METHOD OF CURING THE HABIT OF DRUNKENNESS.
To remove the habit of drunkenness from any one in whom it has been
long established, is a task of peculiar difficulty. We have not only to
contend against the cravings of the body, but against those of the mind;
and in struggling with both, we are, in reality, carrying on a combat
with nature herself. The system no longer performs its functions in the
usual manner; and to restore these functions to their previous tone
of action, is more difficult than it would be to give the man action
altogether the reverse of nature and of health.
The first step to be adopted, is the discontinuance of all liquors or
substances which have the power of intoxicating. The only question
is—should they be dropped at once, or by degrees? Dr. Trotter, in his
Essay on Drunkenness, has entered into a long train of argument, to prove
that, in all cases, they ought to be given up _instanter_. He contends,
that, being in themselves injurious, their sudden discontinuance cannot
possibly be attended with harm. But his reasonings on this point, though
ingenious are not conclusive. A dark unwholesome dungeon is a bad thing,
but it has been remarked, that those who have been long confined to such
a place, have become sick if suddenly exposed to the light and pure air,
on recovering their liberty: had this been done by degrees, no evil
effects would have ensued. A removal from an unhealthy climate (to which
years had habituated a man) to a healthy one, has sometimes been attended
with similar consequences. Even old ulcers cannot always be quickly
healed up with safety. Inebriation becomes, as it were, a second nature,
and is not to be rapidly changed with impunity, more than other natures.
Spurzheim[40] advances the same opinion. “Drunkards,” says he, “cannot
leave off their bad habits suddenly, without injuring their health.”
Dr. Darwin speaks in like terms of the injurious effects of too sudden
a change; and for these, and other reasons about to be detailed, I am
disposed, upon the whole, to coincide with them.
If we consider attentively the system of man, we will be satisfied that
it accommodates itself to various states of action. It will perform a
healthy action, of which there is only one state, or a diseased action,
of which there are a hundred. The former is uniform, and homogeneous.
It may be raised or lowered, according to the state of the circulation,
but its nature is ever the same: when that changes—when it assumes
new characters—it is no longer the action of health, but of disease.
The latter may be multiplied to infinity, and varies with a thousand
circumstances; such as the organ which is affected, and the substance
which is taken. Now, drunkenness in the long run, is one of those
diseased actions. The system no longer acts with its original purity:
it is operated upon by a fictitious excitement, and, in the course of
time, assumes a state quite foreign to its original constitution—an
action which, however unhealthy, becomes, ultimately, in some measure,
natural. When we use opium for a long time, we cannot immediately get rid
of it, because it has given rise to a false action in the system—which
would suffer a sudden disorder if deprived of its accustomed stimulus.
To illustrate this, it may be mentioned, that when Abbas the Great
published an edict to prohibit the use of coquenar, (the juice of boiled
poppies,) on account of its dismal effects on the constitution, a great
mortality followed, which was only stopped at last by restoring the use
of the prohibited beverage. Disease, under such circumstances, triumphs
over health, and has established so strong a hold upon the body, that it
is dislodged with difficulty by its lawful possessor. When we wish to get
rid of opium, or any other narcotic to which we are accustomed, we must
do so by degrees, and let the healthy action gradually expel the diseased
one. Place spirits or wine in the situation of opium, and the results
will be the same. For these reasons, I am inclined to think, that,
in many cases at least, it would be improper and dangerous to remove
intoxicating liquors all at once from the drunkard. Such a proceeding
seems at variance with the established actions of the human body, and as
injudicious as unphilosophical.
I do not, however, mean to say, that there are no cases in which it
would be necessary to drop liquors all at once. When much bodily vigour
remains—when the morning cravings for the bottle are not irresistible,
nor the appetite altogether broken, the person should give over his
bad habits instantly. This is a state of incipient drunkenness. He has
not yet acquired the constitution of a confirmed sot, and the sooner he
ceases the better. The immediate abandonment of drinking may also, in
general, take place when there is any organic disease, such as enlarged
liver, dropsy, or scirrhus stomach. Under these circumstances, the
sacrifice is much less than at a previous period, as the frame has, in a
great measure, lost its power of withstanding liquors, and the relish for
them is also considerably lessened. But even then, the sudden deprivation
of the accustomed stimulus has been known to produce dangerous
exhaustion; and it has been found necessary to give it again, though in
more moderate quantities. Those drunkards who have no particular disease,
unless a tremor and loss of appetite be so denominated, require to be
deprived of the bottle by degrees. Their system would be apt to fall into
a state of torpor if it were suddenly taken away, and various mental
diseases, such as melancholy, madness, and delirium tremens, might even
be the result. With such persons, however, it must be acknowledged that
there is very great difficulty in getting their potations diminished.
Few have fortitude to submit to any reduction. There is, as the period
of the accustomed indulgence arrives, an oppression and faintness at
the _præcordia_, which human nature can scarcely endure, together with
a gnawing desire, infinitely more insatiable than the longings of a
pregnant woman.
To prove the intensity of the desire for the bottle, and the
difficulty, often insurmountable, of overcoming it, I extract the
following interesting and highly characteristic anecdote from a recent
publication:—“A gentleman of very amiable dispositions, and justly
popular, contracted habits of intemperance: his friends argued, implored,
remonstrated; at last he put an end to all importunity in this manner:—To
a friend who was addressing him in the following strain—‘Dear Sir George,
your family are in the utmost distress on account of this unfortunate
habit; they perceive that business is neglected; your moral influence
is gone; your health is ruined; and, depend upon it, the coats of your
stomach will soon give way, and then a change will come too late.’ The
poor victim, deeply convinced of the hopelessness of his case, replied
thus—‘My good friend, your remarks are just; they are, indeed, too true;
but I can no longer resist temptation: if a bottle of brandy stood at one
hand, and the pit of hell yawned at the other, and if I were convinced I
would be pushed in as sure as I took one glass, I could not refrain. You
are very kind. I ought to be grateful for so many kind good friends, but
you may spare yourselves the trouble of trying to reform me: the thing is
impossible.’”
The observation of almost every man must have furnished him with cases
not less striking than the above. I could relate many such which have
occurred in my own practice, but shall at present content myself with
one.—I was lately consulted by a young gentleman of fortune from the
north of England. He was aged twenty-six, and was one of the most
lamentable instances of the resistless tyranny of this wretched habit
that can possibly be imagined. Every morning, before breakfast, he drank
a bottle of brandy: another he consumed between breakfast and dinner; and
a third shortly before going to bed. Independently of this, he indulged
in wine and whatever liquor came within his reach. Even during the hours
usually appropriated to sleep, the same system was pursued—brandy being
placed at the bed side for his use in the night-time. To this destructive
vice he had been addicted since his sixteenth year; and it had gone on
increasing from day to day, till it had acquired its then alarming and
almost incredible magnitude. In vain did he try to resist the insidious
poison. With the perfect consciousness that he was rapidly destroying
himself, and with every desire to struggle against the insatiable
cravings of his diseased appetite, he found it utterly impossible to
offer the slightest opposition to them. Intolerable sickness, faintings,
and tremors, followed every attempt to abandon his potations; and had
they been taken suddenly away from him, it cannot be doubted that
delirium tremens and death would have been the result.
There are many persons that cannot be called drunkards, who,
nevertheless, indulge pretty freely in the bottle, though after
reasonable intervals. Such persons usually possess abundance of health,
and resist intoxication powerfully. Here the stomach and system in
general lose their irritability, in the same way as in confirmed topers,
but this is more from torpor than from weakness. The springs of life
become less delicate; the pivots on which they move get, as it were,
clogged, and, though existence goes on with vigour, it is not the
bounding and elastic vigour of perfect health. This proceeds, not from
debility, but from torpor; the muscular fibre becoming, like the hands
of a labouring man, hardened and blunted in its sensibilities. Such are
the effects brought on by a _frequent_ use of inebriating agents, but an
_excessive_ use in every case gives rise to weakness. This the system
can only escape by a proper interval being allowed to elapse between our
indulgences. But if dose be heaped on dose, before it has time to rally
from former exhaustion, it becomes more and more debilitated; the blood
ceases to circulate with its wonted force; the secretions get defective,
and the tone of the living fibre daily enfeebled. A debauch fevers the
system, and no man can stand a perpetual succession of fevers without
injuring himself, and at last destroying life.
Drunkenness, in the long run, changes its character. The sensations
of the confirmed tippler, when intoxicated, are nothing, in point
of pleasure, to those of the habitually temperate man, in the same
condition. We drink at first for the serenity which is diffused over
the mind, and not from any positive love we bear to the liquor. But,
in the course of time, the influence of the latter, in producing gay
images, is deadened. It is then chiefly a mere animal fondness for drink
which actuates us. We like the taste of it, as a child likes sweetmeats;
and the stomach, for a series of years, has been so accustomed to an
unnatural stimulus, that it cannot perform its functions properly
without it. In such a case, it may readily be believed that liquor could
not be suddenly removed with safety.
The habit will sometimes be checked by operating skilfully upon the mind.
If the person has a feeling heart, much may be done by representing to
him the state of misery into which he will plunge himself, his family,
and his friends. Some men, by a strong effort, have given up liquors at
once, in consequence of such representations.
Some drunkards have attempted to cure themselves by the assumption of
voluntary oaths. They go before a magistrate, and swear that, for a
certain period, they shall not taste liquors of any kind; and it is but
just to state, that these oaths are sometimes strictly enough kept. They
are, however, much oftener broken—the physical cravings for the bottle
prevailing over whatever religious obligation may have been entered into.
Such a proceeding is as absurd as it is immoral, and never answers the
purpose of effecting any thing like a radical cure; for, although the
person abides by his solemn engagement, it is only to resume his old
habits more inveterately than ever, the moment it expires.
Many men become drunkards from family broils. They find no comfort at
home, and gladly seek for it out of doors. In such cases, it will
be almost impossible to break the habit. The domestic sympathies and
affections, which oppose a barrier to dissipation, and wean away the mind
from the bottle, have here no room to act. When the mother of a family
becomes addicted to liquor, the case is very afflicting. Home, instead of
being the seat of comfort and order, becomes a species of Pandemonium:
the social circle is broken up, and all its happiness destroyed. In this
case, there is no remedy but the removal of the drunkard. A feeling of
perversity has been known to effect a cure among the fair sex. A man of
Philadelphia, who was afflicted with a drunken wife, put a cask of rum in
her way, in the charitable hope that she would drink herself to death.
She suspected the scheme, and, from a mere principle of contradiction,
abstained in all time coming, from any sort of indulgence in the bottle.
I may mention another American anecdote of a person reclaimed from
drunkenness, by means not less singular. A man in Maryland, notoriously
addicted to this vice, hearing an uproar in his kitchen one evening,
felt a curiosity to step without noise to the door, to know what was the
matter, when he beheld his servants indulging in the most unbounded roar
of laughter at a couple of his negro boys, who were mimicking himself in
his drunken fits, showing how he reeled and staggered—how he looked and
nodded, and hiccupped and tumbled. The picture which these children of
nature drew of him, and which had filled the rest with so much merriment,
struck him so forcibly, that he became a perfectly sober man, to the
unspeakable joy of his wife and children.
Man is very much the creature of habit. By drinking regularly at certain
times, he feels the longing for liquor at the stated return of those
periods—as after dinner, or immediately before going to bed, or whatever
the period may be. He even feels it in certain companies, or in a
particular tavern at which he is in the habit of taking his libations. We
have all heard the story of the man who could never pass an inn on the
road-side without entering it and taking a glass, and who, when, after
a violent effort, he succeeded in getting beyond the spot, straightway
returned to reward himself with a bumper for his resolution. It is a
good rule for drunkards to break all such habits. Let the frequenter of
drinking clubs, masonic lodges, and other Bacchanalian assemblages, leave
off attending these places; and if he must drink, let him do so at home,
where there is every likelihood his potations will be less liberal.
Let him also forswear the society of boon companions, either in his
own habitation or in theirs. Let him, if he can manage it, remove from
the place of his usual residence, and go somewhere else. Let him also
take abundance of exercise, court the society of intellectual and sober
persons, and turn his attention to reading, or gardening, or sailing, or
whatever other amusement he has a fancy for. By following this advice
rigidly, he will get rid of that baleful habit which haunts him like his
shadow, and intrudes itself by day and by night into the sanctuary of
his thoughts. And if he refuses to lay aside the Circean cup, let him
reflect that Disease waits upon his steps—that Dropsy, Palsy, Emaciation,
Poverty, and Idiotism, followed by the pale phantom, Death, pursue him
like attendant spirits, and claim him as their prey.
Sometimes an attack of disease has the effect of sobering drunkards
for the rest of their lives. I knew a gentleman who had apoplexy in
consequence of dissipation. He fortunately recovered, but the danger
which he had escaped made such an impression upon his mind, that he
never, till his dying day, tasted any liquor stronger than simple water.
Many persons, after such changes, become remarkably lean; but this is not
an unhealthy emaciation. Their mental powers also suffer a very material
improvement—the intellect becoming more powerful, and the moral feelings
more soft and refined.
In a small treatise on Naval Discipline, lately published, the
following whimsical and ingenious mode of punishing drunken seamen is
recommended:—“Separate for one month every man who was found drunk, from
the rest of the crew: mark his clothes ‘drunkard;’ give him six-water
grog, or, if beer, mixed one-half water; let them dine when the crew
had finished; employ them in every dirty and disgraceful work, &c. This
had such a salutary effect, that in less than six months not a drunken
man was to be found in the ship. The same system was introduced by the
writer into every ship on board which he subsequently served. When first
lieutenant of the Victory and Diomede, the beneficial consequences were
acknowledged—the culprits were heard to say, that they would rather
receive six dozen lashes at the gangway, and be done with it, than be put
into the ‘drunken mess’ (for so it was named) for a month.”
Those persons who have been for many years in the habit of indulging
largely in drink, and to whom it has become an _elixir vitæ_
indispensable to their happiness, cannot be suddenly deprived of
it. This should be done by slow degrees, and must be the result of
conviction. If the quantity be forcibly diminished against the person’s
will, no good can be done; he will only seize the first opportunity
to remunerate himself for what he has been deprived of, and proceed
to greater excesses than before. If his mind can be brought, by calm
reflection, to submit to the decrease, much may be accomplished in the
way of reformation. Many difficulties undoubtedly attend this gradual
process, and no ordinary strength of mind is required for its completion.
It is, however, less dangerous than the method recommended by Dr.
Trotter, and ultimately much more effectual. Even although his plan were
free of hazard, its effects are not likely to be lasting. The unnatural
action, to which long intemperance had given rise, clings to the system
with pertinacious adherence. The remembrance of liquor, like a delightful
vision, still attaches itself to the drunkard’s mind; and he longs
with insufferable ardour, to feel once more the ecstasies to which it
gave birth. This is the consequence of a too rapid separation. Had the
sympathies of nature been gradually operated upon, there would have been
less violence, and the longings had a better chance of wearing insensibly
away.
Among the great authorities for acting in this manner, may be mentioned
the celebrated Dr. Pitcairn. In attempting to break the habit in a
Highland chieftain, one of his patients, he exacted a promise that
the latter would every day drop as much sealing-wax into his glass as
would receive the impression of his seal. He did so, and as the wax
accumulated, the capacity of the glass diminished, and, consequently,
the quantity of whisky it was capable of containing. By this plan he
was cured of his bad habit altogether. In mentioning such a whimsical
proceeding, I do not mean particularly to recommend it for adoption;
although I am satisfied that the principle on which its eccentric
contriver proceeded was substantially correct.
A strong argument against too sudden a change is afforded in the case of
food. I have remarked that persons who are in the daily habit of eating
animal food feel a sense of weakness about the stomach if they suddenly
discontinue it, and live for a few days entirely upon vegetables. This
I have experienced personally, in various trials made for the purpose;
and every person in health, and accustomed to good living, will, I am
persuaded, feel the same thing. The stomach, from want of stimulus loses
its tone; the craving for animal food is strong and incessant; and, if
it be resisted, heartburn, water-brash, and other forms of indigestion,
are sure to ensue. In such a case vegetables are loathed as intolerably
insipid, and even bread is looked upon with disrelish and aversion. It is
precisely the same with liquors. Their sudden discontinuance, where they
have been long made use of, is almost sure to produce the same, and even
worse consequences to the individual.
I cannot give any directions with regard to the regimen of a reformed
drunkard. This will depend upon different circumstances, such as age,
constitution, diseases, and manner of living. It may be laid down as a
general rule, that it ought to be as little heating as possible. A milk
or vegetable diet will commonly be preferable to every other. But there
are cases in which food of a richer quality is requisite, as when there
is much emaciation and debility. Here it may even be necessary to give
a moderate quantity of wine. In gout, likewise, too great a change of
living is not always salutary, more especially in advanced years, where
there is weakness of the digestive organs, brought on by the disease.
In old age, wine is often useful to sustain the system, more especially
when sinking by the process of natural decay. The older a person is, the
greater the inconvenience of abstaining all at once from liquors, and
the more slowly ought they to be taken away. I cannot bring myself to
believe that a man who for half a century has drunk freely, can suddenly
discontinue this ancient habit without a certain degree of risk: the idea
is opposed to all that we know of the bodily and mental functions.
In attempting to cure the habit of drunkenness, opium may sometimes be
used with advantage. By giving it in moderate quantities, the liquor
which the person is in the habit of taking, may be diminished to a
considerable extent, and he may thus be enabled to leave them off
altogether. There is only one risk, and it is this—that he may become as
confirmed a votary of opium as he was before of strong liquors. Of two
evils, however, we should always choose the least: and it is certain that
however perniciously opium may act upon the system, its moral effects and
its power of injuring reputation are decidedly less formidable than those
of the ordinary intoxicating agents.
The following anecdote has been communicated to me by the late Mr.
Alexander Balfour, (Author of “Contemplation,” “Weeds and Wildflowers,”
and other ingenious works,) and exhibits a mode of curing dram-drinking
equally novel and effective:—
About the middle of last century, in a provincial town on the east
coast of Scotland, where smuggling was common, it was the practice for
two respectable merchants to gratify themselves with a social glass of
good Hollands, for which purpose they regularly adjourned, at a certain
hour, to a neighbouring gin-shop. It happened one morning that something
prevented one of them from calling on his neighbour at the usual time.
Many a wistful and longing look was cast for the friend so unaccountably
absent, but he came not. His disappointed companion would not go to the
dram-shop alone; but he afterwards acknowledged that the want of his
accustomed cordial rendered him uneasy the whole day. However, this
feeling induced him to reflect upon the bad habit he was acquiring, and
the consequences which were likely to follow. He therefore resolved to
discontinue dram-drinking entirely, but found it difficult to put his
resolution into practice, until, after some deliberation, he hit upon the
following expedient:—Filling a bottle with excellent Hollands, he lodged
it in his back-shop, and the first morning taking his dram, he replaced
it with simple water. Next morning he took a second dram, replacing it
with water; and in this manner he went on, replacing the fluid subtracted
from the bottle with water, till at last the mixture became insipid and
ultimately nauseous, which had such an effect upon his palate, that he
was completely cured of his bad habit, and continued to live in exemplary
soberness till his death, which happened in extreme old age.
Dr. Kain, an American physician, recommends tartar emetic for the cure
of habitual drunkenness. “Possessing,” he observes, “no positive taste
itself, it communicates a disgusting quality to those fluids in which it
is dissolved. I have often seen persons who, from taking a medicine in
the form of antimonial wine, could never afterwards drink wine. Nothing,
therefore, seems better calculated to form our indication of breaking
up the association, in the patient’s feelings, between his disease and
the relief to be obtained from stimulating liquors. These liquors,
with the addition of a very small quantity of emetic tartar, instead
of relieving, increase the sensation of loathing of food, and quickly
produce in the patient an indomitable repugnance to the vehicle of its
administration.” “My method of prescribing it, has varied according to
the habits, age, and constitution of the patient. I give it only in
alterative and slightly nauseating doses. A convenient preparation of the
medicine is eight grains dissolved in four ounces of boiling water—half
an ounce of the solution to be put into a half-pint, pint, or quart
of the patient’s favourite liquor, and to be taken daily in divided
portions. If severe vomiting and purging ensue, I should direct laudanum
to allay the irritation, and diminish the dose. In every patient it
should be varied according to its effects. In one instance, in a patient
who lived ten miles from me, severe vomiting was produced, more, I think,
from excessive drinking, than the use of the remedy. He recovered from
it, however, without any bad effects. In some cases, the change suddenly
produced in the patient’s habits, has brought on considerable lassitude
and debility, which were of but short duration. In a majority of cases,
no other effect has been perceptible than slight nausea, some diarrhœa,
and a gradual, but very uniform, distaste to the menstruum.”[41]
Having tried tartar emetic in several instances, I can bear testimony
to its good effects in habitual drunkenness. The active ingredient in
Chambers’s celebrated nostrum for the cure of ebriety, was this medicine.
Tartar emetic, however, must always be used with caution, and never
except under the eye of a medical man, as the worst consequences might
ensue from the indiscreet employment of so active an agent.
It seems probable that, in plethoric subjects, the habit of drunkenness
might be attacked with some success by the application of leeches, cold
applications and blisters to the head, accompanied by purgatives and
nauseating doses of tartar emetic. Dr. Caldwell of Lexington, conceives
drunkenness to be entirely a disease of the brain, especially of the
animal compartments of this viscus, and more especially of that portion
called by phrenologists the organ of _alimentiveness_, on which the
appetite for food and drink is supposed mainly to depend. Should his
views be correct, the above treatment seems eligible, at least in
drunkards of a full habit of body, and in such cases it is certainly
worthy of a full trial. I refer the reader to Dr. Caldwell’s Essay,
in which both the above doctrine and the practice founded upon it are
very ably discussed. It is, indeed, one of the ablest papers which has
hitherto appeared upon the subject of drunkenness.[42]
It very often happens, after a long course of dissipation, that the
stomach loses its tone, and rejects almost every thing that is swallowed.
The remedy, in this case, is opium, which should be given in the solid
form in preference to any other. Small quantities of negus are also
beneficial; and the carbonate of ammonia, combined with some aromatic, is
frequently attended with the best effects. When there is much prostration
of strength, wine should always be given. In such a case the entire
removal of the long-accustomed stimulus would be attended with the worst
effects. This must be done gradually.
Enervated drunkards will reap much benefit by removing to the country,
if their usual residence is in town. The free air and exercise renovate
their enfeebled frames; new scenes are presented to occupy their
attention; and, the mind being withdrawn from former scenes, the chain of
past associations is broken in two.
Warm and cold bathing will occasionally be useful, according to
circumstances. Bitters are not to be recommended, especially if employed
under the medium of spirits. When there is much debility, chalybeates
will prove serviceable. A visit to places where there are mineral springs
is of use, not only from the waters, but from the agreeable society to be
met with at such quarters. The great art of breaking the habit consists
in managing the drunkard with kindness and address. This management
must, of course, be modified by the events which present themselves, and
which will vary in different cases.
Persons residing in tropical climates ought, more than others, to avoid
intoxicating liquors. It is too much the practice in the West Indies to
allay thirst by copious draughts of rum punch. In the East Indies, the
natives, with greater propriety, principally use rice-water (congee);
while the Europeans residing there, are in the habit of indulging in
Champaign, Madeira, and other rich wines, which may in a great measure
account for the mortality prevailing among them in that region. A
fearful demoralization, as well as loss of life, is occasioned among
the British troops in the East and West Indies, from the cheapness of
spirituous liquors, which enables them to indulge in them to excess.
“Since the institution of the Recorder’s and Supreme Courts at Madras,”
says Sir Thomas Hislop, “no less than thirty-four British soldiers have
forfeited their lives for murder, and most of them were committed in
their intoxicated moments.” Dr. Rollo relates, that the 45th regiment
while stationed in Grenada, lost within a very few weeks, twenty-six
men out of ninety-six; at a time, too, when the island was remarkably
healthy. On inquiry, it was found that the common breakfast of the men
was raw spirits and pork. It is remarked by Desgenettes, in his Medical
History of the French Army in Egypt, that, “daily experience demonstrates
that almost all the soldiers who indulge in intemperate habits, and
are attacked with fevers, never recover.” In countries where the solar
influence is felt with such force, we cannot be too temperate. The food
should be chiefly vegetable, and the drink as unirritating as possible.
It may be laid down as an axiom, that in these regions, wine and ardent
spirits are invariably hurtful; not only in immediately heating the
body, but in exposing it to the influence of other diseases.[43] A great
portion of the deaths which occur among Europeans in the tropics, are
brought on by excess. Instead of suiting their regimen to the climate,
they persist in the habits of their own country, without reflecting that
what is comparatively harmless in one region, is most destructive in
another. There cannot be a stronger proof of this than the French troops
in the West Indies having almost always suffered less in proportion to
their numbers than the British, who are unquestionably more addicted to
intemperance. “I aver from my own knowledge and custom,” observes Dr.
Mosely, “as from the custom and observation of others, that those who
drink _nothing but water_, are but little affected by the climate, and
can undergo the greatest fatigue without inconvenience.”[44]
It is a common practice in the West of Scotland to send persons who are
excessively addicted to drunkenness, to rusticate and learn sobriety
on the islands of Loch Lomond. There are, I believe, two islands
appropriated for the purpose, where the convicts meet with due attention,
and whatever indulgences their friends choose to extend towards them.
Whether such a proceeding is consistent with law, or well adapted to
answer the end in view, may be reasonably doubted; but of its severity,
as a punishment, there can be no question. It is indeed impossible
to inflict any penalty upon drunkards so great as that of absolutely
debarring them from indulging in liquor.
In the next Chapter, I shall consider the method of curing and preventing
drunkenness by means of Temperance Societies.