The semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1882-1886, 1885-06-20
HORRORS OF OPIUM.
~ Related By an Untortanate Who
Knows, Alas, too Well.

coming up Main street YESTERDAY afta,
moon, 9 reporter OF The MiNER had he ~
Cention directed to q miserah1a ionI; =.
wreocn who was wandering IN a dream9
h HsnaeI up the street. .sThat." said :
.sIeno OF the reporter, lis an opium fiend ,
l oume Years ago continued our friend. 90
~ . , ~. IN cne East, where he was engaged
~ . large Wholesale establishment resnecfeG
by all who knew him. Look at h;Ta pe nase
WIN his sunken eyes, sallow cheeks and
Seatniy look; he is q walking skeleton .
oAsgrace TO himself and his acouaintanco
men," " "NS ieHow
Our attention having thus been directed
&C Tins subject, we determined to find ont
/. possible TO what extent the use of opium
~ lnduiged in in Butte, and we were aston.
.sneo 70 learn that in this city there are
OF society who are becoming attached to
ms demoralizing habit. knowing that
ms article will be read by some of them
We determined to secure al interview with
tne wretched being who wal pointed out to
us on Main street, and from him learn some
tning f the foul, death-dealing habits OF
opium smoking. Having secured an intro
auction and giving our word that his name
said:
RETROSPECTIVE
II there is a curse more blightsome thar
another, it's this am pipe. I can tell you
q story worse than any you ever heard.
When you have seen the fiend as 1 have
seen m when you have felt his terrors az 1
have Jelt them, then you can write about
opium. How old would you Jake me to
be? Fifty? Well, sir, I am only IS. Come
over with me behind that saloon, and take
out your notebook, and 1 will tell you
what opium does. 1 have seen better DAYS,
My family are as good as any that ever
lived in the State of New York. I was
raised to go to Sunday school. Twas taught
by a good and kind old mother that it was
wrong to drink, swear or lie. Ihad the ex-
ample OF a father, that had I followed I
would always have been a temperance man,
l had every chance to be a good, true man.
a credit to society and an honor to myself,
instead of the miserable, br%oken-down
wretch that now am, u curse to the world
and without a friend on earth. Well, my
boyhood days passed as pleasantly and
happily as a good home and kind parents
could make them. l went to Chicago and
there 1 met the, to me, dearest girl in the
world. | loved her as man only loves once
IN a lifetime, with a love that knows no
bounds-but I'm not going to tell a love-
story. So I'll skip mat part of it, and
only say that we were married and I was
doing well; was clerk in a big wholesale
house, and one night I
CAME HOME TO FIND MY WIFE GONE,
and odly a little note, a brief line, to say
she had run of with a commercial traveller
and that l never would see her any more,
l followed her as far as Denver and there
lost track of her. He had deserted her, and
she had--wel, gone to the bad. Poor girl!
l don't blame her, though. What can a
do in this country without friends?
Nothing but go to hell, and my little girl
there. l took to drink. For two
years l tried first in one mountain town
then another, until everyone knew me
as the biggest drunkard in the mountains,
still l had friends. l never wanted a meal;
l could borrow a dollar, drunk OR sober, TO
get a meal or a nights lodging. Look at
me now! DO you suppose anyone would
invest a dollar on me? Not much! Why?
Because I'm a drunkard? No, sir; because
am an opium fiend-because a drunkard
will tell the truth-an opium fiend has no
sense OF honor at all. A drunkard may re-
form n become a better man-there is
hope for him. Societies are organized to
him. He is within the bounds of re-
Did you ever hear of a society
to save the opium smoker or eater? And
why not? Well, I'll tell YOU: There's a
curse in
THE DAMNABLE STUFF
that consumes brain, heart, mind, reason !
and honor, and that places a man outside
Of civilization, that makes the opium fend
on a par with the accursed heather. For |
the drunkard there is hope, for the user of
The drug there is none. He knows it. Look
in my face; do you see my eye? When I
" as a drunken sot l could still look a man
the eye and hiccougA the truth if 1 could
not speak it. Do you reckon 1 could do it
1ow? All, mister, it's a terrible confession
20 make, and broken down as / am, ready |
and willing to die, it makes my eart-what
little there is left of it-crack again. Did I
,ver meet my wife? No, sir! l took to
opium because-well, because l thought it
would kill me quicker than whisky, and I'm
with the change. I wouldn't give
t up now even for her love. I think if nv
ICED mother were to come down from
leaven I'd lie to her, promise her to quit it,
Ind then go and hit The pipe again."