Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 377, June 27, 1829 - Various - Страница 4

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.