The stronger spirituous liquors were all the rage; and it was under the impression that by making beer, &c., more readily accessible, there would be less demand for the fire-water, that the Beerhouse Act was passed, of which we shall soon speak. But before doing so, let us recall the names of one or two who ranged themselves on the side of temperance.
James Montgomery writes:—
Many might be profited by the resolute perusal of the ‘Confessions of an Opium Eater’ with self-application, for every habitual indulgence of appetite beyond what nature requires or will endure for the health of body or mind is a species of opium-eating. Such cordials, exhilaratives, and stimulants are generally, in the first instance, resorted to as lenitives of pain, reliefs from languor, or resources in idleness; they soon become necessary gratifications, affording little either of pleasure or of pain in the use (though non-indulgence is misery) till in the sequel they grow into tyrannous excesses that exhaust the animal spirits, debilitate the mind, and consume the frame with disease which no medicine can reach. The drunkard in this sense is an opium-eater; he puts an ‘enemy into his mouth that steals away his senses,’ and the fool’s paradise, into which liquor transports him, lies on ‘the broad way that leadeth to destruction.’ The snuff taker and the tobacco smoker in this sense are opium-eaters; these luxuries, as well as eating and drinking, may be enjoyed in moderation, but where does moderation end and abuse begin? That fine line of distinction was never yet traced with assurance, and the only safety lies many a league on the right side of it. The Indian weed may be less promptly deleterious than the Asiatic, but in this country it is scarcely a question that the former destroys more victims than the latter.
Sydney Smith writes thus to Lady Holland, in 1828:—
Many thanks for your kind anxiety respecting my health. I not only was never better, but never half so well; indeed, I find I have been very ill all my life, without knowing it. Let me state some of the goods arising from abstaining from all fermented liquors. First, sweet sleep; having never known what sweet sleep was, I sleep like a baby or a plough-boy. If I wake, no needless terrors, no black visions of life, but pleasing hopes and pleasing recollections: Holland House, past and to come! If I dream, it is not of lions and tigers, but of Easter dues and tithes. Secondly, I can take longer walks, and make greater exertions, without fatigue. My understanding is improved, and I comprehend political economy, I see better without wine and spectacles than when I used both. Only one evil ensues from it: I am in such extravagant spirits that I must lose blood, or look out for some one who will bore or depress me. Pray leave off wine:—the stomach is quite at rest; no heartburn, no pain, no distention.
In 1824 Carolina Nairne, née Carolina Oliphant, became Baroness Nairne, her husband, Major Nairne, being restored to a barony granted to his family in the time of Charles I.
She appears to be the first writer of a thorough teetotal song. It was entitled Haud ye frae the cogie.
There’s cauld kail in Aberdeen,
There’s custocks in Stra’bogie;
And morn and e’en they’re blythe and bein
That haud them frae the cogie.
Now haud ye frae the cogie, lads:
Oh, bide ye frae the cogie!
I’ll tell ye true, ye’ll never rue
O’ passin by the cogie.
Young Will was braw and weel put on,
Sae blythe was he and vogie;
And he got bonnie Mary Don,
The flower o’ a’ Stra’bogie.
Wha wad ha’e thocht at wooin’ time,
He’d e’er forsaken Mary,
And ta’en him to the tipplin’ trade
Wi’ boozin’ Rob and Harry?
Sair Mary wrought, sair Mary grat,
She scarce could lift the ladle;
Wi’ pithless feet, ‘tween ilka greet,
She’d rock the borrow’d cradle.
Her weddin’ plenishin’ was gane—
She never thocht to borrow;
Her bonnie face was waxin’ wan—
And Will wrought a’ the sorrow.
He’s reelin’ hame ae winter’s nicht,
Some later than the gloamin’;
He’s ta’en the rig, he’s missed the brig,
And Bogie’s o’er him foamin’.
Wi’ broken banes, out ower the stanes,
He creepit up Stra’bogie,
And a’ the nicht he prayed wi’ micht
To keep him frae the cogie.
Now Mary’s heart is light again—
She’s neither sick nor silly;
For auld or young, nae sinfu’ tongue
Could e’er entice her Willie;
And aye her sang through Bogie rang—
‘O haud ye frae the cogie;
The weary gill’s the sairest ill
On braes o’ fair Stra’bogie.’
King William IV. (1830-1837) rigidly practised temperance. Indeed he zealously promoted it before his accession to the throne. One incident may serve as an illustration. On the death of the keeper of Bushy Park, the King, then Duke of Clarence, appointed the keeper’s son to succeed him. This young man broke his leg, a circumstance which elicited the practical sympathy of the Duke. After his recovery, the young man took to drinking; so the Duke, in order to cure him of the propensity, required his attendance every night at eight o’clock, and if he appeared in liquor reprimanded him the following morning. But all to no purpose. The infatuated keeper died from the effects of intemperance.
The King however was fond of giving toasts after dinner, when his prosy speeches were notorious.