_Abridged from Mr. Richards's Treatise on Nervous Disorders._
Without any intention of advocating the doctrine, or of commending the
reputed practice of the Pythagoreans, ancient or modern, I must be
allowed to reprobate the abuse of fermented liquors. Although wine was
invented, and its use allowed "to make glad the heart of man," and
although a moderate and prudent indulgence in it can never excite
reprobation, or cause mischief, still the sin of drunkenness is an
extensive and a filthy evil. Not only does it demoralize, debase, and
finally destroy its unhappy victim, but it renders him incapable of
performing the ordinary duties of his station; constituting him an object
of disgust to others, and of pitiable misery to himself. It is well to
talk of the Bacchanalian orgies of talented men, and to call them
hilarity and glee. The flashes of wit "that were wont to set the table in
a roar;" the brilliancy of genius, that casts a charm even over folly and
vice; the rank and fame of the individual, no doubt, increased the
fascination of his failings; but however bright and wonderful may be the
coruscations of his talent, while under the influence of wine, his frame
is debilitated, tottering, and imbecile, when the stimulus of the
potation has subsided.
But I do not proscribe indiscriminately all stimulus. Those whose
occupations are laborious, and who are much exposed to our variable
climate, require an absolute stimulus, over and above what they eat.
Dr. Franklin advocated a contrary doctrine, and inculcated the fact, that
a twopenny loaf was much better for a man than a quart of beer; and he
adduces the horse and other beasts of burthen as examples of the
inefficacy of the use of fermented liquors. But all this is founded upon
decidedly erroneous premises. To enable a hard-working horse to go
through his toil with spirit, he must have corn, or some other article
subject to fermentation. Now, the horse, as well as many other animals,
have stomachs very capacious, and probably adapted to the production of
this fermentation. So that corn is, in fact, a powerful fermented
stimulus to the beast.
Let us then assume, that stimulus in a certain degree is necessary to
sustain the strength and invigorate the frame of the toiling man; and the
best proof of its good effect is the comfort and energy which it imparts
to its consumer; but if this necessary stimulus be exceeded, then it is
abused, and every mouthful in addition becomes ultimately poisonous. The
first effect which is produced is upon the internal coat of the stomach,
as we may learn from the warmth which we feel. The repetition increases
the circulation of the blood, which seems, as it were, to dance through
the veins; the pulse becomes quick and full, the eyes sparkle, and the
imagination is quickened; in short, the whole frame is excited, as is
evinced by every word, look, and action. If the affair end here, well and
good; but we will suppose that the potation goes on, and very speedily a
new effect is produced. The brain, oppressed by the load of blood thrown
up into it, and irritated through its quick sympathy with the stomach;
oppressed, also, by the powerful pulsation of the larger arteries about
the head, becomes, in a degree, paralyzed. The tongue moves with
difficulty, and loses the power of distinct articulation; the limbs
become enfeebled and unsteady; the mind is deranged, being either worked
up into fury, or reduced to ridiculous puerility, and if the stimulus be
pushed farther than this, absolute insensibility ensues. Such is a brief
view of the physical progress of a debauch; and it is needless to point
out the effect of all this mischief upon the frame which is subjected to
it.[1]
Although we have thus seen that fermented liquors, if taken to excess,
become pernicious in their effect, we must not condemn their _use_,
because their _abuse_ is bad. Why should we act and feel as if this
bountiful world, brilliant in beauty and overflowing with blessings, was
a collection of steel traps and spring guns, set to catch the body and
shoot the soul? Is it not much better and wiser to avail ourselves of the
many blessings which Providence has placed before us, than to set
ourselves to work to detect poison in our drink, and God knows what in
our meat? It savours of learning, doubtless, to do all this; but _cui
bono_? where is the _real_ utility which it produces? Our grandfathers
and their progenitors were well convinced that a good cup of
"sherris-sack" comforted the heart, and aided digestion; and why the same
opinion should not govern us, I must leave to the dieteticians to decide.
The moderate use of wine and of malt liquors is exceedingly grateful to
our feelings, and abundantly beneficial to our constitution; but ardent
spirits are found to be so pernicious to most constitutions, and
especially to those: of the inhabitants of crowded towns and cities, that,
excepting under peculiar circumstances, it is better to discard them
altogether. A glass or two of good wine can never do any harm; neither
can a cup of good, genuine, "humming ale." The chemists tell us that the
London ale is a horrid and narcotic compound; and so, in truth, by far
the largest portion of it is. But there are two or three honest men in
the metropolis, who sell genuine Kennet, Nottingham, and Scotch ales,
from whom it is very easy to procure it quite pure. If, however, malt
liquor does not agree with the stomach, or what is the same thing, is
_supposed_ not to agree, it is a very easy matter to substitute wine for
it.
A word or two, here, with regard to _genuine_ ale. Half of what is sold
under the name of Scotch, Kennet, &c. is manufactured at Bromley, or
elsewhere, according to prescriptions adapted to the peculiarities of
each kind. This, perhaps, is nothing very enormous; but the publicans
"_doctor_" their beer, after it has left the brewhouse, in a manner that
calls loudly for reprehension. Salt of tartar, carbonate of soda, oil of
vitriol, and green copperas (sulphate of iron) are some of the articles
in common use; and knowing this to be the case, it is really a matter of
importance to know where good, pure beer is to be obtained. The best
Kennet ale is to be had at Sherwood's, in Vine Street, Piccadilly, or at
Chapman's, in Wardour Street; both these dealers have it direct from
Butler's, at Kennet, and a very superior article it is. Nottingham ale
may be procured in casks at Sansom's, in Dean Street, Red Lion Square;
and the best Scotch ale in London, whether in draught or bottle, is at
Normington's, in Warren Street, Fitzroy Square.
[1] The reader, who is interested in this subject, will find in Mr.
Richards's treatise a candid description of the ill effects of
drunkenness, explained with a view to admonish, rather than to
censure the sufferer.
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