Repose is the remedy which nature points out to tired mortals when
exhausted either by mental or bodily fatigue. This is her prescription
for refreshing man’s animal spirits, and enabling him to resume his
labours. Stimulants are by no means congenial with her methods or her
processes. They are like whip and spur to the weary steed; they may
force him on indeed, but it is at the expense of his constitution and
his powers. In medical science, the great art, as the doctors say, is
to assist nature; and with this view, the skilful practitioner will
sometimes order stimulants, and find them doubtless highly useful to
his patient; but their habitual use is no maxim of the healing art, but
much rather that of the destroying or disabling one, if I may use the
expression. By the way, we are sadly prone to habits, and therefore it
“stands us upon,” in a most serious degree, to consider well the nature
and probable results of any custom before we adopt it. In this astute and
intellectual age of ours it has been discovered that it is much easier to
abstain altogether from a dangerous indulgence than to adhere strictly
to moderation, and temperance has been superseded by teetotalism; and
I would just add to this, by way of corollary, that it is much easier
to slide into a bad habit than to get rid of it again. But to return to
our theme. The effects produced by stimulants are all agreeable for the
moment. Wine and opium raise men above earth and all its cares; and so
long as the stimulant lasts, they sit as it were at the supper of the
gods. Anacreon is then the only ballad-monger, and with him each is ready
to sing,
Strew me a breathing bed of leaves,
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves;
And while in luxury’s dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this delicious hour of joy,
Young Love shall be my goblet-boy,
Folding his little golden vest,
With cinctures, round his snowy breast;
Himself shall hover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!
But when the influence of the spell is over, immediately they sink down
as much below the level of ordinary mortals, as they were before raised
above it. For a delightful exhilaration of body and mind, they now
experience a sad reverse, in which they find much more pleasing music in
the prudent advice of the apothecary, than in all the Odes of Anacreon.
The cry is not then,
Let us drain the nectar’d bowl,
Let us raise the song of soul--&c.
But,
Let us drain the _saline dose_,
Let’s expel these humours gross.
Now, though poets have favoured us with many a canto on the raptures
inspired by flowing bowls and sparkling goblets, they have rarely
condescended to give us one line, if it were only by way of note, on the
“state of the stomach” on the morning after one of those “nights and
suppers of the gods.” Such a detail indeed was never intended for the
divine art of poesy. It is a job not at all calculated for the lover of
agreeable fiction, and hence the world hears little on the subject. Those
after-reckonings are nevertheless serious, though unpalatable things.
Pleasure here acts much like a tavern host, who remembers most accurately
all the good things he provides, though his guests are both apt and
willing to forget them. Every item is carefully put down, and must be
paid for. I shall only say, that fortunate is he who takes warning in
time. I might moralise on this theme in good set phrase, but the ground
has been so well and so frequently beaten by others, that I forbear.
With respect to such articles as opium and spirits, the “spirit of the
age,” as I have already intimated, runs quite in an opposite direction
to that of indulgence; and it is wisely considered that as those who can
be temperate in the use of such ticklish commodities must owe a great
deal to a happy temperament of constitution, and be few in number, whilst
the greater part of mankind are not so felicitously moulded, the rule
of teetotalism, viz., entire abstinence, is on the whole the safest and
best. But there is one article in our pharmacopœia of stimulants, upon
which there seems to be some difference of opinion, and with regard to
which I should wish to record my humble opinion. I allude to the nicotian
leaf-tobacco.
Now, I regret to say that a long and attentive study of the subject
compels me to pronounce an unfavourable sentence on this article.
Whatever value it may possess as a medicine--and that, in the present
state of our knowledge, is not much--I must say that, as an instrument
of luxury in ordinary use, it is unwholesome and injurious. To the
physician it may be satisfactory to ascertain in what way, precisely, the
injurious effect is produced; but it may suffice others to learn from
experience and observation what is the actual result. It is obvious that
tobacco causes an excitement of the nervous system, and thus disturbs
the course of nature; but nature never is, and never can be, disturbed
with impunity. To apply a stimulus to the system for which there is no
natural demand, is to cause a waste of nervous energy, of which nature
has need for her own legitimate purposes, and therefore to inflict
an injury upon her, greater or less according to the amount of that
uncalled for expenditure. To keep such an unnatural stimulus in constant
action, is tantamount to the creation of a constitutional derangement
of the functions, or the introduction of an actual disease into the
body; and nobody will pretend to say that this is not injurious. To my
simple apprehension, it is anti-hygeian practice with a vengeance. I am
no physician, but I believe this to be the true theory of our subject,
regarded in a physiological point of view, and it is decisive against the
nicotian habit, however small the quantity of the article used may be.
People are rather indisposed to believe that an “agreeable” sensation
can be an “unwholesome” one; but unfortunately for poor humanity, and
the popularity of us sages, nothing in nature is more certain than the
possibility of such a conjuncture. It is not only certain, but, alas,
commonly known by experience, that an agreeable thing may be unwholesome,
and a pleasant sensation anything at all but a symptom of healthful
action.
Again, people are apt to suppose that no injury is done to their health,
because they are not sensible of the wound at the moment; but this also
is a notion which we must class among vulgar errors. It is a matter
of demonstration, not merely of hypothesis, that we may sustain most
grievous injury of which we are not instantly sensible; nay, that so
long a time may elapse after the impression has been imparted, that we
become unable to trace the effect to its cause; and yet the relation of
cause and effect stands sure, however ignorant or unconscious we may be
of it. As an illustration of this position, I shall mention a case which
came under my own observation. I was once acquainted with a gentleman,
who at eighty years of age was what would be called a stout, healthy old
fellow. He was certainly of a most robust constitution, and had never
addicted himself to any habit “calculated to shorten life,” as they say
at the Insurance Offices, saving and excepting that of taking snuff.
Well, it has been said to me, “See how your anti-nicotian theory is set
at defiance by this hearty old fellow. If tobacco be a slow poison, it
must be, as was said of tea, very slow indeed, or how should we have
such an exemplary octogenarian as this, ‘o’er all its ills victorious?’
He has been taking snuff all his life, and yet, you perceive, is nothing
the worse for it.” Now, I did not perceive any such thing, but was well
aware that the contrary was the case. I was of opinion, and am now fully
convinced of the fact, that he suffered extremely, nay, intensely,
from the habit, without himself or others being at all aware of it. I
do not speak of a nose and face perpetually begrimed with snuff--of
a waistcoat and inexpressibles embrowned and powdered all over with
it--of the expenditure of pocket-handkerchiefs, and waste of time in
nose-blowing--everlasting sneezing and coughing, &c.: such matters are
mere trifles in the estimate of your professed snuff-takers; but I do
speak of an habitual depression of spirits, and frequently an access
of the most miserable melancholy, to which this gentleman was subject,
and which I attribute to his inveterate habit of snuff-taking, and to
no other cause. He would complain bitterly of his wretchedness on those
occasions, and ascribe it to the skyey influences--the humidity of our
climate, the fogs, and I know not what besides; but it was nothing but
“the snuff.” Such intelligence would have doubtless been very unwelcome;
for this very snuff--this actual _fons et origo malorum_, ay, “more
snuff”--was his most favourite remedy and consolation under these
distressing visitations! So much for our ignorance of causes.
The late Doctor Adam Clarke was a great enemy to the tobacco leaf, and
published a strong paper in condemnation of it. He takes high ground upon
the subject.
“That it is sinful to use it, as most do,” he says, “I have no
doubt--if destroying the constitution, and vilely squandering away the
time and money which God has given for other purposes, may be termed
sinful. I have observed some whole families, and very poor ones too,
who have used tobacco in all possible ways, and some of them for more
than half a century. Now, suppose the whole family, consisting of four,
five, or six, to have used but 1s. 6d. worth a-week, then, in the mere
article of tobacco, nearly £200 sterling is totally and irrecoverably
lost in the course of fifty years. Were all the attending expenses, such
as appropriate implements, neglect of business, and other concomitants,
taken into account, probably four times the sum would be too small an
estimate.”
Captain Scott, in his interesting work “Rambles in Egypt and Candia,”
says--
“All the Arab race are addicted to the use of the pipe, and to this
pernicious habit may be traced the origin of most of their vices,
and a great proportion of their misery.” And again, in a note, he
observes--“Nothing tends so much as the pernicious and universal habit
of smoking to retard all improvement amongst the natives of the East,
producing habitual indolence, and occasioning an irreparable loss of
time.” He calls it elsewhere the “predominant vice of Mahomedanism.”
Now, with such warning and such examples before me, I own that I cannot
contemplate the possibility of my countrymen becoming a nation of
smokers, without the utmost pain. I would wish to put all parties, but
especially the young, on their guard against the insidious and seductive
approaches of the habit. The elegant pipe, the splendid snuff-box, and
all the curious conveniences of tube, light, tobacco-pouch, and so on,
are so many lures to the unwary; and many, by simply nibbling at these
captivating baits, have been gradually led on, and at last turned into
confirmed consumers. There is a temptation in the furniture of our
fashionable snuff and cigar shops--“divans,” as they are called, which it
is hard to resist. It would seem almost worth while to “consume,” for the
sake of encompassing oneself with such beautiful toys; but I class all
such resorts in the same category with the gin-palaces of London. Look to
the end--observe what a confirmed habit of snuffing or smoking is--how
wasteful, how enervating, how every way pernicious! The tyranny of it
is dreadful. No man knows it thoroughly but he who has once been its
slave. The craving of the nose once accustomed to be fed, for snuff--of
the throat and fauces once seasoned to the use, for smoke--and of the
teeth and gums once used to be drawn, for the reiterate chew--oh, it is
dreadful!--and I say there is no remedy against the evil but teetotalism.
I have said nothing on those popular stimulants, tea and coffee, for, as
generally used, I think they are both innocent, as they are certainly
agreeable beverages. Let not my fair countrywomen, however, when they
indulge in the “cup that cheers but not inebriates”--I mean the Howqua,
or any other tea-mixture--aim at celebrity for preparing it over strong;
for in this state, like other stimulants that we have been considering, I
have no doubt that it is bad for weak nerves.