had no desire to
sleep--in fact, was hyper-sensitive. But it was a real effort to open
my eyes; to tear myself away from the fascinating visions of shapes and
colours.

At last I did open my eyes to gaze at the gasjets of the chandelier
as they flickered. They seemed to send out waves, expanding and
contracting, waves of colour. The shadows of the room were highly
coloured and constantly changing as the light changed.

Senora Barrios began lightly to play on the piano the transposed Kiowa
song, emphasising the notes that represented the drum-beats. Strange
as it may seem, the music translated itself into pure colour--and the
rhythmic beating of the time seemed to aid the process. I thought of the
untutored Indians as they sat in groups about the flickering camp-fire
while others beat the tom-toms and droned the curious melody. What were
the visions of the red man, I wondered, as he chewed his mescal button
and the medicine man prayed to Hikori, the cactus god, to grant a
"beautiful intoxication?"

Under the gas-lights of the chandelier hung a cluster of electric light
bulbs which added to the flood of golden effulgence that bathed the room
and all things in it. I gazed next intently at the electric lights. They
became the sun itself in their steadiness, until I had to turn away my
head and close my eyes. Even then the image persisted--I saw the golden
sands of Newport, only they were blazing with glory as if they were
veritable diamond dust: I saw the waves, of incomparable blue, rolling
up on the shore. A vague perfume was wafted on the air. I was in an orgy
of vision. Yet there was no stage of maudlin emotion. It was at least
elevating.

Kennedy's experiences as he related them to me afterwards were similar,
though sufficiently varied to be interesting. His visions took the forms
of animals--a Cheshire cat, like that in "Alice in Wonderland," with
merely a grin that faded away, changing into a lynx which in turn
disappeared, followed by an unknown creature with short nose and pointed
ears, then tortoises and guinea-pigs, a perfectly unrelated succession
of beasts. When the playing began a beautiful panorama unfolded before
him--the regular notes in the music enhancing the beauty, and changes in
the scenes, which he described as a most wonderful kinetoscopic display.

In fact, only De Quincey or Bayard Taylor or Poe could have done justice
to the thrilling effects of the drug, and not even they unless an
amanuen