“I care not,” observed William of Normandy to his quartermaster-general, on the morning after the revelry which followed the Battle of Hastings, “who makes these barbarians’ wines; send me the man who can remove the beehive from my o’erwrought brain.”
This remark is not to be found in Macaulay’s History of England; but learned authorities who have read the original MS. in Early Norman, make no doubt as to the correct translation.
“It is excellent,” as the poet says, “to have a giant’s thirst; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.” And not only “tyrannous” but short-sighted. For the law of compensation is one of the first edicts of Nature. The same beneficent hand which provides the simple fruits of the earth for the delectation of man, furnishes also the slug and the wasp, to see that he doesn’t get too much. Our friend the dog is deprived of the power of articulation, but he has a tail which can be wagged at the speed of 600 revolutions to the minute. And the man who overtaxes the powers of his inner mechanism during the hours of darkness is certain to feel the effects, to be smitten of conscience, and troubled of brain, when he awakes, a few hours later on. As this is not a medical treatise it would be out of place to analyse at length the abominable habit which the human brain and stomach have acquired, of acting and reacting on each other; suffice it to say that there is no surer sign of the weakness and helplessness of poor, frail, sinful, fallen humanity than the obstinacy with which so many of us will, for the sake of an hour or two’s revelry, boldly bid for five times the amount of misery and remorse. And this more especially applies to a life on the ocean wave. The midshipmite who over-estimates his swallowing capacity is no longer “mast-headed” next morning; but the writer has experienced a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal, ere the effects of a birthday party on the previous night had been surmounted; and the effects of “mast-heading” could hardly have been less desirable. In that most delightful work for the young, Dana’s Two years before the Mast, we read:
“Our forecastle, as usual after a liberty-day, was a scene of tumult all night long, from the drunken ones. They had just got to sleep toward morning, when they were turned up with the rest, and kept at work all day in the water, carrying hides, their heads aching so that they could hardly stand. This is sailors’ pleasure.”
Dana himself was ordered up aloft, to reef “torpsles,” on his first morning at sea; and he had probably had some sort of a farewell carouse, ’ere quitting Boston. And the present writer upon one occasion—such is the irony of fate—was told off to indite a leading article on “Temperance” for an evening journal, within a very few hours of the termination of a “Derby” banquet.
But how shall we alleviate the pangs? How make that dreadful “day after” endurable enough to cause us to offer up thanks for being still allowed to live? Come, the panacea, good doctor!
First of all, then, avoid the chemist and his works. I mean no disrespect to my good friend Sainsbury, or his “Number One Pick-me-up,” whose corpse-reviving claims are indisputable; but at the same time the habitual swallower of drugs does not lead the happiest life. I once knew a young subaltern who had an account presented to him by the cashier of the firm of Peake and Allen, of the great continent of India, for nearly 300 rupees; and the items in said account were entirely chloric ether, extract of cardamoms—with the other component parts of a high-class restorative, and interest. Saddening! The next thing to avoid, the first thing in the morning, is soda-water, whether diluted with brandy or whisky. The “peg” may be all very well as an occasional potation, but, believe one who has tried most compounds, ’tis a precious poor “livener.” On the contrary, although a beaker of the straw-coloured (or occasionally, mahogany-coloured) fluid may seem to steady the nerves for the time being, that effect is by no means lasting.
But the same panacea will not do in every case. If the patient be sufficiently convalescent to digest a