The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 377, June 27, 1829

HINTS ON DRINKING

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.

THE SELECTOR AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

VIDOCQ

[In our vol. xii. we gave a few extracts from vol. i. of the Memoirs of Vidocq, the principal agent of the French Police, until 1827; which extracts we have reason to know were received with high gout by most of our readers. The second and third volumes of these extraordinary adventures have just appeared, and contain higher-coloured depravities than their predecessors. Some of them, indeed, might have been spared; but as a graphic illustration of the petty thievery of Paris, the following extract bears great merit:—]

I do not think that amongst the readers of these Memoirs one will be found who, even by chance, has set foot at Guillotin's.

"Eh! what?" some one will exclaim, "Guillotin!"

 
Ce savant médecin
Que l'amour du prochain
Fit mourir de chagrin.
 

"You are mistaken; we all know the celebrated doctor, who –;" but the Guillotin of whom I am speaking is an unsophisticated adulterer of wines, whose establishment, well known to the most degraded classes of robbers, is situate opposite to the Cloaque Desnoyers, which the raff of the Barriere call the drawing-room of la Courtille. A workman may be honest to a certain extent, and venture in, en passant, to papa Desnoyers's. If he be awake, and keep his eye on the company, although a row should commence, he may, by the aid of the gendarmes, escape with only a few blows, and pay no one's scot but his own. At Guillotin's he will not come off so well, particularly if his toggery be over spruce, and his pouch has chink in it.

Picture to yourself, reader, a square room of considerable magnitude, the walls of which, once white, have been blackened by every species of exhalation. Such is, in all its simple modesty, the aspect of a temple consecrated to the worship of Bacchus and Terpsichore. At first, by a very natural optical illusion, we are struck by the confined space before us, but the eye, after a time, piercing through the thick atmosphere of a thousand vapours which are most inodorous, the extent becomes visible by details which escape in the first chaotic glimpse. It is the moment of creation, all is bright, the fog disappears, becomes peopled, is animated, forms appear, they move, they are agitated, they are no illusory shadows; but, on the contrary, essentially material, which cross and recross at every moment. What beatitudes! what joyous life! Never, even for the Epicureans, were so many felicities assembled together. Those who like to wallow in filth, can find it here to their heart's content; many seated at tables, on which, without ever being wiped away, are renewed a hundred times a day the most disgusting libations, close in a square space reserved for what they call the dancers. At the further end of this infected cave there is, supported by four worm-eaten pillars, a sort of alcove, constructed from broken-up ship timber, which is graced by the appearance of two or three rags of old tapestry. It is on this chicken coop that the music is perched: two clarinets, a hurdy-gurdy, a cracked trumpet, and a grumbling bassoon—five instruments whose harmonious movements are regulated by the crutch of Monsieur Double-Croche, a lame dwarf, who is called the leader of the orchestra. Here all is in harmony—the faces, costumes, the food that is prepared; a general appearance is scouted. There is no closet in which walking-sticks, umbrellas, and cloaks are deposited; the women have their hair all in confusion like a poodle dog, and the kerchief perched on the top of the head, or in a knot tied in front with the corners in a rosette, or if you prefer it, a cockade, which threatens the eye in the same manner as those of the country mules. As for the men, it is a waistcoat with a cap and falling collar, if they have a shirt, which is the regulated costume; breeches are not insisted on; the supreme bon ton would be an artilleryman's cap, the frock of an hussar, the pantaloon of a lancer, the boots of a guardsman, in fact the cast-off attire of three or four regiments, or the wardrobe of a field of battle. The ladies adore the cavalry, and have a decided taste for the dress of the whole army; but nothing so much pleases them as mustachios, and a broad red cap adorned with leather of the same colour.

In this assembly, a beaver hat, unless napless and brimless, would be very rare; no one ever remembers to have seen a coat there, and should any one dare to present himself in a great coat, unless a family man, he would be sure to depart skirtless, or only in his waistcoat. In vain would he ask pardon for those flaps which had offended the eyes of the noble assembly; too happy would he be if, after having been bandied and knocked about with the utmost unanimity as a greenhorn, only one skirt should be left in the hands of these youthful beauties, who, in the fervour of gaiety, rather roar out than sing.

Desnoyers's is the Cadran bleu de la Canaille, (the resort of the lower orders;) but before stepping over the threshold of the cabaret of Guillotin, even the canaille themselves look twice, as in this repository are only to be seen prostitutes with their bullies, pick-pockets and thieves of all classes, some prigs of the lowest grade, and many of those nocturnal marauders who divide their existence into two parts, consecrating it to the duties of theft and riot. It may be supposed that slang is the only language of this delightful society: it is generally in French, but so perverted from its primitive signification, that there is not a member of the distinguished "company of forty" who can flatter himself with a full knowledge of it, and yet the "dons of Guillotin's" have their purists; those who assert that slang took its rise in the East, and without thinking for a moment of disputing their talent as Orientalists, they take that title to themselves without any ceremony; as also that of Argonauts, when they have completed their studies under the direction of the galley sergeants, in working, in the port of Toulon, the dormant navigation on board a vessel in dock. If notes were pleasing to me, I could here seize the opportunity of making some very learned remarks. I should, perhaps, go into a profound disquisition, but I am about to paint the paradise of these bacchanalians; the colours are prepared—let us finish the picture.