this as the rule—the diphtheritic poison acts as a stimulant; nature is trying to thrust it out, and all the life forces are abnormally active. We can not know in how many instances she succeeds in these efforts, nor yet how often her defeats are due to the administration of poisons, and food that for want of digestion becomes a poison, altogether so adding to the toxic condition that nature finally ends an evil she can not cure. After a vigorous expulsive efforts, for example, the system, temporarily quiescent, gathering fresh strength for a renewal of the conflict to dislodge the enemy, or, possibly, having already accomplished the main work, now rests in the stage preceding convalescence—is supposed to require the aid of a stimulant, and food also must be given at frequent intervals “to prevent the patient from sinking;” but alas, this proves the weight about his neck that carries him to the bottom—“supported” to death. In comparing the stimulation of the vital organism, in sickness, to the spurring up of a tired or lazy animal to greater exertion, there is always this grand difference: the former will every time, and always, exert its entire force, that is, will exert it better, more savingly to life, without, than with, stimulation. “Self-preservation is the first law of nature;” and no other circumstance possible to imagine, better illustrates this law, than the living organism in sickness.
Coffee makes the timid or diffident man brave—gives him confidence in himself; but, by “reaction,” this fictitious bravery gives place to nervousness. Many persons experience a certain undefinable dread of approaching
danger, a veritable “can’t-sleep-for-fear-of-burglars” sort of wakefulness, which leaves them after a few weeks’ abstinence from coffee-stimulation. Hot coffee or tea makes one warm—the very finger-tips tingle with warm blood; but later, in default of another dram—perhaps in spite of it—he feels chilly, even in a warm room; there is a “can’t-get-warm-any-way” sort of feeling, to be accounted for, he fancies, only upon the theory that he has “caught cold!” He is suffering from coffee poisoning.
Although personally a dear lover of coffee, and, by reason of an exceptionally robust habit of body, at present, able to indulge in its use with less apparent harm than I find, upon long and careful inquiry and observation, is the case with most people, yet, nevertheless, I stand condemned by the eulogy of Abd-el-Kadir Anasari Dgezeri Hambali, son of Mahomet: “O coffee! thou dispellest the cares of the great; thou bringest back those who wander from the paths of knowledge. Coffee is the beverage of the people of God, and the cordial of his servants who thirst for wisdom. When coffee is infused into the bowl, it exhales the odor of musk, and is of the color of ink. The truth is not known except to the wise, who drink it from the foaming coffee-cup. God has deprived fools of coffee, who, with invincible obstinacy, condemn it as injurious.”
According to Professor Prescott, “the administration of theine in small portions, to animals or to man, quickens the circulation and effects some degree of mental exhilaration and wakefulness. In final result,
the excretion of carbonic-acid gas is diminished, and the flow of blood through the capillaries is retarded.” “Larger portions,” he continues, “prove poisonous, causing painful restlessness, rigidity of the muscles, and general exhaustion. Not more than three or four grains at once can be properly taken for medicinal or experimental purposes.” As often prepared for old coffee-tipplers, two cupfuls (about 16 oz.) of the infusion will contain this quantity of the alkaloid. As usually taken, of course, the proportion of the alkaloid is much less. In conclusion, I would repeat that it may with propriety be claimed for coffee that its administration as a medicine is as legitimate as that of any other, and no more so; certainly its daily use as an article of diet is as inconsistent and contrary to reason, as the similar use of any drug in the materia medica.
Note.—In the foregoing I have not considered the question of the influence of tea and coffee upon the “temperance movement.” One of the keenest observers of human nature, as well as one of our soundest thinkers, Dr. Oswald, from whose Physical Education I have freely drawn in the chapters on Consumption—and his view in this matter is endorsed by many very able physiologists and sociologists—says (p. 64): “The road to the rum-cellar leads through the coffee-house. Abstinence from all stimulants, only, is easier than temperance.” Everywhere do I find temperance reformers essaying to lead rum-drinkers back by the road they came, viz: back through the coffee-house—taking a drink en route. I think that, in the long run, they will do better to try to conduct them from the “gin-mill” squarely into the street, and thence home. While not desiring to furnish arguments for the opponents of temperance (I would that all stimulants were done away with), I cannot forbear pointing out what seems to me a glaring inconsistency among my co-laborers in reform. Of course all must admit that, in many respects, there can be no comparison drawn between liquor-drinking and tea and coffee-drinking: Other things equal, the man who drinks “rum” to excess, works vastly more misery in the world than the coffee
toper; though, individually, if the latter were to indulge as copiously as does his spirit-drinking contemporary, he would suffer as much, probably more, in his health—would die more speedily. Of course we know that few coffee and tea-drinkers indulge to this extreme; but when we consider the almost universal use of these beverages—by women and growing children, as well as by men, it is more than doubtful whether they do not, per se, from a health point of view (considering, moreover, the influence of disease upon morals) aggregate more harm than their more “ardent” rivals. Added to this, the fact that the use of one stimulant often leads to the use of others and stronger (as we have always argued that beer and wine lead on to whisky and brandy), the friends of true reform may well ask themselves whether, in their own indulgence in tea and coffee, and in the effort to increase their use among the people, they are not hitting wide of the mark? I am well aware that wine-drinkers, and those who indulge moderately in stronger drink, often pertinently reply to temperance workers, “When all the temperance reformers leave off their favorite stimulants we will leave off ours.” Says Dr. Dudley A. Sargent, Professor of Physical Culture at Harvard College, “I am convinced that coffee works more injury to mankind than beer.”