art-burn, but from a more distressing pain at the pit of my stomach. I
had continually, or almost continually, for months together, a feeling
as if a red-hot bullet lay burning in my stomach, or as if some living
creature was eating a hole through the bottom of it. I took medicine,
but it gave me no relief. The disuse of intoxicating drinks had once
cured me for a time,--cured me for some years in fact,--but the
torturing, depressing sensation came again at last, and seemed more
obstinate than ever.

In 1847, as I was leaving home one day in the train, I was seized with a
pain of a much more dreadful description. It seemed as if it would burst
my stomach, or tear it in pieces, and destroy my life at once. It
continued for nearly an hour. It returned repeatedly, and remained
sometimes for several hours. In some cases it tortured me all night.
Vomiting took it away, so I frequently took warm water to produce
vomiting. I was advised to take more exercise in the open air, so I
bought a gun and went out shooting. I purchased a horse and carriage
too, and went out riding. These did me good. But I found that when I
took certain kinds of food, such as rich cakes, rich pies, or rich
puddings, the pain returned. So I began to deny myself of those
luxuries. But even spare living seemed to lose its effect after a time,
and first the gnawing, and then the stretching, tearing, rending pain
returned.

In 1849, I took a voyage to America. Vast numbers of my readers wanted
to emigrate to America, and they looked to me for information respecting
the country. I had given them the best I could get, but they wanted more
and better. They wanted me to visit the country, and give them the
result of my observations and inquiries. I did so. To fit myself the
better for giving them counsel, I crossed the ocean in a common emigrant
sailing vessel, and saw how the poor creatures fared. We were nearly
eight weeks on the water. For much of the time the winds were idle. They
refused to blow. They might have struck for shorter hours or better pay.
When they did blow, they blew with all their might, but almost always in
the wrong direction; as if they regarded us as their enemies, and were
bent on giving us all the annoyance they could. Many were sick; more
were discontented; and all longed wearily for land. These eight weeks
were the longest ones I ever lived. They looked like years. At length we
got a sight of land, and rejoiced exceedingly. For myse