health, of her success as a teacher and 
 of his great gratitude to me. While these things do 
 not pay the rent, nor buy the bread and butter, they 
 are of value beyond words or figures. 
 
 220 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 For this result I take no undue unction to my soul, 
 but recognize that while she had an unstable nerve 
 organization, she lacked the potential of insanity, 
 despite her family history. 
 
 This young girl is intimately associated in my mind 
 with the matter of food. One summer morning dur- 
 ing my office hours, I suspect I had risen early, as I 
 have this morning of my writing, I felt hungry and 
 knew my best interests would be conserved by some- 
 thing in the way of food. I stepped from the office 
 to the butler's pantry, not wishing to disturb the 
 routine of the one housekeeping servant, as she had 
 extra duties that day, but all I could secure that I 
 dared eat was a crust of bread, exceedingly dry and 
 very hard. That did not trouble me, for my teeth 
 were good. I took it in my hand and passed out of 
 the house to the verandah overlooking the garden. 
 As I appeared contentedly chewing my crust of bread, 
 more delicious to my taste under the circumstance of 
 my genuine hunger, than the supreme effort of the 
 most celebrated chef of our expensive gilded hostel- 
 ries, she looked at me with a pitying smile, saying: 
 "Doctor, are you as hungry as that?" To her my 
 enjoyment was incomprehensible. This, however, is 
 true, I have been as hungry as that all my life — not 
 for physical food, but for knowledge, for joy, happi- 
 ness, for all the things that go to make up life. My 
 enjoyment of the sun's radiance, of a beautiful land- 
 
 221 
 16 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 scape, picture, book, music, in the unravelling to me 
 of a scientific problem, is beyond words, and I fancy 
 one reason may be that I have partaken so sparingly 
 that appetite and desire know no dulling and zest re- 
 mains. 
 
 222 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 "The Allegory has another View." 
 
 Bacon, The Physical Fables. 
 
 The Point of View or "It will do you Good" . 
 
 A FEW weeks since and while engaged 
 upon this story I was returning from 
 a necessary errand in a down town 
 shop, when just as I crossed the street, 
 I heard a voice saying "There you go 
 with your head in the air, oblivious of everybody." 
 A detaining hand was laid upon my arm, and the 
 voice continued, "You must stop and speak tO' me. 
 Why don't you quit working and have some fun?" It 
 was I found an old acquaintance and subsequent pa- 
 tient of bright cheery helpful presence. All I needed 
 to do was to shake hands, stand still and smile, for 
 her monologue went on. "Why don't you get mar- 
 ried? I knew the man you ought to marry. He is 
 a doctor and is more interested in the science of medi- 
 cine than anything else." I continued to look at her 
 smilingly. It was not necessary to talk. She under- 
 stood by means of my smile, uplifted eyebrow and 
 gestures. It is extremely difficult for me to try to lis- 
 ten, let alone talk, in the noisy streets. However, 
 
 223 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 just here if ever I contemplatedl marriage, I should 
 not select a member of my own profeission. 
 But she continued, "I want you to come 
 
 to the next meeting of the club 
 
 on Saturday afternoon. It is to be a special day and 
 the meeting will be held in the ball room of the 
 
 . "It will do you good." I thanked her, said 
 
 I did not believe I could come, as I had much to do, 
 but she insisted and put into the urging so much of 
 her cheering magnetic self, that I finally said "Call 
 me up next Saturday morning during oiEce hours, 
 and I will give you a definite answer." "Why — ^will 
 you forget?" "No," I replied, "I will not forget, 
 but I appreciate your desire to have me, and if I can 
 arrange it, your call will serve as a stimulus to a lit- 
 tle extra effort." 
 
 Saturday morning came and with it her call. I 
 was busy in the office and the weather was abomin- 
 able, but in response to the sympathetic resonance of 
 her voice I replied that I would come. When the 
 work was finished, luncheon eaten, I rested myself 
 by a prolonged plunge of face and hands in hot wa- 
 ter, then quietly made my toilette. By the time it 
 was finished and the cab at the door, a transforma- 
 tion had taken place. The lines of fatigue had dis- 
 lappeared from my face, and although as always pale, 
 my eyes were bright and for the beneft of the lay 
 reader my directoire costume was stunningly elegant 
 
 224 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 and very becoming. On the way I called to speak 
 with a friend who said he did not need to be told 
 that I was going to a function, I looked it. This 
 bit of approval did me no harm, and when I reached 
 the brilliantly lighted room, crowded with women 
 — some men, but it was a woman's affair, I was in 
 extremely good form and full of pleasant anticipa- 
 tions. I found the same untoward condition of ven- 
 tilation and vibration as characterizes all places where 
 human kind congregates, however, and returned 
 home tired and depressed. It took me days, yes 
 weeks to get over that extra fatigue and led to my 
 being asked by an intimate and very sensible friend 
 "Don't you think Doctor you had better leave the 
 stage and give your real self a chance?" To his 
 query I replied that I had not done these things for 
 fifteen years past,, until within a year I had been try- 
 ing tO' do a little — as I did not wish to be stranded 
 on the shores of time. But he was right. It is not 
 the best life after all, this life of pose and function 
 which has supplanted to too great an extent the life 
 of the home and fireside. The husband of an artist 
 friend complained to me recently, as did she herself, 
 that there never was time even for a little family 
 council. 
 
 Again one evening while engaged upon this writ- 
 ing, an old acquaintance of what would have been 
 my girlhood, if I had not entered the medical pro- 
 
 225 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 fession as soon as I could by reason of the age limit 
 and was instead a hard worked doctor, called me up 
 to know might he call and bring me some coffee from 
 his coffee plantation up in the mountains of Mexico. 
 I had seen him but twice in a quarter of a century, 
 the last time nearly a year previously. At that time 
 he told me of his artistic comfortable bungalow, of 
 the native servants and of a life of luxury in relation 
 to all the comforts of life, but of absolute solitude 
 save for the natives. He was a bachelor, a man who 
 in his early life had not had the advantage of educa- 
 tion and culture, but who' had taken them all on in 
 the attrition of life with the best and most cultured 
 people of a college town. I had not known him 
 well, as my life was so set apart from that of the 
 other young people, yet he was associated with some 
 of its beautiful memories, was one of the satellites 
 around a body of interesting young women, chief 
 among them a young woman of my own age who had 
 stepped aside from the duties and pleasures of her 
 life at the suggestion of a physician brother a few 
 years older than myself, with whom I was associated 
 in professional work. This physician and I were the 
 best of friends and he saw what I did not realize 
 that I was working too hard and steadily, and that 
 I needed the companionship of young people. I bless 
 his memory at this distance for the kindly thought 
 
 for he has finished life's problem, earlier than he 
 
 226 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 should. To know his sister, a beautiful winsome girl, 
 possessed of all the attributes that invite love and 
 confidence and of a joyousness and radiance that en- 
 deared her to all was to have glimpsed a beautiful 
 soul. It seems but yesterday that the tidings flashed 
 over the wires, which plunged the village in mournr 
 
 ing, "beautiful Mary is drowned." Her 
 
 first attention, however, after her brother spoke of 
 me was to call upon me and later to ask me for the 
 week end to her home. In order that I might see 
 the other side of life, the choicest of her young 
 friends were invited to meet me. It was then and 
 there that I met the gentleman who called me up to 
 know might he call to bring me the package of cof- 
 fee from his Mexican plantation promised ten months 
 before. I said I should be very pleased to see him. 
 He came and spent the evening and naturally the 
 conversation turned upon the olden times, the old 
 friends, on our great loss and grief when this friend 
 was taken, and in memory the anguish at a distance 
 of many many years was relived. Out of the past 
 came trooping the shadowy forms and faces of the 
 many gone beyond while recollections of the living 
 were revived. Before the call was ended he listened 
 with great delight to some of my best music. It was 
 all very interesting and the silvery haired gentleman 
 with the young face said as he left "doctor I have 
 
 had a beautiful evening." I was glad, because in that 
 
 227 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 evening long ago he had contributed not a little to 
 the happiness and merriment of us all, lifting me for 
 a little out of the atmosphere of work and pain. But 
 I knew what the result would be as far as I was con- 
 cerned and that despite his recent recovery from a 
 pneumonia, the fatigue which I should feel on the 
 morrow was out of his ken. This is the morning 
 after. I am limp and exhausted. My brain is weary 
 with the kaleidoscopic flitting from one person and 
 place to another in being told of all the old friends. 
 These are things I can not do even after all these 
 years. Had there been more than one guest the ill 
 effects would be greater. In his recent illness, 
 he told the friends who cared for him, "if I 
 die and I am ready to go if that is what it 
 means, have no fuss nor frills; send my body to the 
 crematory to be cremated and my ashes back toi the 
 old home. I have had an awfully good time during 
 my life." Many was the good time he gave others 
 and it would be fitting toi inscribe on the memorial 
 urn — ^Alas; Poor Yorick! Full of quips and jests 
 but with a very great delicacy of feeling and tender- 
 ness toward others. Soi feelingly did he speak of our 
 mutual friend whose life was cut off untimely that I 
 wondered if after all despite his universality of 
 friendliness to his women friends and they were 
 legion, she was not the one who' living would have 
 
 made his later days less lonely. This period of my 
 
 228 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 life, the first of my twenties, was one of great care, 
 responsibility, hard work, too little sleep as well as 
 too little food. This latter because the former con- 
 ditions prejudiced my appetite and digestion. It has 
 left its impress and contributed to what I ultimately 
 suffered. In the six to seven years that followed my 
 doctor's degree I had made myself felt in my work 
 and by my friends so forcibly that only recently it 
 gave me great pleasure tO' find that still I am cher- 
 ished in appreciative and loving remembrance for the 
 one and by the other. This is a recompense even 
 though I am not possessed of the best of nerve 
 strength. Compensation is the law of life. Every- 
 thing meets with either reward or punishment ac- 
 cording to its nature. Mine is both, but the lack of 
 strength has never, save momentarily in my bitterest 
 agony of physical pain and most profound depression 
 outweighed the knowledge of having met the needte 
 of those to whom I have borne the relation of physi- 
 cian, friend, comforter and counsellor. I can still 
 feel every atom of vitality leaving my body as poor 
 desperate women from themselves taken away have 
 clung to me begging for help in the depths of their 
 despair. No, this is not right for the average person, 
 but I can only question whether my qualities of mind 
 and heart would have been, better filled or better sat- 
 isfied under different circumstances. I had to be and 
 
 do. This was born in me and as a little morsel of 
 
 229 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 humanity I used to press my hands into my eyes that 
 I might revel in the beautiful optical phenomena and 
 wing my thought away to the time when I should 
 have power and influence. In those days perhaps I 
 was eight years of age — my ambition was a seat in 
 the counsels of the nation, not the lower, but the 
 upper house, or else as chief executive of the country. 
 The strenuous, restless, daring, impulsive and often 
 injudicious executive who has just left the executive 
 chair, has never known a greater desire for achieve- 
 ment than have I, has experienced no greater ambi- 
 tion. This will show my nature and tendency. But 
 neither the thought of power nor influence weighed 
 with me if it did not have the humanitarian aspect. 
 
 It is the same whenever I overdo and in whatever 
 way, and the oft repeated "It Will do' you Good" of 
 my friends is a good deal like flaunting a red flag by 
 the matador in front of the infuriated bull of the 
 arena. I have tried so often and this Shylock of ex- 
 hausted nerve force never fails to exact to the utmost 
 his pound of flesh. It may be a medical meeting, a 
 social call, any demand upon my limited resources. 
 Many a time I have returned from a medical meeting 
 where I have been an interested listener, a reader of 
 a paper or a contributor to the discussion, conscious 
 of but one desire and that to reach the quiet and se- 
 clusion of my own four walls. No one has ever 
 
 known what I have endured in the effort to keep up 
 
 230 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 with these duties save my physician, and he by no 
 means always or fully, for our lives were too busy 
 with our respective professional duties for me to 
 burden his with all these experiences, unless I was 
 pretty well down and out. They have all been recov- 
 ered from in the course of time, sometimes many 
 weeks, even months, before the memory of some sin- 
 gle experience would disappear and leave me with a 
 feeling that, after all, I had not failed in my effort 
 and had just as good a right to be happy and satisfied 
 as any one else. The tears used to come, but with an 
 increased degree of neuronic energy self-control is 
 better, and now it is only a long sobbing breath, a 
 setting of my teeth in grim determination and a reso- 
 lute taking hold of something in the way of scientific 
 interest or helpful diversion, until I can put the feel- 
 ing of having failed entirely away from me. Too 
 long hours at any of these functions tells heavily upon 
 me. I have therefore had to hold and increase my 
 work from the quiet of my professional rooms and 
 with the vigor of my pen. 
 
 231 
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 "Human Experience like the Stern Lights 
 
 Of a Ship at Sea, Illumines only 
 
 The Path which we have Passed Over." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 SOME day there may be a different name for 
 the condition known as neurasthenia, one 
 that will carry with it less of opprobrium 
 and prejudice than now. It can not, how- 
 ever, continue to be recognized as a condi- 
 tion without a pathology. It is true the microscope 
 has not yet discovered and may not until more power- 
 ful means are available, the toxin of fatigue. The 
 disturbance of physiological processes — a pathologi- 
 cal physiology — is always in evidence. In both the 
 cases referred to in this connection there was a chronic 
 fatigue of mind and body, a complete going stale in 
 the language of athletes, physically, mentally and 
 spiritually if you Will, for they are mutually de- 
 pendent and interdependent conditions. The toxin 
 of fatigue exists as truly as does the toxin of fermen- 
 tative indigestion, and while the discovery of the 
 latter and its relation to dietary measures is a tre- 
 mendous stride in medical progress, showing how by 
 
 232 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 reason of its presence the use of certain foodstuffs 
 interferes with all the physio-chemical actions related 
 to normal life and function, causing the production 
 of certain bodies with learned names which are ac- 
 companied by certain and many of the symptoms of 
 the neurasthene and by poisoning the nerves and brain 
 through the toxin-laden blood, it does not tell the 
 whole story. Let the same individual have the op- 
 portunity for an ideal vacation, no stress nor strain 
 as to the financial end, absolutely care free, provided 
 with every comfort of luxury, which is a different 
 thing from every luxury; congenial friends and sur- 
 roundings, out of doors, preferably on a houseboat in 
 southern or northern waters according to the season 
 of the year, or a private yacht, and everything and 
 anything can be eaten without the end products of 
 the physio-chemical laboratory evidencing wrong ac- 
 tion and reactions. Exercise is not only not essential, 
 but in these cases of chronic neurasthenic fatigue is 
 to be avoided. In the quiet drifting of life along 
 pleasant ways with financial and business strain re- 
 moved, there is to be obtained a readjustment of all 
 physiological processes. It goes on so quietly that 
 nO' note is taken of it, until suddenly the patient finds 
 himself so well that he could not stand it, if he felt 
 better. But if this care-free golden holiday is not 
 long enough, there will soon be a reversion to former 
 untoward conditions. 
 
 233 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 In all these weary years — not idle ones nor useless 
 ones, nor yet years deprived of many of the joys of 
 life — I think could I have only realized the sheer 
 joy in living, the intensity of my delight in having 
 once more physical strength and mental vigor, I 
 would have made greater effort to have overcome the 
 neurasthenic state even at great personal sacrifice. I 
 do not feel that I have words at command to give an 
 adequate pen picture of the profound change in 
 thought and feeling which finally came to me after 
 ten years of such profound nerve exhaustion and 
 weariness as is given to comparatively few to know. 
 With what zest and abandon I renewed my interest 
 in life, in the joy of living, the purely physical pleas- 
 ure of knowing that the sun shone, that the mornings 
 were radiant with its glory and the evenings jewelled 
 with its splendor of afterglow. To be able to eat and 
 have the feeling that one has really dined, not simply 
 fed to support life, to walk with free and buoyant 
 tread instead of listlessly dragging one's feet along 
 in utter weariness of the flesh and spirit, but over and 
 above all, to be conscious of mental vigor again, so 
 keen and dominant as to give a sense of unlimited 
 power, this was living. When I had finally realized 
 all this after ten years of almost continual suffering, 
 mental and physical, days of pain and wearying 
 nights of pain and sleeplessness, a perpetual never 
 ending struggle to get well and keep well, to follow 
 
 234 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 the daily routine and to help in developing and build- 
 ing up the work in which I was interested then do I 
 feel that my charming medicus upon whom I relied 
 implicitly and to whom I owe that which I can never 
 pay, should have lifted me bodily from my habitat 
 and sent me off to the quiet of the country, where I 
 could have soaked in energy at every pore. Yet, as 
 I say this, I know how inadequate it would have been 
 had I gone simply for the sake of quiet, fresh air and 
 sunshine, for to one with the restless, active brain 
 which I possessed, mental work and mental stimulus 
 was an absolute necessity, and so it is to every one. 
 The intelligence that feeds upon itself is lost and the 
 brain of such a person suffers from a condition of 
 mental autointoxication. In addition the relation of 
 my life to my work had to provide the necessary 
 means or wherewith always. Therefore, my dear 
 doctor, there remains no cause of complaint, for after 
 all a different course might have turned out less well 
 for me. But I do look back with profound regret on 
 those years of my life, despite the work done in my 
 chosen calling, despite the influence of that work and 
 despite in addition to my many contributions to medi- 
 cal science, there stands at least one volume of which 
 it had been predicted that it will always live. But 
 the joy in things mental, physical and perhaps spirit- 
 ual did not come until there came an opportunity for 
 three whole months in the hills where I quaffed great 
 
 235 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 breaths of life-giving air and rested content in the 
 utter quiet, while an absolutely new and engrossing 
 interest of a scientific nature aroused and stimulated 
 neuronic energy. 
 
 This better condition did not continue under the 
 influence of constant hard work and continued isola- 
 tion from those things which make life beautiful. 
 Had it not been for the work, I could have invited 
 my soul, but the work had to be done. 
 
 These last lines are being penned three and one- 
 half years later. My fatigue is greater and the de- 
 pression which grips me almost — yes ! quite unendur- 
 able. The work of the year has not been so hard, 
 but the strain in one sense has been greater and this 
 largely because of illness and change in my distant 
 family. The spring has dawned, things are at least 
 for the time better and I am not only hoping but I 
 will rise superior to the incubus of exhausted nerves 
 before the summer's heat. I must, for there is no 
 other course. This is true that I possess increased 
 ability to rebound and all life's impulses are forward, 
 anticipation rather than retrospection horizons me as 
 it has done all my life. 
 
 There is apt to be experienced by the neurasthene, 
 no matter how well they have met life's duties nor 
 how much of the world's work they have done a feel- 
 ing of having ignominously failed. This is a pretty 
 constant mental attitude with me and much of 
 
 236 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP A NEURASTHENE 
 
 the time I feel and have felt even when 
 accomplishing most the veriest failure in the 
 world and it seems to me that every one meets 
 their duty to life better than I. This is not 
 said of me, but I feel it myself. There are so 
 many things I should do to fulfill my highest obliga- 
 tion not only to my professional life but to life itself, 
 but alas there is not enough of me, therefore I must 
 do that which takes the least out of me. I do not 
 know the accepted explanation of much of what 
 seems my failure to do. In most instances I take the 
 initiative, but that done I am "all in" and subsequent 
 work must be carried on by others. I never express 
 my regret openly, never say why I do' not do more, 
 am very apt to convey the idea that the demands 
 upon my time render it impossible or else assume as 
 does a medical man of my acquaintance who is a 
 neurasthene, born with a potentiality which has been 
 accentuated by a hard strenuous life, an attitude of 
 absolute indifference. This he does in regard to 
 things in which he has a vital and intelligent interest, 
 but no one knows that such is the case, as exteriorly 
 he is calm, quiet, self-poised, although within experi- 
 encing profound regret at his inability to compete 
 along all lines with his confreres, knowing at the 
 same time that mentally he is their equal if not their 
 peer. But there is only so much nerve energy and 
 professional work must be done, money must be pro- 
 
 237 
 le 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 vided and all the varied duties of life, professional, 
 social and family met. His ideals are too high to 
 neglect these. Unless there comes a time soon, he 
 will never be able to realize his fondest ambitions. 
 Because I feel so often that I have failed and be- 
 cause of my extreme sensitiveness, I can only think 
 that I am regarded by others as by myself a failure, 
 but the world says no. Therefore I stay quietly at 
 home, when possibly I could stand a little more — I 
 question this however, because it hurts so cruelly to 
 feel that I have not done all I should. My tentacles 
 so to speak are out all the time to ward off vibrations 
 that give me pain or cause exhaustion. I almost never 
 know what it is to feel differently. As I write, there 
 are back of me, respectively within twenty-four hours 
 and a week, two instances occasions I had anticipated 
 with pleasure and profit and in which I was to take 
 an active part, but there was nothing to do but to send 
 a telegram at the last moment in the first instance 
 and a letter in the second, giving no reason for my 
 failure to appear and take my part, simply stating, 
 that it was an impossibility. I know full well that 
 my motives are often misconstrued, but I cannot help 
 it. I manage from first to last to be in evidence suf- 
 ficiently to hold my position as a player on the stage 
 of professional life, but I can not always advantage 
 myself of psychological entrances and exits as to hold 
 
 the centre as I should. We are all puppets, all tread- 
 
 238 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTMENE 
 
 ing the board and playing the game with an eye tO' the 
 main chance according to our point of view. 
 
 Among life's compensations are the beautiful 
 friendships which have been mine during these more 
 or less shut in years and still are, for the most part 
 with brainy men and occasionally a kindred spirit In 
 a woman. This latter did not happen so often. I fancy 
 the reason lay in the fact that I had to be responsible 
 professionally for the average woman whom I came 
 to know. I was so much more self-reliant and de- 
 pendable, had to be, than other women, even those of 
 the best mental poise. They laid down their arms 
 when they came to me, and I came to know every 
 vulnerable point. With men it was different. I was 
 not their father confessor in these ways, at least not 
 for those whom I met in a social chat about my fire- 
 side. While the friendships which exist between man 
 and man is beautiful and soul satisfying, the friend- 
 ship between man and woman of congenial mental 
 and spiritual traits not only equals but exceeds it, for 
 after all whether it be mentally, spiritually or physi- 
 cally, the one complements the other. Such is the 
 scheme of nature. It Is true that I have been alone, 
 shut out from the active whirl of the world, although 
 actively in evidence professionally, but these fireside 
 friends have talked of all the many and varied world 
 Interests, of science, art, literature, the drama, of the 
 world's work, of friendship, of marriage, of music, 
 
 239 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 of religion and the possibility of a hereafter even, 
 other than that which comes from the characteristic 
 transformation of energy. 
 
 One of the best of these friendships has been with 
 my physician and while our busy work-a-day lives 
 have prevented but little more than the professional 
 call, I have understood always that there was mutual 
 confidence and sympathy. Men have always accorded 
 me my place in the profession. I have not had to 
 ask for recognition even. This man has been most 
 beautifully frank and generous, not hesitating either 
 to me or of me, to express his approval and satisfac- 
 tion, in what he kindly believed to be my mental abil- 
 ity and professional attainments. 
 
 My inability to get well and strong has been due 
 to the need for constant devotion to my work. In it 
 I have had great happiness and content despite the 
 vicarious suffering, the Sinais and Gethsemanes. That 
 they have been in evidence a considerable part of the 
 time goes without saying, but it has taken so little to 
 lift me above and beyond them. Sometimes that little 
 has been a radiant day after days of gloom, a letter 
 from some far away friend, a lessened disurbance of 
 cerebral circulation, a new scientific interest, the 
 steady improvement in the condition of patients, a 
 quiet hour with some one of the choice spirits who 
 call me kin, a chance for a little rest with change of 
 scene and environment, a new record of music or a 
 
 240 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 new book, sometimes one thing and sometimes an- 
 other has lifted me out of a condition where all 
 things seemed stale, flat and unprofitable, and the 
 game not worth the candle. Just now this last 
 twenty-four hours an "Easter bonnet" has served to 
 lift my feminine soul into a greater degree of com- 
 fort, and after all is said and done, that feminine 
 soul, despite the brain which men are pleased to call 
 masculine, dominates the best of me and my life, al- 
 though clothes are by no means its final nor finest ex- 
 pression. 
 
 This story which I have chosen to have recorded 
 out of a multitude of experience with nerve and men^ 
 tal conditions is after all the autobiography of an 
 essential neurasthene. An essential neurasthene yes ! 
 in its broadest and deepest sense, but more than that 
 by reason of a sunstroke, of many accidents induced 
 by utter lack of muscle tone and contant fatigue of 
 body, the fullness of which has not been told and in 
 no ways more than by the almost complete exhaustion 
 of a sound center and practical loss of function of an 
 auditory nerve. The profound anaemia which charac- 
 terized my condition for years, is not essentially a 
 neurasthenic symptom and unquestionably prejudiced 
 my case. Others may suffer a similar injury 
 to an auditory nerve and I would that they 
 might be spared, not the condition, nor yet 
 the result, for that would be impossible were 
 
 241 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 they obligated to life's duties in similar environment 
 tO' mine, but the sense of injustice under which I 
 smarted for years, because the condition, is not recog- 
 nized by nerve or aural medicine as occurring in neu- 
 rasthenia and nothing was looked for but a circula- 
 tory hyperesthesia and auditory fatigue. These I 
 had, of course, but they presaged the greater, deeper 
 and permanent injury. 
 
 To-day I should regard myself as really well, but 
 I still work and while work never harms and life 
 without it would lose all its charm, overwork with 
 anxiety does and these I still have. They are a part 
 of living. But every effort of my conscious life is to 
 their lessening and avoidance. I have been hurt so 
 often and constantly by all this pain and disability, 
 that now I am nO' longer content to endure. My 
 spirit must be released from this prison of chronic 
 fatigue, before life ends. 
 
 Within myself there are great possibilities for not 
 only my own content and happiness, my own pleasur- 
 ing whether intellectually or in simple being, but for 
 the better being and pleasuring of others. After all, 
 that brings to me the truest happiness. 
 
 Neuronic energy will always have to be conserved 
 
 as long as I live to the best good of myself and others. 
 
 While I may once in a while permit a condition 
 
 which gives me the keenest pleasure, where there is 
 
 no consciousness of body in so far as any sensation in 
 
 242 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 it of discomfort is concerned — not lost as under the 
 shock of my mother's death when I was down and 
 out, but just a feeling of aerial buoyancy, I recognize 
 fully that it is not one to be dallied with. This hap- 
 pened recently under the pressure of extra strain and 
 careful abstemious eating, in order to avoid over- 
 stocking of tired chemical cells, and led to my laugh- 
 ingly telling my physician that I felt like a soul poised 
 aloft on a needle's point ready toi dance off into space. 
 Experience told me I needed more food of which I 
 partook under the most favorable circumstances I 
 could command. I did not over eat, on the contrary 
 — the repast would not have been regarded as moder- 
 ate by the most abstemious, but it was sufficient to 
 disturb the clean cut chemical actions and reactions, 
 in other words the furnace was overstoked for its 
 condition, and as a result my leucocytes became all 
 "balled up". Another time I shall proceed with 
 greater circumspection when my soul body becomes 
 the paramount factor in life and shall endeavor to 
 restore the perfect balance of my physical, intellectual 
 and spiritual being by means of my favorite food, 
 milk au naturel or fermented. This is my custom, 
 but in this instance the sense of tremor all through 
 my brain which always sends out the signal "C. Q. 
 D." was so marked and my need of a reinforcement 
 of neuronic energy so great in connection with my 
 work that I indulged in a chop and potato. Under 
 
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 good conditions it would have been all right, but not 
 under the conditions present. It is difficult to learn 
 all these lessons even in an abundant experience, and 
 this is why so many cases of more or less chronic 
 nerve exhaustion fare so badly, unless the physician 
 In charge is equal to the careful direction of food and 
 rest. Even so it is by nO' means an easy matter. 
 
 While in the bistoury of every essential neurasthene 
 there is a time when frequent regular feeding of 
 easily digested nourishment is essential, yet, in com- 
 mon with the rest of mankind there is a tendency to 
 overfeed. More people eat too much than too' little, 
 and the individual whose nerve energy is not great 
 and in whom it has been overtaxed is happiest and 
 best off tO' take nourishment in small but more fre- 
 quent quantities under conditions of great stress. Per- 
 sonally it is difficult for me to enlarge my dietary 
 repertoire, even in this way. Here, as in all medical 
 work, for that matter throughout many of the rela- 
 tions of life, individual tendencies and characteristics 
 must be considered. 
 
 It is interesting in this connection to note that at 
 
 the time he was engaged in his work upon the models 
 
 of that well known and wondrously beautiful chalice 
 
 for Pope Clement, Benvuenieto Cellini for reasons 
 
 connected with his physical well being was living 
 
 most abstemiously. He records in his autobiography 
 
 that he produced finer things and of more exquisite 
 
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 invention during this time of abstemious eating than 
 at any other time in his Hfe. 
 
 When all is said and done, I shall fail of my high- 
 est duty, if I do not leave the impression oif an ener- 
 getic, active, interested physician, an alert mentality, 
 with a never failing delight in intellectual pleasures, 
 a joy amounting to an abandon in radiant days, beau- 
 tiful scenes and music, and an interest in life in all its 
 complexity of relation, most keen and dominant. No 
 harm has befallen my neuronic energy in penning this 
 record — on the conitrary, the quiet retrospective view 
 of the entire picture has taught its lesson. 
 
 "Human experience, like the stem lights of a ship 
 at sea illumines only the path which we have passed 
 over. 
 
 This was true in Coleridge's time, but it is not true 
 to-day, for there are the magnificent search lights of 
 tremendous amperage which modern science and com- 
 mercialism have provided and by means of which the 
 path of the trackless deep still unsailed can be clearly 
 seen. 
 
 This story has been told for two reasons, one as 
 has been said as a means of mental divertisement, for 
 in the telling of it, while I have not lessened my dis- 
 abilities, I have put them more firmly and surely be- 
 hind me, the other in the belief, that it may illumine 
 the untrodden path ahead as well as the one which 
 has been passed over, that others, whether of the pro- 
 
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NEURASTHENE 
 
 fession or not, may at least be spared the injustice 
 which I have sometimes felt I have suffered. It is 
 not told with any thought of inviting pity and sym- 
 pathy or with a desire to perpetuate the condition. 
 Far from it. Every opportunity of which I dare 
 avail myself finds me enjoying life with an abandon 
 of which few are capable even though many years my 
 junior. This is because my appetites are not jaded, 
 whether it be for food, radiance, for beautiful sights, 
 and sounds, for friends, or for scientific and intellec- 
 tual pleasures. The one exception is my professional 
 work, at which I have so incessantly labored. Even 
 this exception only exists at times. At others I put 
 myself into it with all my old time zest and interest. 
 
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