THE 
PHILOSOPHY 
op 
SLEEP. 
BY 
/ . 
ROBERT MACNISH, 
AUTHOR OP “TI1K ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS,” AND MEMBER OP THE FACULTY OP PHYSICIANS 
AND SURGEONS OF GLASGOW. 
NEW-YORK: 
WILLIAM PEARSON & CO., 106 NASSAU STREET; 
SAMUEL COLMAN* BOSTON ; AND CHAPPELL AND CO., PHILADELPHIA* 
1835. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
The present edition of The Philosophy of Sleep 
is so different from its predecessor, that it may almost 
be regarded as a new treatise. The work has been, in 
a great measure, re-written, the arrangement altered, 
and a great accession made to the number of facts and 
cases : the latter, many of which are now published for 
the first time, will, I hope, add much to its value. 
Some of them have occurred in my own practice ; and 
for others, I am indebted to the kindness of several in- 
genious friends. Notwithstanding every care, the work 
is far from being what it ought to be, and what I could 
have wished ; but, imperfect as it is, it may, perhaps, 
stimulate some other inquirer to investigate the subject 
more deeply, and thus give rise to an abler disquisi- 
tion. So far as I know, this is the only treatise in 
which an attempt is made to give a complete account of 
Sleep. The subject is not an easy one; and, in the 
present state of our knowledge, moderate success is 
probably all that can be looked for. 
In the first edition Dr Gall's theory, that the brain is 
composed of a plurality of organs, each organ being the 
seat of a particular mental faculty, was had recourse 
to for the purpose of explaining the different phenome- 
na of Sleep; in the present edition, this doctrine is 
more prominently brought forward. The great objec- 
tion to the prevailing metaphysical systems is, that none 
of their positions can be proved ; and that scarcely two 
writers, agree upon any particular point. The disciples 
of Gall, on the one hand, assume that his system, hav- 
ing ascertainable facts to illustrate it, is at all times 
susceptible of demonstration—that nothing is taken for 
granted ; and that the inquirer has only to make an ap- 
peal to nature to ascertain its fallacy or its truth. The 
science is entirely one of observation: by that it must 
stand or fall, and by that alone ought it to be tested. 
The phrenological system appears to me the only one 
capable of affording a rational and easy explanation of 
all the phenomena of mind. It is impossible to account 
for dreaming, idiocy, spectral illusions, monomania, 
and partial genius in any other way. For these reasons, 
and for the much stronger one, that having studied the 
science for several years with a mind rather hostile 
than otherwise to its doctrines, and found that nature 
invariably vindicated their truth, I could come to no 
other conclusion than that of adopting them as a mat- 
ter of belief, and employing them for the explanation of 
phenomena which they alone seem calculated to eluci- 
date satisfactorily. The system of Gall is gaining 
ground rapidly among scientific men, both in Europe 
and America. Some of the ablest physiologists in both 
quarters of the globe have admitted its accordance with 
nature ; and, at this moment, it boasts a greater num- 
ber of proselytes than at any previous period of its ca- 
reer. The prejudices still existing against it, result 
from ignorance of its real character. As people get 
better acquainted with the science, and the formida- 
ble evidence by which it is supported, they will think 
differently. 
Many persons who deny the possibility of estimating 
individual character, with any thing like accuracy, by 
the shape of the head, admit the great phrenological 
principle that the brain is composed of a plurality of 
organs. To them, as well as to those who go a step 
farther, the doctrine laid down in the present work will 
appear satisfactory. An admission that the brain is 
the material apparatus by which the mind manifests it- 
self, and that each mental faculty is displayed through 
the medium of a particular part of the brain, is all that 
is demanded in considering the philosophy of the sci- 
ence. These points are only to be ascertained by an 
appeal to nature. No man can wisely reject phreno- 
logy without making such an appeal. THE 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
CHAP. I. 
INTRODUCTION. 
twilight is left to silence, with her own star and he 
falling dews. Action is succeeded by listlessness, en 
ergy by languor, the desire of exertion by the inclina 
tion for repose. Sleep, which shuns the light, embrace 
darkness, and they lie down together under the sceptn 
of midnight. 
From the position of man in society, toil or employ 
mentof some kind or other is an almost necessary con 
comitant of his nature—being essential to healthy sleep 
and consequently to the renovation of our bodily or 
gans and mental faculties. But as no general rule cai 
be laid down as to the quality and quantity of labou 
best adapted to particular temperaments, so neither cai 
it be positively said how many hours of sleep are neces 
sary for the animal frame. When the body is in a stab 
of increase, as in the advance from infancy to boyhood 
so much sleep is required, that the greater portion o 
existence may be fairly stated to be absorbed in thi 
way. It is not mere repose from action that is capabli 
of recruiting the wasted powers, or restoring the nerv 
ous energy. Along with this is required that oblivioi 
of feeling and imagination which is essential to, an< 
which in a great measure constitutes, sleep. But if ii 
mature years the body is adding to its bulk by the ac 
cumulation of adipose matter, a greater tendency t< 
somnolency occurs than when the powers of the absorb 
ents and exhalents are so balanced as to prevent sucl 
accession of bulk. It is during the complete equipoise 
of these animal functions that health is enjoyed in great 
est perfection ; for such a state presupposes exercise 
temperance, and the tone of the stomach quite equal t< 
the process of digestion. 
Sleep and stupor have been frequently treated of b' 
physiological writers as if the two states were synony 
mous. This is not the case. In both there is insensi 
bility ; but it is easy to awake the person from sleep 
and difficult, if not impossible, to arouse him from stu 
por. The former is a necessary law of the animal econ 
omy; the latter is the result of diseased action. 
Birth and death are the Alpha and Omega of exist 
ence ; and life, to use the language of Shakspeare, ‘ i: 
rounded by a sleep.’ 
When we contemplate the human frame in a state o 
vigour, an impression is made on the mind that it is cal 
culated to last forever. One set of organs is laying 
down particles and another taking them up, with sue] 
exquisite nicety, that for the continual momentar; 
waste there is continual momentary repair ; and this ii 
capable of going on with the strictest equality for ahal 
a century. 
What is life 1 Those bodies are called living it 
which an appropriation of foreign matter is going on 
death is where this process is at an end. When we fin< 
blood in motion, the process of appropriation is goinj 
on. The circulation is the surest sign of life. Mus 
cles retain irritability for an hour or two after circulatioi 
ceases, but irritability is not life. Death is owing t< 
the absence of this process of appropriation. 
Bichat has divided life into two varieties, the organi 
Sleep is the intermediate state between wakefulness 
and death : wakefulness being regarded as the active state 
of all the animal and intellectual functions, and death as 
that of their total suspension. 
Sleep exists in two states ; in the complete and the 
incomplete. The former is characterized by a torpor 
of the various organs which compose the brain, and by 
that of the external senses and voluntary motion. In- 
complete sleep, or dreaming, is the active state of one 
or more of the cerebral organs while the remainder are 
in repose : the senses and the volition being either sus- 
pended or in action according to the circumstances of 
the case. Complete sleep is a temporary metaphysical 
death, though not an organic one—the heart and lungs 
performing their offices with their accustomed regularity 
under the control of the involuntary muscles. 
Sleep is variously modified, as we shall fully explain 
hereafter, by health and disease. The sleep of health 
is full of tranquillity. In such a state we remain for 
hours at a time in unbroken repose, nature banqueting 
on its sweets, renewing its lost energies, and laying in 
a fresh store for the succeeding day. This accomplish- 
ed, slumber vanishes like a vapour before the rising 
sun ; languor has been succeeded by strength ; and 
all the faculties, mental and corporeal, are recruited. 
In this delightful state, man assimilates most with that 
in which Adam sprang from his Creator’s hands, fresh, 
buoyant, and vigourous ; rejoicing as a racer to run his 
course, with all his appetencies of enjoyment on edge, 
and all his feelings and faculties prepared for exertion. 
Reverse the picture, and we have the sleep of dis- 
ease. It is short, feverish, and unrefreshing, disturbed 
by frightful or melancholy dreams. The pulse is agi- 
tated, and, from nervous excitation, there are frequent 
startings and twitchings of the muscles. Nightmare 
presses like an incarnation of misery upon the frame— 
imagination, distempered by its connexion with physi- 
cal disorder, ranging along the gloomy confines of 
terror, holding communication with hell and the grave, 
and throwing a discolouring shade over human life. 
Night is the time for sleep ; and assuredly the hush 
of darkness as naturally courts to repose as meridian 
splendour flashes on us the necessity of our being up at 
our labour. In fact, there exists a strange, but certain 
sympathy between the periods of day and night, and the 
performance of particular functions during these peri- 
ods. That this is not the mere effect of custom, might 
be readily demonstrated. All nature awakes wiffi the 
rising sun. The birds begin to sing ; the bees to fly 
about with murmurous delight. The flowers which 
shut under the embrace of darkness, unfold themselves 
to the light. The cattle arise to crop the dewy herb- 
age ; and ‘ man goeth forth to his labour until the even- 
ing.’ At close of day, the reverse of all this activity 
and motion is observed. The songs of the woodland PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP, 
id animals, the last is peculiar to animals alone. Or- 
jmic life applies to the functions which nourish and 
istain the object—animal life to those which make it 
sentient being ; which give it thought, feeling, and 
lotion, and bring it into communication with the sur- 
rnnding world. The processes of assimilation and 
xcretion exist both in animals and vegetables : the 
fher vital processes are restricted solely to animals, 
'he digestive organs, the kidneys, the heart, arid the 
ings, are the apparatus which carry into effect the 
rganic life of animals. Those which manifest animal 
fe are the brain, the organs of the senses, and the 
oluntary powers. Sleep is the suspension of animal 
fe ; and during its continuance the creature is under 
be influence of organic life alone. 
Notwithstanding the renovating influence of sleep, 
/hich apparently brings up the lost vigour of the frame 
o a particular standard, there is a power in animal life 
rhich leads it almost imperceptibly on from infancy to 
econd childhood, or that of old age. This power, 
leep, however, healthy, is incapable of counteracting. 
The skin wrinkles, and everywhere shows marks of the 
iloughshare of Saturn ; the adipose structure dissolves ; 
he bones become brittle ; the teeth decay or drop out; 
he eye loses its exquisite sensibility to sight; the ear 
o sound ; and the hair is bleached to whiteness. 
These are accompanied with a general decay of the 
ntellectual faculties ; there is a loss of memory, and 
ess sensibility to emotion ; the iris hues of fancy sub- 
ide to twilight ; and the sphere of thought and action 
s narrowed. The principle of decay is implanted in 
>ur nature, and cannot be counteracted. Few people, 
lowever, die of mere decay, for death is generally ac- 
celerated by disease. From sleep we awake to exer- 
ion—from death not at all, at least on this side of time. 
Vlethuselah in ancient, and Thomas Parr in modern 
imes, ate well, digested well, and slept well ; but at 
ength they each died. Death is omnivorous. The worm 
vhich crawls on the highway and the monarch oil his 
'.ouch of state, are alike subjected to the same stern and 
nexorable law ; they alike become the victims of the 
iniversal tyrant. 
large brains, and whose slumber is neither profound nor 
of long continuance. The assertion, therefore, that the 
quantum of sleep has any reference to the size of 
the brain may be safely looked upon as unfounded. 
That it has reference to the quality of the brain is more 
likely, for we find that carnivorous animals sleep more 
than such as are herbivorous ; and it is probable that 
the texture, as well as form, of the brains of these two 
classes is materially different. This remark, with re- 
gard to the causes of the various proportions of sleep 
required by the carnivorous and herbivorous tribes, I 
throw out not as as a matter of certainty, but merely as 
surmise which seems to have considerable foundation 
in truth 
In proportion as man exceeds all other animals in the 
excellency of his physical organization, and an intellec- 
tual capability, we shall find that in him the various 
phenomena of sleep are exhibited in greater regularity 
and perfection. Sleep seems more indispensably re- 
quisite to man than to any other creature, if there can 
be supposed to exist any difference where its indispen- 
sability is universal, and where every animal must, in 
some degree or other, partake of it ; but, as regards, 
man, it is certain that he sustains any violation of the 
law ordaining regular periods of repose with less indif- 
ference than the lower grades of creation—that a cer- 
tain proportion of sleep is more essential to his exist- 
ence than theirs—that he has less power of enduring 
protracted wakefulness, or continuing in protracted 
sleep—and that he is more refreshed by repose and 
more exhausted by the want of it than they. The sleep 
of man, therefore, becomes a subject of deeper interest 
and curiosity than that of any other animal, both on 
account of the more diversified manner in which it dis- 
plays itself, and the superior opportunity which exists 
of ascertaining the various phenomena which in the 
inferior animals can only be conjectured or darkly 
guessed at. 
Sleep, being a natural process, takes place in general 
without any very apparent cause. It becomes, as it 
were, a habit, into which we insensibly fall at stated 
periods, as we fall into other natural or "acquired habits. 
But it differs from the latter in this, that it cannot in 
any case be entirely dispensed with, although by cus- 
tom we may bring ourselves to do with a much smaller 
portion than we are usually in the practice of indulging 
in. In this respect it bears a strong analogy to the ap- 
petite for food or drink. It has a natural tendency to 
recur every twenty-four hours, and the periods of its 
accession coincide with the return of night. 
But though sleep becomes a habit into which wo 
would naturally drop without any obvious, or very easi- 
ly discovered cause, still we can often trace the origin 
of our slumbers ; and we are all acquainted with many 
circumstances which either produce or heighten them. 
I shall mention a few of these causes. 
Heat has a strong tendency to produce sleep. Wo 
often witness this in the summer season ; sometimes 
in the open air, but more frequently at home, and above 
all in a crowded meeting. In the latter case the sopo- 
rific tendency is greatly increased by the impurity of 
the a r. A vitiated atmosphere is strongly narcotic, 
and when combined with heat and monotony, is apt to 
induce slumber, not less remarkable for the rapidity of 
its accession than its overpowering character. In such 
a situation, the mind in a few minutes ceases to act, 
and sinks into a state of overpowering oblivion. The 
slumber, however, not being a natural one, and seldom 
occurring at the usual period, is generally short: it 
rarely exceeds an hour ; and when the person awakes 
from it, so far from being refreshed, he is unusually 
dull, thirsty, and feverish, and finds more than corn- 
case with the s:o(ise which is disturbed by the slightest noise, 
and more useful than any watch-dog for giving warnine of dan- 
ger. It was the cackling of the sacred geese that saved the Capi- 
tol of Rome from the soldiers of Brennns. when iho wvrh.iMn 
CHAPTER II. 
tverv animal passes some portion of its time in 
sleep. This is a rule to which there is no exception ; 
slthough the kind of slumber and the degree of pro- 
oundness in which it exists in the different classes are 
Dxtremely various. Some physiologists lay it down as 
i general rule, that the larger the brain of an animal the 
greater is the necessity for a considerable proportion of 
sleep. This, however, I suspect is not borne out by 
facts. Man, for instance, and some birds, such as the 
sparrow, have the largest brains in proportion to their 
size, and yet it is probable that they do not sleep so 
much as some other animals with much smaller brains. 
The serpent tribe, unless when stimulated by hunger, 
'in which case they will remain awake for days at a 
time waiting for their prey,) sleep much more than men 
or birds, and yet their brain are proportionally greatly 
inferior in size : thq boa, after dining on a stag or goat, 
will continue in profound sleep for several days. Fish- 
os,* indeed, whose brains are small, require little sleep ; 
but the same remark applies to birds, f which have 
* As a proof (hat fishes sleep, Aristotle, who seems to have 
paid more attention to their habits than any modern author,states, 
hat while in this condition they remain motionless, with the ex- 
ception of a gentle movement of the tail—thatthey may then be 
readily taken by the hand, and that, if suddenly touched, they 
instantly start. The tunny, he adds, are surprised and surround- 
ed by nets while asleep, which is known by their showing the 
white of tneir eyes. 
SLEEP IN GENERAL. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
anon difficulty in getting his mental powers into their 
usual state of activity. 
A heated church and a dull sermon are almost sure 
to provoke sleep. There are few men whose powers 
are equal to the task of opposing the joint operation of 
two such potent influences. They act on the spirit 
like narcotics, and the person seems as if involved in a 
cloud of anconite or belladonna. The heat of the church 
might be resisted, but the sermon is irresistable. Its 
monotony falls in leaden accents upon the ear, and soon 
subdues the most powerful attention. Variety, whether 
of sight or sound, prevents sleep, while monotony of 
all kinds is apt to induce it. The murmuring of a 
river, the sound of a Eolian harp, the echo of a distant 
cascade, the ticking of a clock, the hum of bees under 
a burning sun, and the pealing of a remote bell, all ex- 
ercise the same influence. So conscious was Boer- 
haave of the power of monotony, that in order to pro- 
cure sleep for a patient, he directed water to be placed 
in such a situation as to drop continually on a brass 
pan. When there is no excitement, sleep is sure to 
follow. We are all kept awake by some mental or 
bodily stimulus, and when that is removed our wake- 
fulness is at an end. Want of stimulus, especially in 
a heated atmosphere, produces powerful effects ; but 
where sufficient stimulus exists, we overcome the ef- 
fects of the heat, and keep awake in spite of it. Thus, 
in a crowded church, where a dull, inanimate preacher 
would throw the congregation into a deep slumber, 
such a man as Massilon, or Chalmers, would keep them 
in a state of keen excitement. He would arrest their 
attention, and counteract whatever tendency to sleep 
would otherwise have existed. In like manner, a 
prosing, monotonous, long-winded acquaintance is apt 
to make us doze, while another of a lively, energetic 
conversation keeps us brisk and awake. It will gene- 
rally be found that the reasoning faculties are those 
which are soonest prostrated by slumber, and the ima- 
ginative the least so. A person would more readily 
fall asleep if listening to a profound piece of argumenta- 
tion, than to a humorous or fanciful story ; and proba- 
bly more have slumbered over the pages of Bacon and 
Locke, than over those of Shakspeare and Milton. 
Cold produces sleep as well as heat, but to do so 
a very low temperature is necessary, particularly with 
regard to the human race; for, when cold is not exces- 
sive, it prevents, instead of occasioning slumber: in 
illustration of which, I may mention the case of seve- 
ral unfortunate women, who lived thirty-four days in a 
small room overwhelmed with the snow, and who 
scarcely slept during the whole of that period. In very 
northern and southern latitudes, persons often lose their 
lives by lying down in a state of drowsiness, occasioned 
by intense cold. The winter sleep, or hybernation of 
animals, arises from cold ; but as this species of slum- 
ber is of a very peculiar description ; I have discussed 
it separately in another part of the work. 
The finished gratification of all ardent desires has the 
effect of inducing slumber; hence, after any keen ex- 
citement, the mind becomes exhausted, and speedily 
relapses into this state. Attention to a single sensa- 
tion has the same effect. This has been exemplified 
in the case of all kinds of monotony, where there is a 
want of variety to stimulate the ideas, and keep them 
on the alert. ‘ If the mind,’ says Cullen, ‘ is attached 
to a single sensation, it is brought very nearly to the 
state of the total absence of impressionor, in other 
words, to the state most closely bordering upon sleep. 
Remove those stimuli which keep it employed, and 
sleep ensues at any time. 
Any thing which mechanically determines the blood 
to the brain, acts in a similar manner, such as whirling 
round for a great length of time, ascending a lofty 
mountain, or swinging to and fro. The first and last 
of these actions give rise to much giddiness, followed 
V_. * -± ~ J 1 oef Viir rloqtVv if* Vvo 
continued very long. By lying flat upon a millston 
while performing its evolutions, sleep is soon produced 
and death, without pain, would be the result, if the ex 
periinent were greatly protracted. Apoplexy, whic! 
consists of a turgid state of the cerebral vessels, pro 
duces perhaps the most complete sleep that is known 
in so far that, while it continues it is utterly impossi 
ble to waken the individual: no stimulus, howeve 
powerful, has any influence in arousing his dormant fa 
culties. When the circulating mass in the brain i 
diminished beyond a certain extent, it has the sam> 
effect on the opposite state; whence excessive loss o 
blood excites sleep. 
Opium, hyoscyamus, aconite, belladonna, and th' 
whole tribe of narcotics, induce sleep, partly by a spe 
cific power which they exert on the nerves of th> 
stomach, and partly by inducing an apoplectic state o 
the brain. The former effect is occasioned by a mode 
rate—the latter by an over dose. 
A heavy meal, especially if the stomach is at th< 
same time weak, is apt to induce sleep. In ordinar 
circumstances, the nervous energy or sensorial power o 
this viscus is sufficient to carry on its functions; bu 
when an excess of food is thrown upon it, it is the: 
unable to furnish, from its own resources, the power 
requisite for digestion. In such a case it draws upoi 
the whole body—upon the chest, the limbs, &c., fron 
whence it is supplied with the sensorial power o 
which it is deficient; and is thus enabled to perforn 
that which by its own unassisted means it never couli 
have accomplished. But mark the consequences o 
such accommodation! Those parts, by communica 
ting vigor to the stomach, become themselves debili 
tated in a corresponding ratio, and get into a stab 
analogous to that from which they had extricated thi 
viscus. The extremities become cold, the respiratioi 
heavy and stertorous, and the brain torpid. In conse 
quence of the torpor of the brain, sleep ensues. I 
had parted with that portion of sensorial energy whic! 
kept it awake, and by supplying another organ is itsel 
thrown into the state of sleep. It is a curious fact 
that the feeling of sleep is most strong while the foot 
remains on the stomach, shortly after the accession o 
the digestive process, and before that operation whicl 
converts the nourishment into chyle has taken place. 
When, therefore, the sensorial power is sufficient! 
exhausted, we naturally fall asleep. As this exhaus 
tion, however, is a gradual process, so is that of slum 
ber. Previous to its accession, a feeling of universa 
lassitude prevails, and exhibits itself in yawning,’ 
peevishness, heaviness, and weakness of the eyes ; in 
difference to surrounding objects, and all the character 
istics of fatigue. If the person be seated, his head nod 
and droops ; the muscles become relaxed ; and, whei 
circumstances admit of it, the limbs are thrown int< 
the recumbent position, or that most favorable for com 
plete inaction. The senses then become unconsciou 
of impressions, and, one after the other, part with sen 
sation; the sight first, then taste, smell, hearing, an 
touch, all in regular order. The brain does not all a 
once glide into repose : its different organs being sue 
cessively thrown into this state; one dropping asleep 
then another, then a third, till the whole are locked u 
in the fetters of slumber. This gradual process of in 
tellectual obliteration is a sort of confused dream— 
mild delirium which always precedes sleep. Th 
ideas have no resting-place, but float about in the con 
* Wo yawn before falling asleep and when we wake ; vawr 
ing, therefore, precedes and follows sleep. It seems an effort c 
nature to restore the just equilibrium between the flexor and ex 
tensor muscles. The former have a natural predominancy in th 
system; and on their being fatigued, we, by an effort of the will 
or rather by a species of instinct, put the latter into action forth 
purpose of redressing the balance, and poising the respectiv 
muscular powers. We do the same thing on awaking, or eve 
on getting up from a recumbent posture—the flexors in such cit 
cumstances having prevailed over the extensors, which were i PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
sed tabernacle of the mind, giving rise to images of 
e most perplexing description. In this state they 
intinue for some time, until, as sleep becomes more 
ofound, the brain is left to thorough repose, and 
ey disappear altogether. 
, Sleep produces other important changes in the sys- 
m. The rapidity of the circulation is diminished, 
id, as a natural consequence, that of respiration : the 
rce of neither function, however, is impaired; but, 
1 the contrary, rather increased. Vascular action is 
minished in the brain and organs of volition, while 
gestion and absorption shall proceed with increased 
lergv. The truth of most of these propositions it is 
)t difficult to establish. 
The diminished quickness of the circulation is shown 
the pulse, which is slower and fuller than in the 
aking state ; that of respiration in the more de- 
aerate breathing which accompanies sleep. Dimi- 
shed action of the brain is evident from the aboli- 
an of its functions, as well as direct evidence. A 
tse is related by Blumenbach, of a person who had 
?en trepanned, and whose brain was observed to sink 
hen he' was asleep, and swell out when he was awake, 
s for the lessened vascular action in the voluntary 
awers, this is rendered obvious by the lower tempera- 
ire on the surface which takes place during the slum- 
aring state. Moreover, in low typhus, cynanche ma- 
rna, and other affections attended with a putrid dia- 
iesis, the petechias usually appear during sleep when 
ie general circulation is least vigorous, while the pa- 
ixysms of reaction or delirium take place, for the 
ost part, in the morning when it is in greater strength 
id activity. 
In some individuals the stronger and more laborious 
:spiration of sleep is made manifest by that stertorous 
nmd commonly denominated snoring. Stout apoplec- 
S people—those who snuff much or sleep with their 
ouths open, are most given to this habit. It seems to 
ise principally from the force with which the air is 
•awn into the lungs in sleep. The respiratory muscles 
;ing less easily excited during this state do not act so 
adily, and the air is consequently admitted into the 
lest with some degree of effort. This, combined with 
e relaxed state of the fauces, gives rise to the sterto- 
ms noise. Snuffing, by obstructing the nasal pas- 
.ges and thus rendering breathing more difficult, has 
ie same effect; consequently snuffers are very often 
:eat snorers. The less rapidly the blood is propelled 
rough the lungs, the slower is the respiration, and the 
uder the stertor becomes. Apoplexy, by impairing 
,e sensibility of the respiratory organs, and thus re- 
ucing the frequency of breathing, produces snoring to 
great extent; and all cerebral congestions have, to a 
•eater or less degree, the same effect. 
That sleep increases absorption is shown in the dis- 
ipearance or diminution of many swellings, especially 
dema of the extremities, which often disappears in the 
ght and recurs in the daytime, even when the patient 
acps his bed, a proof that its disappearance does not 
at always depend on the position of the body : that it 
icreases digestion, and, as a natural consequence, nu- 
ition, is rendered probable by many circumstances : 
ance it is the period in which the regeneration of the 
ady chiefly takes plaoe. Were there even no aug- 
lentation given to the assimilative function, as is main- 
lined by Broussais and some other physiologists, it is 
lear that the body would be more thoroughly nourished 
lan when awake, for all those actions which exhaust it 
1 the latter condition are quiescent, and it remains in a 
;ate of rest, silently accumulating power, without ex- 
ending any. 
Sleep lessens all the secretions, with one exception— 
lat of the skin. The urinary, salivary, and bronchial 
iseharces, the secretions from the nose, eyes, and ears, 
re all formed less copiously than in the waking state. 
hence diarrhoea, menorrhagia, &c., are checked daring 
the intervals of slumber. 
From the diminished vascular action going on upon 
the surface, we would be apt to expect a decrease of 
perspiration, but the reverse is the case. Sleep relaxes 
the cutaneous vessels, and they secrete more copi- 
ously than in the waking state. According to Sancto- 
rius, a person sleeping some hours undisturbed, will 
perspire insensibly twice as much as one awake. This 
tendency of sleep to produce perspiration is strikingly 
exhibited in diseases of debility ; whence the nocturnal 
sweats so prevailing and so destructive in all cachectic 
affections. Sanctorius farther states, that the insensi- 
ble perspiration is not only more abundant, but less 
acrimonious during sleep than in the waking state; 
that, if diminished during the day, the succeeding sleep 
is disturbed and broken, and that the diminution in 
consequence of too short a sleep, disposes to fever, un- 
less the equilibrium is established, on the following day, 
by a more copious perspiration. 
Sleep produces peculiar effects upon the organs of 
vision. A priori, we might expect that, during this 
state, the pupil would be largely dilated in consequence 
of the light being shut out. On opening the eyelids 
cautionsly it is seen to be contracted ; it then quivers 
with an irregular motion, as if disposed to dilate, but at 
length ceases to move, and remains in a contracted 
state till the person awakes. This fact I have often 
verified by inspecting the eyes of children. Sleep also 
communicates to these organs a great accession of sen- 
sibility, so much so, that they are extremely dazzled by 
a clear light. This, it is true, happens on coming out 
of a dark into a light room, or opening our eves upon 
the sunshine even when we are awake, but the effect 
is much stronger when we have previously been in 
deep slumber. 
Sleep may be natural or diseased—the former arising 
from such causes as exhaust the sensorial power, such 
as fatigue, pain, or protracted anxiety of mind ; the lat- 
ter from cerebral congestion, such as apoplexy or pleth- 
ora. The great distinction between these varieties is, 
that the one can be broken by moderate stimuli, while 
the other requires either excessive stimuli, or the re- 
moval of the particular cause which gave rise to it. 
During complete sleep no sensation whatever is ex- 
perienced by the individual: he neither feels pain, hun- 
ger, thirst, nor the ordinary desires of nature. He may 
be awakened to a sense of such feelings, but during per- 
fect repose he has no consciousness whatever of their 
existence—if they can indeed be said to exist where 
they are not felt. For the same reason, we may touch 
him without his feeling it; neither is he sensible to 
sounds, to light, or to odours. When, however, the 
slumber is not very profound, he may hear music or 
conversation, and have a sense of pain, hunger, and 
thirst; and, although not awakened by such circum- 
stances, may recollect them afterwards. These im- 
pressions, caught by the senses, often give rise to the 
most extraordinary mental combinations, and form the 
groundwork of the most elaborate dreams. 
I am of opinion that we rarely pass the whole of 
any one night in a state of perfect slumber. My 
reason for this supposition is, that we very seldom re- 
main during the whole of that period in the position in 
which we fall asleep. This change of posture must 
have been occasioned by some emotion, however ob- 
scure, affecting the mind, and through it the organs of 
volition, whereas in complete sleep we experience no 
emotion whatever. 
The position usually assumed in sleep has been 
mentioned; but sleep may ensue in any posture of the 
body; persons fall asleep on horseback, and continue 
riding in this state for a long time without been 
awakened. Horses sometimes sleep for hours in the PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
lism shows that the same thing may occur in the hu- 
man race. 
Some animals, such as the hare, sleep with their 
eyes open ; and I have known similar instances in the 
human subject. But the organ is dead to the ordinary 
stimulus of light, and sees no more than if completely 
shut. 
Animals which prey by night, such as the cat, hyena, 
&c., pass the greater part of their time in sleep ; while 
those that do not, continue longer awake than asleep. 
The latter slumber part of the night and continue 
awake so long as the sun continues above the horizon. 
The propensity of the former to sleep in the day time 
seems to proceed from the structure of their eyes ; as 
they see much better in darkness than in light, and con- 
sequently pass in slumber that period in which their 
vision is of least avail to them. It is a very curious 
fact, however, that these animals, when kept in capti- 
vity, reverse the order of their nature, and remain 
awake by day while they sleep by night. This fact 
has been ascertained in the menagerie at Paris. In 
such cases I apprehend that some corresponding change 
must take place in the structure of the eyes, assimila- 
ting them to those animals which naturally sleep by 
night. 
M. Castel observes,* that the greater part of animals 
sleep longer in winter than in summer. It is precisely 
on account of perspiration that in the first of these 
seasons sleep is more necessary than in the second 
In winter, the want of perspiration during the day is fur- 
nished in sleep; in summer, the diurnal sweat supplies 
that of the night, and renders much sleep less neces- 
sary. In other words, during summer the perspiration 
is so much excited by atmospheric temperature, that a 
shorter time is sufficient to give issue to the fluids 
which have to be expelled by this means. • For the 
same reason, the inhabitants of very cold climates 
sleep more than those who live in the warmer latitudes. 
The profoundness of sleep differs greatly in different 
individuals. The repose of some is extremely deep ; 
that of others quite the reverse. One will scarcely 
obey the roar of cannon; another will start at the 
chirping of a cricket or the faintest dazzling of the 
moonbeams. Heavy-minded, phlegmatic people gene- 
rally belong to the former class ; the irritable, the ner- 
vous, and the hypochondriac to the latter, although we 
shall at times find the cases reversed with regard to 
the nature of sleep enjoyed by these different tempera- 
ments. Man is almost the only animal in whom much 
variety is to be found in this respect. The lower 
grades are distinguished by a certain character, so far 
as their slumber is concerned, and this character runs 
through the whole race ; thus, all hares, cats, &c., are 
light sleepers ; all bears, turtles, badgers, &c., are the 
reverse. In man, the varieties are infinite. Much of 
this depends upon the age and temperament of the in- 
dividual, and much upon custom. 
The profoundness of sleep differs also during the 
same night. For the first four or five hours, the slum- 
ber is much heavier than towards morning. The cause 
of such difference is obvious ; for we go to bed ex- 
hausted by previous fatigue, and consequently enjoy 
sound repose, but, in the course of a few hours, the 
necessity for this gradually abates, and the slumber na- 
turally becomes lighter. 
That sleep from which we are easily roused is the 
healthiest: very profound slumber partakes of the na- 
ture of apoplexy. 
On being suddenly awakened from a profound sleep 
our ideas are exceedingly confused; and it is some- 
time before we can be made to comprehend what is 
said to us. For some moments, we neither see, nor 
hear, rior think without our usual distinctness, and are, 
in fact, in a state of temporarv reverie. 
When there is a necessity for our gettingupat a cer- 
tain hour, the anxiety of mind thus produced not onl' 
prevents the sleep from being very profound, but re 
tards its accession ; and even after it does take place 
we very seldom oversleep ourselves, and are almos 
sure to be awake at, or before, the stipulated time. 
Shortly after falling asleep, we often awake with ; 
sudden start, having the mind filled with painful ini 
pressions; although we often find it impossible to sa- 
to what subject they refer. Some persons do this re 
gularly every night, and there can be no doubt that i 
proceeds from the mind being tortured by some dis 
tressing vision ; which, however, has faded away with 
out leaving behind it any feeling, save one of undefina 
ble melancholy. There are some persons who are sun 
to be aroused in this startling and painful manner i 
they happen to fall asleep in the position in which the- 
at first lay down, who nevertheless escape if they tun 
themselves once or twice before falling into repose 
This fact we must take as we find it: any explanatioi 
as to its proximate cause seems quite impracticable. 
Disease exercises a powerful influence upon sleep 
All affections attended with acute pain prevent it, ii 
consequence of the undue accumulation which the; 
occasion of sensorial power. This is especially th< 
case where there is much active determination of bloo< 
to the head, as in phrenetic affections, and fevers ii 
general. 
Sleep is always much disturbed in hydrothorax ; ant 
almost every disease affects it, more or less ; some pre 
venting it altogether, some limiting the natural propor 
tion, some inducing fearful dreams, and all acting witl 
a power proportioned to the direct or indirect infiuenci 
which they exercise upon the sensorium. 
From the increased irratibility of the frame and re 
laxed state of the cutaneous vessels during sleep, th« 
system at that time is peculiarly apt to be acted upoi 
by all impressions, especially of cold ; and those win 
fall asleep exposed to a current of air are far more ap 
to feel the consequences thereof than if they were broac 
awake. By a law of nature the sensibility of the sys 
tern is increased by any suspension of the mental o 
voluntary powers, for the same reason that it is dimin 
ished, while these powers resume their action. Ii 
drunkenness, for instance, where the mind is vehement 
ly excited, we are far less susceptible of cold than in i 
state of sobriety. 
Sleep is much modified by habit. Thus, an old artil 
lery-man often enjoys tranquil repose, while the cannoi 
are thundering around him ; an engineer has been knowi 
to fall asleep within a boiler, while his fellows wen 
beating it on the outside with their ponderous ham 
mers ; and the repose of a miller is nowise incommode! 
by the noise of his mill. Sound ceases to be a stimu 
lus to such men, and what would have proved an inex 
pressible annoyance to others, is by them altogethe 
unheeded. It is common for carriers to sleep on horse 
back, and coachman on their coaches. During the bat 
tie of the Nile, some boys were so exhausted, that the; 
fell asleep on the deck amid the deafening thunder o 
that dreadful engagement. Nay, silence itself may be 
come a stimulus, while sound ceases to be so. Thus 
a miller being very ill, his mill was stopped that hi 
might not be disturbed by its noise; but this so far fron 
inducing sleep, prevented it altogether ; and it did no 
take place till the mill was seta-going again. Forthi 
same reason, the manager of some vast iron-work who 
slept close to them amid the incessant din of hammer 
forges, and blast furnaces, would awake if there wa 
any cessation of the noise during the night. To carr; 
the illustration still farther, it has been noticed, that i 
person who falls asleep near a church, the bell of whicl 
is ringing, mav hear the sound during the whole of hi 
slumber, and be nevertheless aroused by its suddei 
cessation. Here the sleep must- have been imperfect 
otherwise he would have been insensible to the sound PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
sation which, by breaking the monotony, became so, 
and caused the sleeper to awake. 
The effects of habit may be illustrated in various 
ways. ‘ If a person, for instance, is accustomed to go 
to rest exactly at nine o’clock in the evening, and to 
rise again at six in the morning, though the time of go- 
ing to sleep be occasionally protracted till twelve, he 
will yet awake at his usual hour of six ; or, if his sleep 
be continued by darkness, quietude or other causes, till 
the day be farther advanced, the desire for sleep will re- 
turn in the evening at nine.’ 
Persons who are much in the habit of having their 
repose broken, seldom sleep either long or profoundly, 
however much they may be left undisturbed. This is 
shown in the cases of soldiers and seamen, nurses, moth- 
ers, and keepers. 
Seamen and soldiers on duty can, from habit, sleep 
when they will, and wake when they will. The Em- 
peror Napoleon was a striking instance of this fact. 
Captain Barclay, when performing his extraordinary 
feat in walking a mile an hour for a thousand succes- 
sive hours, obtained at last such a mastery over him- 
self, that he fell asleep the instant he lay down. 
Some persons cannot sleep from home, or on a different 
bed from their usual one : some cannot sleep on a hard, 
others on a soft bed. A low pillow prevents sleep in 
some, a high one in others. The faculty of remaining 
asleep for a great length of time, is possessed by some 
individuals. Such was the case with Quin, the cele- 
brated player, who could slumber for twenty-four hours 
successively—with Elizabeth Orvin, who spent three- 
fourths of her life in sleep—with Elizabeth Perkins, 
who slept for a week or a fortnight at a time—with Ma- 
ry Lyall, who did the same for six successive weeks— 
and with many others, more or less remarkable. In 
Bowyer’s life of Beattie, a curious anecdote is related 
of Dr Reid, viz., that he could take as much food and 
immediately afterwards as much sleep as were sufficient 
for two days. 
A phenomenon of an opposite character is also some- 
times observed, for there are individuals who can sub- 
sist upon a surprisingly small portion of sleep. The 
celebrated General Elliot was an instance of this kind : 
he never slept more than four hours out of the twenty- 
four. In all other respects he was strikingly abstinent; 
his food consisting wholly of bread, water, and vegetables. 
In a letter communicated to Sir John Sinclair, by John 
Gordon, Esq. of Swiney, Caithness, mention is made 
of a person named James Mackay, of Skerray, who died 
in Strathnaver in the year 1797, aged ninety-one : he 
only slept, on an average, four hours in the twenty-four, 
and was a remarkably robust and healthy man. Fred- 
erick the Great, of Prussia, and the illustrious surgeon, 
John Hunter, only slept five hours in the same period ; 
and the sleep of the active-minded is always much less 
than that of the listless and indolent. The celebrated 
French General Pichcgru, informed Sir Gilbert Blane, 
that, during a whole year’s campaigns, he had not above 
one hour’s sleep in the twenty-four. I know a lady 
who never sleeps above half an hour at a time, and 
the whole period of whose sleep does not exceed three 
or four hours in the twenty-four ; and vet she is in the 
enjoyment of excellent health. Gooch gives an in- 
stance of a man who slept only for fifteen minutes out 
of the twenty-four hours, and even this was only a kind 
of dozing, and not a perfect sleep: notwithstanding 
which, he enjoyed good health, and reached his seven- 
ty-third year. I strongly suspect there must be some 
mistake in this case, for it is not conceivable that hu- 
man nature could subsist upon such a limited portion 
of repose. Instances have been related of persons who. 
never-slept ; but these must be regarded as purely fabu- 
lous. 
The period of life modifies sleep materially. When 
& man is about his grant! climateric, or a few years be- 
life ; but very young children always sleep away the 
most of their time. At this early period, the nerves 
being extremely sensitive and unaccustomed to impres- 
sions, become easily fatigued. As the children get 
older, the brain besides becoming habituated to impres- 
sions, acquires an accession of sensorial power, which 
tends to keep it longer awake. For the first two or 
three years, children sleep more than once in the twen- 
ty-four hours. The state of the foetus has been deno- 
minated, by some writers, a continued sleep, but the 
propriety of this definition may be doubted ; for the 
mind having never yet manifested itself, and the volun- 
tary organs never having been exercised, can hardly be 
said to exist in slumber, a condition which supposes a 
previous waking state of the functions. Middle-aged 
persons who lead an active life, seldom sleep above 
eight or nine hours in the twenty-four, however much 
longer they may lie in bed ; while a rich, lazy, and 
gormandizing citizen will sleep twelve or thirteen hours 
at a time. 
Sleep is greatly modified in old people. They usual- 
ly slumber little, and not at all profoundly. Sometimes, 
however, when they get into a state of dotage, in con- 
sequence of extreme old age, the phenomena of child- 
hood once more appear, and they pass the greater part 
of their time in sleep. The repose of the aged is most 
apt to take place immediately after taking food, while 
they often solicit it in vain at that period at which, dur- 
ing the former years of their lives, they had been accus- 
tomed to enjoy it. The celebrated de Moivre slept 
twentv hours out of the twenty-four, and Thomas Parr 
latterly slept away by far the greater part of his exist- 
ence. 
Those who eat heartily, and have strong digestive 
powers, usually sleep much. The great portion of 
sleep required by infants is owing, in part, to the pro- 
digious activity of their digestive powers. The majority 
of animals sleep after eating, and man has a strong ten- 
dency to do the same thing, especially when oppressed 
with heat. In the summer season, a strong inclination 
is often felt, to sleep after dinner, when the weather is 
very warm. 
A heavy meal, which produces no uneasy feeling 
while the person, will often do so if he fall asleep. Ac- 
cording to Dr. Darwin, this proceeds from the sensorial 
actions being increased, when the volition is suspended. 
The digestion from this circumstance goes on with in- 
creased rapidity. ‘ Heat is produced in the system fast- 
er than it is expended ; and, operating on the sensitive 
actions, carries them beyond the limitations of pleasure, 
producing, as is common in such cases, increased fre- 
quency of pulse.’ In this case, incomplete sleep is 
supposed, for, when the slumber is perfect, no sensa- 
tion whatever, either painful or the reverse, can be ex- 
perienced. 
In recovering from long protracted illness, accompa- 
nied with great want of rest, we generally sleep much— 
far more, indeed, than during the most perfect health. 
This seems to be a provision of nature for restortng the 
vigour which had been lost during disease, and bring- 
ing back the body to its former state. So completely 
does this appear to be the case, that as soon as a tho- 
rough restoration to health takes place, the portion of 
sleep diminishes till it is brought to the standard at 
which it originally stood before the accession of illness. 
After continuing a certain time asleep, we awake, 
stretch ourselves, open our eyes, rub them, and yawn 
several times. At the moment of awaking, there is 
some confusion of ideas, but this immediately wears 
away. The mental faculties from being in utter torpor, 
begin to act one after the other;* the senses do the . 
* ‘ In the gradual prosress from intense sleep, when there 
can be no dream, to the moment of perfect vigilance, see what 
occurs. The first cerebral organ that awakes enters into the 
train of thinking connected with its faculty : some kind of dream 
is the result ; as organ after organ awakes, the dream becomes PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
9 
same. At last?, the mind, the senses, and the locomo- 
tion being completely restored, what are our sensations 1 
Instead of the listlessness, lassitude, and general fatigue 
experienced on lying down, we feel vigorous and re- 
freshed. The body is stronger, the thoughts clearer 
and more composed; we think coolly, clearly, ration- 
ally, and can often comprehend with ease what baffled 
us on the previous night. 
One or two other points remain to be noticed. On 
awaking, the eyes are painfully affected by the light, 
but this shortly wears away, and we then feel them 
stronger than when we went to bed. The muscular 
power, also, for a few seconds, is affected. We totter 
when we get up ; and if we lay hold of any thing, the 
hand lacks its wonted strength. This, however, as the 
current of nervous energy is restored throughout the 
muscles, immediately disappears ; and we straightway 
possess redoubled vigour. On examining the urine, we 
find that it is higher in its colour than when we lay 
down. The saliva is more viscid, the phlegm harder 
and tougher, the eyes glutinous, and the nostrils dry. 
If we betake ourselves to the scale, we find that our 
weight has diminished in consequence of the nocturnal 
perspirations ; while, by subjecting our stature to mea- 
surement, we shall see that we are taller by nearly an 
inch than on the preceding night. This fact was cor- 
rectly ascertained in a great variety of instances, by 
Mr. Wasse, Rector of Aynho in Northumberland ; and 
is sufficiently accounted for by the intervertebral car- 
tilages recovering their elasticity, in consequence of the 
bodily weight being taken off them during the recum- 
bent posture of sleep. 
Such are the leading phenomena of sleep. With re- 
gard to the purposes which it serves in the economy, 
these are too obvious to require much detail. Its main 
object is to restore the strength expended during wake- 
fulness ; to recruit the body by promoting nutrition 
and giving rest to the muscles ; and to renovate the 
mind by the repose which it affords the brain. Action 
is necessarily followed by exhaustion ; sleep by check- 
ing the one restrains the other, and keeps the animal 
machine in due vigour. Mr Carmichael supposes sleep 
to be the period when assimilation goes on in the brain. 
In this respect, I believe that the brain is not differentlv 
situated from the rest of the body. There, as else- 
where, the assimilative process proceeds both in the 
slumbering and in the waking state ; but that it is only 
at work in the brain during sleep analogy forbids us to 
admit. So long as circulation continues, a deposition of 
matter is going on ; and circulation, we all know, is at 
work in the brain as in other organs, whether we be 
asleep or awake. According to Richerand, one of the 
great purposes, served by sleep, is to diminish the acti- 
vity of the circulation, which a state of wakefulness has 
the invariable effect of increasing. ‘ The exciting causes’ 
he observes, ‘ to which our organs are subject 
during the day, tend progressively to increase their ac- 
tion. The throbbings of the heart, for instance, are 
more frequent at night than in the morning ; and this 
action, gradually, accelerated, would soon be carried to 
such a degree of activity as to be inconsistent with life, 
if its velocity were not moderated at intervals by the re- 
currence of sleep.’ 
To detail the beneficent purposes served by sleep in 
the cure of diseases, as well as in health, would be a 
work of supererogation. They are felt, and recognised 
by mankind as so indispensable to strength, to happi- 
ness, and to life itself, that he who dispenses with 
that portion of repose required by the wants of na- 
ture, is in reality curtailing the duration of its own ex- 
istence. 
CHAPTER III. 
DREAMING. 
In perfect sleep, as we have elsewhere stated, there 
is a quiescence of all the organs which compose the 
brain ; but when, in consequence of some inward ex- 
citement, one organ or more continues awake, while 
the remainder are in repose, a state of incomplete 
sleep is the result, and we have the phenonmena of 
dreaming. If, for instance, any irritation, such as pain, 
fever, drunkenness, or a heavy meal, should throw the 
perceptive organs into a state of action while the re- 
flecting ones continue asleep, we have a consciousness 
of objects, colors, or sounds being presented to us, just 
as if the former organs were actually stimulated by hav- 
ing such impressions communicated to them by the ex- 
ternal senses ;* while in consequence of the repose of 
the reflecting organs, we are unable to rectify the illu- 
sions, and conceive that the scenes passing before us, 
or the sounds that we hear, have a real existence. 
This want of mutual co-operation between the differ- 
ent organs of the brain accounts for the disjointed 
nature, the absurdities, and incoherencies of dreams. 
Many other doctrines have been started by philoso- 
phers, but I am not aware of any which can lay claim 
even to plausibility ; some, indeed, are so chimerical, 
and so totally unsupported by evidence, that it is diffi- 
cult to conceive how they ever entered into the imagi- 
nations of their founders. Baxter, for instance, in his 
‘ Treatise on the Immortality of the Soul,’ endeavours 
to show that dreams are produced by the agency of 
some spiritual beings, who either amuse, or employ 
themselves seriously, in engaging mankind in all those 
imaginary transaction with which they are employed in 
dreaming. The theory of Democritus and Lucretius is 
equally whimsical. They accounted for dreams by 
supposing that spectres, and simulacra of corporeal 
things constantly emitted from them, and floating up 
and down in the air, come and assault the soul in sleep. 
The most prevailing doctrine is that of the Cartesians, 
who supposed that the mind was continually active in 
sleep ; in other words, that during this state we were 
always dreaming. Hazlitt, in his ‘ Round Table,’ has 
taken the same view of the subject, and alleges, that if 
a person is awakened at any given time and asked what 
he has been dreaming about, he will at once be recall- 
ed to a train of associations with which his mind has 
beer, busied previously. Unfortunately for this theory 
it is not sustained by facts ; experiments made on pur- 
pose having shown that, though in some few instances, 
the individual had such a consciousness of dreaming as 
is described, yet in the great majority he had no con- 
sciousness of any thing of the kind. The doctrine, 
therefore, so far as direct evidence is concerned must 
fall to the ground ; and yet, unsupported as it is either 
by proof or analogy, this is the fashionable hypothesis 
of the schools, and the one most in vogue among our 
best metaphysical writers. 
There is a strong analogy between dreaming and in- 
sanity. Dr. Abercrombie defines the difference be- 
tween the two states to be, that in the latter the erro- 
neous impressiou, being permanent, affects the conduct; 
whereas in dreaming, no influence on the conduct is 
produced, because the vision is dissipated on awaking. 
This definition is nearly, but not wholly correct; for 
in somnambulism and sleep-talking, the conduct is in- 
fluenced by the prevailing dream. Dr. Rush has, with 
great shrewdness, remarked, that a dream may be con- 
sidered as a transient paroxysm of delirium, and deli- 
rium as a permanent dream. 
Man is not the only animal subject to dreaming. , We 
have every reason to believe that many of the lower 
does the complication of dreams ; and if all the internal organs 
are awake, the man is still asleep until his awakening senses 
bring him into direct communication with the world.’ 
TlTamnir nf SmtrrrlwsVw »-> OO 
* This internal stimulation of particular organs without thi 
concurrence of outward impressions by the senses, is more fulii 
.V>o V,o",U of Swo-t-al PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
nimals do the same. I-ffir&es neigh and rear, and dogs 
ark and growl in their sleep. Probably, at such times, 
he remembrance of the chase or the combat was pass- 
ng through the minds of these creatures; and they 
Iso not unfrequently manifest signs of fear, joy, play- 
ulness, and almost every other passion.* Ruminating 
nimals, such as the sheep and cow, dream less; but 
ven they are sometimes so affected, especially at the 
icriod of rearing their young. The parrot is said to 
[ream, and I should suppose some other birds do the 
ame. Indeed the more intellectual the animal is, the 
nore likely it is to be subject to dreaming. Whether 
ishes dream it is impossible to conjecture : nor can it 
le guessed, with any thing like certainty, at what point 
n the scale of animal intellect, the capability of dream- 
ng ceases, although it is very certain there is such a 
point. I apprehend that dreaming is a much more 
reneral law than is commonly supposed, and that many 
mimals dream which are never suspected of doing so. 
Some rnen are said never to dream, and others only 
when their health is disordered : Dr. Beattie mentions 
tease of the latter description. For many years be- 
ore his death, Dr. Reid had no consciousness of ever 
laving dreamed ; and Mr. Locke takes notice of a per- 
son who never did so till his twenty-sixth year, when 
le began to dream in consequence of having had a 
ever. It is not impossible, however, but that, in these 
;ases, the individuals may have had dreams from the 
same age as other people, and under the same circum- 
stances, although probably they were of so vague a 
lature, as to have soon faded away from the memory. 
Dreams occur more frequently in the morning than in 
he early part of the night; a proof that the sleep is 
nuch more profound in the latter period than in the 
brmer. Towards morning, the faculties, being re- 
reshed by sleep, are more disposed to enter into ac- 
ivity ; and this explains why, as we approach the 
lours of waking, our dreams are more fresh and vivid. 
F)wing to the comparatively active state of the famil- 
ies, morning dreams are more rational—whence the 
>ld adage, that such dreams are true. 
Children dream almost from their birth; and if we 
nay judge from what, on many occasions, they endure 
luring sleep, we must suppose that the visions which 
launt their young minds are often of a very frightful 
dnd. Children, from many causes, are more apt to 
lave dreams of terror than adults. In the first place, 
hey are peculiarly subject to various diseases, such as 
eething, convulsions, and bowel complaints, those fer- 
ile sources of mental terror in sleep; and, in the se- 
;ond place, their minds are exceedingly susceptible of 
Iread in all forms, and prone to be acted on by it, 
whatever shape it assume. Many of the dre3ins ex- 
perienced at this early period, leave au indelible im- 
pression upon the mind. They are remembered in 
ifter-years with feelings of pain ; and, blending with 
:he more delighful reminiscences of childhood, demon- 
strate that this era, which we are apt to consider one 
varied scene of sunshine and happiness, had, as well as 
Future life, its shadows of melancholy, and was notun- 
tinged with hues of sorrow and care. The sleep of 
infancy, therefore, is far from being that ideal state of 
felicity which is commonly supposed. It is haunted 
with its own terrors, even more than that of adults; 
rnd, if many of the visions which people it are equally 
delightful, there can be little doubt that it. is also tor- 
tured by dreams of a more painful character than often 
fall to the share of after-life. 
In health, wnen the mind is at ease, we seldom 
dream ; and when we do so our visions are generally 
of a pleasing character. In disease, especially of the 
brain, liver, and stomach, dreams are both common and 
of a very distressing kind. 
Some writers imagine, that as we grow older, our 
dreams become less absurd and inconsistent, but this 
is extremely doubtful. Probably, as we advance in 
life, we are less troubled with these phenomena than at 
the period of youth, when imagination is full of activity, 
and the mind peculiarly liable to impressions of every 
kind ; but when they do take place, we shall find them 
equally preposterous, unphilosophical, and crude, with 
those which haunted our early years. Old people 
dream more, however, than the middle-aged, owing 
doubtless to the more broken and disturbed nature of 
their repose. 
I believe that dreams are uniformly the resuscitation 
or re-embodiment of thoughts which have formerly, in 
some shape or other, occupied the mind. They are 
old ideas revived either in an entire state, or heteroge- 
neously mingled together. I doubt if it be possible for 
a person to have, in a dream, any idea whose elements 
did not, in some form, strike him at a previous period. 
If these break loose from their connecting chain, and 
become jumbled together incoherently, as is often the 
case, they give rise to absurd combinations ; but the 
elements still subsist, and only manifest themselves in a 
new and unconnected shape As this is an important 
point, and one which has never been properly insisted 
upon, I shall illustrate it by an example. I lately 
dreamed that I walked upon the banks of the great ca- 
nal in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. On the side op- 
posite to that on which I was, and within a few feet of 
the water, stood the splendid portico of the Royal Ex- 
change. A gentleman, whom I knew, was standing 
upon one of the steps, and we spoke to each other. I 
then lifted a large stone, and poised it in my hand, 
when he said that he was certain I could not throw it 
to a certain spot which he pointed out. I made the 
attempt, and fell short of the mark. At this moment, 
a well known friend came up, whom I knew to excel at 
•putting the stone ; but, strange to say, he had lost both 
his legs, and walked upon wooden substitutes. This 
struck me as exceedingly curious; for my impression 
was that he had only lost one leg, and had but a single 
wooden one. At my desire he took up the stone, and, 
without difficulty, threw it beyond the point indicated 
by the gentleman upon the opposite side of the canal. 
The absurdity of this dream is extremely glaring; and 
yet, on strictly analyzing it, I find it to be wholly com- 
posed of ideas which passed through my mind on the 
previous day, assuming a new and ridiculous arrange- 
ment. I can compare it to nothing but to cross read- 
ings in the newspapers, or to that well known amuse- 
ment which consists in putting a number of sentences, 
each written on a separate piece of paper, into a hat, 
shaking the whole, then taking them out one by one as 
they come, and seeing what kind of medley the hetero- 
geneous compound will make, when thus fortuitously 
put together. For instance, I had, on the above day, 
taken a walk to the canal, along with a friend. On re- 
turning from it, I pointed out to him a spot where a 
new road was forming, and where, a few days before, 
one of the workmen had been overwhelmed by a quan- 
tity of rubbish falling upon him, which fairly chopped 
off one of his legs, and so much damaged the other that 
it was feared amputation would be necessary. Near 
this very spot there is a park, in which, about a month 
previously, I practised throwing the stone. On pass- 
ing the Exchange on my way home, I expressed regret 
at the lowness of its situation, and remarked what a fine 
effect the portico would have were it placed upon more 
elevated ground. Such were the previous circum- 
stances, and let us see how they bear upon the dream. 
In the first place, the canal appeared before me. 2. Its 
situation is an elevated one. 3. The portico of the 
exchange, occurring to mv mind as being placed too 
* ‘ The stair-hounds, weary with the chase, 
Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, 
And uraed in dreams the forest race 
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale moor.’ PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
11 
and I placed it close by on a similar altitude. 4. The 
gentleman I had been walking with, was the same 
■whom, in the dream, I saw standing upon the steps of 
the portico. 5. Having related to him the story of the 
man who lost one limb, and had a chance of losing an- 
other, this idea brings before me a friend with a brace 
of wooden legs, who, moreover, appears in connexion 
with putting the stone, as I know him to excel at that 
exercise. There is only one other element in the 
dream which the preceding events will not account for, 
and that is, the surprise at the individual referred to 
having more than one wooden leg. But why should 
he have even one, seeing that in reality he is limbed 
like other people 1 This also, I can account for. Some 
years ago he slightly injured his knee while leaping a 
ditch, and I remember of jocularly advising him to get 
it cut off. I am particular in illustrating this point with 
regard to dreams, for I hold, that if it were possible to 
analyze them all, they would invariably be found to 
stand in the same relation to the waking state as the 
above specimen. The more diversified and incongru- 
ous the character of a dream, and the more remote from 
the period of its occurrence the circumstances which 
•suggest it, the more difficult does its analysis become ; 
and, in point of fact, this process may be impossible, so 
totally are the elements of the dream often dissevered 
from their original source, and so ludicrously huddled 
together. This subject shall be more fully demon- 
strated m speaking of the remote causes of dreams. 
Dreams generally arise without any assignable cause, 
but sometimes we can very readily discover their ori- 
gin. Whatever has much interested us during the 
day, is apt to resolve itself into a dream ; and this will 
generally be pleasurable, or the reverse, according to 
the nature of the exciting cause. If, for instance, our 
reading or conversation be of horrible subjects, such as 
spectres, murders, or conflagrations, they will appear 
before us magnified and heightened in our dreams. Or 
if we have been previously sailing upon a rough sea, 
we are apt to suppose ourselves undergoing the perils 
of shipwreck. Pleasurable sensations during the day 
-are also apt to assume a still more pleasurable aspect 
in dreams. In like manner, if we have a longing for 
any thino-, we are apt to suppose that we possess it. 
Even objects altogether unattainable are placed within 
our reach: we aciiieve impossibilities, and triumph 
with ease over the invincible laws of nature. 
A disordered state of the stomach and liver will often 
produce dreams. Persons of bad digestion, especially 
hypochondriacs, are harassed with visions of the most 
frightful nature. This fact was well known to the cele- 
brated Mrs Kadcliffe, who, for the purpose of filling 
her sleep with those phantoms of horror which she has 
so forcibly embodied in the ‘ Mysteries of Udolpho,’ and 
‘Romance of the Forest,’ is said to have supped upon 
the most indigestible substances; while Dryden and 
Fuseli, with the opposite view of obtaining splendid 
dreams, are reported to have eaten raw flesh. Diseases 
of the chest, where the breathing is impeded, also give 
rise to horrible visions, and constitute the frequent 
.causes of that most frightful modification of dreaming— 
nightmare. 
"The usual intoxicating agents have all the power of 
exciting dreams. The most exquisite visions, as well 
as the most frightful, are perhaps those occasioned by 
narcotics. These differences depend on the dose and 
the particular state of the system at the time of taking 
it. Dreams also may arise from the deprivation of cus- 
tomary stimuli, such as spirits, or supper before going 
to bed. More frequently, however, they originate from 
indulging in such excitations. 
A change of bed will sometimes induce dreams ; and, 
generally speaking, they are more apt to occur in a 
strange bed than in the one to which we are accustomed. 
Dreams often arise from the impressions made upon 
on whom any kind of dream could be induced, by his 
friends gently speaking in his presence upon the par- 
ticular subject which they wished him to dream about. 
I have often tried this experiment upon persons asleep, 
and more than once with a like result. I apprehend, 
that when this takes place, the slumber must have been 
very imperfect. With regard to the possibility of dreams 
being produced by bodily impressions, Dr Gregory re- 
lates that having occasion to apply a bottle of hot water 
to his feet when he went to bed, he dreamed that he 
was making a journey to the top of Mount Etna, and 
that he found the heat of the ground almost insuffera- 
ble. Another person having a blister applied to his 
head, imagined that he was scalped by a party of In- 
dians ; while a friend of mine happening to sleep in 
damp sheets, dreamed that he was dragged through a 
stream. A paroxysm of gout during sleep, has given 
rise to the persons supposing himself under the power 
of the Inquisition, and undergoing the torments of the 
rack. The bladder is sometimes emptied during sleep, 
from the dreaming idea being directed (in consequence 
of the unpleasant fullness of the viscus) to this particu- 
lar want of nature. These results are not uniform, but 
such is the path in which particular bodily states are 
apt to lead the imagination ; and dreams, occurring in 
these states, will more frequently possess a character 
analogous to them than to any other modified, of course, 
by the strength of the individual cause, and fertility of 
the fancy. 
Some curious experiments in regard to this point, 
were made by M. Gironde Buzareingues, which seems 
to establish the practicability of a person determining at 
will the nature of his dreams. By leaving his knees 
uncovered, he dreamed that he travelled during night in 
in a diligence: travellers, he observes, being aware 
that in a coach it is the knees that get cold during the 
night. On another occasion, having left the posterior 
part of his head uncovered, he dreamed that he was 
present at a religious ceremony performed in the open 
air. It was the custom of the country in which he lived 
to have the head constantly covered, except on particu- 
lar occasions, such as the above. On awaking, he felt 
the back of his neck cold, as he had often experienced 
dnring the real scenes, the representation of which had 
been conjured up by his fancy. Having repealed this 
experiment at the end of several days, to assure him- 
self that the result was not the effect of chance, the 
second vision turned out precisely the same as the first. 
Even without making experiments, we have frequent 
evidence of similar facts ; thus, if the clothes chance 
to fall off us, we are liable to suppose that we are par- 
ading the streets in a state of nakedness, and feel all 
the shame and inconvenience which such a condition 
would in reality produce. We see crowds of people 
following after us and mocking our nudity ; and we 
wander from place to place, seeking a refuge under this 
ideal misfortune. Fancy, in truth, heightens every cir- 
cumstance, and inspires us with greater vexation than 
we would feel if actually labouring under such an an- 
noyance. The streets in which we wander are depict- 
ed with the force of reality ; we see their windings, 
their avenues, their dwelling-places, with intense truth. 
Even the inhabitants who follow us are exposed to 
view in all their various dresses and endless diversities 
of countenance. Sometimes we behold our intimate 
friends gazing upon us with indifference, or torturing with 
annoying impertinence. Sometimes we see multitudes 
whom we never beheld before ; and each individual is 
exposed so vividly, that we could describe or even paint 
his aspect. 
In like manner, if we lie awry, or if our feet slip over 
the side of the bel, we often imagine ourselves stand- 
ing upon the brink of a fearful precipice, or falling from 
its beetling summit into the abyss beneath.* If the 
* Dr Currie,in allusion in the visions of the hypochondriac od- 12 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
rain or hail patter against our windows, we have often 
the idea of a hundred cataracts pouring from the rocks; 
if the wind howl without, we are suddenly wrapt up in 
a thunderstorm, with all its terrible associations ; if 
the head happen to slip under the pillow, a huge rock is 
hanging over us, and ready to crush us beneath its pon- 
derous bulk. Should the heat of the body chance to be 
increased by febrile irritation or the temperature of the 
room, we may suppose ourselves basking under the fiery 
sun of Africa; or if, from any circumstance, we la- 
bour under a chill, we may then be careering and found- 
ering among the icebergs of the pole, while the morse 
and the famished bear are prowling around us, and 
claiming us for their prey. Dr Beattie informs us, 
that once, after riding thirty miles in a high wind, he 
passed the night in visions terrible, beyond description. 
The extent, in short, to which the mind is capable of 
being carried in such cases, is almost incredible. Stu- 
pendous events arise from the most insignificant causes 
—so completely does sleep magnify and distort every 
thing placed within its influence. The province of 
dreams is one of intense exaggeration—exaggeration 
beyond even the wildest conceptions of Oriental ro- 
mance. 
A smoky chamber, for instance, has given rise to the 
idea of a city in flames. The conflagrations of Rome 
and Moscow may then pass in terrific splendor before 
the dreamer’s fancy. He may see Nero standing afar 
off, surrounded by his lictors and guards, gazing upon 
the imperial city wrapt in flames; or the sanguinary 
fight of Borodino, followed by the burning of the an- 
cient capital of Russia, may be presented before, him 
with all the intenseness of reality. Under these cir- 
cumstances, his whole being may undergo a change. 
He is no longer a denizen of his native country, but of 
that land to which his visions have transported him. 
All the events of his own existence fade away ; and 
he becomes a native of Rome or Russia, gazing upon 
the appalling spectacle. 
On the other hand, the mind may be filled with ima- 
gery equally exaggerated, but of a more pleasing char- 
acter. The sound of a flute in the neighborhood may 
invoke a thousand beautiful and delightful associations. 
The air is, perhaps, filled with the tones of harps, 
and all other varieties of music—nay, the performers 
themselves are visible; and while the cause of this 
strange scene is one trivial instrument, we may be re- 
galed with a rich and melodious concert. For the 
same reason a flower being applied to the nostrils may, 
by affecting the sense of the smell, excite powerfully 
the imagination, and give the dreamer the idea of 
walking in a garden. 
There is one fact connected with dreams which is 
highly remarkable. When we are suddenly awaked 
from a profound slumber by a loud knock at, or by the 
rapid opening of the door, a train of actions which it 
would take hours, or days, or even weeks to accom- 
plish, sometimes passes through the mind. Time, in 
fact, seems to be in a great measure annihilated. An 
extensive period is reduced, as it were, to a single 
point, or rather a single point is made to embrace an 
extensive period. In one instant, we pass through 
many adventures, see many strange sights, and hear 
many strange sounds. If we are awaked by a loud 
knock, we have perhaps the idea of a tumult passing 
before us, and know all the characters engaged in it— 
their aspects, and even their very names. If the door 
open violently, the flood-gates of a canal may appear 
to be expanding, and we may see the individuals em- 
ployed in the process, and hear their conversation, 
which may seem an hour in length. If a light be 
brought into the room, the notion of the house being 
in flames perhaps invades us, and we are witnesses to 
the waters close over him, and is sensible of the precise gurgling 
■ound which those experience who actually sink under water. 
In falling from heights, during dreams, we always awake before 
the whole conflagration from its commencement till it 
be finally extinguished. The thoughts which arise in 
such situations are endless, and assume an infinite va 
riety of aspects. The whole, indeed, constitutes one 
of the strangest phenomena of the human mind, and 
calls to recollection the story of the Eastern monarch, 
who, on dipping his head into the magician's water 
pail, fancied he had travelled for years in various na- 
tions, although he was only immersed for a single in- 
stant. This curious psychological fact, though occur- 
ring under somewhat different circumstances, has not 
escaped the notice of Mr De Quincey, better known 
as the ‘English Opium-Eater.’ ‘The sense of space,’ 
says he, ‘ and, in the end, the sense of time were both 
powerfully affected. Buildings, landscapes, &c., were 
exhibited in proportions so vast as the bodily eye is not 
fitted to receive. Space swelled, and was amplified to 
an extent of unutterable infinity. This, however, d d 
not disturb me so much as the expansion of time. I 
sometimes seemed to have lived for seventy or a hun- 
dred years in one night; nay, sometimes had feelings 
representative of a millennium passed in that time, or 
however, of a duration beyond the limits of any hu- 
man experience.’ It is more easy to state the fact of 
this apparent expansion of time in dreams than to give 
any theory which will satisfactorily account for it. 
I believe that, whenever it occurs, the dream has 
abounded in events and circumstances which, had they 
occurred in reality, would have required a long period 
for their accomplishment. For instance, I lately dream- 
ed that I made a voyage to India—remained some days 
in Calcutta—then took ship for Egypt, where I visited 
the cataracts of the Nile, and the pyramids : and, to 
crown the whole, had the honor of an interview with 
Mehemit Ali, Cleopatra, and the Sultan Saladin. All 
this was the work of a single night, probably of a single 
hour, or even a few minutes ; and yet it appeared to 
occupy many months. 
I must also mention another circumstance of a some- 
what similar kind, which though it occur in the waking 
condition, is produced by the peculiar effect of previous 
sleep upon the mind. Thus, when we awake in a 
melancholy mood, the result probably of some distress- 
ing dream, the remembrance of all our former actions, 
especially those of an evil character, often rushes upon 
us as from a dark and troubled sea.* They do not ap- 
pear individually, one by one, but come linked together 
in a close phalanx, as if to take the conscience by 
storm, and crush it beneath their imposing front. The 
whole span of our existence, from childhood down- 
wards, sends them on ; oblivion opens its gulphs snd 
impels them forwards; and the mind is robed in a 
cloud of wretchedness, without one ray of hope to 
brighten up its gloom. In common circumstances, we 
possess no such power of grouping so instantaneously 
the most distant and proximate events of life ; the spell 
of memory is invoked to call them successively from 
the past; and they glide before us like shadows, more 
or less distinct according to their remoteness, or the 
force of their impress upon the mind. But in the 
case of which I speak, they start abruptly forth from 
the bosom of time, and overwhelm the spirit with 
a crowd of most sad and appalling reminiscences. In 
the crucible of our distorted imagination, every thing 
is exaggerated and invested with a blacker gloom than 
belongs to it; we see, at one glance, down the whole 
vista of time; and each event of our life is written 
there in gloomy and distressing characters. Hence 
the mental depression occurring under these circum- 
stances, and even the remorse which falls, like bitter 
and unrefreshing dews, upon the heart. 
We have seldom any idea of past events in dreams ; 
if such are called forth, they generally seem to be pre- 
* Something similar occurs in drowning. Persons recovered 
from this state have mentioned that, in the course of a single PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
sent and in the process of actual occurrence. We may 
dream of Alexander the Great, but it is as of a person 
who is co-existent with ourselves. 
Dreams being produced by the active state of such 
organs as are dissociated from, or have not sympathis- 
ed in, the general slumber, partake of the character of 
those whose powers are in greatest vigour, or farthest 
removed from the somnolent state. A person’s natur- 
al character, therefore, or his pursuits in life, by 
strengthening one faculty, make it less susceptible, than 
such as are weaker, of being overcome, by complete 
sleep ; or, if it be overcome, it awakes more rapidly 
from its dormant state, and exhibits its proper charac- 
teristics in dreams. Thus, the miser dreams of wealth, 
the lover of his mistress, the musician of melody, the 
philosopher of science, the merchant of trade, and the 
debtor of duns and bailiffs. In like manner, a choleric 
man is often passionate in his sleep ; a vicious man’s 
mind is filled with wicked actions ; a virtuous man’s 
with deeds of benevolence ; a humorist’s with ludicrous 
ideas. Pugnacious people often fight on such occasions, 
and do themselves serious injury by striking against 
the posts of the bed ; while persons addicted to 
lying, frequently dream of exercising their favourite vo- 
cation. 
For such reasons persons who have a strong passion 
for music often dream of singing and composing melo- 
dies ; and the ideas of some of our finest pieces are 
6aid to have been communicated to the musician in his 
6leep. Tartini, a celebrated violin player, is said to 
have composed his famous Devil's Sonata from the in- 
spiration of a dream, in which the Devil appeared to 
him and challenged him to a trial of skill upon his own 
fiddle. A mathematician, in like manner, is often en- 
gaged in the solution of problems, and has his brain full 
of Newton, Euler, Euclid, and Laplace ; while a poet 
is occupied in writing verses, or in deliberating upon 
the strains of such bards as are most familiar to his 
spirit ; it was thus in a dream that Mr Coleridge com- 
posed his splendid fragment of Kubla Khan.* To 
speak phrenologically : if the organ of size be large, 
then material images more than sounds or abstractions 
possess the mind, and every thing may be magnified to 
unnatural dimensions ; if color be fully developed, 
whatever is presented to the mental eye is brilliant and 
gaudy, and the person has probably J;he idea of rich 
paintings, shining flowers, or varied landscapes : should 
locality predominate, he is carried away to distant 
lands, and beholds more extraordinary sights than Cook, 
Ross, or Franklin ever described. An excess of cau- 
tiousness will inspire him with terror; an excess of 
self-esteem cause him to be placed in dignified situa- 
tions ; while imitation may*render him a mimic or a 
player ; language, a wrangler or philologist; secretive- 
ness, a deceiver ; acquisitiveness, a thief. Occasion* 
ally, indeed, the reverse is the case, and those trains of 
thoughts in which we mostly indulge are seldom or 
never the subjects of our dreams. Some authors even 
assert that when the mind has been strongly impressed 
with any peculiar ideas, such are less likely to occur in 
dreams than their opposites ; but this is taking the ex. 
ception for the general rule, and is directly at variance 
with both experience and analogy. In fact, whatever 
propensities or talents are strongest in the mind of the 
individual, will, in most cases, manifest themselves with 
greatest readiness and force in dreams ; and where a 
faculty is very weak it will scarcely manifest itself at 
all. Thus, one person who has large tune and small 
casuality will indulge in music, but seldom in ascer- 
taining the nature of cause and effect; while another, 
with a contrary disposition of organs, may attempt tn 
reason upon abstract truths, while music will rarely in- 
trude into the temple of his thoughts. It is but fair to 
state, however, that the compositions, the reasonings, 
and the poems which we concoct in sleep, though oc- 
casionally superior to those of our waking hours,* are 
generally of a very absurd description ; and, how ad- 
mirable soever they have appeared, their futility is 
abundantly evident when we awake. To use the words 
of Dr Parr, ‘ In dreams we seem to reason, to argue, to 
compose; and in all these circumstances, during 
sleep, we are highly gratified, and think that we excel. 
If, however, we remember our dreams, our reasonings 
we find to be weak, our arguments we find to be in- 
conclusive, and our compositions trifling and absurd.’ 
The truth of these remarks is undeniable : but the very 
circumstance of a man’s dreams turning habitually upon 
a particular subject—however ridiculously he may me- 
ditate thereupon—is a strong presumption that that 
subject is the one which most frequently engrosses his 
faculties in the waking state ; in a word, that the pow- 
er most energetic in the latter condition is that also 
most active in dreams. 
Dreams are sometimes useful in affording prognostics 
of the probable termination of several diseases. Vio- 
lent and impetuous dreams occurring in fevers generally 
indicate approaching delirium ; those of a gloomy, ter- 
rific nature give strong grounds to apprehend danger ; 
while dreams of a pleasant cast may be looked upon as 
harbingers of approaching recovery. The visions, in- 
deed, which occur in a state of fever are highly dis- 
tressing ; the mind is vehemently hurried on from one 
train of ideas to another, and participates in the painful 
activity of the system. Those generated by hypochon- 
dria or indigestion are equally afflicting, but more con- 
fined to one unpleasant idea—the intellect being over- 
powered, as it were, under the pressure of a ponderous 
ioad, from which it experiences an utter incapacity to 
relieve itself. The febrile dream has a fiery, volatile, 
fugitive character : the other partakes of the nature of 
nightmare, in which the faculties seem frozen to torpor, 
by the presence of a loathsome and indolent fiend. 
Other diseases and feelings besides fever give a 
character to dreams. The dropsical subject often has 
the idea of fountains, and rivers, and seas, in his sleep ; 
jaundice tinges the objects beheld with its own yellow 
and sickly hue ; hunger induces dreams of eating agree- 
able food ; an attack of inflammation disposes us to see 
all things of the colour of blood ; excessive thirst pre- 
sents us with visions of dried up streams, burning sand- 
plains, and immitigable heat; a bad taste in the mouth, 
with every thing bitter and nauseous in the vegetable 
world. 
* The following is the account-he himself gives of the circum- 
stance :—‘ In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then in 
ill-health, had retired to a lonely farm-house between Pnrlock 
and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devon- 
shire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had 
been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his 
chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, 
or words of the same substance, in ‘ Purchas’s Pilgrimage:— 
‘ Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a 
stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground 
were enclosed with a wall.’ The author continued for about 
three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, 
during which time he had the most vivid confidence, that he 
could have composed not less than from two to three hundred 
!i::, if that indeed can be called composition in which all the im- 
ages rose up before him as things, with a parallel production ofthe 
correspondent expressions, without any sensation or conscious- 
ness of effort. On awaking, he appeared to himself to have a 
distinct recollection of the whole : and taking his pen, ink, and 
paper instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here 
preserved At this moment he was unfortunately called out by 
a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above 
an hour ; and on his return to his room, found, to his no small 
surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some 
vague and dim recollection ofthe general purport of the vision ; 
yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and 
images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the sur- 
face of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but alas ! with- 
* Such was the case with Cabanis, who often, during dreams, 
saw dearly into the bearings of political events which had baf- 
fled him when awake ; and with Condorcet, who, when, en- 
gaged in some deep and complicated calculations, was frequent- 
ly obliged to leave them in an unfinished elate, and retire to 
rest, when the results to which they led were at once unfolded in PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
If, from any cause, we chance to be relieved from the 
physical suffering occasioning such dreams, the dreams 
themselves also wear away, or are succeeded by others 
of a more pleasing description. Thus, if perspiration 
succeed to feverish heat, the person who, during the 
continuance of the latter, fancied himself on the brink 
of a volcano, or broiled beneath an African sun, is 
transported to some refreshing stream, and enjoys pre- 
cisely the pleasure which such a transition would pro- 
duce did it actually take place. 
Some authors imagine that we never dream of ob- 
jects which we have not seen; but the absurdity of this 
notion is so glaring as to carry its own refutation along 
with it. I have a thousand times dreamed of such 
objects. 
When a person has a strong desire to see any place 
or object which he has never seen before, he is apt to 
dream about it; while, as soon as his desire is gratified, 
he often ceases so to dream. I remember of hearing 
a great deal of the beauty of Rouen Cathedral, and in 
one form or other it was constantly presented before my 
imagination in dreams ; but having at last seen the 
cathedral I never again dreamed about it. This is not 
the invariable result of a gratified wish; but it happens 
so often that it may be considered a general rule. 
Sometimes we awake from dreams in a pleasing, at 
other times in a melancholy mood, without being able 
to recollect them. They leave a pleasurable or dis- 
agreeable impression upon the mind, according doubt- 
less to their nature; and yet we cannot properly remem- 
ber what we were dreaming about. Sometimes, though 
baffled at the time, we can recall them afterwards, but 
this seldom happens. 
It often happens that the dreamer, under the influence 
of a frightful vision, leaps from his bed and calls aloud 
in a paroxysm of terror. This is very frequently the 
case with children and persons of weak nerves ; but it 
may happen even with the strongest minded. There is 
something peculiarly horrible and paralyzing in the ter- 
ror of sleep. It lays the energies of the soul prostrate 
before it, crushes them to the earth as beneath the 
weight of an enormous vampyre, and equalizes for a 
time the courage of the hero and the child. No firm- 
ness of mind can at all times withstand the influence of 
these deadly terrors. The person awakes panic-struck 
from some hideous vision ; and even after reason re- 
turns and convinces him of the unreal nature of his ap- 
prehensions, the panic for some time continues, his 
heart throbs violently, he is cohered with cold perspi- 
ration, and hides his head beneath the bed-clothes, 
afraid to look around him, lest some dreadful object of 
alarm should start up before his affrighted vision. 
Courage and philosophy are frequently opposed in vain 
to these appalling terrors. The latter dreads what it 
disbelieves ; and spectral forms, sepulchral voices, and 
all the other horrid superstitions of sleep arise to vindi- 
cate their power over that mind, which, under the fan- 
cied protection of reason and science, conceived itself 
shielded from all such attacks, but which, in the hour 
of trial, often sinks beneath their influence as completely 
as the ignorant and unreflecting mind, who never em- 
ployed a thought as to the real nature of these fantastic 
and illusive sources of terror. The alarm of a frightful 
dream is sometimes so overpowering, that persons un- 
der the impression thus generated, of being pursued by 
some imminent danger, have actually leaped out of the 
window to the great danger and even loss of their 
lives. In the 9th volume of the 4 Philosophical Transac- 
tions of the Royal Society of London.’ a curious case 
is given by Archdeacon Squire, of a person who, after 
having been dumb for years, recovered the use of his 
speech by means of a dream of this description : 4 One 
ilay, in the year 1741, he got very much in liquor, so 
much so, that on his return at home at night to the De- 
vizes, he fell from his horse three or four times, and 
was at last, taken nn hv a n«,'rrV,iw...- —i ...... ■ * ’- • 
a house on the road. He soon fell asleep ; when, 
dreaming that he was falling into a furnace of boiling 
wort, it put him into so great an agony of fright, that, 
struggling with all his might to call out for help, he ac- 
tually did call out aloud, and recovered the use of his 
tongue that moment, as effectually as ever he had it in 
his life, without the least hoarseness or alteration in the 
old sound of his voice.’ 
There have been instances where the terror of a fright- 
ful dream has been so great as even to produce insanity. 
Many years ago, a woman in the West Highlands, in 
consequence of a dream of this kind, after being newly 
brought to bed, became deranged, and soon after made 
her escape to the mountains, where for seven years, she 
herded with the deer, and became so fleet that the shep- 
herds and others, by whom she was occasionally seen, 
could never arrest her. At the end of this term, a very 
severe storm brought her and her associates to the 
valley, when she was surrounded, caught, and convey- 
ed to her husband, by whom she was cordially received 
and treated with the utmost kindness. In the course 
of three months, she regained her reason, and had after- 
wards several children. When caught, her body is 
said to have been covered with hair, thus giving a col- 
or to the story of Orson and other wild men of the wood. 
Instances have not been wanting where, under the 
panic of a frightful vision, persons have actually com- 
mitted murder. They awake from such a dream— 
they see some person standing in the room, whom they 
mistake for an assassin, or dreadful apparition; driven 
to desperation by terror, they seize the first weapon that 
occurs, and inflict a fatal wound upon the object of 
their alarm. Hoffbauer, in his Treatise on Legal Med- 
icine, relates a case of this kind. Although he does 
not state that the circumstances which occasioned the 
panic was a previous dream of terror, I do not doubt 
that such, in reality, must have been the case. ‘ A re- 
port,’ says he, 4 of the murder committed by Bernard 
Schidmaizig was made by the Criminal College of 
Silesia. Schidmaizig awoke suddenly at midnight: at 
the moment of awaking, he beheld a frightful phantom 
(at least his imagination so depicted it) standing near 
him, (in consequence of the heat of the weather he slept 
in an open coach-house.) Fear, and the obscurity of 
the night, prevented him from recognizing any thing 
distinctly, and the object which struck his vision ap- 
peared to him an actual spectre. In a tremulous tone, 
he twice called out, who goes there 1—he received no 
answer, and imagined that the apparition was approach- 
ing him. Frightened out of his judgment, he sprung 
from his bed, seized a hatchet which he generally kept 
close by him, and with this weapon assaulted the im- 
aginary spectre. To see jhe apparition, to call out 
who goes there ? and to seize the hatchet where the 
work of a moment: he had* not an instant for reflection, 
and with one blow the phantom was felled to the ground. 
Schidmaizig uttered a deep groan. This, and the noise 
occasioned by the fall of the phantom, completely re- 
stored him to his senses ; and all at once the idea flash- 
ed across his mind that he must have struck down his 
wife, who slept in the same coach-house. Falling in- 
stantly upon his knees, he raised the head of the wound- 
ed person, saw the wound which he had made, and the 
blood that flowed from it; and in a voice full of an- 
guish exclaimed Susannah, Susannah, come to your- 
self! He then called his eldest daughter, aged eight 
years, ordered her to see if her mother was recovering, 
and to inform her grandmother that he had killed her. 
In fact, it was his unhappy wife who received the blow, 
and she died the next day.’* 
* This case is highly important in a legal point of view ; and 
to punish a man for acting similarly in such a state would be as 
unjust as to inflict punishment for deeds committed under the in- 
fluence of insanity or somnambulism. ‘ This man,’ as Hoffbauer 
properly remarks, 'did not enjoy the free use of his senses : he 
knew not what he saw : he believed that he was repulsing an 
iinlooked for atiar.k. Ho sonn rpmamicoti — —* * PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
The passion of horror is more frequently felt in dreams 
than at any other period. Horror is intense dread, pro- 
duced by some unknown or superlatively disgusting ob- 
ject. The visions of sleep, therefore, being frequently 
undefined, and of the most revolting description, are apt 
to produce this emotion, as they are to occasion simple 
fear. Under its influence, we may suppose that fiends 
are lowering upon us ; that dismal voices, as from the 
bottomless pit, or from the tomb, are floating around us; 
that we are haunted by apparitions ; or that serpents, 
scorpions and demons are our bed-fellows. Such sen- 
sations are strongly akin to those of nightmare ; but 
between this complaint and a mere dream of terror, 
there is a considerable difference. In incubus, the indivi- 
dual feels as if his powers of volition were totally paralyz- 
ed ; and as if he were altogether unable to move a limb in 
his own behalf, or utter a cry expressive of his agony. 
When these feelings exist, we may consider the case 
to be one of nightmare : when they do not, and when 
notwithstanding his terror, he seems to himself to pos- 
sess unrestrained muscular motion, to run with ease, 
breathe freely, and enjoy the full capability of exertion, 
it must be regarded as a simple dream. 
Dr Elliotson has remarked, with great acuteness, 
that dreams, in which the perceptive faculties alone are 
concerned, are more incoherent, and subject to more 
rapid transitions than those in which one or more of 
the organs of the feelings are also in a state of activity. 
* Thus, in our dreams, we may walk on the brink of a 
precipice, or see ourselves doomed to immediate de- 
struction by the weapon of a foe, or the fury of a tem- 
pestuous sea, and yet feel not the slightest emotion of 
fear, though, during the perfect activity of the brain, 
we may be naturally disposed to the strong manifesta- 
tion of this feeling; again we may see the most extra- 
ordinary object or event without surprise, perform the 
most ruthless crime without compunction, and see 
what, in our waking hours, would cause us unmitigated 
grief, without the smallest feeling of sorrow.’ 
Persons are to be found, who, when they speak 
much during sleep, are unable to remember their 
dreams on awaking, yet recollect them perfectly if 
they do not speak. This fact is not very easily ac- 
counted for. Probably when we are silent, the mind 
is more directed upon the subject of the dream, and 
not so likely to be distracted from it. There is per- 
haps another explanation. When we dream of speak- 
ing, or actually speak, the necessity of using language 
infers the exercise of some degree of reason ; and, 
thus the incongruities of the dream being diminished, 
its nature becomes less striking, and consequently less 
likely to be remembered. Though we often dream of 
performing impossibilities, we seldom imagine that we 
are relating them to others. 
When we dream of visible objects, the sensibility of 
the eyes is diminished in a most remarkable manner ; 
and on opening them, they are much less dazzled by 
the light than if we awoke from a slumber altogether 
unvisited by such dreams. A fact equally curious is 
noticed by Dr. Darwin, in his ‘ Zoonomia,’—1 If we 
sleep in the day time, and endeavor to see some object 
in dreams, the light is exceedingly painful to our eyes ; 
and, after repeated struggles, we lament in our sleep 
that we cannot see it. In this case, I apprehend, the 
eyelid is in some measure opened by the vehemence of 
our sensations; and the iris being dilated, shows as 
great, or greater sensibility than in our waking hours.’ 
There are some persons to whom the objects of 
their dreams are always represented in a soft, mellow 
lustre, similar to twilight. They never seem to be- 
hold any thing in the broad glare of sunshine ; and, in 
general, the atmosphere of our vision is less brilliant 
than that through which we are accustomed to see 
things while awake. 
since he had taken the precaution to place it beside him ; but the 
idea of his wife and the possibility of killing her were the last 
The most vivid dreams are certainly those whicl 
have reference to sight. With regard to hearing, the) 
are less distinctly impressed upon the mind, and stil 
more feebly as regards smell, or taste. Indeed, somt 
authors are of opinion that we never dream of sounds 
unless when a sound takes place to provoke a dream 
and the same with regard to smell and taste; but this 
doctrine is against analogy, and unsupported by proof 
There are, beyond doubt, certain parts of the brail 
which take cognizance of taste, odors, and sounds, fo: 
the same reason that there are others which recognist 
forms, dimensions, and colors. As the organs of th< 
three latter sensations are capable of inward excite 
ment, without any communication, by means of th< 
senses, with the external world, it is no more that 
analogical to infer that, with the three former, the sam< 
thing may take place. In fever, although the individua 
is ever so well protected against the excitement o 
external sounds, the internal organ is often vio 
lently stimulated, and he is harassed with tumultuoui 
noises. For such reasons, it is evident that there ma; 
be in dreams a consciousness of sounds, of tastes, am 
of odors, where such have no real existence fron 
without. 
Dreams are sometimes exceedingly obscure, anc 
float like faint clouds over the spirit. We can thei 
resolve them into nothing like shape or consistence 
but have an idea of our minds being filled with dim 
impalpable imagery, which is so feebly impressed upoi 
the tablet of memory, that we are unable to embody i 
in language, or communicate its likeness to others. 
At other times, the objects of sleep are stampei 
with almost supernatural energy. The dead, or th< 
absent, whose appearance to our waking faculties ha< 
become faint and obscure, are depicted with intent 
truth and reality ; and even their voices, which had be 
come like the echo of a forgotten song, are recallec 
from the depths of oblivion, and speak to us as ii 
former times. Dreams therefore, have the power o 
brightening up the dim regions of the past, and pre 
senting them with a force which the mere effects o 
unassisted remembrance could never have accomplishei 
our waking hours. 
This property of reviving past images, is one of th< 
most remarkable possessed by sleep. It even goes th< 
length, in some cases, of recalling circumstances whicl 
had~been entirely forgotten, and presenting them to thi 
mind with more than the force of their original impression 
This I conceive to depend upon a particular part of thi 
brain—that, for instance, which refers to the memor 
of the event—being preternaturally excited ; henci 
forgotten tongues are sometimes brought back to thi 
memory in dreams, owing doubtless to some peculia 
excitement of the organ of Language. The dreame 
sometimes converses in a language of which he has n< 
knowledge whatever when he awakes, but with whicl 
he must at one period have been acquainted. Phe 
nomena of a similar kind occasionally occur in madness 
delirium, or intoxication, all of which states have ar 
analogy to dreaming. It is not uncommon, for in- 
stance, to witness in the insane an unexpected and as 
tonishing resusciation of knowledge—an intimacy wit! 
events and languages of which they were entirely ig- 
norant in the sound state of their minds. In like 
manner, in the delirium attendant upon fevers, people 
sometimes speak in a tongue* they know nothing of ir 
* A srirl was seized with a dangerous fever, and, in the deli 
rious paroxysm accompanying it, was observed to speak in < 
strange language which, for some time, no one could under 
stand. At last it was ascertained to be Welsh— a tongue she was 
wholly ignorant of at the time she was taken ill, and of winch 
she could not speak a single syllable after her recovery. Foi 
some time the circumstance was unaccountable, till, on inquiry, 
it was found she was a native of Wales, and had been familial 
with the lanvuaire of that country in her childhood, but hat 
wholly forgotten it afterwards. During the delirium of fever, 
the obliterated impressions of infancy were brought to her mind, 
and continued to onerate there so long as she remained undei PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
ealth; and in drunkenness events are brought to the 
remory which desert it in a state of sobriety.* Analo- 
ous peculiarties occur in dreams. Forgotten facts are 
sstored to the mind. Sometimes those adhere to it 
nd are remembered when we awake : at other times— 
s can be proved in cases of sleep-talking—they vanish 
nth the dream which called them into existence, and 
re recollected no more. 
I believe that the dreams of the aged, like their 
remory, relate chiefly to the events of early life, and 
3ss to those of more recent occurrence. My friend, 
)r Cumin, has mentioned to me the case of one of his 
>atients, a middle-aged man, whose visions assumed 
his character in consequence of severe mental anxiety. 
)wing to misfortunes in trade, his mind had been 
jreatly depressed: he lost his appetite, became rest- 
ess, nervous, and dejected; such sleep as he had was 
died with incessant dreams, which at first were entirely 
if events connected with the earliest period of his life, 
o far as he recollected it, and never by any chance of 
ate events. In proportion as he recovered from this 
itate, the dreams changed their character, and referred 
o circumstances farther on in life ; and so regular was 
he progression, that, with the march of his recovery, 
10 was the onward march of his dreams. During the 
vorst period of his illness, he dreamed of occurrences 
vhich happened in boyhood: no sooner was conva- 
escence established than his visions had reference to 
nanhood ; and on complete recovery they were of those 
ecent circumstances which had thrown him into bad 
lealth. In this curious case, one lateral half of the 
lead was much warmer than the other. This was so 
emarkable as to attract the notice of the barber who 
ihaved it. 
One of the most remarkable phenomena of dreams 
s the absence of surprise. This, indeed, is not inva- 
'iable, as every one must occasionally have felt the 
sensation of surprise, and been not a little puzzled in 
lis visions to account for the phenomena which pre- 
lent themselves ; but, as a general rule, its absence is 
so exceedingly common, that, when surprise does oc- 
:ur, it is looked upon as an event out of the common 
srder, and remarked accordingly. Scarcely any event, 
lowever incredible, impossible, or absurd, gives rise to 
his sensation. We see circumstance at utter variance 
vith the laws of nature, and yet their discordancy, im- 
iracticability, and oddness, seldom strike us as at all 
>ut of the usual course of things. This is one of the 
strongest proofs that can be alleged in support of the 
lormant condition of the reflecting faculties. Had 
hese powers been awake, and in full activity, they 
vould have pointed out the erroneous nature of the im- 
iressions conjured into existence by fancy : and shown 
is truly that the visions passing before us were merely 
he chimeras of excited imagination—the airy phantoms 
if imperfect sleep. 
In visions of the dead, we have a striking instance 
if the absence of surprise. We almost never wonder 
it beholding individuals whom we yet know, in our 
[reams, to have even been buried for years. We see 
hem among us, and hear them talk, and associate with 
hem on the footing of fond companionship. Still the 
lircumstance seldom strikes us with wonder, nor do 
ve attempt to account for it. They still seem alive as 
vhen they were on earth, only all their qualities, whether 
food or bad, are exaggerated by sleep. If we hated 
hem while in life, our animosity is now exaggerated to 
, double degree. If we loved them, our affection be- 
nnies more passionate and intense than ever. Under 
these circumstances, many scenes of most exquisite 
pleasure often take place. The slumberer supposes 
himself enjoying the communionship of those who were 
dearer to him than life, and has far more intense delight 
than he could have experienced, had these individuals 
been in reality alive, and at his side. 
‘ I hear thy voice in dreams 
Upon me softly call, 
Like echo of the mountain streams 
In sportive waterfall: 
I see thy form, as when 
Thou wert a living thing, 
And blossomed in the eyes of men 
Like any flower cfspring.’ 
Nor is the passion of love, when experienced in 
dreams, less vivid than any other emotion, or the sen- 
sation to which it gives rise less pleasurable. I do not 
here allude to the passion in its physical sense, but to 
that more moral and intellectual feeling, the result ol 
deep sensibility and attachment. Men who never loved 
before, have conceived a deep affection to some par- 
ticular woman in their dreams, which, continuing to 
operate upon them after they awoke, has actually ter- 
minated in a sincere and lasting fondness for the objec- 
of their visionary love. Men, again, who actually are 
in love, dream more frequently of this subject than ol 
any thing else—fancying themselves in the society ol 
their mistresses, and enjoying a happiness more exqui- 
site than is compatible with the waking state—a hap- 
piness, in short, little removed from celestial. Such 
feelings are not confined to men ; they pervade the fe- 
male breast with equal intensity ; and the young maid- 
en, stretched upon the couch of sleep, may have her 
spirit filled with the image of her lover, while her whole 
being swims in the ecstacies of impassioned, yet virtu- 
ous attachment. At other times, this pure passion 
may, in both sexes, be blended with one of a grosser 
character; which also may acquire an increase of plea- 
surable sensation : to such an extent is every circum- 
stance, whether of delight or suffering, exaggerated by 
sleep. 
For the same reason that the lover dreams of love, 
does the newly married woman dream of children. 
They, especially if she have a natural fondness for 
them—if she herself be pregnant, or possess an ardent 
longing for offspring—are often the subject of her sleep- 
ing thoughts ; and she conceives herself to be encircled 
by them, and experiencing intense pleasure in their in- 
nocent society. Men who are very fond of children 
often experience the same sensations; and both men 
and women wTho are naturally indifferent in this respect, 
seldom dream about them, and never with any feelings 
of peculiar delight. 
During the actual process of any particular dream, 
we are never conscious that we are really dreaming: 
but it sometimes happens that a second dream takes 
place, during which we have a consciousness, or a sus- 
picion, that the events which took place in the first 
dream were merely visionary, and not real. People, 
for instance, sometimes fancy in sleep, that they have 
acquired wealth : this may be called the first dream; 
and during its progress they never for a moment doubt 
the reality of their impressions ; but a second one su- 
pervenes upon this, and they then begin to wonder 
whether their riches be real or imaginary—in other 
words, they try to ascertain whether they had been 
previously dreaming or not. But even in the second 
dream we are unconscious of dreaming. We still seem 
to ourselves to be broad awake—a proof that in dreams 
we are never aware of being asleep. This unconscious- 
ness of being asleep during the dreaming state, is re- 
ferable to the quiescent condition of the reasoning 
pow frs. The mind is wholly subject to the sceptre of 
other faculties ; and whatever emotions or images they 
invoke seem to be real, for want of a controlling power 
to point out their true character. 
or so soon as the state of mind which recalled these impres- 
ions was removed, they also disappeared, as she was as ignor- 
.nt of Welsh as before she was taken ill. 
* Mr Combe mentions the case of an Irish porter to a ware- 
louse, who, in one of his drunken fits, left a parcel at the wrong 
louse, and when sober could not recollect what he had done 
rith it; but the next time he got drunk, he recollected where 
- «...« l-r. i> .„/l omfl nrnnraJ it I PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
17 
‘ You stood before me like a thought, 
A dream remembered in a dream.’ 
Those troubled with deafness do not hear distinctly 
such sounds as they conceive to be uttered during 
sleep. Dr. Darwin speaks of a gentleman who, for 
thirty years, had entirely lost his hearing, and who in 
his dreams never seemed to converse with any person 
except by the fingers or in writing : he never had the I 
impression of hearing them speak. In like manner, a 
blind man seldom dreams of visible objects, and never 
if he has been blind from his birth. Dr Blacklock, in- 
deed, who became blind in early infancy, may seem an 
exception to this rule. While asleep, he was conscious 
of a sense which he did not possess in the waking state, 
and which bears some analogy to sight. He imagined 
that he was united to objects by a sort of distant con- 
tact, which was effected by threads or strings passing 
from their bodies to his own. 
The illusion of dreams is much more complete than 
that of the most exquisite plays. We pass, in a second 
of time, from one country to another ; and persons who 
lived in the most different ages of the world are brought 
together in strange and incongruous confusion. It is 
not uncommon to see, at the same moment, Robert the 
Bruce, Julius Caesar, and Marlborough in close conver- 
sation. Nothing, in short, however monstrous, incredi- 
ble, or impossible, seems absurd. Equally striking 
examples of illusion occur when the person awakes 
from a dream, and imagines that he hears voices or be- 
holds persons in the room beside him. In the first 
cases we are convinced, on awaking, of the deceptive 
nature of our visions, from the utter impossibility of 
their occurrence; they are at variance with natural 
laws; and a single effort of reason is sufficient to point 
out their absolute futility. But when the circumstances 
which seem to take place are not in themselves con- 
ceived impossible, however unlikely they may be, it is 
often a matter of the utmost difficulty for us to be con- 
vinced of their real character. On awaking, we are 
seldom aware that, when they took place, we laboured 
under a dream. Such is their deceptive nature, and 
such the vividness with which they appear to strike our 
senses, that we imagine them real; and accordingly 
often start up in a paroxysm of terror, having the idea 
that our chamber is invaded by thieves, that strange 
voices are calling upon us, or that we are haunted by 
the dead. When there is no way of confuting these 
impressions, they often remain ineradicably fixed in the 
mind, and are regarded as actual events, instead of the 
mere chimeras of sleep. This is particularly the case 
with the weak-minded and superstitious, whose feelings 
are always stronger than their judgments; hence the 
thousand stories of ghosts and warnings with which the 
imaginations of those persons are haunted—hence the 
frequent occurrence of nocturnal screaming and terror 
in children, whose reflecting faculties are naturally too 
weak to correct the impressions of dreams, and point 
out their true nature—hence the painful illusions occur- 
ring even to persons of strong intellect, when they are 
debilitated by watchfulness, long-continued mental suf- 
fering, or protracted disease. These impressions often 
arise without any apparent cause : at other times, the 
most trivial circumstances will produce them. A voice, 
for instance, in a neighbouring street, may seem to pro- 
ceed from our own apartment, and may assume a cha- 
racter of the most appalling description ; while the tread 
of footsteps, or the knocking of a hammer over-head, 
may resolve itself into a frightful figure stalking be- 
fore us. 
‘ I know,’ says Mr Waller, ‘ a gentleman who is 
living at this moment a needless slave to terror, which 
arises from a circumstance which admits easily of ex- 
planation. He was lying in his bed with his wife, and, 
as he supposed, quite awake, when he felt distinctly the 
impression of some person’s hand upon his right should- 
er. which created such a decree of alarm that he dared 
not to move himself in bed, and indeed could not, if he 
had possessed the courage. It was some time before 
he had it in his power to awake his wife, and commu- 
nicate to her the subject of his terror. The shoulder 
which had felt the impression of the hand, continued 
to feel benumbed and uncomfortable for some time. 
It had heen uncovered, and most probably, the cold 
to which it was exposed was the cause of the pheno- 
menon.’* 
An attack of dreaming illusion, not, however, accom- 
panied with any unpleasant feeling, occurred to myself 
lately. I had fallen accidentally asleep upon an arm- 
chair, and was suddenly awaked by hearing, as I sup- 
posed, two of my brothers talking and laughing at the 
door of the room, which stood wide open. The im- 
pressions were so forcible, that I could not believe 
them fallacious, yet I ascertained that they were so en- 
tirely ; for my brothers had gone to the country an 
hour before, and did not return for a couple of hours 
afterwards. 
There are few dreams involving many circumstances, 
which are, from beginning to end, perfectly philosophi- 
cal and harmonious : there is usually some absurd 
violation of the laws of consistency, a want of congrui- 
ty, a deficiency in the due relation of cause and effect, 
and a string of conclusions altogether unwarranted by 
the premises. Mr Hood, in his ‘ Whims and Oddities,’ 
gives a curious illustration of the above facts. ‘ It oc- 
curred,’ says he, ‘ when I was on the eve of marriage, 
a season when, if lovers sleep sparingly, they dream 
profusely. A very brief slumber sufficed to carry me, 
in the night coach, to Bogner, It had been concerted 
between Honoria and myself that we should pass the 
honeymoon at some such place upon the coast. The 
purpose of my solitary journey was to procure an ap- 
propriate dwelling, and which, we had agreed upon, 
should be a little pier sant house, with an indispensable 
look-out upon the sea. I chose one accordingly, a 
pretty villa, with bow windows, and a prospect delight- 
fully marine. The ocean murmur sounded incessantly 
from the beach. A decent elderly body, in decayed 
sables, undertook on her part to promote the comfort of 
the occupants by every suitable attention, and, as she 
assured me, at a very reasonable rate. So far the noc- 
turnal faculty had served me truly : a day dream could 
not have proceeded more orderly : but alas ! just here, 
when the dwelling was selected, the sea-view was se- 
cured, the rent agreed upon, when every thing was 
plausible, consistent, and rational, the incoherent fancy 
crept in, and confounded all—by marrying me to the 
old woman of the house !’ 
There are no limits to the extravagancies of those 
visions sometimes called into birth by the vivid exercise 
of the imagination. Contrasted with them, the wildest 
fictions of Rabelais, Ariosto, or Dante, sink into abso- 
lute probabilities. I remember of dreaming on one oc- 
casion that I possessed ubiquty, twenty resemblances 
of myself appearing in as many different places, in the 
same room ; and each being so thoroughly possessed 
by my own mind, that I could not ascertain which of 
them was myself, and which my double, &c. On this 
occasion, fancy so far travelled into the regions of ab- 
surdity, that I conceived myself riding upon my own 
back—one of the resemblances being mounted upon 
another, and both animated with the soul appertaining 
to myself, in such a manner that I knew not whether I 
was the carrier or the carried. At another time, I 
dreamed that I was converted into a mighty pillar of 
stone, which reared its head in the midst of a desert, 
where it stood for ages, till generation after generation 
melted away before it. Even in this state, though un- 
conscious for possessing any organs of sense, or being 
else than a mass of lifeless stone, I saw every object 
around—the mountains growing bald with age—the 
forest trees drooping in decay ; and I heard whatever PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
ounds nature is in the custom of producing such as 
ae thunder-peal breaking over my naked head, the 
finds howling past me, or the ceaseless murmur of 
treams. At last I also waxed old, and began to crum- 
le into dust, while the moss and ivy accumulated, 
lpon me, and stamped me with the aspect of hoar 
ntiquity. The first of these visions may have arisen 
rotn reading Hoffman’s ‘ Devil’s Elixir,’ where there 
s an account of a man who supposed he had a double, 
>r, in other words, was both himself and not him- 
lelf ; and the second had perhaps its origin in the 
leathen Mythology, a subject to which I am extreme- 
y partial, and which abounds in stories of metamor- 
phosis. 
Such dreams as occur in a state of drunkenness are 
•emarkable for their extravagance. Exaggeration be- 
rond limits is a very general attendant upon them ; and 
,hey are usually of a more airy and fugitive character 
than those proceeding from almost any other source. 
The person seems as if he jjossessed unusual lightness, 
and could mount into the air, or float upon the clouds, 
while every object around him reels and staggers with 
emotion. But of all dreams, there are none which, for 
unlimited wildness, equal those produced by narcotics. 
An eminent artist, under the influence of opium, fanci- 
ed the ghastly figures in Holbein’s ‘ Dance of Death’ to 
become vivified—each grim skeleton being endowed 
with life and motion, and dancing and grinning with an 
aspect with hideous reality. The ‘ English Opium 
Eater,’ in his ‘ Confessions,’ has given a great variety 
of eloquent and appalling descriptions of the effects pro- 
duced by this drug upon the imagination during sleep. 
Listen to one of them :— 
‘ Southern Asia is, and has been for thousands of 
frears, the part of the earth most swarming with human 
ife ; the great officina gentium. Man is a weed in 
those regions. The vast empires, also, into which the 
enormous population of Asia has always been cast, give 
a farther sublimity to the feelings associated with all 
Oriental names or images. In China, over and above 
what it has in common with the rest of Southern Asia, 
I am terrified by the modes of life, by the manners, and 
the barrier of utter abhorrence and want of sympathy 
[placed between us by feelings deeper than I can ana- 
yze. I could sooner live with lunatics or brute animals 
All this, and much more than I can say, or have time to 
say the reader must enter into before he can compre- 
hend the unimaginable horror which these dreams of 
Oriental imagery and mythological tortures impressed 
upon me. Under the connecting feeling of tropical 
heat and vertical sunlights, I brought together all crea- 
tures, birds, beasts, reptiles, all trees and plants, usa- 
ges and appearances, that are found in all tropical re- 
gions, and assembled them together in China or Indos- 
tan. From kindred feelings I soon brought Egypt and 
all her gods under the same law. I was stared at, 
hooted at, grinned at, chattered at, by monkeys, by 
paroquets, and cockatoos. I ran into pagodas: and 
was fixed for centuries at the summit, or in the secret 
rooms ; I was the idol; I was the priest; I was wor- 
shipped ; I was sacrificed. I fled from the wrath of 
Brama through all the forests of Asia: Vishnu hated 
me : Seeva laid in wait for me. I came suddenly up- 
on Isis and Osiris : I had done a deed, they said, which 
the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was buried 
for a thousand years, in stone coffins, with mummies 
and sphinxs, in narrow chambers, at the heart of eter- 
nal pyramids. I was kissed, with cancerous kisses, 
by crocodiles, and laid confounded with all unutterable 
slimy things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud.’ 
Again ; ‘ Hitherto the human face had mixed often 
in my dreams, but not so despotically, nor with any 
special power of tormenting. But now that which 
I have called the tyranny of the. human face began to 
unfold itself. Perhaps some part of my London life 
Via omsiwoksKIh fnv fVti* Rea iKsI so if mair nrur 
it was that upon the rocking waters of the ocean, the 
human face began to appear; the sea appeared paved 
with innumerable faces, upturned to the heavens : faces 
imploring, wrathful, despairing, surged upwards by 
thousands, by myriads, by generations, by centuries : 
—my agitation was infinite—my mind tossed and surg- 
ed with the ocean.’ 
I have already spoken of the analogy subsisting be- 
tween dreaming and insanity, and shall now mention a 
circumstance which occurs in both states, and points 
out a very marked similitude of mental condition. The 
same thing also occasionally, or rather frequently, takes 
place in drunkenness, which is, to all intents and pur- 
poses, a temporary paroxysm of madness. It often 
happens, for instance, that such objects or persons as 
we have seen before and are familiar with, become ut- 
terly changed in dreams, and bear not the slightest re- 
semblance to their real aspect. It might be thought 
that such a circumstance would so completely annihi- 
late their identity as to prevent us from believing them 
to be what, by us, they are conceived; but such is not 
the case. We never doubt that the particular object 
or person presented to our eyes appears in its true 
character. In illustration of this fact, I may mention, 
that I lately visited the magnificent palace of Versail- 
les in a dream, but that deserted abode of kings stood 
not before me as when I have gazed upon it broad 
awake; it was net only magnified beyond even its stu- 
pendous dimensions, and its countless splendors im- 
measurably increased, but the very aspect itself of the 
mighty pile was changed ; and instead of stretching its 
huge Corinthian front along the entire breadth of an ela- 
borate and richly fantastic garden, adorned to profusion 
with alcoves, fountains, waterfalls, statues, and terraces, 
it stood alone in a boundless wilderness—an immense 
architectural creation of the Gothic ages, with a hun- 
dred spires and ten thousand minarets sprouting up, and 
piercing with their pointed pinnacles the sky. The 
whole was as different as possible from the reality, but 
this never once occurred to my mind ; and, while gaz- 
ing upon the visionary fabric. I never doubted for an in- 
stant that it then appeared as it had ever done, and was 
in no degree different from w'hat I had often previously 
beheld. 
Another dream I shall relate in illustration of this 
point. It was related to me by a young lady, and, in- 
dependent of its illustrative value, is well wmrthy of 
being preserved as a specimen of fine imagination. ‘ I 
dreamed,' said she, ‘ that I stood alone upon the brink 
of a dreadful precipice, at the bottom of which rolled a 
great river. While gazing awe-struck upon the gulph 
below, some one from behind laid a hand upon my 
shoulder, and, on looking back, I saw a tall, venerable 
figure with a long, flowing, silvery beard, and clothed 
in white garments, whom I at once knew to be the 
Saviour of the world. “ Do you see,” he inquired, 
“ the great river that washes the foundation of the rock 
upon which you now standi I shall dry it up, so that 
not a drop of its waters shall remain, and all the fishes 
that are in it shall perish.” He then waved his hand, 
and the river was instantly dried up; and I saw the 
fishes gasping and writhing in the channel, where they 
all straightway died. “Now,” said he, “ the river is 
dried up and the fishes are dead ; “but to give you a far- 
ther testimony of my power, I shall bring back the 
flood, and every creature that was wont to inhabit it 
shall live again.” And he waved his hand a second 
time, and the river was instantly restored, its dry bed 
filled with volumes of water, and all the dead fishes 
brought back unto life. On looking round to express 
to him my astonishment at those extraordinary mira- 
cles, and to fall down and worship him, he was gone ; 
and I stood by myself upon the precipice, gazing with 
astonishment at the river which rolled a thousand feet 
beneath me.’ In this fine vision, the difference be PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
he is represented in the sacred writings, as well as in 
paintings, did not suggest itself to the mind of the 
dreamer. He came in the guise of an aged man, which 
is diametrically opposite to our habitual impressions of 
his aspect. If it be asked what produces such differ- 
ences between the reality and the representation, I ap- 
prehend we must refer it to some sudden second dream 
or flash of thought breaking in upon the first, and con- 
fusing its character. For instance, I have a dream of 
an immense Gothic pile, when something about Ver- 
sailles, somehow, occurs to my mind, and this I imme- 
diately associate with the object before me. The lady 
has the idea of an old man in her dream, and the thought 
of Christ happening to come across her at the instant, 
she identifies it involuntarily with the object of her 
vision. There is yet another explanation of the latter. 
The old man has the power of working a great mira- 
cle ; so had Christ, and she is thus led to confound the 
two together. She, it is true, imagines she knows the 
old man at once to be the Saviour, without any previ- 
ous intimation of his miraculous gifts ; but, this, very 
possibly, may be a mistake ; and the knowledge which 
she only acquires after witnessing his power, she may, 
by the confusion attendant on dreams, suppose to have 
occurred to her in the first instance. These facts, com- 
bined with the dormant state of the reflecting faculties, 
which do not rectify the erroneous impressions, render 
the explanation of such dreams sufficiently easy, how- 
ever puzzling, and unaccountable at first sight. 
In some cases, the illusion is not merely confined to 
sleep, but extends itself to the waking state. To il- 
lustrate this I may state the following circumstance: 
Some years ago, my impressions concerning the aspect 
and localities of Inverness, were strangely confused by 
a dream which I had of that town, taking so strong a 
hold upon my fancy as to be mistaken for a reality. I 
had been there before, and was perfectly familiar with 
the appearance of the town, but this was presented in 
so different a light, and with so much force by the 
dream, that I, at last, became unable to say which of 
the two aspects was the real one. Indeed, the vision- 
ary panorama exhibited to my mind, took the strongest 
hold upon it ; and I rather felt inclined to believe that 
this was the veritable appearance of the town, and that 
the one which I had actually beheld, was merely the 
illusion of the dream. This uncertainty continued for 
several years, till, being again in that quarter, I satis- 
fied myself on the real state of the case. On this oc- 
casion, the dream must have occurred to my mind 
some time after it had happened, and taken such a firm 
hold upon it as to dethrone the reality, and taken its 
place. I remember distinctly of fancying that the 
little woody hill of Tomnachurich was in the centre of 
the town, although it stands at some distance from it; 
that the principle steeple was on the opposite side of 
the street to that on which it stands ; and that the 
great mountain of Ben-We vis, many miles off, was in 
the immediate neighborhood. 
The power of imagination is perhaps never so vividly 
displayed, as in those dreams which haunt the guilty 
mind. When any crime of an infamous character has 
been perpetrated, and when the person is not so utterly 
hardened as to be insensible of his iniquity, the wide 
storehouse of retributive vengeance is opened up, and 
its appalling horrors poured upon him. In vain does 
he endeavor to expel the dreadful remembrance of his 
deeds, and bury them in forgetfulness; from the abyss 
of slumber they start forth, as the vampyres start from 
their sepulchres, and hover around him like the furies : 
that pursued the footsteps of Orestes ; while the voice ; 
of conscience stuns his ears with murmurs of judg- ] 
ment and eternity. Such is the punishment reserved \ 
for the guilty in sleep. During the busy stir of active 1 
existence, they may contrive to evade the memory of 1 
their wickedness—to silence the whispers of the ‘ still ( 
i semblance of happiness ; but when their heads are lai 
: upon the pillow, the flimsy veil which hung betwee 
i them and crime, melts away like an illusive vapor, an 
" displays the latter in naked and horrid deformit] 
Then, in the silence of night, the 4 still small voice’ i 
heard like an echo from the tomb; then, a crowd < 
doleful remembrances rush in upon the criminal, n 
longer to be debarred from visiting the depths of hi 
7 spirit; and when dreams succeed to such broken an 
miserable repose, it is only to aggravate his previou 
horrors, and present them in a character of still mor 
overwhelming dread.* 
“ Though thy slumber may be deep, 
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; 
There are shades which will not vanish, 
There are thoughis thou canst not banish; 
By a power to (hee unknown, 
Thou canst never be alone ; 
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, 
Thou art gathered in a cloud ; 
And forever shalt thou dwell 
In the spirit of this spell.” 
Such are the principal phenomena of dreams; anc 
from them it will naturally be deduced, that dreaming 
may occur under a great variety of circumstances ; 
that it may result from the actual state of the body oi 
mind, previous to falling asleep ; or exist as a train oi 
emotions which can be referred to no apparent external 
cause. The forms it assumes are also as various as 
the causes giving rise to it, and much more striking in 
their nature. In dreams, imagination unfolds, most 
gorgeously, the ample stores of its richly decorated 
empire; and in proportion to the splendor of that 
faculty in any individual, are the visions which pass 
before him in sleep. But even the most dull and pas- 
sionless, while under the dreaming influence, frequently 
enjoy a temporary inspiration : their torpid faculties are 
aroused from the benumbing spell which hung over 
them in the waking state, and lighted up with the Pro- 
methean fire of genius and romance; the prose of 
their frigid spirits is converted into magnificent poetry; 
the atmosphere around them peopled w’ith new and un- 
heard-of imagery; and they walk in a region to which 
the proudest flights of their limited energies could 
never otherwise have attained. 
I shall conclude this chapter with a few words on 
the management of dreams. 
When dreams are of a pleasing character, no one 
cares any thing about their removal : it is only when 
they get distressing and threaten to injure the health of 
the individual, by frequent recurrence, that this becomes 
an important object. Wrhen dreams assume the cha- 
racter of nightmare, they must be managed according 
to the methods laid down for the cure of that affection. 
In all cases, the condition of the digestive organs must 
be attended to, as any disordered state of these parts is 
* ‘ No fiction of romance presents so awful a picture of the 
ideal tyrant as that of Caligula by Suetonius. His palace—ra- 
diant with purple and gold, but murder every where lurking be- 
neath flowers; his smiles ami echoing laughter, masking (yet 
hardly meant to mask) his foul treachery of heart; his hideous 
and tumultuous dreams; his baffled sleep, and his sleepless 
nights, compose the picture of an jEschylus. What a master’s 
sketch lies in those few lines:—‘ Incitabatur insomnio maxime ; 
neque enim plus tribus horis nocturnis quiescebat; ac ne his pla- 
cida quiete, at pavida rriiris rerum imaginibus; ut qui inter cet- 
eras pelagi quondam speciem colloquentem secum videre visus 
sit. Ideoque magna parte noctis, vigiliee cubandique trsflio, 
nunc toro residens, nunc per longissimas porticos vagus, invo- 
care identidem atque expectare lucem consueverat—>■ e. But 
above all, he was tormented with nervous irritation, by sleep- 
lessness ; for he enjoyed not more than three hours of nocturnal 
repose : nor even these in pure, untroubled rest, but agitated by 
phantasmata of portentous augury ; as, for example, upon one 
oocasion lie fancied he saw the sea, under some definite imper- 
sonation, conversing with himself Hence it was, and from this 
incapacity of sleeping, and from weariness of lying awake, that 
he had fallen into habits of ranging all the night lo g through the 
palace, sometimes throwing himself on a couch, sometimes 
wandering along the vast corrodors—watching for the earliest 
dawn, and anxiously invoking its approach.’—Blackvjmd't PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
pt to induce visions of a very painful character. Foi 
lis purpose, mild laxatives may become useful ; and 
' the person is subject to heartburn, he should use a 
ttle magnesia, chalk, or carbonate of soda, occasion- 
lly. Attention, also, must be paid to the diet ; and 
s suppers, with some people, have a tendency to gene- 
ite dreams of all kinds, these meals should, in such 
ases, be carefully avoided. At the same time, great 
are should be taken not to brood over any subject upon 
fing down, but to dispel, as soon as possible, allintru- 
ive ideas, especially if they are of a painful nature. If 
here is any unpleasant circumstances, such as hard- 
ess, irregularity, &c., connected with the bed, which 
ends to affect sleep, and thus induce dreams, it must 
ie removed. Late reading, the use of tea or coffee 
hortly before going to rest, or any thing which may 
timulate the brain, ought likewise to be avoided. 
If dreaming seems to arise from any fulness of the 
ystem, blooding and low diet will sometimes effect a 
:ure. Mr Stewart, the celebrated pedestrian traveller, 
tates that he never dreamed when he lived exclusively 
ipon vegetable food. This, however, may not hold 
rue with every one. ‘ When dreams arise from a di- 
ninution of customary stimuli, a light supper, a draught 
>f porter, a glass of wme, or a dose of opium, general- 
y prevent them. Habitual noises, when suspended 
ihould be restored.’* 
In speaking of dreams representative of danger, I 
nay mention that there are instances of persons, who, 
laving determined to remember that the perils seen in 
hem are fallacious, have actually succeeded in doing 
>o, while asleep ; and have thus escaped the terrors 
vhich those imaginary dangers could otherwise have 
produced. Haller relates a case of this kind ; and Mr 
Dugald Stewart mentions that the plan was successfully 
ldopted by Dr Reid to get rid of the distress of those 
earful visions by which he was frequently annoyed. 
Whenever, in a dream, the Doctor supposed himselfou 
be b rink of a precipice, or any other dangerous situa- 
;ion, it was his custom to throw himself over, and thus 
lestroy the illusion. Dr Beattie also relates, that at 
me time he found himself in a dangerous situation Upon 
he parapet of a bridge. Reflecting that he was not 
subject to pranks of this nature, he began to fancy that 
t might be a dream, and determined to pitch himself 
Dver, with the conviction that this would restore him 
to his senses, which accordingly took place.t I could 
never manage to carry this system into effect in an 
ordinary dream of terror, but I have sometimes suc- 
ceeded in doing so during an attack of nightmare ; and 
have thus very materially mitigated the alarm produced 
by that distressing sensation. This intellectual opera- 
tion may also be suceessfuly employed to dispel the 
lowness of spirits under which we often awake from un- 
pleasant visions by teaching us that the depression we 
experience is merely the result of some unnatural 
excitement in the brain. Indeed, all kinds of melan- 
choly, not based upon some obvious foundation, might 
be mitigated or dispelled altogether, could we only 
oppose our feelings with the weapons of reason, and 
see things as they really are, and not as they only seem 
to be. 
This opinion is so singularly unphilosophical, that I 
would not have noticed it, were it not advocated even 
by persons of good sense and education In ancient 
times, it was so common as to obtain universal belief ; 
and the greatest men placed as implicit faith in it as in 
any fact of which their own senses afforded them cog- 
nizance. That it is wholly erroneous, however, can- 
not be doubted ; and any person who examines the na- 
ture of lire human mind, and the manner in which it 
operates in dreams, must be convinced, that under no 
circumstances, except those of a miracle, in which the 
ordinary laws of nature are triumphed over, can such 
an event ever take place. The sacred writings tes- 
tifiy that miracles were common in former times ; but 
I believe no man of sane mind will contend that they 
ever occur in the present state of the world. In judg- 
ing of things as now constituted, we must discard su- 
pernatural influence altogether, and estimate events 
according to the general laws which the great ruler of 
nature has appointed for the guidance of the universe. 
If, in the present day, it were possible to conceive a 
suspension of these laws, it must, as in former ages, be 
in reference to some great event, and to serve some 
mighty purpose connected with the general interests of 
the human race ; but if faith is to be placed in modern 
miracles, we must suppose that God suspended the 
above laws for the most trivial and useless of purpose s 
—as, for instance, to intimate to a man that his 
grandmother will die on a particular day, that a fa- 
vourite mare has broke her neck, that he has received 
a present of a brace of game, or that a certain 
friend will step in and take pot-luck with him on the 
morrow. 
At the same time, there can be no doubt that many 
circumstances occurring in our dreams have been actu- 
ally verified ; but this must be regarded as altogether 
the effect of chance ; and for one dream tv hie h turns 
out to be true, at least a thousand are false. In fact, 
it is only when they are of the former description, that 
we take any notice of them; the latter are looked upon 
as mere idle vagaries, and speedily forgotten. If a 
man, for instance, dreams that he has gained a law-suit 
in which he is engaged, and if this circumstance actu- 
ally takes place, there is nothing at all extraordinary in 
the coincidence : his mind was full of the subject, and, 
in sleep, naturally resolved itself into that train of ideas 
in which it was most deeply interested. Or if we have 
a friend engaged in war, our fears for his safety will 
lead us to dream of death or captivity, and we may see 
him pent up in a hostile prison-house, or lying dead 
upon the battle plain. And should these melancholy 
catastrophies ensue we call our vision to memory; and, 
in the excited state of mind into which we are thrown, 
are apt to consider it as a prophetic warning, indicative 
of disaster. The following is a very good illustration 
of this particular point. 
Miss M , a young lady, a native of Ross-shire, 
was deeply in love with an officer who accompanied 
Sir John Moore in the peninsular war. The constant 
danger to which he was exposed, had an evident effect 
upon her spirits. She became pale and melancholy in 
perpetually brooding over his fortunes ; and, in spite of 
all that reason could do, felt a certain conviction, that 
when she last parted with her lover, she had parted with 
him for ever. In vain was every scheme tried to dis- 
pel from her mind the awful idea ; in vain were all the 
sights which opulence could command, unfolded before 
her eyes. In the midst of pomp and gaiety, when mu- 
sic and laughter echoed around her, she walked as a 
pensive phantom, over whose head some dreadful and 
mysterious influence hung. She was brought by her 
affectionate parents to Edinburgh, and introduced into 
all the gaiety of that metropolis, but nothing could re- 
store her, or banish from her mind the insupportable 
load which oppressed it. The song and the dance 
CHAPTER IV. 
PROPHETIC POWER OF DREAMS. 
Dreams have been looked upon by some, as the oc- 
casional means of giving us an insight into futurity, 
* Rush’s Medical Iuquiries. 
f These facts do not controvert what is elsewhere stated of a 
person never being aware, during the actual process of a dream, 
that he was dreaming. While the above dreams were in pro- 
gress, the individuals never doubted that they were dreaming: 
ihe doubt, and the actions consequent upon it, were after-opc- PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
and made the bitterness of despair more poignant. In 
a surprisingly short period, her graceful form declined 
into all the appalling characteristics of a fatal illness ; 
and she seemed rapidly hastening to the grave, when a 
dream confirmed the horrors she had long anticipated, 
and gave the finishing stroke to ner sorrows. One 
night, after falling asleep, she imagined she saw her 
lover, pale, bloody, and wounded in the breast, enter 
her apartment. He drew aside the curtains of the bed, 
and with a look of the utmost mildness, informed her 
that he had been slain in battle, desiring her, at the 
same time, to comfort herself, and not take his death too 
seriously to heart. It is needless to say what influence 
this vision had upon a mind so replete with woe. It 
withered it entirely, and the unfortunate girl died a few 
days thereafter, but not without desiring her parents to 
note down the day of the month on which it happened, 
and see if it would be confirmed, as she confidently de- 
clared it would. Her anticipation was correct, for ac- 
counts were shortly after received that the young man 
was slain at the battle of Corunna, which was fought on 
the very day, on the night of which his mistress had 
beheld the vision. 
This relation, which may be confidently relied upon, 
is one of the most striking examples of identity between 
the dream and the real circumstances with which I am 
acquainted, but it must be looked upon as merely acci- 
dental. The lady’s mind was deeply interested in the 
fate of her lover, and full of that event which she most 
deeply dreaded—his death. The time of this occur- 
rence, as coinciding with her dream, is certainly curi- 
ous ; but still there is nothing in it which can justify us 
in referring it to any other origin than chance. The 
following events, which occurred to myself, in August 
1821, are almost equally remarkable, and are imputable 
to the same fortuitous cause. 
I was then in Caithness, when I dreamed that a near 
relation of my own, residing three hundred miles off, 
had suddenly died: and immediately thereafter awoke 
in a state of inconceivable terror, similar to that pro- 
duced by a paroxysm of nightmare. The same day, 
happening to be writing home, I mentioned the circum- 
stance in a half-jesting, half-earnest way. To tell the 
truth, I was afraid to be serious, lest I should be laughed 
at for putting any faith in dreams. However, in the 
interval between writing and receiving an answer, I re- 
mained in a state of most unpleasant suspense. I felt 
a presentiment that something dreadful had happened, 
or would happen; and although I could not help 
blaming myself for a childish weakness in so feeling, I 
was unable to get rid of the painful idea which had 
taken such rooted possession of my mind. Three days 
after sending away the letter, what was my astonish- 
ment when I received one written the day subsequent 
to mine, and stating that the relative of whom I had 
dreamed, had been struck with a fatal shock of palsy 
the day before—viz. the very day on the morning of 
which I had beheld the appearance in my dream! My 
friends received mv letter two days after sending their 
own away, and were naturally astonished at the cir- 
cumstance. I may state that my relation was in per- 
fect health before the fatal event took place. It came 
upon him like a thunderbolt, at a period when no one 
could have the slightest anticipation of danger. 
The following case will interest the reader, both on 
its own account, and from the remarkable coincidence 
between the dream and the succeeding calamity ; but, 
like all other instances of the kind, this also must be 
referred to chance. 
1 Being in company the other day, when the conver- 
sation turned upon dreams, I related one, which as it 
happened to my own father, I can answer for the per- 
fect truth of it. About the year 1731, my father, Mr 
D. of K , in the County of Cumberland, came to 
Edinburgh to attend the classes, having the advantage 
of an unde in the regiment then in the Castle, and re- 
mained under the protection of his uncle and aunt, Maj 
and Mrs Griffiths, during the winter. When spring ; 
rived, Mr D. and three or four young gentlemen frc 
England, (his intimates,) made parties to visit all t 
neighboring places about Edinburgh, Roslin, Arthu 
Seat, Craig-Miilar, &c., &c. Coming home o 
evening from some of those places, Mr D. said, ‘ V 
have made a party to go a-fishing to Inch-Keith t 
morrow, if the morning is fine, and have bespoke o 
boat; we shall be off at six no objection being mac 
they separated for the night. 
‘Mrs Griffiths, had not been long asleep, till s 
screamed out in the most violent agitated mannt 
‘The boat is sinking; save, oh, save them!’ T 
Major awaked her, and said, ‘Were you uneasy abo 
the fishing party V ‘Oh no,’ said she, ‘ I had not on 
thought of it.’ She then composed herself, and soi 
fell asleep again ; in about an hour, she cried out in 
dreadful fright, ‘ I see the boat is going down.’ T 
Major again awoke her, and she said, ‘ It has be 
owing to the other dream I had ; for I feel no uneai 
ness about it.’ After some conversation, they bo 
fell sound asleep, but no rest could be obtained for he 
in the most extreme agony, she again screamed, ‘ Th 
are gone; the boat is sunk!’ When the Maj 
awakened her, she said, ‘ Now I cannot rest; Mr ' 
must not go, for I feel, should he go, I would 
miserable till his return ; the thoughts of it would i 
most kill me.’ 
‘ She instantly arose, threw on her wrapping-gow 
went to his bedside, for his room was next their ow 
and with great difficulty she got his promise to rema 
at home. ‘ But what am I to say to mv young frien 
whom I was to meet at Leith at six o’clock 1 ’ 1 Wi 
great truth you may say your aunt is ill, for I am 
at present; consider, you are an only son, under o 
protection, and should any thing happen to you, it woe 
be my death.’ Mr D. immediately wrote a note to 1 
friends, saying he was prevented from joining the; 
and sent his servant with it to Leith. The mornii 
came in most beautifully, and continued so till thr 
o'clock, when a violent storm arose, and in an insta 
the boat, and all that were in it, went to the bottoi 
and were never heard of, nor was any part of it ev 
seen.’* 
Equally singular is the following case, from tl 
‘Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe.’ 
‘My mother being sick to death of a fever, thr 
months after I was bora, which was the occasion s! 
gave me suck no longer, her friends and servan 
thought to all outward appearnce she was dead, and 
lay almost two days and a night; but Dr Winst< 
coming to comfort my father, went into my mothei 
room, and looking earnestly on her face, said, ‘ SI 
was so handsome, and now looks so lovely, I cann 
think she is dead ;’ and suddenly took a lancet out 
his pocket, and with it cut the sole of her foot, whii 
bled. Upon this, he immediately caused her to be la 
upon the bed again, and to be rubbed, and such mean 
as she came to life, and opening her eyes, saw two 
her kinswomen stand by her, my Lady Knollys and n 
Lady Russell, both with great wide sleeves, as tl 
fashion then was, and said, ‘ Did not you promise n 
fifteen years, and are you come again ’ which they n 
understanding, persuaded her to keep her spirits qui 
in that great weakness wherein she then was; bi 
some hours after, she desired my father and Dr Howl 
worth might be left alone with her, to whom she sai 
* I will acquaint you, that during the time of my tram 
I was in great quiet, but in a place I could neith 
distinguish nor describe ; but the sense of leaving it 
girl, who is dearer to me than all my children, remaim 
a trouble upon my spirits. Suddenly I saw two by m 
clothed in long white garments, and methought I fe 
down upon my face upon the dust; and they aske 
* ( Blarkwood’s F,<?inhm*orh Ma<r»innp 1 vnl v» n* PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
hy I was so troubled in so great happiness. I re- 
ied, 0 let me have the same grant given to Hezekiah, 
at I may live fifteen years to see my daughter a 
Oman: to which they answered, It is done: and 
en, at that instant, I awoke out of my trance !’ and 
r Howlsworth did there affirm, that that day she died 
ade just fifteen years from that time.’ 
A sufficiently striking instance of such coincidence 
curs in the case of Dr Donne, the metaphysical 
>ct; but I believe that, in this case, it was a spectral 
usion rather than a common dream. Two days after 
had arrived in Paris, he was left alone in a room 
lere he had been dining with Sir Robert Drury and 
few companions. ‘ Sir Robert returned about an 
ur afterwards. He found his friend in a state of 
stacy, and so altered in his countenance, that he 
uld not look upon him without amazement. The 
actor was not able for some time to answer the ques- 
in, what had befallen him ?—but a long and perplexed 
use, at last said, ‘ I have seen a dreadful vision 
ice I savv you; I have seen my dear wife pass twice 
me through this room, with her hair hanging about 
r shoulders, and a dead child in her arms. This I 
ve seen since I saw you.’ To which Sir Robert 
swered, ‘ Sure, Sir, you have slept since I went out; 
d this is the result of some melancholy dream, 
rich I desire you to forget, for you are now awake.’ 
Dime replied, * I cannot be more sure that I now live, 
an that I have not slept since I saw you ; and am as 
re that at her second appearing she stopped, looked 
s in in the face and vanished.’ ’* It is certainly very 
rious that Mrs Donne, who was then in England, 
as at thi3 time sick in bed, and had been delivered 
a dead child, on the same dav, and about the same 
ur, that the vision occurred. There were distressing 
rcumstances in the marriage of Dr Donne which ac- 
unt for his mind being strongly impressed with the 
lage of his wife, to whom he was exceedingly at- 
:hed ; but these do not render the coincidence above 
la ted less remarkable. 
I do not doubt that the apparition of Julius Caasar, 
rich .appeared to Brutus, and declared it would meet 
m at Philippi, was either a dream or a spectral illu- 
)n—probably the latter. Brutus, in all likelihood, 
d some idea that the battle which was to decide his 
te would be fought at Philippi: probably it was a 
iOd military position, which he had fixed upon as a fit 
ace to make a final stand ; and he had done enough 
Cassar to account for his own mind being painfully 
id constantly engrossed with the image of the assasin- 
ed Dictator. Hence the verification of this supposed 
irning—-hence the easy explanation of a supposed 
pernatural event. 
At Newark-upon-Trent, a curious custom, founded 
>on the preservation of Alderman Clay and his family 
’ a dream, has prevailed since the days of Cromwell 
n the 11th March, every year, penny loaves are given 
vay to any one who chooses to appear at the town 
.11 and apply for them, in commemoration of the ai- 
rman’s deliverance, during the siege of Newark by 
e parliamentary forces. This gentleman, by will, 
ited 11th December, 1694, gave to the mayor and ai- 
rmen one hundred pounds, the interest of which was 
be given to the vicar yearly, on condition of his 
eachingan annual sermon. Another hundred pounds 
sre also appropriated for the behoof of the poor, in the 
ay above mentioned. The origin of this bequest is 
agular. During the bombardment of Newark by Oli- 
r Cromwell’6 forces, the alderman dreamed three 
ghts successively that his house had taken fire, which 
oduced such a vivid impression upon his mind, that 
: and his family left it; and in a few days the cir- 
mstances of his vision actually took place, by the 
use being burned down by the besiegers. 
Dr Abercrombie relates the case of a gentleman in 
Edinburgh, who was affected with an aneurism of tho 
popliteal artery, for which he was under the care of two 
eminent surgeons. About two days before the time 
appointed for the operation, his wife dreamed that a 
change had taken place in the disease, in consequence 
of which an operation would not be required. ‘ On 
examining the tumor in the morning, the gentleman 
was astonished to find that the pulsation.had entirely 
ceased ; and. in short, this turned out to be a spontane- 
ous cure. To persons not professional, it may be right 
to mention that the cure of popliteal aneurism, without 
an operation, is a very uncommon occurrence, not hap- 
pening, perhaps, in one out of numerous instances, and 
never to be looked upon as probable in any individual 
case. It is likely, however, that the ladv had heard of 
the possibility of such a termination, and that her anx- 
iety had very naturally embodied this into a dream: the 
fulfilment of it, at the very time when the event took 
place, is certainly a very remarkable coincidence.’* 
Persons are said to have had the period of their own 
death pointed out to them in dreams. I have often 
heard the case of the late Mr M. of D related in 
support of this statement. It is certainly worth telling, 
not on account of any supernatural character belonging 
to it, but simply from the extraordinary coincidence 
between the dream and the subsequent event. This 
gentleman dreamed one night that he was out riding, 
when he stopped at an inn on the road side for refresh- 
ment, where he saw several people whom he had known 
some years before, but who were all dead. He was 
received kindly by them, and desired to sit down and 
drink, which he accordingly did. On quitting this 
strange company, they exacted a promise from him that 
he would visit therrl that day six weeks. This he 
promised faithfully to do ; and, bidding them farewell, 
he rode homewards. Such was the substance of his 
dream, which he related in a jocular way to his friends, 
but thought no more about it, for he was a person above 
all kind of superstition. The event, however, was cer- 
tainly curious enough, as well as melancholy; for on 
that very day six weeks on which he had engaged to 
meet his friends at the inn, he was killed in attempting 
to spring his horse over a five-barred gate. The famous 
case of Lord Lyttletonf is also cited as an example of 
a similar kind, but with less show of reason, for this 
case is now very generally supposed to be an imposi- 
tion ; and so will almost every other of the same kind, 
if narrowly investigated. At the same time, I do not 
mean to doubt that such an event, foretold in a dream, 
may occasionally come to pass; but I would refer the 
whole to fortuitous coincidence. Men dream, every 
now and then, that they will die on a certain day, yet 
how seldom do we see those predictions fulfiled by the 
result! In very delicate people, indeed, such a vision- 
ary communication, by acting fatally upon the mind, 
might be the means of occasioning its own fulfilment. 
In such cases, it has been customary for the friends of 
the individual to put back the clock an hour or two, so 
as to let the fatal period pass by without his being aware 
of it; and as soon as it was fairly passed, to inform 
him of the circumstance, and laugh him out of his ap- 
prehension. 
There is another way in which the apparent fulfil- 
ment of a dream may be brought about. A good illus- 
tration in point is given by Mr Combe. The subject 
of it was one Scott, executed in 1823, at Jedburg, for 
murder. ‘ It is stated in his life, that some years be- 
* Abercrombie’s Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Pow- 
ers, p. 282, 1st edit. 
f ‘ Of late it has been said and published, that the unfortu- 
nate nobleman had previously determined to take poison, ami of 
course had it in his own power to ascertain the execution of the 
prediction. It was, no doubt, singular that a man, who medi- 
tateil his exit from the world, should have chosen to play such a 
trick upon his friends. But it is still more credible that a whimsi- 
cal man should do so wild a thing, than that a messenger should 
be sent from the dead, to tell a libertine at what precise hour hft PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
fore the fatal event, he had dreamed that he had com- 
mitted a murder, and was greatly impressed, with the 
idea. He frequently spoke of it, and recurred to it as 
something ominous, till at last it was realized. The 
organ of Destructiveness was large in the head, and so 
active that he was an enthusiast in poaching, and prone 
to outrage and violence in his habitual conduct. This 
activity of the organ might take place during sleep, and 
then it would inspire his mind with destructive feelings, 
■and the dream of murder would be the consequence. 
From the great natural strength of the propensity, he 
probably may have felt, when awake, an inward ten- 
dency to this crime ; and, joining this and the dream 
together, we can easily account for the strong impres- 
sion left by the latter on the mind.’ * 
One method in which death may appear to be foretold 
is, by the accession of frightful visions immediately be- 
fore the fatal illnesses. This, however, goes for nothing 
in the way of argument, for it was the state of the sys- 
tem shortly before the attack of disease which induced 
such dreams. According to Silamachus, the epidemic 
fever which prevailed at Rome was ushered in by at- 
tacks of nightmare; and Sylvius Deleboe, wffio de- 
scribes the epidemic which raged at Leyden in 1669, 
states, that previous to each paroxysm of the fever, the 
patient fell asleep, and suffered a severe attack of night- 
mare. The vulgar belief, therefore, that unpleasant 
dreams are ominous of death, is not destitute of founda- 
tion ; but the cause why they should be so is perfectly 
natural. It is the incipitent disease which produces the 
dreams, and the fatal event which often follows, is a 
natural consequence of that disease. 
It is undoubtedly owing to the faculty possessed by 
sleep, of renewing long-forgotten ideas, that persons 
have had important facts, communicated to them in 
dreams. There have been instances, for example, 
where valuable documents, sums of money, &c, have 
been concealed, and where either the person who se- 
creted them or he who had the place of their conceal- 
ment communicated to him, may have forgotten every 
thiffig therewith connected. He may then torture his 
mind in vain, during the walking state, to recollect the 
event; and it may be brought to his remembrance, at 
once, in a dream, in such eases, an apparition is gen- 
erally the medium through which the seemingly myste- 
rious knowledge is communicated. The imagination 
conjures up some phantom that discloses the secret; 
which circumstance, proceeding, in reality, from a sim- 
ple operation of the mind, is straightway converted in- 
to something supernatural, and invested with all the 
attributes of wonder and awe. When such spectral 
forms appear, and communicate some fact which turns 
■out to be founded on truth, the person is not always 
aware that the whole occurred in a dream, but often 
fancies that he was broad awake when the apparition 
appeared to him and communicated the particular intel- 
ligence. When we hear, therefore, of hidden treasures, 
wills, &c, being disclosed in such a manner, we are 
not always to scout the report as false. The spectre 
divulging the intelligence was certainly the mere chim- 
era. of the dreamer’s brain, but the facts revealed? ap- 
parently by this phantom, may, from the above circum- 
stance, be substantially true. The following curious 
case is strikingly in point, and is given by Sir Walter 
Scott in his notes to the new edition of < The Anti- 
quary’ 
‘ Mr R d of Bowland, a gentleman of landed 
property in the Yale of Gala, was prosecuted for a very 
-considerable sum, the accumulated arrears of tiend, (or 
•tithe,) for which he was said to be indebted to a noble 
family, the titulars (lay impropriators of the tithes.) Mr 
B. d was strongly impressed with the belief that his 
father had, by a form of process peculiar to the law of 
Scotland, purchased these lands from the titular, and, 
therefore, that the present prosecution was groundless. 
But after an industrious search among his father’s ps 
pers, an investigation of the public records, and a care 
ful inquiry among all persons who had transacted la' 
business for his father, no evidence could be recovere 
to support his defence. The period was now near £ 
hand when he conceived the loss of his lawsuit to b 
inevitable, and he had formed the determination to rid 
to Edinburgh next day, and make the best bargain h 
could in the way of compromise. He went to bed wit 
this resolution, and, with all the circumstances of th 
case floating upon his mind, had a dream to the follow 
ing purpose. His father, who had been many yeai 
dead, appeared to him, he thought, and asked him wh 
he was disturbed in his mind. In dreams, men are nc 
surprised at such apparitions. Mr R d though 
that he informed his father of the cause of his distress 
adding, that the payment of a considerable sum of me 
ney was the more unpleasant to him, because he had 
strong consciousness that it was not due, though h 
was unable to recover any evidence in support of h 
belief. ‘You are right, my son,’ replied the paterni 
shade; ‘ I did acquire right to these tiends, for pa\ 
ment of which you are now prosecuted. The papei 
relating to the transaction are now in the hands of M 
, a writer, (or attorney,) who is now retired froi 
professional business, and resides at Inveresk, nc< 
Edinburgh. He was a person whom I employed o 
that occasion for a particular reason, but who never o 
any other occasion transacted business on my accoun 
It is very possible,’ pursued the vision, ‘ that Mr 
may have forgotten a matter which is now of a very o] 
date ; -but you may call it to his recollection by th 
token, that when I came to pay his account, there wi 
difficulty in getting change for a Portugal piece of goli 
and we were forced to drink out the balance at 
tavern.’ 
‘ Mr R d awoke in the morning with all the wore 
of the vision imprinted on his mind, and thought 
worth while to walk across the country to Inveresk, ii 
stead of going straight to Edinburgh. When he canc 
there, he waited on the gentleman mentioned in tl 
dream, a very old man. Without saying anything i 
the vision, he inquired whether he remembered havir 
conducted such a matter for his diseased father. Tl 
old gentleman could not at first bring the eireumstam 
to his recollection, but on mention of the Portugal pie< 
of gold, the whole returned upon his memory ; he mac 
an immediate search for the papers, and recovere 
them—so that Mr R -d carried to Edinburgh tl 
documents necessary to gain the cause which he wi 
on the verge of losing. 
‘ The author has often heard this story told by pe 
sons who had the best access to know the facts, wi 
were not likely themselves to be deceived, and we 
certainly incapable of deception. He cannot, ther 
fore, refuse to give it credit, however extraordinary tl 
circumstances may appear. The circumstantial ch 
r-acter of the information given in the dream, takes 
Out of the general class of impressions of the kin 
which are occasioned by the fortuitous coincidence 
actual events with our sleeping thoughts. On the ot 
er hand, few will suppose that the laws of nature we 
suspended, and a special communication from the de. 
to the living permitted, for the purpose of saving IV! 
R d a certain number of hundred pounds. T 
author’s theory is, that the dream was only the recapit 
lation of information which Mr R d had really r 
ceived from his father while in life, but which at fii 
he merely recalled as a general impression that t 
claim was settled. It is not uncommon for persons 
recover, during sleep, the thread of ideas which th 
have lost during their waking hours. It maybe addi 
that this remarkable circumstance was attended wi 
bad consequences to Mr R d ; whose health a 
spirits were afterwards impaired, by the attention whi 
bp thnmrht himself ohlicrpd to nav to the visions of t PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
light.’ This result is a melancholy proof of the effect 
ometimes produced by ignorance of the natural laws. 
lad Mr R d been acquainted with the nature of 
he brain, and of the manner in which it is affected in 
leep, the circumstance above related would have given 
dm no annoyance. He would have traced the whole 
hain of events to their true source ; but, being ignorant 
if this, he became the victim of superstition, and his 
ife was rendered miserable. 
helplessness ; and the extent to which these are carried, 
varies according to the violence of the paroxysm. 
The individual never feels himself a free agent; on 
the contrary he is spell-bound by some enchantment, 
and remains an unresisting victim for malice to work 
its will upon. He can neither breathe, nor walk, nor 
run, with his wonted facility. If pursued by an immi- 
nent danger, he can hardly drag one limb after another; 
if engaged in combat, his blows are utterly ineffective; 
if involved in the fangs of any animal, or in the grasp 
of an enemy, extrication is impossible. He struggles, 
he pants, he toils, but it is all in vain: his muscles are 
rebels to the will, and refuse to obey its calls. In no 
case is there a sense of complete freedom: tire be- 
numbing stupor never departs from him ; and his whole 
being is locked up in one mighty spasm. Sometimes 
he is forcing himself through an aperture too small for 
the reception of his body, and is there arrested and tor- 
tured by the pangs of suffocation produced by the pres- 
sure to which he is exposed ; or he loses his way in a 
narrow labyrinth, and gets involved in its contracted and 
inextricable mazes; or he is entombed alive in a se- 
pulchre, beside the mouldering dead. There is, in 
most cases, an intense reality in all that he sees, or 
hears, or feels. The aspects of the hideous phantoms 
which harass his imagination are bold and defined ; the 
sounds which greet his ear appalling distinct; and 
when any dimness or confusion of imagery does pre 
vail, it is of the most fearful kind, leaving nothing but 
dreary and miserable impressions behind it. 
Much of the horror experienced in nightmare will 
depend upon the natural activity of the imagination, 
upon the condition of the body, and upon the state of 
mental exertion before going to sleep. If, for instance, 
we have been engaged in the perusal of such works as 
‘ The Monk,’ ‘ The Mysteries of Udolpho,’ or ‘Satan’s 
Invisible World Discovered and if an attack of 
nightmare should supervene, it will be aggravated intc 
sevenfold horror by the spectral phantoms with which 
our minds have been thereby fillled. We will enter 
into all the fearful mysteries of these writings, which, 
instead of being mitigated by slumber, acquire an in- 
tensity which they never could have possessed in the 
waking state. The apparitions of murdered victims, 
like the form of Banquo, which wrung the guilty con- 
science of Macbeth, will stalk before us ; we are sur- 
rounded by sheeted ghosts, which glare upon us with 
their cold sepulchral eyes; our habitation is among the 
vaults of ancient cathedrals, or among the dungeons 
of ruined monasteries, and our companions are the 
dead. 
At other times, an association of ludicrous impges 
passes through the mind : every thing becomes incon- 
gruous, ridiculous, and absurd. But even in the midst 
of such preposterous fancies, the passion of mirth is 
never for one moment excited : the same blank despair, 
the same freezing inertia, the same stifling tortures, 
still harass us ; and so far from being amused by the 
laughable drama enacted before us, we behold it with 
sensations of undefined horror and disgust. 
In general, during an attack, the person has the con- 
sciousness of an utter inability to express his horror bv 
cries. He feels that his voice is half choked by im- 
pending suffocation, and that any exertion of it, farther 
than a deep sigh or groan, is impossible. Sometimes, 
however, he conceives that he is bellowing writh pro- 
digious energy, and wonders that the household are not 
alarmed by his noise. But this is an illusion : those 
outcries which he fancies himself uttering, are merely 
obscure moans, forced with difficulty and pain from the 
stifled penetralia of his bosom. 
Nightmare takes place under various circumstances. 
Sometimes, from a state of perfect sleep, we glide into 
it, and feel ourselves unconsciously overtaken by its 
attendant horrors : at other times, we experience it 
CHAPTER Y. 
Nightmare may be defined a painful dream, accom- 
anied with difficult respiratory action, and a torpor in 
le powers of volition. The reflecting organs are gen- 
rally more or less awake ; and, in this respect, night- 
rare differs from simple dreaming, where they are 
aostly quiescent. 
This affection, the Ephialtes of the Greeks, and 
xcubus of the Romans, is one of the most distressing 
) which human nature is subject. Imagination cannot 
onceive the horrors it frequently gives rise to, or lan- 
uage describe them in adequate terms. They are a 
lousand times more frightful than the visions conjured 
p by necromancy or diablere; and far transcend every 
ling in history or romance, from the fable of the 
'rithing and asp-encircled Laocoon to Dante’s appal- 
ng picture of Ugolino and his famished offspring, or the 
idden tortures of the Spanish inquisition. The whole 
find, during the paroxysm, is wrought up to a pitch of 
nutterable despair : a spell is laid upon the faculties, 
'Inch freezes them into inaction ; and the wretched 
icttni feels as if pent alive in his coffin, or overpowered 
y resistless and immitigable pressure. 
The modifications which nightmare assumes are in- 
nite ; but one passion is almost never absent—that of 
tter and incomprehensible dread. Sometimes the suf- 
fer is buried beneath overwhelming rocks, which 
rush him on all sides, but still leave him with a miser- 
ble consciousness of his situation. Sometimes he is 
lvolved in the coils of a horrid, slimy monster, whose 
yes have the phosphorescent glare of the sepulchre, 
nd whose breath is poisonous as the marsh of Lerna. 
Ivery thing horrible, disgusting, or terriffie in the phy- 
ical or moral world, is brought before him in fearful 
rray; he is hissed at by serpents, tortured by demons, 
tunned by the hollow voices and cold touch of appari- 
ons. A mighty stone is laid upon his breast, and 
rushes him to the ground in helpless agony; mad 
ulls and tigers pursue his palsied footsteps : the un- 
arthly shrieks and gibberish of hags, witches, and 
ends float around him. In whatever situation he may 
e placed, he feels superlatively wretched ; he is Ixion 
forking for ages at his wheel: he is Sisyphus rolling 
is eternal stone : he is stretched upon the iron bed of 
’rocrustes: he is prostrated by inevitable destiny be- 
icath the'approaching wheels of the car of Juggernaut, 
it one moment, he may have the consciousness of 
malignant demon being at his side : then to shun the 
ight of so appalling an object, he will close his eyes, 
iut still the fearful being makes its presence known; 
or its icy breath is felt diffusing itself over his visage, 
.nd he knows that he is face to face with a fiend. Then, 
f he look up, he beholds horrid eyes glaring upon him, 
,nd an aspect of hell grinning at him with even more 
han hellish malice. Or, he may have the idea of a 
nonstrous hag squatted upon his breast—mute, motion- 
ess, and malignant; an incarnation of the evil spirit— 
vhose intolerable weight crushes the breath out of his 
iody, and whose fixed, deadly, incessant stare petrifies 
lim with horror and makes his very existence insuffer- 
ible. 
In everv instanr.p.. thprp. is a spmsp p** prmroocinn or»^i 
NIGHTMARE. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
all but awake, and aware of its approach. We have 
then our senses about us, only, perhaps a little dead- 
ened and confused by incipient slumber ; and we feel 
the gradual advance of the fiend, without arousing our- 
selves, and scaring him away, althongh we appear to 
possess the full ability of doing so. Some persons, im- 
mediately previous to an attack, have sensations of ver- 
tigo and ringing in the ears. 
At one time, nightmare melts into unbroken sleep 
or pleasing dreams ; and when we awake in the morn- 
ing with merely the remembrance of having had one of 
its attacks ; at another, it arouses us by its violence, 
and we start out of it with a convulsive shudder. A.t 
the moment of throwing off the fit, we seem to turn 
reund upon the side with a mighty effort, as if from 
beneath the pressure of a superincumbent weight ; and, 
the more thoroughly to awake ourselves, we generally 
kick violently, beat the breast, rise up in bed, and cry 
out once or twice. As soon as we are able to exercise 
the voice or voluntary muscles with freedom, the pa- 
roxysm is at an .end ; but for some time after, we ex- 
perience extreme terror, and often cold shivering, while 
the heart throbs violently, and the respiration is hur- 
ried These two latter circumstances are doubted by 
Dr Darwin, but I am convinced of their existence, 
both from what I have experienced in my own per- 
son, and from what I have been told by others : in- 
deed, analogy would irresistibly lead us to conclude 
that they must exist ; and whoever carefully in- 
vestigates the subject, .will find that they do almost 
universally. 
An opinion prevails, that during incubus the person 
is always upon his back ; and the circumstances of his 
usually feeling as if in that posture, together with the 
relief which he experiences on turning round upon his 
..side, are certainly strong presumptions in favour of its 
accuracy. The sensations, however, which occur, in 
this state, are fallacious in the highest degree. We 
■have seldom any evidence either that he was on his 
■back, or that he turned round at all. The fact, that he 
supposed himself in the above position during the fit, 
.and the other fact, that, on recovering from it, he was 
lying on his side, may have produced the illusion ; and, 
where he never moved a single muscle, he may con- 
ceive that he turned round after a prodigious effort. I 
have had an attack of -this disorder whde sitting in an 
arm-chair, or with my head leaning against a table. In 
-fact, these are the most likely positions to bring it on, 
the lungs being then more completely compressed 
than in almost any other posture. I have also had it 
most distinctly while lying on the side, and I know 
-many cases of a similar description in others. Al- 
though, therefore, nightmare may take place more 
frequently upon the back than upon the side, the 
that it occurs only in the former of these pos- 
tures, is altogether incorrect ; and where we are much 
addicted to its attacks, no posture, whatever will pro- 
tect us. 
Persons not particulary subject to incubus, feel no 
-inconvenience, save temporary terror or fatigue, from 
any occasional attack which they may have ; but those 
with whom it is habitual, are apt to experience a cer- 
tain degree of giddiness, ringing in the ears, tension 
of the forehead, flashing of light before the eyes, and 
other symptoms of cerebral congestion. A bad taste 
in the mouth, and more or less fulness about the 
pit of the stomach, are sometimes experienced after an 
attack. 
The illusions which-occur, are perhaps the most ex- 
traordinary phenomena of nightmare ; and so strongly 
are they often impressed upon the mind., that, even on 
awaking, we find it impossible not to believe them real. 
We may, for example, be sensible of knockings at the 
door of our apartment, hear familiar voices calling upon 
us, and see individuals passing through the chamber. 
Tn momr oocsoc nr> qrnrnmpntc: nn Pi0mf<s rtf tViP nnHor 
standing will convince us that these are merely th 
chimeras of sleep. We regard them as events of ac 
tual occurrence, and will not be persuaded to th 
contrary. With some, such a belief has gone down t 
the grave : and others have maintained it strenuousl 
for years, till a recurrence of the illusions under circum 
stances which rendered their real existence impossible 
has shown them that the whole was a dream. Many ; 
good ghost story has had its source in the illusions c 
nightmare. 
The following case related by Mr Waller gives 
good idea of the strength of such illusive feelings. 
‘ In the month of February, 1814, I was living in th 
same house with a young gentlemen, the son of a pee 
of the United Kingdom, who was at that time underm 
care, in a very alarming state of health ; and who hai 
been, for several days, in a state of violent delirium 
The close attention which his case required from me 
together with a degree of personal attachment to him 
had rendered me extremely anxious about him ; and a 
my usual hours of sleep suffered a great degree of in 
terruption from the attendance given to him, I was fron 
that cause alone, rendered more than usually liable ti 
the attacks of nightmare, which consequently intrude! 
itself every night upon my slumbers. The young gen 
tleman in question, from the violence of his delirium 
was with great difficulty kept in bed ; and had one o 
twice eluded the vigilance of his attendants, and jump 
ed out of bed, an accident of which I was every moinen 
dreading a repetition. I awoke from one sleep om 
morning about four o’clock—at least it apppeared to mi 
that I awoke—and heard distinctly the voice of thi. 
young gentleman, who seemed to be coming hastily uj 
the stairs leading to my apartment, calling me by nanu 
in the manner he was accustomed to do in his delirium 
and, immediately after, I saw him standing by my bed 
side, holding the curtains open, expressing all that wild 
ness in his looks which accompanies a violent delirium 
At 'he same moment, I heard the voices of his two at 
tendants coming up the stairs in search of him, whi 
likewise came into the room and took him away. During 
all this scene I was attempting to speak, but could no 
articulate ; I thought, however, that I succeeded ii 
attempting to get out of bed, and assisting his atendanti 
in removing him out of the room ; after which, I re 
turned to bed, and instantly fell asleep. When I wait 
ed upon my patient in the morning, I was not a litth 
surprised to find that he was asleep ; and was uttterh 
confounded on being told that he had been so all night" 
and as this was the first sleep he had enjoyed for thret 
or four days, the attendants were very minute in de 
tailing the whole particulars of it. Athough this ac- 
count appeared inconsistent with what I conceived ] 
had seen, and with what I concluded they knew as 
well as myself, I did not, for some time, perceive th< 
error into which I had been led, till I observed tha 
some of my questions and remarks were not intelligi- 
ble ; then I began to suspect the true source of tht 
error, which I should never have discovered had no 
experience rendered these hallucinations familiar to me 
But the whole of this transaction had so much consist- 
ency and probability in it, that I might, under differem 
circumstances, have remained forever ignorant o 
having been imposed upon in this instance, by mj 
senses.’* 
During nightmare, the deepness of the slumber va- 
ries much at different times. Sometimes we are in i 
state closely approximating upon perfect sleep ; at othei 
times we are almost completely awake ; and it will bt 
remarked, that the more awake we are, the greater i; 
the violence of the paroxysm. I have experienced th< 
affection stealing upon me while in perfect possessior 
©f my faculties, and have undergone the greatest tor. 
tures, being haunted by spectres, hags, and every sori 
«f phantom—having, at the same time, a full conscious 26 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
less that I was labouring under incubus, and that all 
:he terrifying objects around me were the creations of 
my own brain. This shows that the judgment is often 
inly very partially affected, and proves also that night- 
mare is not merely a disagreeable dream, but a painful 
noddy affection. Were it nothing more than the for- 
mer, we could rarely possess a knowledge of our con- 
lition ; for, in simple visions, the reflecting organs are 
ilmost uniformly quiescent, and we scarcely ever, for a 
moment, doubt the reality of our impressions. In night- 
mare, this is often, perhaps generally, the case ; but 
we frequently meet with instances, in which, during 
the worst periods of the fit, consciousness remains al- 
most unimpaired. 
There are great differences in the duration of the 
naroxysm, and also in the facility with which it is broken. 
[ know not of any method by which the period to which 
it extends can be estimated, for the sufferer has no data 
to go by, and time, as in all modifications of dreaming, 
is subjected to the most capricious laws—an actual 
minute often appearing to embrace a whole hour. Of 
this point, therefore, we must be contented to remain 
in ignorance ; but it may be conceived that the attack 
will be as various in its duration, as in the characters 
which it assumes—in one case being ten times as long 
as in another. With regard to the breaking of the fit, 
the differences are equally great. At one time, the 
slightest agitation of the body, the opening of the cham- 
ber door, or calling softly to the sufferer, will arouse 
him; at another, he requires to be shaken violently, 
and called upon long and loudly, before he is released. 
Some people are much more prone to incubus than 
ethers. Those whose digestion is healthy, whose 
minds are at ease, and who go supperless to bed, will 
seldom be troubled with it. Those, again, who keep 
late hours, study hard, eat heavy suppers, and are sub- 
eet to bile, acid, or hypochondria, are almost sure to 
ae more or less its victims. There are particular 
rinds of food, which pretty constantly lead to the same 
•esull, such as cheese, cucumbers, almonds, and what- 
ever is hard to be digested. Hildesheiin, in his ‘ De 
Affectibus Capitis,’ justly remarks, that ‘ he who wishes 
,o know what nightmare is, let him eat chestnuts be- 
"ore going to sleep, and drink feculent wine after them.’ 
Certain diseases, also, are apt to induce it, such as 
isthma, hydrothorax, agina pectoris, and other varie- 
,ies of dyspnoea. Men are more subject to it than wo- 
men, probably from their stomachs being more fre- 
quently disordered by intemperance, and their minds 
more closely occupied. Sailors, owing to the hard and 
ndigestible nature of their food, are very frequently its 
victims ; and it is a general remark that it oftener oc- 
curs at sea than on shore. It seems probable that 
much of the superstitious belief of these men, in appari- 
tions, proceeds from the phantoms which nightmare calls 
nto existence. Unmarried women arc more annoyed 
ay it than those who are married ; and the latter, when 
pregnant, have it oftener than at other times. Persons 
who were extremely subject to the complaint in their 
youth, sometimes get rid of it when they reach the age 
of puberty, owing, probably, to some change in the con- 
stitution which occurs at this period. 
There have been different opinions with regard to 
the proximate cause of incubus, and authors have gen- 
erally looked upon it as involved in considerable obscu- 
rity. An impeded circulation of blood in the pulmo- 
nary arteries, compression of the diaphragm by a full 
stomach, and torpor of the intercostal muscles, are all 
mentioned as contributing wholly, or partially, to the 
event. I am of opinion that either of these states may 
cause nightmare, but that, in most cases, they are all 
combined. Any thing, in fact, which impedes respira- 
tion, may give rise to the disorder, whether it be asthma, 
jydrothorax, distended stomach, muscular torpor, or 
but it will be found that, whatever they may be, theit 
ultimate operation is upon the lungs. 
We have already seen that, in ordinary sleep, par 
ticular states of the body are apt to induce visions : it 
is, therefore easily conceivable that a sense of suffoca- 
tion, such as occurs in nightmare, may give birth to all 
the horrid phantoms seen in that distemper. The phy- 
sical sufferings in such a case, exalts the imagination to 
its utmost pitch : fills it with spectres and chimeras ; 
and plants an immovable weight or malignant fiend up- 
on the bosom to crush us into agony. Let us see how 
such physical sufferings is brought about. 
Any disordered state of the stomach may produce it. 
This organ may be so distended with food or wind as 
to press upon the diaphragm, lessen the dimensions 
of the chest, obstruct the movements of the heart, and 
thereby impede respiration. Circumstances like these 
alone are sufficient to produce nightmare; and the 
cause from the first is purely mechanical. 
Secondly. The state of the stomach may call forth 
incubus by means circuitous or indirect. In this case, 
the viscus is unequal to the task imposed upon it of di- 
gesting the food, either from an unusual quantity being 
thrown upon it, from the food being of an indigestible 
nature, or from actual weakness. Here the sensorial 
power latent in this organ, is insufficient to carry it 
through with its operations, and it is obliged to draw 
upon the rest of the body—upon the brain, the respira- 
tory muscles, &c, for the supply of which it is deficient. 
The muscles of respiration, in giving their portion, re- 
duce themselves to a state of temporary debility, and 
do not retain a sufficient share to execute their own ac- 
tions v. ith due vigour. The pectorels, the intercostals, 
and the diaphragm became thus paralvzed ; and, the 
chest not being sufficiently dilated for perfect breathing, 
a feeling of suffocation inevitably insues. In like man- 
ner, the muscles of volition, rendered inert by the sub- 
traction of their quota of sensorial power, are unable to 
exercise their functions, and remain, during the par- 
oxysm, in a state of immovable torpor. This unequal 
distribution of nervous energy continues till, by pro- 
ducing some excessive uneasiness, it stimulates tho 
will to a violent effort, and breaks the fit; and so soon 
as this takes place, the balance becomes redressed, and 
the sensorial equilibrium restored. 
Physical suffering of that kind which impedes breath- 
ing, may also be occasioned by many other causes— 
by pneuomonia, by empyema, by aneurism of the aorta, 
by laryngitis by croup, by external pressure ; and, ac- 
cordingly, either of these may give rise to nightmare. 
If we chance to lie down with a pillow or heavy cloak 
upon the breast, or to sleep with the body bent forward, 
and the head supported upon a table, as already men- 
tioned, we may be seized with it; and, in truth, what- 
ever, either directly or indirectly, acts upon the respira- 
tory muscles, and impedes their operation, is pretty 
sure to bring it on. Even a weak or disordered sto 
mach, in which there is no food, by attracting to itself 
a portion of their sensorial power to aid its own inade- 
quacies, may induce it. The disorder, therefore, takes 
place under various circumstances—-cither by direct 
pressure upon the lungs, as in distended stomach, or 
hydrothorax ; or by partial torpor of the stomach or 
muscles of respiration, owing to a deficiency of nervous 
energy. These physical impediments coexisting with, 
or giving rise to a distempered state of the brain, suffi- 
ciently account for the horrors of nightmare. 
Why are hard students, deep thinkers, and hypo- 
chondriacs unusually subject to incubus ! The cause 
is obvious. Such individuals have often a bad diges- 
tion : their stomachs are subject to acidity, and other 
functional derangements, and therefore, peculiarly apt 
to generate the complaint. The sedentary life, and 
habits of intellectual or melancholy reflection in which 
they indulge, have a tendency not merely to disturb PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
bral system: hence, they are far more liable to dreams 
of every kind than other people, in so far as their minds 
are more intently employed ; and when, in sleep, they 
are pained bv anv physical endurance, the activity of 
their mental powers will naturally associate the most 
horrible ideas with such suffering, and produce incubus, 
and all its frightful accompaniments. 
Nightmare is sometimes attended with danger, when 
it becomes habitual. It may then give rise to apoplexy, 
and destroy life; or, in very nervous subjects, may 
occasion epileptic and hysterical affections, which prove 
extremely harassing. According to Crelius Aurelianus, 
many people die of this complaint. Probably some of 
those who are found dead in bed have lost their lives 
in a fit of incubus, the circumstance being imputed to 
some other cause. Nightmare is thus, in some cases 
dangerous: and in all, when it becomes habitual, is 
such a source of misery, that sleep, instead of being 
courted as a period of blissful repose, is looked upon with 
horror, as the appointed season of inexpressible suffering 
and dread. It becomes, on this account, a matter of 
importance to contrive some method for preventing the 
attacks of so distressful a malady. The cause, what- 
ever it may be, must, if practicable, be removed, and 
the symptoms thence arising will naturally disappear. 
If the disorder proceed from heavy suppers, or indiges- 
tible food, these things ought to be given up, and the 
person should either go supperless to bed, or with such 
a light meal as will not hurt his digestion. Salted 
provisions of all kinds must be abandoned, nor should 
he taste any thing which will lie heavily upon the 
stomach, or run into fermentation. For this reason, 
nuts, cucumbers, cheese, ham, and fruits are all preju- 
dicial. If he be subject to heart-burn, flatulence, and 
other dyspeptic symptoms, he should make use of oc- 
casional doses of magnesia, or carbonate of potash or 
soda. I have known a tea-spoonful of either of the 
two latter, or three times that quantity of the former, 
taken before stepping into bed, prevent an attack, 
where, from the previous state of the stomach, I am 
convinced it would have taken place, had those medi- 
cines not been used. Great attention must be paid to 
the state of the bowels. For this purpose, the colo- 
cynth, the compound rhubarb, or the common aloetic 
pill, should be made use of, in doses of one, two, or 
three, according to ciioumstanoes, till the digestive or- 
gans are brought into proper play. The common blue 
pill, used with proper caution, is also an excellent 
medicine. In all cases, the patient should take abun- 
dant exercise, shun late hours, or too much study, and 
keep his mind in as cheerful a state as possible. The 
bed he lies on ought to be hard, and the pillow not very 
high. When the attacks are frequent, and extremely 
severe, Dr Darwin recommends that an alarm clock 
might be hung up in the room, so that the repose may 
be interrupted at short intervals. It is a good plan to 
have another person to sleep in the same bed, who 
might arouse him from the paroxysm ; and he should 
be directed to lie as little as possible upon the back. 
These points comprehend the principal treatment, 
and when persevered in, will rarely fail to mitigate or 
remove the disease. Sometimes, however, owing to 
certain peculiarities of constitution, it may be neces- 
sary to adopt a different plan, or combine other means 
along with the above : thus, Whvatt, who was subject 
to nightmare, could only insure himself against an at- 
tack, by taking a small glassful of brandy, just before 
going to bed; and some individuals find that a light 
supper prevents the fit, while it is sure to occur if no 
supper at all be taken. But these are rare exceptions 
to the general rule, and, when they do occur, must be 
treated in that manner which experience proves most 
effectual, without being bound too nicely by the ordi- 
nary modes of cure. Blood-letting, which some writers 
recommend, is useless or hurtful, except in cases 
- 1 *.1 * i . ,1 , ,i rr •• 
brought on by plethora. With regard to the other 
causes of nightmare, such as asthma, hydrothorax, &c., 
these must be treated on general principles, and it, 
as one of their svmptoms, will depart so soon as they 
are removed. 
Some persons recommend opium for the cure of 
nightmare, but this medicine I should think more likelv . 
to aggrave than relieve the complaint. The late Dr 
Polydori, author of ‘The Vampyre,’ and of an ‘ Es- . 
say on Positive Pleasure,’ was much subject to incubus, j 
and in the habit of using opium for its removal. One 1 
morning he was found dead, and on the table beside j 
him stood a glass, which had evidently contained j 
laudanum and water. From this, it was supposed he , 
had killed himself by his own treatment; but whether ; 
the quantity of laudanum taken by him would have de- 
stroyed life in ordinary circumstances, has never been i 
ascertained. 
CHAPTER VI. 
DAYMARE. 
I have strong doubts as to the propriety of consider- : 
ing this affection in any way different from the incubus, ! 
or nightmare. It seems merely a modification of the ' 
latter, only accompanied by no aberration of the judg- I 
ment. The person endures precisely many of the 
same feelings, such as difficult respiration, torpor of 
the voluntary muscles, deep sighing, extreme terror, 
and inability to speak. The orly difference which' 
seem to exist between the two spates is, that in day- 1 
mare, the reason is always unclouded—whereas in in- ■ 
cubus it is generally more or less disturbed. 
Dr Mason Good, in his ‘ Study of Mediciuc,’ takes 
notice of a case, recorded by Forestus, ‘that returned 
periodically every third day, like an intermittent fever. • 
The patient was a girl, nine years of age, and at these 
times was suddenly attacked with great terror, a con- 
striction of both the lower and upper belly, with ur- 
gent difficulty of breathing. Her eyes continued open, : 
and were permanently continued to one spot; with her 
hands she forcibly grasped hold of things, that she 
might breathe the more easily. When spoken to, sho i 
returned no answer. In the meantime, the mind seem- 
ed to be collected ; she was without sleep ; sighed re- i 
peatedly ; the abdomen was elevated, the thorax still : 
violently contracted, and oppressed with laborious re- 
spiration and heavy panting : she was incapable of ut- 
terance.’ i 
During the intensely hot summer of 1825, I expe- 
rienced an attack of daymare. Immediatelv after i 
dining, I threw myself on my back upon a sofa, and, 
before I was aware, was seized with difficult respiration, : 
extreme dread, and utter incapability of motion or i 
speech. I could neither move nor cry, while the breath 
came from my chest in broken and suffocating par- 
oxysms. During all this time, I was perfectly awake : : 
I saw the light glaring in at the windows in broad sul- • 
try streams ; I felt the intense heat of the day pervading 
my frame ; and heard distinctly the different noises in 
the street, and even the ticking of my own watch, which i 
I had placed on the cushion beside me. I had, at the ; 
same time, the consciousness of flies buzzing around, i 
and settling with annoying pertinacity upon my face. : 
During the whole fit, judgment was never for a moment 
suspended. I felt assured that I laboured under a spe- 
cies of incubus. I even endeavoured to reason myself 
out of the feeling of dread which filled my mind, and 
longed with insufferable ardour for some one to open 
the door, and dissolve the spell which bound me in its 
fetters. The fit did not continue above five minutes : ; 
by degrees I recovered the use of speech and motion: i 28 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
me to call out and move my limbs, it wore insensibly 
away. 
Upon the whole, I consider daymare and nightmare 
identical. They proceed from the same causes, and 
must be treated in a similar manner. 
are subject, without any apparent cause, to frequent 
attacks of cold perspiration. Somnambulism, I have 
had occasion to remark, is very common among chil- 
dren ; and I believe that it more frequently affects 
childhood than any other age. In females, it sometimes 
arises from amenorrhoea ; and any source of bodily or 
mental irritation may produce it. It is a curious, and 
not easily explained fact, that the aged, though they 
dream more than the middle-aged, are less addicted to 
somnambulism and sleep-talking. Indeed, these phe- 
nomena are seldom noticed in old people. 
It has been matter of surprise to many, that somnam- 
bulists often get into the most dangerous situations 
without experiencing terror. But the explanation of 
this ought not to be attended with any real difficulty; 
for we must reflect, that alarm cannot be felt unless we 
apprehend danger, and that the latter, however great it 
may be, cannot excite emotion of any kind, so long as 
we are ignorant of its existence. This is the situation 
in which sleep-walkers, in a great majority of cases, 
stand. The reasoning faculties, which point out the 
existence of danger, are generally in a state of com- 
plete slumber, and unable to produce corresponding 
emotions in the mind. And even if danger should be 
perceived by a sleep-walker and avoided, as is some- 
times the case, his want of terror is to be imputed to a 
quiescent state of the organ of cautiousness ; the sense 
of fear originating in high excitement of this particular 
part of the brain. That the reasoning faculties, how- 
ever, are sometimes only very partially suspended we 
have abundant evidence, in the fact of the individual 
not only now and then studiously avoiding danger, but 
performing offices which require no small degree of 
judgment. In the higher ranks of somnambulism, so 
many of the organs of the brain are in activity, and there 
is such perfect wakefulness of the external senses and 
locomotive powers, that the person may almost be said 
to be awake. 
Somnambulism bears a closer analogy than a com- 
mon dream to madness. ‘ Like madness, it is accom- 
panied with muscular action, with coherent and inco- 
herent conduct, and with that complete oblivion (in 
most cases) of both, which takes place in the worst 
grade of madness.’* 
Somnambulists generally w'alk with their eyes open, 
but these organs are, nevertheless frequently asleep, 
and do not exercise their functions. This fact was 
well known to Shakspeare, as is apparent in the fear- 
ful instance of Lady Macbeth : 
‘ Doctor. You see her eyes are open.’ 
Gentleman. Ay, but iheir sense is shut.’ 
The following is a remarkable instance in point, and 
shows that though the power of vision was suspended, 
that of hearing continued in full operation. 
A female servant in the town of Chelmsford, sur- 
prised the family, at four o’clock one morning, by walk- 
ing down a flight of stairs in her sleep, and rapping at 
the bed-room door of her master, who inquired what 
she wanted 1 when, in her usual tone of voice, she re- 
quested some cotton, saying that she had torn her gown, 
but hoped that her mistress would forgive her : at the 
same time bursting into tears. Her fellow-servant, 
with whom she had been conversing for some time, ob- 
served her get out of bed, and quickly followed her, but 
not before she had related the pitiful story. She then 
returned to her room, and a light having been procured, 
she was found groping to find her cotton-box. An- 
other person went to her, when, perceiving a difference 
in the voice, she called out, * That is a different voice, 
that is my mistress,’ which was not the case—thus 
clearly showing, that she did not see the object before 
her, although her eyes were wide open. Upon inquiry 
as to what was the matter, she only said that she wanted 
some cotton, but that her fellow-servant had been to 
her master and mistress, making a fuss about it It 
CHAPTER VII. 
SLEEP-WALKING. 
In simple dreaming, as I have already stated, some 
of the cerebral organs are awake, while others continue 
in the quiescence of sleep. Such, also, is the case in 
somnambulism, but with this addition, that the dream 
is of so forcible a nature as to stimulate into action the 
muscular system as well as, in most cases, one or more 
of the organs of the senses. If we dream that we are 
walking, and the vision possesses such a degree of 
vividness and exciting energy as to arouse the muscles 
of locomotion, we naturally get up and walk. Should 
we dream that we hear or see, and the impression be so 
vivid as to stimulate the eyes and ears, or, more pro- 
perly speaking, those parts of the brain which take 
cognizance of sights and sounds, then we both see any 
objects, or hear any sounds, which may occur, just as 
if we were awake. In some cases, the muscles only 
are excited, and then we simply walk, without either 
seeing or hearing. In others, both the muscles and or- 
gans of sight are stimulated, and we not only walk, but 
have the use of our eyes. In a third variety, the activity 
of hearing is added, and we both walk, and see, and 
near. Should the senses of smell, taste, and touch be 
stimulated into activity, and relieved from the torpor 
into which they were thrown by sleep, we have them 
also brought into operation. If, to all this, we add an 
active state of the organs of speech, inducing us to 
talk, we are then brought as nearly as the slumbering 
state admits, into the condition of perfect wakefulness. 
The following passage from Dr Mason Good will illus- 
trate some of the foregoing points more fully. 
‘If,’ observes he, ‘ the external organ of sense thus 
stimulated be that of sight, the dreamer may perceive 
objects around him, and be able to distinguish them ; 
and if the tenor of the dreaming ideas should as power- 
fully operate upon the muscles of locomotion, these also 
may be thrown into their accustomed state of action, 
and he may rise from his bed, and make his way to 
whatever place the drift of his dream may direct him, 
with perfect ease, and free from danger. He wiil see 
more or less distinctly, in proportion as the organ of 
sight is more or less awake : yet, from the increased 
exhaustion, and, of course, increased torpor of the other 
organs, in consequence of an increased demand of sen- 
sorial power from the common stock, to supply the ac- 
tion of the sense and muscles immediately engaged, 
every other sense will probably be thrown into a deeper 
sleep or torpor than if the whole had been quiescent. 
Hence, the ears may not be roused even by a sound 
that might otherwise awake the sleeper. He may be 
insensible not only to a slight touch, but a severe 
shaking of the limbs ; and may even cough violently, 
without being recalled from his dream. Having ac- 
complished the object of his visionary pursuit, he may 
safely return, even over the most dangerous precipices 
—for he sees them distinctly—to his bed: and the organ 
of sight being now quite exhausted, or there being no 
longer any occasion for its use, it may once more as- 
sociate in the general inactivity, and the dream take a 
new turn, and consist of a new combination of images.’* 
I suspect that sleep-walking is sometimes hereditary, 
at least I have known instances which gave countenance 
to such a supposition. Its victims are generally pale, 
nervous, irritable persons ; and it is remarked that they PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
29 
was now thought prudent that she should be allowed 
to remain quiet for some short time, and she was per- 
suaded to lie down with her fellow-servant, until the 
usual hour of rising, thinking that she might then awake 
in her accustomed manner. This failing in effect, her 
mistress went up to her room, and rather angrily de- 
sired her to get up, and go to her work, as it was now 
six o’clock ; this she refused, telling her mistress that 
if she did not please her, she might look out for another 
servant, at the same time saying, that she would not 
rise up at two o’clock, (pointing to the window,) to in- 
jure her health for any one. For the sake of a joke, 
she was told to pack up her things, and start off im- 
mediately, but to this she made no reply. She rebuked 
her fellow-servant for not remaining longer in bed, and 
shortly after this became quiet. She was afterwards 
shaken violently, and awoke. She then rose, and see- 
ing the cotton-box disturbed, demanded to know why 
it had been meddled with, not knowing that she alone 
was the cause of it. In the course of the day, several 
questions were put to her in order to try her recollec- 
tion, but the real fact of her walking, was not made 
known to her; and she is still quite unconscious of 
what has transpired. 
The next case is of a different description, and ex- 
hibits a dormant state of the sense of hearing, while 
sight appears, throughout, to have been in active ope- 
ration. 
A young man named Johns, who works at Cardrew, 
near Redruth, being asleep in the sump-house of that 
mine, was observed by two boys to rise and walk to the 
door, against which he leaned ; shortly after, quitting 
that position, he walked to the engine-shaft, and safely 
descended to the depth of twenty fathoms, where he 
was found by his comrades soon after, with his back 
resting on the ladder. They called to him, to apprize 
him of the perilous situation in which he was, but he 
did not hear them, and they were obliged to shake him 
roughly till he awoke, when he appeared totally at a 
loss to account for his being so situated. 
In Lodge’s ‘ Historical Portraits,’ there is a likeness, 
by Sir Peter Lely, of Lord Culpepper’s brother, so fa- 
mous as a dreamer. In 1686, he was indicted at the 
Old Bailey, for shooting one of the Guards, and his 
horse to boot. He pleaded somnambulism, and was 
acquitted on producing nearly fifty witnesses, to prove 
the extraordinary things he did in his sleep. 
A very curious circumstance is related of Dr Frank- 
lin, in the memoirs of that eminent philosopher, pub- 
lished by his grandson. ‘ I went out,’ said the Doctor, 
‘ to bathe in Martin’s salt water hot bath, in Southamp- 
ton, and, floating on my back, fell asleep, and slept 
nearly an hour, by my watch, without sinking or turning 
—a thing I never did before, and should hardly have 
thought possible.’ 
A case still more extraordinary occurred some time 
ago in one of the towns on the coast of Ireland. About 
two o’clock in the morning, the watchmen on the Reve- 
nue quay, were much surprised at descrying a man dis- 
porting himself in the water, about a hundred yards 
from the shore. Intimation having been given to the 
Revenue boat’s crew, they pushed off and succeeded 
in picking him up, but strange to say, he had no idea 
whatever of his perilous situation : and it was with the 
utmost difficulty they could persuade him he was not 
still in bed. But the most singular part of this novel 
adventure, and which was afterwards ascertained, was 
that the man had left his house at twelve o’clock that 
night, and walked through a difficult, and, to him, dan- 
gerous road, a distance of nearly two miles, and had 
actually swum one mile and a half when he was for- 
tunately discovered and picked up. 
Not very long ago a boy was seen fishing off Brest, 
up to the middle in water. On coming up to him, he 
■was found to be fast asleep. 
ing that the house was broken into by thieves, got out 
of bed, dropped from the window (fortunately a low 
one) into the street; and was a considerable distance 
on his way to warn the police, when he was discovered 
by one of them, who awoke him, and conducted him 
home. 
A case is related of an English clergyman who used 
to get up in the night, light his candle, write sermons, 
correct them with interlineations, and retire to bed 
again ; being all the time asleep. The Archbishop 
Bourdeaux mentions a similar case of a student, who 
got up to compose a sermon while asleep, wrote it cor- 
rectly, read it over from one end to the other, or at 
least appeared to read it, made corrections on it, 
scratched out lines, and substituted others, put in its 
place a word which had been omitted, composed music, 
wrote it accurately down, and performed other things 
equally surprising. Dr Gall takes notice of a miller 
who was in the habit of getting up every night and at- 
tending to his usual avocations at the mill, then return- 
ing to bed ; on awaking in the morning, he recollected 
nothing of what passed during night. Martinet speaks 
of a saddler who was accustomed to rise in his sleep 
and work at his trade; and Dr Pritchard of a farmer 
who got out of bed, dressed himself, saddled his horse, 
and rode to the market, being all the while asleep. Dr 
Blacklock, on one occasion, rose from bed, to which he 
had retired at an early hour, came into the room where 
his family were assembled, conversed with them, and 
afterwards entertained them with a pleasant song, with- 
out any of them suspecting he was asleep, and with- 
out his retaining after he awoke, the least recollection 
of what he had done. It is a singular, yet well au- 
thenticated fact, that in the disastrous retreat of Sir 
John Moore, many of the soldiers fell asleep, yet con- 
tinued to march along with their comrades. 
Tire stories related of sleep-walkers are, indeed, o 
so extraordinary a kind, that they would almost seerr 
fictitious, were they not supported by the most incon- 
trovertible evidence. To walk on the house-top, tc 
scale precipices, and descend to the bottom of fright 
ful ravines, are common exploits with the somnambulist 
and he performs them with a facility far beyond the powe: 
of any man who is completely awake. A story is tolc 
of a boy, who dreamed that he got out of bed, and as 
cended to the summit of an enormous rock, where h< 
found an eagle’s nest, which he brought away with him 
and placed beneath his bed. Now, the whole of thes< 
events actually took place ; and what he conceived oi 
awaking to be a mere vision, was proved to have ha< 
an actual existence, by the nest being found in the pre 
cise spot where he imagined he had put it, and by the 
evidence of the spectators who beheld his perilous ad 
venture. The precipice which he ascended, was of ; 
nature that must have baffled the most expert moun 
taineer, and such as, at other times, he never coul< 
have scaled. In this instance, the individual was ai 
nearly as possible, without actually being so, awake 
All his bodily, and almost the whole of his menta 
powers, appear to have been in full activity. So far a: 
the latter are concerned, we can only conceive a par 
tial defect of the judgment to have existed, for that i 
was altogether abolished is pretty evident from the fac 
of his proceeding to work precisely as he would hav< 
done, had he, in his waking hours, seriously resolved t< 
make such an attempt; the defect lay in making th< 
attempt at all; and still more in getting out of bee 
to do so in the middle of the night. 
Somnambulism, as well as lunacy, sometimes be 
stows supernatural strength upon the individual. M: 
Dubrie, a musician in Bath, affords an instance of this 
kind. One Sunday, while awake, he attempted in vair 
to force open the window of his bed-room, whicl 
chanced to be nailed down; but having got up in his 
sleep, he repeated the attempt successfully, and threw 
orkioVi V*/\ lini/irt'ii.n'ifalxr Krnlro Vtie lonr PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP, 
Sleep-walking is sometimes periodical. Martinet 
describes the case of a watchmaker’s apprentice who 
had an attack of it every fortnight. In this state, 
though insensible to all external impressions, he would 
perforin his work with his usual accuracy, and was al- 
ways astonished, on awaking, at the progress he had 
made. The paroxysm began with a sense of heat in 
the epigastrium extending to the head, followed by 
confusion of ideas and complete insensibility, the eyes 
Remaining open with a fixed and vacant stare. This 
case, which undoubtedly originated in some diseased 
state of the brain, terminated in epilepsy. Dr Gall re- 
ntes that he saw at Berlin a young man, sixteen years 
of age, who had, from time to time, very extraordinary 
Sts. He moved about unconsciously in bed, and had 
no perception of any thing that was done to him; at 
last he would jump out of bed. and walk with rapid 
steps about the room, his eyes being fixed and open. 
Several obstacles which were placed by Dr Call in his 
wav, he either removed or cautiously avoided. He 
hen threw himself suddenly again upon bed, moved 
ibout for some time, and finished by jumping up awake, 
cot a little surprised at the number of curious people 
about him. 
The facility with which somnambulists are awakened 
From the paroxysm, differs extremely in different cases. 
Cne man is aroused by being gently touched or called 
epon, by a flash of light, by stumbling in his peregrina- 
;ions, or by setting his foot in water. Another re- 
gains so heavily asleep, that it is necessary to shout 
oudly, to shake him with violence, and make use of 
ether excitations equally powerful. In this condition, 
when the sense of vision chances to be dormant, it is 
curious to look at his eyes. Sometimes they are shut; 
it other times wide open ; and when the latter is the 
case, they are observed to be fixed and inexpressive, 
‘without speculation,’ or energy, while the pupil, is 
contracted, as in the case of perfect sleep. 
It is not always safe to arouse a sleep walker ; and 
many cases of the fatal effects thence arising have been 
letailed by authors. Nor is it at all unlikely that a 
lerson, even of strong nerves, might be violently agi- 
ated by awaking in a situation so different from that 
n which he lay down. Among other examples, that 
)f a young lady, who was addicted to this affection, 
nay be mentioned. Knowing her failing, her friends, 
nade a point of locking the door, and securing the win- 
low of her chamber in such a manner that she could 
lot possibly get out. One night, these precautions 
were, unfortunately overlooked ; and in a paroxysm of 
somnambulism, she walked into the garden behind the 
louse. While there, she was recognised by some of 
lie family, who were warned by the noise she made on 
ipening the door, and they followed and awoke her ; 
mt such was the effect produced upon her nervous 
system, that she almost instantly expired. 
The remote causes of sleep walking are so obscure, 
hat it is seldom we are able to ascertain them. Gene- 
•al irritability of frame, a nervous temperament, and 
iad digestion, will dispose to the affection. Being a 
modification of dreaming, those who are much troubled 
with the latter will, consequently be most prone to its 
ittacks. The causes, however, are, in a great majority 
if cases, so completely unknown, that any attempt to 
nvestigate them would be fruitless ; and we are 
lompelled to refer the complaint to some idiosyncracy 
if constitution beyond the reach of human knowledge. 
According to the report made by a Committee of the 
Royal Academy of Sciences in Paris, animal magnet- 
sm appears to have the power of inducing a peculiar 
species of somnambulism. The circumstances seem 
so curious, that, even authenticated as they are by men 
>f undoubted integrity and talent, it is extremely diffi- 
:ult to place reliance upon them. The person who is 
hrown into the magnetic sleep is said to a acquire a 
his ordinary life. When this sleep is dissolved, he get» 
into his usual state of feeling and recollection, but for- 
gets every thing that happened during the sleep ; being 
again magnetized, however, the remembrance of all 
that occurred in the previous sleep is brought back to 
his mind. In one. of the cases above related, the pa- 
tient, a lady of sixty-four years, had an ulcerated cancer 
in the right breast. She had been magnetized for the 
purpose of dissolving the tumor, but no other effect was 
produced than that of throwing her into a species of 
somnambulic sleep, in which sensibility was annihilated, 
while her ideas retained all their clearness. In this state 
her surgeon, M. Chapelain, disposed her to submit to an 
operation, the idea of which she rejected with horror 
when awake. Having formally given her consent she 
undressed herself, sat down upon a chair, and the dis- 
eased glands were carefully and deliberately dissected 
out, the patient conversing all the time and being per- 
fectly insensible of pain. On awaking, she had no 
consciousnes whatever of having been operated upon ; 
but being informed of the circumstance, and seeing her 
children around her, she experienced the most lively 
emotion, which the magnetizer instantly checked by 
again setting her asleep. These facts appear startling 
and incredible. I can give no opinion upon the sub- 
ject from any thing I have seen myself ; but the testi- 
mony of such men as Cloquet, Georget, and Itard, is 
not to be received lightly on any physiological point; 
and they all concur in bearing witness to such facts 
as the above. In the present state of knowledge 
and opinion, with regard to animal magnetism, 
and the sleep occasioned by it, I shall not say more 
at present, hut refer the reader to the ample details 
contained in the Parisian Report ; an able transla- 
tion of which into English has been made by by Mr 
Colquhoun. 
When a person is addicted to somnambulism, great 
care should be taken to have the door and windows of 
his sleeping apartment, secured, so as to prevent the 
possibility of egress, as he sometimes forces his way 
through the panes of glass : this should be put out of 
his power, by having the shutters closed, and bolted, in 
such a way that they cannot be opened without the aid 
of a key or screw, or some such instrument, which 
should never be left in the room where he sleeps, but 
carried away, while the door is secured on the outside. 
Some have recommended that a tub of water should be 
put by the bedside, that, on getting out, he might step 
into it, and be awaked by the cold ; but this, from the 
suddenness of its operation, might be attended with 
bad consequences in very nervous and delicate sub- 
jects. It is a good plan to fix a cord to the bedpost, 
and tie the other end of it securely round the person’s 
wrist. This will effectually prevent mischief if he at- 
tempt to get up. Whenever it can bo managed, it will 
be prudent for another person to sleep along with him. 
In all cases, care should be taken to arouse him sud- 
denly. This must be done as gently as possible, and 
when he can be conducted to bed without being awak- 
ened at all, it. is still better. Should he be perceived in 
any dangerous situation as on the house-top, or the 
brink of a precipice, the utmost caution is requisite ; 
for, if we call loudly upon him, his dread, on recover- 
ing, at finding himself in such a predicament, may 
actually occasion him to fall, where, if he had been 
left to himself, he would have escaped without injury. 
To prevent a recurrence of somnambulism, we should 
remove, if possible, the cause which gave rise to it. 
Thus, if it proceed from a disordered state or the 
stomach, or biliary system, we must employ the various 
medicines used in such cases. Plenty of exercise 
should be taken, and late hours and much study avoided. 
If it arises from plethora, he must be blooded, and live 
low ; should hysteria produce it, antispasmodics, such 
as valerian, ammonia, assafoetida, and opium may be PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
31 
But, unfortunately, we can often refer sleep-walking 
to no complaint whatever. In this case, all that can 
be done is to carry the individual as safely as possible 
through the paroxysm, anti prevent him from injury by 
the means we have mentioned. In many instances, 
the affection will wear spontaneously away : in others, 
it will continue in spite of every remedy. 
But fever’d in her sleep she seems, 
And red her cheek with troubled dreams, 
Arid mutters she in her unrest 
A name she dare not breathe by day, 
And Hasps her lord unto her breast 
Which pants for one away.’ 
From what has been said of somnambulism, the 
reader will be prepared for phenomena equally curious 
as regards sleep-talking. Persons have been known, 
for instance, who delivered sermons and prayers during 
sleep ; among others, Dr Haycock, Professor of Medi- 
cine in Oxford. He would give out a text in his sleep, 
and deliver a good sermon upon it; nor could all the 
pinching and pulling of his friends prevent him. ‘ One 
of the most remarkable cases of speaking during sleep,’ 
observes a writer in Frazer’s Magazine, ‘is that of an 
American lady, now (we believe) alive, who preached 
during her sleep, performing regularly every part of the 
Presbyterian service, from the psalm to the blessing. 
This lady was the daughter of respectable and even 
wealthy parents ; she fell into bad health, and, under its 
influence, she disturbed and annoyed her family bv her 
nocturnal eloquence. Her unhappy parents, though at 
first surprised, and perhaps flattered by the exhibition 
in their family of so extraordinary a gift, were at last 
convinced that it was the result of disease ; and, in the 
expectation that their daughter might derive benefit 
from change of scene, as well as from medical skill, 
they made a tour with her of some length, and visited 
New York and some of the other great cities of the 
Union. We know individuals who have heard her 
preach during the night in steamboats ; and it was cus- 
tomary, at tea parties in New York, (at the houses of 
medical practitioners,) to put the lady to bed in a room 
adjacent to the drawing-room, in order that the dille- 
tanti might witness so extraordinary a phenomenon. 
We have been told by ear-witnesses, that her sermons, 
though they had the appearance of connected discourses, 
consisted chiefly of texts of scripture strung together. 
It is strongly impressed upon our memory, that some 
of her sermons were published in America.’ 
In the Edinburgh Journal of science, a ladv who was 
subject to spectral illusions, is described as being sub- 
ject to talk in her sleep with great fluency, to repeat 
great portions of poetry, especially when unwell, and 
even to cap verses for half an hour at a time, never 
failing to quote lines beginning with the final letter of 
the preceding till her memory was exhausted. 
Dr Dyce, in the Edinburgh Philosophical Transac- 
tions, relates the case of Maria C , who, during one 
paroxysm of somnambulism, recollected what took 
place in a preceding one, without having any such re- 
collection during the interval of wakefulness. One of 
the occasions in which this young woman manifested 
the power in question, was of a very melancholy nature. 
Her fellow-servant, a female of abandoned character, 
having found out that, on awaking, she entirely forgot 
every thing which occurred during the fit, introduced 
by stealth into the house, a young man of her acquain- 
tance, and obtained for him an opportunity of treating 
Maria in the most brutal and treacherous manner. The 
wretches succeeded in their object by stopping her 
mouth with the bed-clothes, by which and other means, 
they overcame the vigorous resistance she was enabled 
to make to their villany, even in her somnolent state. 
On awaking she had no consciousness whatever of the 
outrage ; but some days afterwards, having fallen, into 
the same state, it recurred to her memory, and she re- 
lated to her mother all the revolting particulars. The 
state of mind in this case was perfectly analagous to 
that which is said to occur in the magnetic sleep ; but 
the particular state of the brain which induces such 
conditions will, I believe, ever remain a mystery.* 
CHAPTER VIII. 
SLEEP-TALKING. 
This closely resembles somnambulism, and proceeds 
from similar causes. In somnambulism, those parts of 
the brain which are awake call the muscles of the 
limbs into activity; while, in sleep-talking, it is the 
muscles necessary for the production of speech which 
are animated by the waking cerebral organs. During 
sleep, the organ of language may be active, either sin- 
gly or in combination with other parts of the brain; and 
of this activity sleep-talking is the result.* If, while 
we dream that we are conversing with some one, Ihe 
organ of language is in such a high state of activity as 
to rouse the muscles of speech, we are sure to talk. It 
often happens, however, that the cerebral parts, though 
sufficiently active to make us dream that we are speak- 
ing, are not excited so much as to make us actually 
speak. We only suppose we are carrying on a conver- 
sation, while, in reality, we are completely silent. To 
produce sleep-talking, therefore, the brain, in some of 
its functions, must be so much awake as to put into 
action the voluntary muscles by which speech is pro- 
duced. 
The conversation in this state, is of such subjects as 
our thoughts are most immediately occupied with ; and 
its consistency or incongruity depends upon that of the 
prevailing ideas—being sometimes perfectly rational and 
coherent; at other times, full of absurdity. The voice 
is seldom the same as in the waking state. This I 
would impute to the organs of hearing being mostly 
dormant, and consequently unable to guide the modu- 
lations of sound. The same fact is observable in very 
deaf persons, whose speech is usually harsh, unvaried, 
and monotonous. Sometimes the faculties are so far 
awake, that we can manage to converse with the indi- 
vidual, and extract from him the most hidden secrets of 
his soul : circumstances have thus been ascertained 
which would otherwise have remained in perpetual ob- 
scurity. By a little address in this way, a gentleman 
lately detected the infidelity of his wife from some ex- 
pressions which escaped her while asleep, and succeed- 
ed in finding out that she had a meeting arranged with 
her paramour for the following day. Lord Byron de- 
scribes a similar scene in his ‘ Parisina :’ 
‘ And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, 
To covet there another’s bride ; 
But she must lay her conscious head 
A husband’s trusting heart beside. 
* Among the insane, the organ just mentioned is occasionally 
excited to such a degree that even, in the waking state, the pa- 
tient, however desirous, is literally unable to refrain from speak- 
ing. Mr. W. A. F. Browne has reported two cases of this na- 
ture in i he 3?th No. of the Phrenological Journal. The first is 
that of a woman in the hospital of 4 La Salpetrifere’ in Paris. 
Whenever she encounters the physician or other of the attend- 
ants, she bursts forth into an address which is delivered with 
incredible rapidity and vehemence, and is generally an abusive 
or ironical declamation against the tyranny, cruelty, and injus- 
tice to which she is exposed. In the midst of her harangues, 
however, she introduces frequent and earnest parenthetical de- 
clarations 4 that she does not mean what she says ; that though 
she vows vengeance and showers imprecations on her tnpdical 
attendant, she loves him, and feels grateful for his kindness and 
forbearance ; and that, though anxious to evince her gratitude 
and obedience by silence, she is constrained by an invisible 
agency to speak.’ In the other case, the individual speaks con- 
stantly ; 4 sleep itself does not yield an intermission ; and there 
is strong reason to believe that a part, at least of his waking 
orations is delivered either without the cognizance of the other 
* A case, in some respects similar, was published in the Med- 
ical Repository, by Dr Mitchell, who received the particulars of 
it from Major Ellicot, Professor of Mathematics in the United 
'Uilirarxr Araripmv at W«e Point. Th« Kiihiprt vai a 32 
PHILOSOPHY OP SLEEP. 
The following singular case of sleep-talking, com- 
bined with somnambulism, will prove interesting to the 
reader:— 
‘ A very ingenious and elegant young lady, with light 
eyes and hair, about the age of seventeen, in other re- 
spects well, was suddenly seized with this very wonder- 
ful malady. The disease began with violent convul- 
sions of almost every muscle of her body, with great, 
but vain efforts to vomit, and the most violent hiccoughs 
that can be conceived : these were succeeded in about 
an hour with a fixed spasm ; in which, one hand was 
applied to her head, and the other to support it: in 
about half an hour these ceased, and the reverie began 
suddenly, and was at first manifest by the look of her 
eyes and countenance, which seemed to express atten- 
tion. Then she conversed aloud with imaginary per- 
sons, with her eyes open, and could not, for about an 
hour, he brought to attend to the stimulus of external 
objects by any kind of violence which it was possible 
to use : these symptoms returned in this order every 
day for five or six weeks. 
‘ These conversations were quite consistent, and we 
could understand what she supposed her imaginary 
companions to answer, by the continuation of her part 
of the discourse. Sometimes she was angry, at other 
times showed much wit and vivacity, but was most 
frequently inclined to melancholy. In these reveries, 
she sometimes sung over some music with accuracy, 
and repeated whole passages from tbe English poets. 
In repeating some lines from Mr Pope’s works, she had 
forgot one word, and began again, endeavouring to re- 
collect it; when she came to the forgotten word, it 
was shouted aloud in her ears, and this repeatedly, to 
no purpose ; but by many trials she at length regained 
it herself. 
‘ Those paroxysms were terminated with the appear- 
ance of inexpressible surprise and great fear, from which 
she was some minutes in recovering herself, calling on 
her sister with great agitation, and very frequently un- 
derwent a repetition of convulsions, apparently from 
the pain of fear. 
‘ After having thus returned for about an hour a-day, 
for two or three weeks, the reveries seemed to become 
less complete, and some of the circumstances varied, 
so that she could walk about the room in them, with- 
aut running against any of the furniture ; though these 
notions were at first very unsteady and tottering. And 
jfterwards, she once, drank a dish of tea, and the whole 
ipparatus of the tea-table was set before her, and ex- 
pressed some suspicion that a medicine was put into 
it; and once seemed to smell at a tuberose, which was 
in flower in her chamber, and deliberated aloud about 
breaking it for the stem, saying, ‘ It would make her 
sister so charmingly angry.’ At another time, in her 
melancholy moments, she heard the bell, and then tak- 
ing off one of her shoes as she sat upon the bedr ‘ I love 
the color black,’ says she ; ‘a little wider and a little 
longer, and even this might make me a coffin !’ Yet 
it is evident she was not sensible at this time, any more 
than formerly, of seeing or hearing any person about 
her ; indeed, when great light was thrown upon her by 
opening the shutters of the window ; she seemed less 
melancholy : and when I have forcibly held her hands, 
or covered her eyes, she appeared to grow impatient, 
and would say, she could not tell what to do, for she 
could neither see nor move. In all these circumstances, 
her pulse continued unaffected, as in health. And when 
the paroxysm was over, she could never recollect a sin- 
gle idea of what had passed.’* 
Equally extraordinary is the following instance of 
combined sleep-talking and somnambulism : 
‘ A remarkable instance of this affection occurred to 
a lad named George David, sixteen years and a half 
old, in the service of Mr Hewson, butcher, of Bridge- 
Road, Lambeth. At about twenty minutes after nine 
o'clock, the lad bent forward in his chair, and rested 
his forehead on his hands, and in' ten minutes started 
up, went for his whip, put on his one spur, and went 
thence to the stable ; not finding his own saddle in the 
proper place, he returned to the house and asked for it. 
Being asked what he wanted with it, he replied, to go 
his rounds. He returned to the stable, got on the 
horse without the saddle, and was proceeding to leave 
the stable : it was with much difficulty and force that 
Mr Hewson, junior, assisted by the other lad, could re- 
move him from the horse ; his strength was great, and 
it was with difficulty he was brought in doors. Mr 
Hewson, senior, coming home at this time, sent for 
Mr Benjamin Ridge, an eminent practitioner, in Bridge- 
Road, who stood by him for a quarter of an hour, during 
which time the lad considered himself as stopped at the 
turnpike-gate, and took sixpence out of his pocket to 
be changed ; and holding out his hand for the change, 
the sixpence was returned to him. He immediately 
observed, ‘ None of your nonsense—that is the six- 
pence again ; give me my change ;’ when two pence 
halfpenny was given to him, he counted it over, and 
said, ‘ None of your gammon ; that is not right; I want 
a penny more ;’ making the three pence halfpenny, 
which was his proper change. He then said, ‘ Give 
me my castor, (meaning his hat,) which slang term he 
had been in the habit of using, and then began to whip 
and spur to get his horse on. His pulse at. this time 
was 136, full and hard ; no change of countenance 
could be observed, nor any spasmodic affection of the 
muscles, the eyes remaining close the whole of the time. 
His coat was takan off his arm, shirt sleeves tucked up, 
and Mr Ridge bled him to 32 ounces ; no alteration 
had taken place in him during the first part of the time 
the blood was flowing; at about 24 ounces, the pulse 
began to decrease ; and when the full quantity named 
above had been taken, it was at 80—a slight perspira- 
tion on the forehead. During the time of bleeding, Mr 
Hewson related a circumstance of a Mr Harris, opti- 
cian, in Holborn, whose son, some years since, walked 
out on the parapet of the house in his sleep. The boy 
joined the conversation, and observed, ‘ He lived at the 
corner of Brownlow-Street.’ After the arm was tied 
up, he unlaced one boot, and said he would go to bed : 
in three minutes from this time, he awoke, got up, and 
asked what was the matter, (having then been one hour 
in the trance,) not having the slightest recollection of 
any thing that had passed, and wondered at his arm be- 
ing tied up, and at the blood, &c. A strong aperient 
♦ Darwin’« 4 7nnnomio » 
foung lady, of a good constitution, excellent capacity, and well 
educated. ‘ Her memory was capacious and well stored with a 
jopious stock of ideas. Unexpectedly, and without any fore- 
warning, she lell into a profound sleep, which continued several 
lours beyond the ordinary term. On waking, she was discov- 
ered to have lost every trait of acquired knowledge. Her mem- 
>ry was tabula rasa- all vestiges, both of words and things 
were obliterated and gone. It was found necessary for her to 
learn every thing again. She even acquired, by new efforts, the 
»rt of spelling, reading, writing, and calculating, and gradually 
lecame acquainted with the persons and objects around, like a 
jeing for the first time brought into the world. In these exer- 
tiscs she made considerable'proficiencj\ But after a few months 
mother fit of somnolency invaded her. On rousing from it, she 
found herself restored to the state she was in before the first pa- 
roxysm ; but was wholly ignorant of every event and occurrence 
hathad befallen her afterwards. The former condition of her 
existence she now calls the Old State, and the latter the New 
State; and she is as unconscious of her double character as two 
distinct persons are of their respective natures. For example, 
ii her old state, she possesses all the original knowledge ; in 
her new state, only what she acquired since. If a lady or gen- 
leman be introduced to her in the old state, and vice versa,(and 
so of all other matters) to know them satisfactorily, she must 
learn them in both states. In the old state, she possesses fine 
oowers of penmanship, while in the new, she writes a poor, 
iwk ward hand, having not hail time or means to become expert. 
During four years and upwards, she has had periodical transi- 
ions from one of these states to the other. The alterations are 
ilwavs consequent upon a long and sound sleep. Both the lady 
ind her family are now capable of conducting the affair without 
jmbarrassment By simply knowing whether she is in the old 
)r new state, they regulate the intercourse and govern them- 
lelves accordingly.’ PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
medicine was then administered : he went to bed, slept 
well, and the next day appeared perfectly well,.except- 
ing debility from the bleeding, and operation of the 
medicine, and has no recollection whatever of what had 
taken place. None of his family or himself were ever 
affected in this way before.”* 
Sleep-talking is generally such a trivial affection as 
not to require any treatment whatever. In every case 
the digestive organs must be attended to, and, if dis- 
ordered, put to rights by suitable medicines. And 
should the affection proceed, or be supposed to proceed 
from hypochondria, hysteria, or the prevalence of any 
strong mental emotion, these states must be treated 
according to general principles. When it arises from 
idiosyncrasy, and becomes habitual, I believe that no 
means which can be adopted will be of much avail. As, 
in the case of somnambulism, it very frequently hap- 
pens that the affection, after continuing for a long time, 
and baffling every species of treatment, disappears 
spontaneously. 
of preventing sleep. I would impute this to their irri- 
tative properties, which, by supplying the brain with 
fresh sensorial power, enable it to carry on uninterrupt- 
edly all its functions longer than it would otherwise do, 
and consequently prevent it from relapsing into slum- 
ber at the usual period. 
Any uneasy bodily feeling has the same effect—both 
preventing the accession of sleep, and arousing us from 
it when it has fairly taken place. Thus, while moderate 
fatigue provoke slumber, excessive fatigue, owing to 
the pain and irritation it necessarily occasions, drives 
it away. Sickness, cold, heat, pregnancy, the ordinary 
calls of nature, a disagreeable bed, the want of an ac- 
customed supper, too heavy a supper, or uneasiness of 
any kind, have the same result. Cold is most apt to 
induce sleeplessness, when partial, especially if it be 
confined to the feet; for when general and sufficiently 
intense, it has the opposite effect, and give rise to 
drowsiness. Certain diseases, such as hemicrania, tic 
dolourcux, &c., have actually kept the person awake 
for three successive months ; and all painful affections 
prevent sleep more or less. But the most violent tor- 
tures cannot altogether banish, however much they 
may retard it. Sooner or later the fatigue, which a 
want of it occasions, prevails, and slumber ultimately 
ensues. 
Sleeplessness is sometimes produced by a sense of 
burning heat in the soles of the feet and palms of the 
hands, to which certain individuals are subject some 
time after lying down. This seems to proceed from a 
want of perspiration in these parts ; owing generally 
to impaired digestion. 
Mental emotions, of every description, are unfavor- 
able to repose. If a man, as soon as he lays his head 
upon a pillow, can banish thinking, he is morally cer- 
tain to fall asleep. There are many individuals so con- 
stituted, that they can do this without effort, and the 
consequence is, they are excellent sleepers. It is very 
different with those whose minds are oppressed by care, 
or over stimulated by excessive study. The sorrowful 
man, above all others, has the most need of sleep ; but, 
far from shedding its benignant influence over him, it 
flies away, and leaves him to the communionship of his 
own sad thoughts: 
‘ His slumbers—if he slumber—are not sleep, 
But a continuance of enduring thought.’ 
It is the same with the man of vivid imagination. 
His fancy, instead of being subdued by the spell of 
sleep, becomes more active than ever. Thoughts in a 
thousand fantastic forms—myriads of waking dreams— 
pass through his mind, whose excessive activity spurns 
at repose, and mocks all his endeavors to reduce it to 
quiescence. Great joy will often scare away sleep for 
many nights ; but, in this respect, it is far inferior to 
grief, a fixed attack of which has been known to keep 
the sufferer awake for several months. Those who 
meditate much, seldom sleep well in the early part of 
the night: they lie awake, for perhaps two or three 
hours, after going to bed, and do not fall into slumber 
till towards morning. Persons of this description often 
lie long, and are reputed lazy by early risers, although, 
it is probable, they actually sleep less than these early 
risers themselves. Long continued study is highly pre- 
judicial to repose. Boerhaave mentions that, on one 
occasion, owing to this circumstance, he did not close 
his eyes for six weeks. 
Nothing is so hurtful both to the mind and body as 
want of sleep. Deprived of the necessary portion, the 
person gets wan, emaciated and listless, and very soon 
falls into bad health; the spirit becomes entirely broken, 
and the fire of even the most ardent dispositions is 
quenched. Nor is this law peculiar to the human race, 
for it operates with similar power upon the lower ani- 
mals, and deprives them of much of their natural 
ferocity. An illustration of this fact is afforded in the 
taminfT plcmbanK T-te-sc. wiipn nrfit 
CHAPTER IX. 
SLEEPLESSNESS. 
Sleep takes place as soon as the sensorial power 
that keeps the brain awake is expended, which, under 
common circumstances, occurs at our ordinary hour of 
going to rest, or even sooner, if any sophorific cause 
sufficiently strong should chance to operate. But the 
above power may be increased by various means, as in 
cases of physical suffering, or excited imagination, and, 
consequently, is not expended at the usual time. In 
this case, the person remains awake, and continues so 
till the period of its expenditure, which may not happen 
for several hours after he lies down, or even not at all, 
during the whole of that night. Now, whatever in- 
creases the sensorial power, whether it be balls, con- 
certs, grief, joy, or bodily pain, is prejudicial to repose. 
By them the mind is exalted to a pitch of unnatural 
action, from which it is necessary it should descend 
before it can roll into the calm channel of sleep. 
Whatever stimulates the external senses, however 
slightly, may prevent sleep. Thus, the ticking of a 
clock has this effect with very sensitive people ; and a 
candle burning in the chamber is attended with the 
same result. Even when the eyes are shut this may 
take place, for the eye-lids are sufficiently transparent 
to transmit a sense of light to the retina. For the 
same reason, the light of day peering in at the window 
may awake us from or prevent slumber. It is said that 
Napoleon could never sleep if exposed to the influence 
of light, although, in other circumstances, slumber ap- 
peared at his bidding with surprising readiness. 
A constitutional restlessness is sometimes brought 
on by habitually neglecting to solicit sleep when we lie 
down, by which means the brain is brought into such a 
state of irritability, that we can hardly sleep at all. 
Chronic wakefulness, originating from any mental or 
bodily affection, sometimes degenerates into a habit, in 
which the sufferer will remain for weeks, months, or 
even years, if authors are to be believed, awake. In 
the disease called delirium tremens, wakefulness is a 
constant symptom, and frequently continues for many 
successive days and nights. It is also an attendant 
upon all disorders accompanied by acute suffering, es- 
pecially when the brain is affected, as in phrenitis, or 
fever. Maniacs, from the excited state of their sen- 
sorium, are remarkably subject to want of sleep ; and 
this symptom is often so obstinate as to resist the most 
powerful remedies we can venture to prescribe. 
Certain stimulating agents, such as tea or coffee, 
taken shortly before going to bed, have often the effect PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
;aught, are studiously prevented from sleeping; in 
consequence of which, they become, in a few days, 
comparatively mild and harmless. Restlessness, when 
long protracted, may terminate in delirium, or confirm- 
ed insanity ; and in many diseases, it is the most obsti- 
nate symptom we have to struggle against. By it 
alone, all the existing bad symptoms are aggravated; 
and as soon as we can succeed in overcoming it, every 
thing disagreeable and dangerous frequently wears 
away, and the person is restored to health. 
In restlessness, both the perspiration and urinary se- 
cretions are usually much increased; there is also an ac- 
cession of heat in the system, and a general feverish 
tendency, unless the want of sleep should proceed from 
cold. 
With regard to the treatment of sleeplessness, a very 
few words will suffice: in fact, upon this head little 
more can be said, than a recommendation to obviate the 
causes from whence it proceeds, and it will naturally 
disappear. I may mention, however, that when there 
is no specific disease, either of body or mind, to which 
the want of sleep can be imputed, the person should 
keep himself in as cheerful a mood as possible—should 
rise early, if his strength permits it, and take such ex- 
ercise as to fatigue himself moderately ; and if all these 
means fail, that he ought to make use of opium. In 
all cases of restlessness, indeed, this medicine must be 
had recourse to, if the affection resists every other 
remedy, and continues so long as to endanger health. 
Those preparations of opium, the acetate and muriate 
of morphia, have latterly been a good deal used, and 
with excellent effect, for the same purpose. When 
neither opium nor its preparations agrees with the con- 
stitution, it becomes necessary to employ other narco- 
tics, especially hyosciamus or hop. A pillow of hops 
sometimes succeeds in inducing sleep when other 
means fail. Such was the case with his late majesty, 
George III., who, by this contrivance, was relieved 
from the protracted wakefulness under which he labour- 
ed for so long a time. In giving medicines to produce 
sleep, great attention must be paid to the disease which 
occasions the restlessness ; for, in phrenitis, high fever, 
and some other disorders, it would be most injurious to 
administer anodynes of any kind. In such cases, as 
the restlessness is merely a symptom of the general 
disease, its removal will depend upon that of the latter. 
When, however, the acute symptoms have been over- 
come, and nothing but chronic wakefulness, the result 
of debility, remains behind, it then becomes pecessary 
to have recourse to opium, or such other remedies as 
may be considered applicable to the particular case. 
Studious men ought to avoid late reading ; and, on go- 
ing to bed, endeavour to abstract their minds from all 
intrusive ideas. They should try to circumscribe their 
thoughts within the narrowest possible circle, and pre- 
vent them from becoming rambling or excursive. I 
have often coaxed myself asleep by internally repeating 
half a dozen of times, any well known rhyme. While 
doing so, the ideas must be strictly directed to this par- 
ticular theme, an.1 prevented from wandering; for 
sometimes, during the process of repetition, the mind 
takes a strange turn, and performs two offices at the 
same time, being directed to the rhyme on the one 
hand, and to something else on the other ; and it will 
be found that the hold it has of the former, is often- 
times much weaker than of the latter. The great se- 
cret is, by a strong effort of the will to compel the 
mind to depart from the favourite train of thought into 
which it has run, and address itself solely to the inter- 
nal repetition of what is substituted in its place. If this 
is persevered in, it will generally be found to succeed ; 
and I would recommend all those who are prevented 
from sleeping, in consequence of too active a flow of 
ideas, to .try the experiment. As has been already re- 
marked, the more the mind is made to turn upon a sin- 
gle impression, the more closely it is made to approach 
to the state of sleep, which is the total absence of all 
impressions. People should never go to bed immedi- 
ately after studying hard, as the brain is precisely in 
that state of excitement which must prevent sleep. 
The mind ought previously to be relaxed by light con- 
versation, music, or any thing which requires little 
thought. 
In some cases of restlessness, sleep may be procured 
by the person getting up, and walking for a few minutes 
about the room. It is not easy to explain on what 
principle this acts, but it is certain, that by such means 
sleep sometimes follows, where previously it had been 
solicited in vain. It is customary with some people to 
read themselves into slumber, but dangerous accidents 
have arisen from this habit, in consequence of the light- 
ed candle setting fire to the bed curtains. A safer and 
more effectual way is to get another person to read; in 
which case, sleep will very generally take place, espe- 
cially if the subject in question is not one of much in- 
terest, or read in a dry monotonous manner. When 
sleeplessness proceeds from the heat of the weather, 
the person should lie very lightly covered, and let the 
air circulate freely through his room. A cold bath 
taken shortly before going to bed, or sponging the 
body with cold water, will often ensure a comfortable 
night’s rest in the hot season of the year. When it 
arises from heat in the soles or palms, these parts 
should be bathed with cold vinegar and water, before 
lying down, and, if necessary, occasionally afterwards 
till the heat abates, which usually occurs in two or three 
hours. Attention must also be paid to the stomach and 
bowels. 
An easy mind, a good digestion, and plenty of exer- 
cise in the open air, are the grand conducives to sound 
sleep;—and, accordingly, every man whose repose is 
indifferent, should endeavour to make them his own as 
soon as possible. When sleeplessness becomes habitu- 
al, the utmost care ought to be taken to overcome the 
habit, by the removal of every thing that has a tendency 
to cherish it. 
CHAPTER X. 
DROWSINESS. 
Drowsiness is symptomatic of apoplexy and some 
other diseases, but sometimes it exists as an idiopathic 
affection. There are persons who have a disposition 
to sleep on every occasion. They do so at all times, 
and in all places. They sleep after dinner ; they sleep 
in the theatre ; they sleep in church. It is the same to 
them in what situation they may be placed : sleep is the 
great end of their existence—their occupation—their 
sole employment. Morpheus is the deity at whose 
shrine they worship—the only god whose influence over 
them is omnipotent. Let them be placed in almost any 
circumstances, and their constitutional failing prevails. 
It falls upon them in the midst of mirth ; it assails them 
when travelling. Let them sail, or ride, or sit, or lie, 
or walk, sleep overtakes them—binds their faculties in 
torpor; and makes them dead to all that is passing 
around. Such are our dull, heavy-headed, drowsy 
mortals, those sons and daughters of phlegm—with 
passions as inert as a Dutch fog, and intellects as slug- 
gish as the movements of the hippopotamus or the le- 
viathan. No class of society is so insufferable as this. 
There is a torpor and obtuseness about their faculties, 
which render them dead to every impression. They 
have eyes and ears, yet they neither see nor hear ; and 
the most exhilarating scenes may be passing before 
them without once attracting their notice. It is not 
uncommon for persons of this stamp to fall asleep in the 
midst of a party to which they have been invited ; Mr 
Mackenzie, in one of his papers, speaks of an honest PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
35 
farmer having done so alongside of a young lady, who 
was playing on the harp for his amusement. The cause 
of this constitutional disposition to doze upon every oc- 
casion, seems to be a certain want of activity in the 
brain, the result of wljich is, that the individual is sin- 
guiariy void of fire, energy, and passion. He is of a 
phlegmatic temperament, generally a great eater, and 
very destitute of imagination Such are the general 
characteristics of those who are predisposed to drowsi- 
ness : the cases where such a state coexists with intel- 
lectual energy are few in number. 
Boerhaave speaks of an eccentric physician who took 
it into his head that sleep was the natural state of man, 
and accordingly slept eighteen hours out of the twenty- 
four—till he died of apoplexy, a disease which is al- 
ways apt to be produced by excessive sleep. 
Cases of constitutional drowsiness are in a great 
measure without remedy, for the soporific tendency 
springs from some natural defect, which no medicinal 
means can overcome. 
Equally impossible of cure is the affection when it 
arises, as it very often does, from old age. Even long 
before this period of life, as at the age of fifty or sixty, 
people very often get into somnolent habits, and are 
pretty sure to fall asleep if they attempt to read, or 
even if they place themselves in an easy chair before 
the fire. I know of no cure for this indolent propen- 
sity, unless indeed the habits arise, as it sometimes 
does, from corpulency, in which case it is more man- 
ageable, in so far as its cause is occasionally capable 
of being removed. 
Drowsiness sometimes proceeds from a fulness of 
blood in the head, or a disordered state of the digestive 
organs. When it originates from the former cause, it 
becomes necessary to have recourse to general or local 
blood-letting. The person, likewise, should use, from 
time to time, mild laxatives, live temperately, and take 
abundance of exercise. Medicines of a similar kind 
are necessary when the affection arises from the state 
of the stomach and bowels : so soon as these organs 
are restored to health, the symptomatic drowsiness will 
naturally disappear. 
Persons who feel the disposition to drowsiness gain- 
ing upon them, should struggle vigorously against it; 
for when once the habit is fairly established, its eradi- 
cation is very difficult. Exercise of body and mind, 
early rising and the cold bath, are among the best 
means for this purpose. 
hand; and, by pointing to her mouth, signified a wish 
! for food. She took readily what was given to her ; 
still she discovered no symptoms of hearing, and made 
no other kind of bodily movement than of her left 
hand. Her right hand and arm, particularly, appeared 
completely dead, and bereft of feeling; and even when 
pricked with a pin, so as to draw blood, never shrunk 
in the least degree. At the same time, she instantly 
drew back her left arm whenever it was touched by the 
point of the pin. She continued to take food when- 
ever it was offered to her. For the first two weeks, 
her pulse generally stood at 50, during the third and 
fourth week, about 60; and on the day before her re- 
covery, at 70 or 72. Her breathing was soft and al- 
most imperceptible, but during the night-time she oc- 
casionally drew it more strongly, like a person who has 
first fallen asleep. She evinced no symptom of hear- 
ing, till about four days before her recovery. On being 
interrogated, after this event, upon her extraordinary 
state, she mentioned that she had no knowledge of any 
thing that had happened—that she had never been con- 
scious of either having needed or received food, or of 
having been blistered ; and expressed much surprise on 
finding her head shaved. She had merely the idea of 
having passed a long night in sleep. 
The case of Elizabeth Perkins is also remarkable. 
In the year 1788, she fell into a profound slumber, from 
which nothing could arouse her, and remained in this 
state for between eleven and twelve days, when she 
awoke of her own accord, to the great joy of her rela- 
tives, and wonder of the neighbourhood. On recover- 
ing, she went about her usual business ; but this was 
only for a short period, for in a week after she relapsed 
again into a sleep vvhich lasted some days. She con- 
tinued, with occasional intervals of wakefulness, in a 
dozing state for several months, when she expired. 
There was lately at Kirkheaton a remarkable in- 
stance of excessive sleep. A poor paralytic, twenty 
years of age, was seldom, for the period of twelve 
months, awake more than three hours in the twenty- 
four. On one occasion, he slept for three weeks ; he 
took not a particle of either food or drink; nothing 
could rouse him, even for a moment; yet his sleep ap- 
peared to be calm and natural. 
The case of Elizabeth Armitage of Woodhouse, near 
Leeds, may also be mentioned. The age of this per- 
son was sixty-nine years. She had been for several 
months in a decline, during which she had taken very 
little sustenance, when she fell into a state of lethargic 
stupor, on the morning of the 1st of July, 1827, in which 
condition she remained, without uttering one word, re- 
ceiving any food, or showing any signs of life, except 
breathing, which was at times almost imperceptible. In 
this state she continued for eight days, when she ex- 
pired without a groan. 
Excessively protracted sleep may ensue from the in- 
judicious use of narcotics. A very striking instance of 
this kind occurred on 17th February, 1816, near Lym- 
ington. In consequence of a complaint with which a 
child had been painfully afflicted for some time previ- 
ous, its mother gave it an anodyne,'(probably lauda- 
num,) for the purpose of procuring it rest. The con- 
sequence was, that it fell into a profound sleep, which 
continued for three weeks. In this- case, in addition to 
an excessive dose, the child must have possessed some 
constitutional idiosyncrasy, which favoured the opera- 
tion of the medicine in a very powerful manner. 
One of the most extraordinary instances of excessive: 
sleep, is that of the lady of Nismes, published in 1777, 
in the ‘ Memoirs of the Royal Academy of Sciences at 
Berlin.’ Her attacks of sleep took place periodically, 
at sunrise and about noon. The first continued till 
within a short time of the accession of the second, and 
the second till between seven and eight in the evening 
—when she awoke, and continued so till the next sun- 
rise. The most extraordinary fact connected with this 
CHAPTER XI. 
I have already mentioned a few instances of indivi- 
duals remaining for days or weeks in a state of pro- 
found sleep. The nature of this extraordinary affection 
is in a great measure, unknown; it arises, in most 
cases, without any obvious cause, generally resists 
every method that can be adopted for removing it, and 
disappears of its own accord. 
The case of Mary Lyall, related in the 8th vo- 
lume of the ‘Transactions of the Royal Society of 
Edinburgh,’ is one of the most remarkable instances 
of excessive somnolency on record. This woman 
fell asleep on the morning of the 27th of June, and 
continued in that state till the evening of the 30th 
of the same month, when she awoke, and remained 
in her usual way till the 1st of July, when she again 
fell asleep, and continued so till the the 8th of 
August. She was bled, blistered, immersed in the 
hot and cold bath, and stimulated in almost every 
possible way, without having any consciousness of 
what was going on. For the first seven days she con- 
tinued motionless, and exhibited no inclination to eat. 
At the end of this time she becan to move her left 
PROTRACTED SLEEP. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
ase is, that the first attack commenced always at day- 
reak, whatever might be the season of the year, and 
he other always immediately after twelve o’clock. 
)uring the brief interval of wakefulness which ensued 
hortly before noon, she took a little broth, which she 
lad only time to do, when the second attack returned 
ipon her, and kept her asleep till the evening. Her 
leep was remarkably profound, and had all the charac- 
ers of complete insensibility, with the exception of a 
eeble respiration, and a weak but regular movement of 
he pulse. The most singular fact connected with her 
emains to be mentioned. When the disorder had 
asted six months, and then ceased, she had an interval 
if perfect health for the same length of time. When 
t lasted one year, the subsequent interval was of equal 
luration. The affection at last wore gradually away ; 
md she lived, entirely free of it, for many years after. 
She died in the eighty-first year of her age, of dropsy, 
i complaint which had no connexion with her preceding 
iisorder. 
There are a good many varieties in the phenomena 
jf protracted sleep. In some cases, the individual re- 
mains for many days without eating or drinking ; in 
jthers, the necessity for these natural wants arouses 
aim for a short time from his slumber, which time he 
jmploys in satisfying hunger and thirst, and then in- 
stantly gets into his usual state of lethargy. The lat- 
ter kind of somnolency is sometimes feigned by impos- 
tors for the purpose of extorting charity ; on this ac- 
count, when an instance of the kind occurs, it should 
be narrowly looked into, to see that there is no decep- 
tion. 
The power possessed by the body of subsisting for 
such a length of time in protracted sleep, is most re- 
markable, and bears some analogy to the abstinence of 
the polar bear in the winter season. It is to be ob- 
served, however, that during slumber, life can be sup- 
ported by a much smaller portion of food than when we 
are awake, in consequence of the diminished expendi- 
ture of the vital energy which takes place in the former 
state. 
All that can be done for the cure of protracted som- 
nolency, is to attempt to rouse the person by the use of 
stimuli, such as blistering, pinching, the warm or cold 
bath, the application of sternutatories to the nose, &c. 
Blooding should be had recourse to, if we suspect 
any apopletic tendency to exist. Every means must 
be employed to get nourishment introduced into the 
stomach ; for this purpose, if the sleeper cannot 
swallow, nutritious fluids should be forced, from time 
to time, into this organ by means of Jukes’ pump, 
which answers the purpose of filling as well as evacu- 
ating it. 
tain Franklin, ‘ as fast as they were taken out of the 
nets, and in a short time became a solid mass of ice, and 
by a blow or two of the hatchet were easily split open, 
when the intestines might be removed in one lump. If, 
in this completely frozen state, tl»ey were thawed be- 
fore the fire, they recovered their animation.’ Sheep 
sometimes remain for several weeks in a state of tor- 
pitude, buried beneath wreaths of snow. Swallows 
are occasionally in the same state, being found torpid 
and insensible in the hollows of trees, and among the 
ruins of old houses during the winter season ; but with 
birds this more rarely happens, owing, probably, to the 
temperature of their blood being higher than that of 
other animals, and thereby better enabling them to re- 
sist the cold. Almost all insects sleep in winter. This 
is particularly the case with the crysalis, and such 
grubs as cannot, at that season, procure their food. In 
hybernating animals, it is impossible to trace any 
peculiarity of structure which disposes them to hybcr- 
nate, and enables life to be sustained during that pe- 
riod. So far the subject is involved in deep obscuri- 
ty. According to Dr Edwards, the temperature of 
such animal sinks considerably during sleep, even in 
summer. 
Want of moisture produces torpor in some animals. 
This is the case with the garden snail, which revives if 
a little water is thrown on it. Snails, indeed, have 
revived after being dried for fifteen years. Mr Baucer 
has restored the vibris tritici (a species of worm) after 
perfect torpitude and apparent death for five years and 
eight months by merely soaking it in water. The 
farcularia anostobea, a small microscopic animal, may 
be killed and revived a dozen times by drying it and 
then applying moisture. According to Spallanzani, 
animalculi have been recovered by moisture after a 
torpor of twenty-seven years. Larger animals are 
thrown into the same state from want of moisture. Such 
according to Humboldt, is the case with the alligator 
and boa constrictor during the dry season in the plains 
of Venezuela, and with the centenes solosoits, a species 
of hedge hog found in Madagascar ; so that dryness as 
well as cold, produces hybernation, if, in such a ease, 
we may use that term. 
The power of intense cold in producing sleep, is very 
great in the human subject, and nothing in the winter 
season is more common than to find people lying dead 
in fields and on the high highways from such a cause. 
An overpowering drowsiness steals upon them, and 
if they yie'd to its influence death is almost unevi- 
table. This is the particularly the case in snow- 
storms, in which it is often impossible to get a place of 
shelter. 
This state of torpor, with the exception perhaps of 
catalepsy, is the most perfect sleep that can be imagin- 
ed : it approaches almost to death in its apparent anni- 
hilation of the animal functions. Digestion is at an 
end, and the secretions and excretions suspended r 
nothing seems to go on but circulation, respiration and 
absorption. The two former are extremely languid,* 
but the latter tolerably vigorous, if we may judge from 
the quantity of fat which the animal loses during its 
torpid state. The bear, for example, on going to its 
wintry rest, is remarkably corpulent; on awaking from 
it, quite emaciated ; in which state, inspired by the 
pangs of hunger, it sallies forth with redoubled fury 
upon its prey. Life is sustained by the absorption of 
this fat, which for months serves the animal as provi- 
sion. Such emaciation, however, is not common to all 
hybernating animals, some of whom lose little or noth- 
ing by their winter torpitude. 
Hybernation may be prevented. Thus the polar 
bear in the menagerie at Paris never hybernated ; and 
CHAPTER XII. 
SLEEP FROM COLD. 
This kind of sleep is so peculiar, that it requires to be 
considered separately. The power of cold in occasion- 
ing slumber, is not confined to man, but pervades a 
very extensive class of animals. The hybernation, or 
winter torpitude of the brown and Polar bear, results 
from this cause. Those animals continue asleep for 
months ; and do not awake from their apathy till re- 
vived by the genial temperature of spring. The same 
is the case with the hedgehog, the badger, the squirrel, 
and several species of the mouse and rat tribes, such as 
the dormouse and marmot : as also with the land tor- 
toise, the frog, and almost all the individuals of the 
lizard, insect, and serpent tribes. Fishes are often 
found imbedded in the ice, and though in a state of 
apparent death, become at once lively and animated on 
* The extremely languid, or almost suspended state of these 
two ftincti jns, is demonstrated by the fact, that an animal in a 
state of hybernation may be placed for an hour in a jar of hy- PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
in the marmot and hedgehog hybernation is prevented 
if the animals be kept in a higher temperature. It is 
also a curious fact, that an animal, if exposed to a more 
intense cold, while hybernating, is awaked from its 
lethargy. Exposing a hybernating animal to light has 
also, in many cases the same effect. 
Some writers, and Buffon among the rest, deny that 
such a state of torpor as we have here described, can be 
looked upon as sleep. This is a question into which 
it is not necessary at present to enter. All I contend 
for is, that the state of the mind is precisely the same 
here as in the ordinary sleep—that, in both cases, the 
organs of the senses and of volition are equally inert; 
and that though the condition of the secretive and cir- 
culating systems are different, so many circumstances 
are nevertheless identical, that we become justified in 
considering the one in a work which professes to treat 
of the other. 
In Captain Cook’s first voyage, a memorable instance 
is given of the power of intense cold in producing 
sleep. It occurred in the island of Terra del Fuego. 
3)r Solander, Mr Banks, and several other gentlemen 
had ascended the mountains of that cold region, for the 
purpose of botanizing and exploring the country. ‘ Dr 
Solander, who had more than once crossed the moun- 
tains which divide Sweden from Norway, well knew 
that extreme cold, especially when joined with fatigue, 
produces a torpor and sleepinesss that are almost irre- 
sistible. He, therefore, conjured the company to keep 
moving whatever pain it might cost them, and whatever 
relief they might be promised by an inclination to rest. 
* Whoever sits down,’ said he, ‘ will sleep; and 
whoever sleeps, will wake no more,’ Thus at once 
admonished and alarmed, they set forward ; but while 
they were still upon the naked rock, and before they 
had got among the bushes, the cold became suddenly 
so intense as to produce the effects that had been most 
dreaded. Dr Solander himself was the first who felt 
the inclination, against which he had warned others, 
irresistible ; and insisted upon being suffered to lie 
down. Mr Banks entreated and remonstrated in vain ; 
down he lay upon tbe ground, although it was covered 
with snow, and it was with great difficulty that his 
friend kept him from sleeping. Richmond, also, one 
of the black servants, began to linger, having suffered 
from the cold in the same manner as the Doctor. Mr 
Banks, therefore, sent five of the company, among 
whom was Buchan, forward, to get a fire ready at the 
first convenient place they could find; and himself, 
with four others remained with the Doctor and Rich- 
mond, whom, partly by persuasion and entreaty, and 
partly by force, they brought on ; but when they had got 
through the greatest part of the birch and swamp, they 
both declared they could go no farther. Mr Banks 
again had recourse to entreaty and expostulation, but 
they produced no effect. When Richmond was told 
that, if he did not go on, he would in a short time be 
frozen to death, he answered, that he desired nothing 
but to lie down- and die. The Doctor did not so ex- 
plicitly renounce his life ; he said he was willing to go 
on, but that he must first take some sleep, though he 
had before told the company, to sleep was to perish. 
Mr Banks and the rest found it impossible to carry 
them; and there being no remedy, they were both suf- 
fered to sit down, being partly supported by the bushes ; 
and iii a few minutes they fell into a profound sleep. 
Soon after, some of the people who had been sent for- 
ward, returned, with the welcome news that a fire was 
kindled about a quarter of a mile farther on the way. 
Mr Banks then endeavored to awake Dr Solander, and 
happily succeeded. But though he had not slept five 
minutes, he had almost lost the use of his limbs, and 
the muscles were so shrunk, that the shoes fell from his 
feet: he consented to go forward with such assistance 
as could be given him, but no attempts to relieve poor 
•n:.i j — ,1 _________________ 
It is hardly necessary to say any thing about the treat 
ment of such cases. If a person is found in a state c 
torpor from cold, common sense points out the neces 
sity of bringing him within the influence of warmth 
When, however, the limbs, &c., are frost-bitten, hea 
must be very cautiously applied, lest reaction, ensuin 
in such debilitated parts, might induce gangrene. Bris 
friction with a cold towel, or even with snow, as i 
the custom in Russia, should, in the first instance, b 
had recourse to. When by this means the circulatio 
is restored, and motion and feeling communicated t 
the parts, the heat may be gradually increased, and th 
person wrapped in blankets, and allowed some stimu 
lus internally, such as a little negus, or spirits an 
water. This practice should be adopted from the ver 
first, when the parts are not frost-bitten; but whe 
such is. the case, the stimulating system requires to b 
used with great caution, and we must proceed carefull) 
proportioning the stimulus to the particular circumstanc 
of the case. 
If a person is unfortunate enough to be overtake 
in a snow storm, and has no immediate prospect c 
extrication, he should, if the cold is very great, an 
the snow deep, sink his body as much as possible i 
the latter, leaving only room for respiration. By thi 
plan, the heat of the body is much better preserve 
than when exposed to the influence of the atmosphere 
and life has a greater chance of being saved ; for th 
temperature of the snow is not lower than that of th 
surrounding air, while its power of absorbing caloric i 
much less. It is on this principle that sheep live fc 
such a length of time enveloped in snow wreaths 
while, had they been openly exposed, for a much les 
period, to a similar degree of cold, death would inev 
tably have ensued. 
One of the best methods to prevent the limbs fror 
being frost-bitten in intensely cold weather, is to kee 
them continually in motion. Such was the method re 
commended by Xenophon to the Greek troops, in th 
memorable ‘ retreat of the ten thousand,’ conducted b 
that distinguished soldier and historian 
CHAPTER XIII 
TKANCE. 
There is some analogy between suspended animatio 
and sleep. It is not so striking, however, as to requir 
any thing like a lengthened discussion of the formei 
which I shall only consider in so far as the resemblanc 
holds good between it and sleep. I have already spc 
ken of that suspension of the mind, and of some of th 
vital functions, which occurs in consequence of intens 
cold ; but there are other varieties, not less singular i 
their nature. The principal of these are, fainting, apo 
plexy, hanging, suffocation, drowning and especially 
trance. When complete fainting takes place, it ha 
many of the characters of death—the countenance be 
ing pail, moist, and clammy ; the body cold ; the re 
spiration extremely feeble; the pulsation of the hear 
apparently at an end; while the mind is in a state c 
utter abeyance. It is in the latter respect only that th 
resemblance exists between syncope and sleep; ii 
every other they are widely different. The same rul 
holds with regard to apoplexy, in which a total insensi 
bility, even to the strongest stimuli, takes place, accom 
panied also with mental torpor. In recoverable case 
of drowning, hanging, and suffocation, a similar analog; 
prevails, only in a much feebler degree ; the facultiei 
of the mind being for the time suspended, and the ac 
tual existence of the vital spark only proved by the sub 
sequent restoration of the individual to consciousnesi 
and feeling. 
rPLo mncf emnmlor cnoeme V\r*nroxror r\f cnononr^ar PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
nimation is that denominated catalepsy, or trance. 
sTo affection, to which the animal frame is subject, is 
core remarkable than this. During its continuance, 
he whole body is cold, rigid, and inflexible ; the coun- 
enance without color; the eyes fixed and motionless ; 
vhile breathing and the pulsation of the heart are, to all 
ppearance, at an end. The mental powers, also, are 
generally suspended, and participate in the universal 
orpor which pervades the frame. In this extraordi- 
lary condition, the person may remain for several days, 
laving all, or nearly all, the characteristics of death 
rnpressed upon him. Spelt was the case with the 
:elebrated Lady Russel, who only escaped premature 
nterment by the affectionate prudence of her husband ; 
ind other well authenticated instances of similar preser- 
vation from burying alive, have been recorded 
The nature of this peculiar species of suspended ani- 
nation, seems to be totally unknown; for there is 
uch an apparent extinction of every faculty essential 
o life, that it is inconceivable how existence should go 
m during the continuance of the fit. There can be no 
loubt, however, that the suspension of the heart and 
ungs is more apparent than real. It is quite certain 
hat the functions of these organs must continue, so as 
o sustain life although in so feeble a manner as not to 
:ome under the cognizance of our senses. The respi- 
ation, in particular, is exceedingly slight; for a mirror, 
teld to the mouth of the individual, receives no tarnish 
vhatever from his breath. One fact seems ceitain, 
hat the functions of the nervous system are wholly 
:uspended, with the exception of such a faint portion 
>f energy, as to keep up the circulatory and respiratory 
ihenomena : consciousness, in a great majority of cases, 
s abolished; and there is nothing wanting to indicate 
he unquestionable presence of death, but that decom- 
losition of the body which invariably follows this state, 
ind which never attends the presence of vitality. 
The remote causes of trance are hidden in much ob- 
icuriiv; and, generally, we are unable to trace the af- 
fection to any external circumstance. It has been 
mown to follow a fit of terror. Sometimes it ensues 
ifter hysteria, epilepsy, or other spasmodic diseases, 
ind is occasionally an accompaniment of menorrhagia 
ind intestinal worms. Nervous and hypochondriac 
patients are the most subject to its attacks ; but some- 
;imes it occurs when there is no disposition of the kind, 
tnd when the person is in a state of the most seeming 
rood health. 
‘ A girl named Shongny, about twenty-five years 
)ld, residing at Paris, had been for two years past sub- 
ect to hysteria. On the twenty-eighth day after she 
i/vas first attacked, the physician who came to visit her 
ivas informed that she had died during the night, which 
much surprised him, as when he had left her the night 
oefore, she was better than usual. He went to see 
acr, in order to convince himself of the fact ; and, on 
raising the cloth with which s.he was covered, he per- 
ceived that though her face was very pale, and her lips 
iiscoloured, her features were not otherwise in the 
least altered. Her mouth was open, her eyes shut, and 
die pupils very much dilated ; the light of the candle 
made no impression on them. There was no sensible 
heat in her body ; but it was not cold and flabby like 
corpses in general. The physician returned the next 
day, determined on seeing her again before she was bu- 
ried ; and, finding that she had not become cold, he gave 
orders that the coffin should not be soldered down until 
putrefaction had commenced. He continued to ob- 
serve her during five days, and at the end of that peri- 
od, a slight movement was observed in the cloth which 
covered her. In two hours, it was found that the arm 
had contracted itself ; she began to move ; and it was 
clear that it had only been an apparent death. The 
eyes soon after were seen opened, the senses returned, 
and the girl began gradually to recover. This is an 
alive, and a great many persons who saw her while she 
was in the state of apathy described, are ready to satisfy 
the doubts of any one who will take the trouble to in- 
quire.’* 
The case which follows is from the Canton Gazette, 
and is not less curious:— 
‘ On the western suburbs of Canton, a person named 
Le, bought as a slave-woman a girl named Leaning. 
At the age of twenty-one, he sold her to be a concu- 
bine to a man named Wong. She had lived with him 
three years. About six months ago she became ill, in 
consequence of a large impost’nume on her side, and on 
the 25th of the present moon died. She was placed in 
a coffin, the lid of which remained unfastened, to wait 
for her parents to come and see the corpse, that they 
might be satisfied she died a natural death. On the 
28th, while carrying the remains to be interred in the 
north side of Canton, a noise or voice was heard pro- 
ceeding from the coffin; and, on removing the cover- 
ing, it was found the woman had come to life again. 
She had been supposed dead for three days.’ 
The case of Colonel Townsend, however, is much 
more extraordinary than either of the above mentioned. 
This gentleman possessed the remarkable faculty of 
throwing himself into a trance at pleasure. The heart 
ceased, apparently, to throb at his bidding, respiration 
seemed at an end, his whole frame assumed the icy 
chill and rigidity of death ; while his face became col- 
ourless and shrunk, and his eye fixed, glazed, and 
ghastly : even his mind ceased to manifest itself ; for 
during the trance it was utterly devoid of conscious- 
ness as his body of animation. In this state he would 
remain for hours, when these singular phenomena wore 
away, and he returned to his usual condition. Medi- 
cal annals furnish no parallel to this extraordinary case. 
Considered whether in a physiological or metaphysical 
point of view', it is equally astonishing and inexplicable. 
A variety of stories are related of people having had 
circumstances revealed to them in a trance, of which 
they were ignorant when awake : most of these tales 
have their origin in fiction, although there is no reason 
why they may not be occasionally true; as the mind, 
instead of being in torpor, as is very generally the case, 
may exist in a state analogous to that of dreaming, and 
may thus, as in a common dream, have long forgotten 
events impressed upon it. 
The following case exhibits a very singular instance, 
in which the usual characteristic—a suspension of the 
mental faculties—was wanting. It seems to have been 
a most complete instance of suspended volition, wherein 
the mind was active, while the body refused to obey its 
impulses, and continued in a state of apparent death. 
‘ A young lady, an attendant on the Princess , 
after having been confined to her bed, for a great length 
of time, with a violent nervous disorder, was at last, to 
all appearance, deprived of life. Her lips were quite 
pale, her face resembled the countenance of a dead per- 
son, and the body grew cold. 
‘ She was removed from the room in which she died, 
was laid in a coffin, and the day of her funeral fixed on. 
The day arrived, and, according to the custom of the 
country, funeral songs and hymns were sung before the 
door. Just as the people were about to nail on the lid 
of the coffin, a kind of perspiration was observed to ap- 
pear on the surface of her body. It grew greater every 
moment; and at last a kind of convulsive motion was 
observed in the hands and feet of the corpse. A few 
minutes after, during which time fresh signs of return- 
ing life appeared, she at once opened her eyes and ut- 
tered a most pitiable shriek. Physicians were quickly 
procured, and in the course of a few days she was con- 
siderably restored, and is probably alive at this day. 
‘ The description which she gave of her situation is 
extremely remarkable, and forms a curious and authen- 
tic addition to psychology. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
* She said it seemed to her, as if in a dream, that she 
was really dead ; yet she was perfectly conscious of all 
that happened around her in this dreadful state. She 
distinctly heard her friends speaking and lamenting her 
death, at the side of her coffin. She felt them pull on 
the dead-clothes, and lay her in it. This feeling pro- 
duced a mental anxiety, which is indescribable. She 
tried to cry, but her soul was without power, and could 
not act on her body. She had the contradictory feel- 
ing as if she were in her body, and yet not in it, at one 
and the same time. It was equally impossible for her 
to stretch out her arm, or to open her eyes, or to cry, 
although she continually endeavored to do so. The 
internal anguish of her mind was, however, at its ut- 
most height vvhen the funeral hymns began to be sung, 
and when the lid of the coffin was about to be nailed 
on. The thought that she was to be buried alive, was 
the one that gave activity to her soul, and caused it to 
operate on her corporeal frame.’* 
The following is different from either of the forego- 
ing ; I have given it on account of its singularity, al- 
though it does not altogether come under the denomi- 
nation of trance. 
‘ George Grokatzhi, a Polish soldier, deserted from 
his regiment in the harvest of the year 1677. He was 
discovered, a few days after, drinking and making merry 
in a common ale-house. The moment he was appre- 
hended, he was so much terrified, that he gave a loud 
shriek, and was immediately deprived of the power of 
speech. When brought to a court martial, it was im- 
possible to make him articulate a word ; nay, he then 
became as immovable as a statue, and appeared not to 
be conscious of any thing that was going forward. In 
the prison, to which he was conducted, he neither ate 
nor drank. The officers and priests at first threatened 
him, and afterwards endeavored to soothe and calm 
him, but all their efforts were in vain. He remained 
senseless and immovable. His irons were struck off, 
and he was taken out of the prison, but he did not 
move. Twenty days and nights were passed in this 
way, during which he took no kind of nourishment: 
he then gradually sunk and died.’f 
It would be out of place to enter here into a detail of 
the medical management of the first mentioned varie- 
ties of suspended animation, such as drowning, stran- 
gulation, &c., &c.; and with regard to the treatment of 
trance, properly so called, a very few words will suffice. 
If we have reason to suppose that we know the cause 
of the affection, that, of course, must be removed when- 
ever practicable. We must then employ stimuli to 
arouse the person from his torpor, such as friction, the 
application of sternutatories and volatile agents to the 
nostrils, and electricity. The latter remedy is likely to 
prove a very powerful one, and should always be had 
recourse to when other means fail. I should think the 
warm bath might be advantageously employed. When 
even these remedies do not succeed, we must trust to 
time. So long as the body does not run into decay, 
after a case of suspended animation arising without any 
very obvious cause, interment should not take place ; 
for it is possible that life may exist, although, for the 
time being, there is every appearance of its utter ex- 
tinction. By neglecting this rule, a person may be in- 
terred alive ; nor can there be a doubt that such dread- 
ful mistakes have occasionally been committed, espe- 
cially in France, where it is customary to inter the body 
twenty-four hours after death. Decomposition is the 
only infallible mark that existence is at an end, and that 
the grave has triumphed. 
dulge most frequently in waking dreams. The scene 
which life presents do not come up to the desires o 
the heart; and the pencil of fancy is accordingly era 
ployed in depicting others more in harmony with it 
own designs. Away into the gloomy Lack-ground goe 
reality with its stern and forbidding hues, and forward 
in colours more dazzling than those of the rainbow 
start the bright and airy phantoms of imagination 
‘ How often,’ observes Dr Good,* ‘ waking to the roa 
of the midnight tempest, while dull and gluttonous in 
dolence snores in happy forgetfulness, does the ima 
gination of those who are thus divinely gifted moun 
the dizzy chariot of the whirlwind, and picture evil 
that have no real existence; now figuring to hersel 
some neat and thrifty cottage where virtue delights ti 
reside, she sees it swept away in a moment by the tor 
rent, aad despoiled of the little harvest just gatherei 
in; now following the lone traveller in some narrov 
and venturous pathway, over the edge of the Alpim 
precipices, where a single slip is instant destruction 
she tracks him alone by fitful flashes of lightning ; am 
at length, struck by the flash, she beholds him tumblinj 
headlong from rock to rock, to the bottom of the dreai 
abyss, the victim of a double death. Or possibly sir 
takes her stand on the jutting foreland of some boh 
terrific coast, and eyes the foundering vessel straigh 
below ; she mixes with the spent and despairing crew 
she dives into the cabin, and singles out, perhaps fron 
the rest, some lovely maid, who, in all the bloom of re 
covered beauty, is voyaging back to her native lam 
from the healing airs of a foreign climate, in though 
just bounding over the scenes of her youth, or panting 
in the warm embraces of a father’s arms.’ Such an 
waking dreams ; and there are few who, at some happ- 
moment or other, have not yielded to their influence 
Often under the burning clime of India, or upon tin 
lonely banks of the Mississippi, has the stranger le 
loose the reins of his imagination, calling up before hin 
the mountains of his own beloved country, his nativ 
streams, and rocks, and valleys, so vividly, that he wa 
transported back into the midst of them, and lived ove 
again the days of his youth. Or the waking drean 
may assume a more selfish character. If the individua 
pines after wealth, his mind may be filled with vision 
of future opulence. If he is young and unmarried, h> 
may conjure up the form of a lovely female, may placi 
her in a beautiful cottage by the banks of some roman 
tic stream, may love her with unfathomable affection 
and become the fondest and most happy of husbands 
The more completely a person is left to solitude, tin 
more likely is his imagination to indulge in such fan 
cies. We seldom build castles in the air in the mids 
of bustle, or when we have any thing else to think of 
Waking dreams are the luxuries of an otherwise un 
employed mind—the aristocratic indulgences of the in 
tellect. As people get older and more coversant wit! 
life in all its diversified features, they are little incline! 
to indulge in such visions. They survey events witl 
the eye of severe truth, amuse themselves with no im 
practicable notions of fancied happiness, and are in 
dined to take a gloomy, rather than a flattering, viev 
of the future. With youthful and poetical minds, how 
ever, the case is widely different. Much of that por 
tion of their existence, not devoted to occupation, is i 
constant dream. They lull themselves into temporari 
happiness with scenes which they know only to exis 
in their own imagination ; but which are neverthelesi 
so beautiful, and so much in harmony with every thinj 
their souls desire, that they fondly clasp at the illusion 
and submit themselves unhesitatingly to its spell. 
These curious states of mind may occur at any time 
but the most common periods of their accession ari 
shortly after lying down, and shortly before getting up 
Men, especially young men, of vivid, sanguine, imagina 
five temperaments, have dreams of this kind almos 
* J 1. TVT 1 m, ... . - 
CHAPTER XIV. 
The young and the imaginative are those who in- 
* ‘ Psychological Magazine,’ voi. v. part iii. page 15. 
f BonetUS, i Medic Srnt.rntrmn.’ lib i fiPr. vvi nan.. ft . 
VOLUNTARY WAKING DREAMS. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
rvery morning and night. Instead of submitting to the 
sceptre of sleep, they amuse themselves with creating 
i thousand visionary scenes. Though broad awake, 
iheir judgment does not exercise the slightest sway, 
ind fancy is allowed to become lord of the ascendant. 
Poets are notorious castle-builders, and poems are, in 
fact, merely waking dreams—at least their authors 
were under the hallucination of such dreams while com- 
posing. Milton’s mind, during the composition of 
Paradise Lost, must have existed chiefly in the state of 
a sublime waking dream; so must Raphael’s, while 
painting the Sistine Chapel; and, Thorwaldson’s, while 
designing the triumphs of Alexander. In waking 
dreams, whatever emotion prevails has a character of 
exaggeration, at least in reference to the existing con- 
dition of the individual. He sees every thing through 
the serene atmosphere of imagination, and imbues the 
most trite circumstances with poetical colouring. The 
aspect, in short, which things assume, bears a strong 
resemblance to that impressed upon them by ordinary 
dreams, and differs chiefly in this, that, though verging 
continually on the limits of extravagance, they seldom 
transcend possibility. 
other words, the brain, in a certain state, perceives ex- 
ternal bodies ; and any cause which induces that state, 
gives rise to a like perception, independently of the 
usual cause—the presence of external bodies them- 
selves. The chief of these internal causes is inflam- 
mation of the brain : and when the organs of the per- 
ceptive faculties are so excited—put into a state simi- 
lar to that which follows actual impressions from with- 
out—the result is a series of false images or sounds, 
which are often so vivid as to be mistaken for realities. 
During sleep, the perceptive organs seem to be pecu- 
liarly susceptible of such excitement. In dreaming, for 
instance, the external world, is inwardly represented to 
our minds with all the force of reality : we speak and 
hear as if we were in communication with actual exist- 
ences. Spectral illusions are phenomena strictly analo- 
gous ; indeed, they are literally nothing else than in- 
voluntary waking dreams. 
In addition to the occasional cause of excitement of 
the perceptive organs above alluded to, there is another, 
the existence of which is proved by numerous facts, 
though its mode of action is somewhat obscure. I al- 
lude to a large development of the organ of Wonder. 
Individuals with such a development are both strongly 
inclined to believe in the supernaturality of ghosts, and 
peculiarly liable to be visited by them. This organ is 
large in the head of Earl Grey, and he is said to be 
haunted by the apparition of a bloody head. Dr Gall 
mentions, that in the head of Dr Jung Stilling, who 
saw visions, the organ was very largely developed. A 
gentleman who moves in the best society in Paris, once 
asked Gall to examine his head. The doctor’s first re- 
mark was, ‘ You sometimes see visions, and believe in 
apparitions.’ The gentleman started from this in astonish- 
ment, and said that he had frequent visions : but never 
till that moment had he spoken on the subject to any 
human being, through fear of being set down as ab- 
surdly credulous. How a large development of Won- 
der produces the necessary excitement of the perceptive 
organs is unknown, but the fact seems indisputable. 
In former times, individuals who beheld visions, in- 
stead of ascribing them to a disordered state of the 
brain, referred them to outward impressions, and had a 
false conviction of the presence of supernatural beings. 
Hence the universal belief in ghosts which in these 
periods prevailed, even among the learned, and from 
which the illiterate are not yet entirely exempt. 
We read in history of people being attended by fa- 
miliar spirits ; such was the case with Socrates in an- 
cient, and with the poet Tasso, in modern times : their 
familiar spirits were mere spectral illusions. ‘ At Bi- 
saccio, near Naples,’ says Mr Hoole, in his account of 
the illustrious author of the Jerusalem Delivered, ‘ Man- 
so had an opportunity of examining the singular effects 
of Tasso’s melancholy, and often disputed him con- 
cerning a familiar spirit which he pretended conversed 
with him : Manso endeavoured in vain to persuade his 
friend that the whole was the illusion of a disturbed 
imagination ; but the latter was strenuous in maintain- 
ing the reality of what he asserted, and to convince 
Manso, desired him to be present at one of the myste- 
rious conversations. Manso had the complaisance to 
meet him the next day, and while they were engaged 
in discourse, on a sudden he observed that Tasso kept 
his eyes fixed on a window, and remained in a manner 
immovable ; he called him by his name, but received 
no answer ; at last Tasso cried out, 1 There is the 
friendly spirit that is come to converse with me ; look 1 
and you will be convinced of all I have said.’ 
Manso heard him with surprise ; he looked, but saw 
nothing except the sunbeams darting through the win- 
dow ; he cast his eyes all over the room, but could 
perceive nothing ; and was just going to ask where the 
pretended spirit was, when he heard Tasso speak with 
great earnestness, sometimes putting questions to the 
CHAPTER XV. 
SPECTRAL ILLUSIONS. 
Of the various faculties with which man is endowed, 
those which bring him into communication with the 
material world, constitute an important class. The or- 
gans of these faculties—termed perceptive—are situ- 
ated in the middle and lower parts of the forehead. 
Their function is to perceive and remember the exist- 
ence, phenomena, qualities, and relations of external 
objects. Individuality takes cognizance of the exist- 
ence of material bodies ; Eventuality, of their motions 
or actions ; Form, of their shape ; Size, of their mag- 
nitude and proportions ; Weight, of the resistance which 
they offer to a moving or restraining power ; Colour- 
ing, of their colours; and Locality, of their relative 
position. Time and Number perceive and remember 
duration and numbers ; Language takes cognizance of 
artificial signs of feeling and thought; and Order de- 
lights in regularity and arrangement. In ordinary cir- 
cumstances, the mode of action of these organs is this. 
If any object—a horse for example—be placed before 
us, the rays of light reflected from its surface to our 
eye, form a picture of the animal upon the retina or 
back part of that organ. This picture gives rise to 
what, for want of more precise language, is called an 
impression, which is conveyed by the optic nerve to 
the cerebral organs already mentioned ; and by them, 
in reality, the horse is perceived. The eye and optic 
nerve, it will be observed, do no more than transmit 
the impression from without, so as to produce that state 
of the internal organs which is accompanied by what is 
termed perception or sensation. When the horse is 
withdrawn, the impression still remains, to a certain 
extent, in the brain ; and though the animal is not ac- 
tually perceived, we still remember its appearance, and 
can almost imagine that it is before us. This faint 
semi-perception is called an idea, and differs from sen- 
sation only in being less vivid. The brain is more 
highly excited when it perceives a sensation, than when 
an idea only is present; because, in the former case, 
there is applied, through the medium of the senses, a 
stimulus from without, which, in the latter case, is not 
present. If, however, the brain be brought by internal 
causes to a degree of excitement, which, in general, is 
the result only of external impressions, ideas not less 
vivid than sensations ensue; and the individual has the 
same consciousness as if an impression were trans- PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
41 
in such a pleasing manner, and in such elevated ex- 
pressions, that he listened with admiration, and had not 
the least inclination to interrupt him. At last the uncom- 
mon conversation ended with the departure of the spirit, 
as appeared by Tasso’s own words, who, turning to 
Manso, asked him if his doubts were removed. Manso 
was more amazed than ever ; he scarce knew what to 
think of his friend’s situation, and waived any farther 
conversation on the subject.’ 
The visions of angels, and the communications from 
above, with which religious enthusiasts are often im- 
pressed, arise from the operation of spectral illusions. 
They see forms and hear sounds which have no exist- 
ence ; and, believing in the reality of such impressions, 
consider themselves highly favored by the almighty. 
These feelings prevailed very much during the perse- 
cutions in Scotland. Nothing was more common than 
for the Covenanter by the lonely hill side to have what 
he supposed a special message from God, and even to 
see the angel who brought it, standing before him, and 
encouraging him to steadfastness in his religious prin- 
ciples. Much of the crazy fanaticism exhibited by the 
-disciples of Campbell and Irving, undoubtedly arises 
from a similar cause; and it is probable that both of 
these individuals see visions and hear supernatural 
voices, as well as many of their infatuated followers. 
Various causes may so excite the brain as to produce 
these phantasmata, such as great mental distress, 
sleeplessness, nervous irritation, religious excitement, 
fever, epilepsy, opium, delirium tremens, excessive 
study, and dyspepsia. I have known them to arise 
without the apparent concurrence of any mental or 
bodily distemper. I say apparent, for it is very evident 
there must be some functional derangement, however 
much it may be hidden from observation. An ingeni- 
ous friend has related to me a case of this kind which 
occurred in his own person. One morning, while ly- 
ing in bed broad awake, and, as he supposed, in perfect 
health, the wall opposite to him appeared to open at its 
junction with the ceiling, and out of the aperture came 
a little uncouth, outlandish figure, which descended 
from the roof, squatted upon his breast, grinned at him 
maliciously, and seemed as if pinching and pummelling 
his sides. This illusion continued for some time, and 
with a timorous subject might have been attended with 
bad consequences ; but he referred it at once to some 
disordered state of the stomach under which he imagined 
he must have labored at the time, althongh he had no 
direct consciousness of any such derangement of this 
organ. The same gentleman has related to me the 
case of one of his friends which attracted much notice 
at the tune it happened, from the melancholy circum- 
stance that attended it. It is an equally marked in- 
stance of hallucination arising without the individual 
being conscious of any physical cause by which it 
might be occasioned. It is as follows :— 
Mr H. was one day walking along the street, appar- 
ently in perfect health, when he saw, or supposed he 
saw his acquaintance, Mr C., walking before him. He 
called aloud to the latter, who, however, did not seem 
to hear him, but continued moving on. Mr H. then 
quickened his pace for the purpose of overtaking him ; 
the other increased his also, as if to keep ahead of his 
pursuer, and proceeded at such a rate that Mr II. found 
it impossible to make up to him. This continued for 
some time, till, on Mr C. coming to a gate he opened 
it, passed in, and slammed it violently in Mr H.’s face. 
Confounded at such treatment, the latter instantly 
opened the gate, looked down the long lane into which 
It led, and, to his astonishment, no one was visible. 
Determined to unravel the mystery, he went toMrC.’s 
bouse; and what was his surprise when he learned 
that he was confined to his bed, and had been so for 
several days. A week or two afterwards, these gentle- 
men chanced to meet in the house of a common friend, 
Mr TT mantinned tbp nirrofnstanr.c. and told Mr 
C. jocularly that he had seen his ivraith, and that, as a 
natural consequence, he would soon be a dead man. 
The person addressed laughed heartily, as did the rest 
of the company, but the result turned out to be no 
laughing matter; for, in a very few days, Mr C. was 
attacked with putrid sore throat, and died ; and within 
a very short period of his death Mr H. was also in the 
grave. 
Some of the most vivid instances of spectral illusion 
are those induced by opium. Several of the ‘ English. 
Opium-Eater’s’ visions were doubtless of this nature. 
Dr Abercrombie relates a striking instance of the kind 
which occurred to the late Dr Gregory. ‘ He had gone 
to the north country by sea to visit a lady, a near re- 
lation, in whom he felt deeply interested, and who was 
in an advanced state of consumption. In returning 
from the visit, he had moderate dose of lauda- 
num. with the view of preventing sea-sickness, and 
was lying on a couch in the cabin, when the figure of 
the lady appeared before him in so distinct a manner 
that her actual presence could hot have been more vivid. 
He was quite awake, and fully sensible that it was a 
phantasm produced by the opiate, along with his intense 
mental feeling; but he was unable by any effort to 
banish the vision.’* Indeed, any thing on which the 
mind dwells excessively, may by exciting the perceptive 
organs, give rise to spectral illusions. It is to this cir- 
cumstance that the bereaved husband sees the image 
of a departed wife, to whom he was fondly attached— 
that the murderer is haunted by the apparition of his 
victim—and that the living with whom we are familiar, 
seem to be presented before our eyes, although at a 
distance from us. Dr Conolly relates the case of a 
gentleman, who, when in danger of being wrecked 
near the Eddystone lighthouse, saw the images of his 
whole family. 
These illusive appearance sometimes occur during 
convalescence from diseases. In the summer of 1832, 
a gentleman in Glasgow, of dissipated habits, was 
seized with cholera, from which he recovered. His re- 
covery was unattended with any thing particular, ex- 
cept the presence of a phantasmata—consisting of hu- 
man figures about three feet high, neatly dressed in 
pea-green jackets, and knee-breeches of the same color, 
Being a person of a superior mind, and knowing th« 
cause of the illusions, they gave him no alarm, althougl 
he was very often haunted by them. As he advanced 
in strength the phantoms appeared less frequently, anc 
diminished in size, till at last they were not taller thar 
his finger. One night, while seated alone, a multitude 
of these Lilliputian gentlemen made their appearance 
on his table, and favored him with a dance ; but being 
at the time otherwise engaged, and in no mood to enjoj 
such an amusement, he lost temper at the unwelcome 
intrusion of his pigmy visiters, and striking his fist vio- 
lently upon the table, he exclaimed in a violent passion 
‘ Get about your business you little impertinent rascals 
What the devil are you doing here 1’ when the whole 
assembly instantly vanished, and he was never troubled 
with them more. 
It generally happens that the figures are no less visi- 
ble when the eyes are closed than when they are open 
An individual in the west of Scotland, whose case ii 
related in the Phrenological Journal,! whenever he shu 
his eyes or was in darkness, saw a procession mov< 
before his mind as distinctly as it had previously don< 
before his eyes. Some years ago, a farmer from th< 
neighbourhood of Hamilton, informed me, with feelings 
of great horror, that he had frequently the vision of i 
hearse drawn by four black horses, which were driver 
by a black driver. Not knowing the source of this il 
lusion he was rendered extremely miserable by it; and 
to aggravate his unhappiness, was regarded by the ig 
norant country people, to whom he told his story, as 
* Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers, p. 357. 
t- Vnl. ii n. 111. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
laving been guilty of some grievous crime. This vi- 
lion was apparent to him chiefly by night, and the effect 
vas the same whether his eyes were open or shut, 
'ndeed, so little are these illusions dependant on sight, 
hat the blind are frequently subject to them. A re- 
spected elderly gentleman, a patient of my own, who 
vas afflicted with loss of sight, accompanied by violent 
leadaches, and severe dispeptic symptoms, used to 
lave the image of a black cat presented before him, as 
listinctly as he could have seen it before he became 
rlind. He was troubled with various other spectral 
ippearances, besides being subject to illusions of sound 
iqually remarkable ; for he had often the consciousness 
)! hearing music so strongly impressed upon him, that 
t was with difficulty his friends could convince him it 
vas purely ideal. 
Considering the age in vAich Bayle lived, his notions 
)f the true nature of spectral illusions were wonderfully 
icute and philosophical. Indeed, he has so well de- 
scribed the theory of apparitions, that the modem phre- 
nological doctrine on this point seems little more than 
in expanded version of his own. ‘ A man,’ says he, 
: would not only be very rash, but also very extrava- 
gant, who should pretend to prove that there never 
vas any person that imagined he saw a spectre ; and I 
3o not think that the most obstinate and extravagant 
anbelievers have maintained this. All they say. comes 
:o this: that the persons who have thought themselves 
sye-witnesses of the apparition of spirits had a disturbed 
imagination. They confess that there are certain 
olaces in our brain that, being affected in a certain 
manner, excite the image of an object which has no real 
existence out of ourselves, and make the man, whose 
brain is thus modified, believe he sees, at two paces 
iistant, a frightful spectre, a hobgoblin, a threatening 
phantom. The like happens in the heads of the most 
incredulous, either in their sleep, or in the paroxysms 
of a violent fever. Will they maintain after this, that 
it is impossible for a man awake, and not in a delirium, 
to receive, in certain places of his brain, an impression 
almost like that which, by the law of nature, is con- 
nected with the appearance of a phantom.’ In one of 
Shenstone’s Essays, entitled ‘An Opinion of Ghosts,’ 
the same theory is clearly enunciated. 
It is worthy of remark, that the phenomena of appa- 
ritions are inconsistent with the prevalent theory that 
the brain is a single organ, with every part of which 
each faculty is connected. Were this theory sound, 
the same cause that vivifies the perceptive faculties 
must also vivify, or excite to increased action, the pro- 
pensities, sentiments, and reflecting powers. This, 
however, is by no means the case. 
The case of Nicolai, the Prussian bookseller, which 
occurred in the beginning of 1791, is one of the most 
remarkable instances of spectral illusion on record. ‘ I 
saw,’ says he, ‘ in a state of mind completely sound, 
and—after the first terror was over—with perfect calm- 
ness, for nearly two months, almost constantly and in- 
voluntarily, a vast number of human and other forms, 
and even heard their voices, though all this was merely 
the consequence of a diseased state of the nerves, and 
an irregular circulation of the blood.’ ‘ When I shut 
my eyes, these phantoms would sometimes vanish en- 
tirely, though there were instances when I beheld them 
tvith my eyes closed ; yet when they disappeared on 
such occasions, they generally returned when I opened 
my eyes. I conversed sometimes with my physician 
and my wife of the phantasms which at the moment 
surrounded me ; they appeared more frequently walking 
than at rest; nor were they constantly present. They 
frequently did not come for some time, but always re- 
appeared for a longer or shorter period either singly or 
in company, the latter, however, being most frequently 
the case. I generally saw human forms of both sexes; 
but they usually seemed not to take the smallest notice 
are eager to press through the crowd; at times, how- 
ever, they seemed to be transacting business with each 
other. I also saw, several times, people on horseback, 
dogs, and birds. All these phantasms appeared to me 
in their natural size, and as distinct as if alive, exhibi- 
ting different shades of carnation in the uncovered parts, 
as well as in different colours and fashions in their 
dresses, though the colours seemed somewhat paler 
than in real nature ; none of the figures appeared par- 
ticularly comical, terrible, or disgusting, most of them 
being of an indifferent shape, and some presenting a 
pleasing aspect.’ 
Perhaps the most remarkable visionary, of whom we 
have any detailed account, was Blake the painter. This 
extraordinary man not only believed in his visions, but 
could often call up at pleasure whatever phantasms he 
wished to see ; and so far from their being objects of 
annoyance, he rather solicited than wished to avoid 
their presence. He was in the habit of conversing with 
angels, demons, and heroes, and taking their likenesses ; 
for they proved most obedient sitters, and never show- 
ed any aversion to allow him to transfer them to paper. 
‘ His mind says Mr Cunningham, ‘ could convert the 
most ordinary occurrences into something mystical and 
supernatural.’ “Did you ever see a fairy’s funeral, 
madam !’ he once said to a lady who happened to sit. 
by him in company, ‘never, sir !’ was the answer. ‘ I 
have,’ said Blake, ‘ but not before last night. I was 
walking alone in my garden, there was great stillness 
among the branches and flowers, and more than com- 
mon sweetness in the air ; I heard a low and pleasant 
sound, and knew not whence it came. At last I saw 
the broad leaf of a flower move, and underneath 1 saw 
a procession of creatures of the size and color of the 
green and grey grasshoppers, bearing a body laid out 
on a rose leaf, which they buried with songs, and then 
disappeared. It was a fairy funeral.’ ’ On being asked 
to draw the likeness of Sir William Wallace, that hero 
immediately stood before him, and he commenced tak- 
ing his portrait. ‘ Having drawn for some time with the 
same care of hand and steadiness of eye, as if a living 
sitter had been before him, Blake stoped suddenly and 
said, * I cannot finish him—Edward the first has step- 
ed in between him and me.’ ‘That’s lucky,’ said his 
friend, ‘ for I want the portrait of Edward too.’ Blake 
took another sheet of paper and sketched the features 
of Plantagenet; upon which his majesty politely van- 
ished, and the artist finished the head of Wallace.’* The 
greater part of his life was passed in beholding visions 
and in drawing them. On one occasion he saw the 
ghost of a flea and took a sketch of it. No conception 
was too strange or incongruous for his wild imagination, 
which totally overmastered his judgment, and made him 
mistake the chimeras of an excited brain for realities. 
What is called the Second sight originated, in most 
cases, from spectral illusions; and the seers of whom 
w’e so often read, were merely individuals visited by 
these phantoms. The Highland mountains, and the 
wild lawless habits of those w'ho inhabited them, were 
peculiarly adapted to foster the growth of such impres- 
sions in imaginative, minds ; and, accordingly, nothing 
was more common than to meet with persons who not 
only fancied they saw visions, but, on the strength of 
this belief, laid claim to the gift of prophesy. The 
more completely the mind is abstracted from the bus- 
tle of life ; the more solitary the district in which the 
individual resides ; and t.h.e more romantic and awe-in- 
spring the scenes that pass before his eyes, the greater 
is his tendency to see visions, and to place faith in what 
he sees. A man, for instance, with the peculiar tem- 
perament which predisposes to see, and believe in, spec- 
tral illusions, is informed that his chieftain and clan have 
set out on a dangerous expedition. Full of the subject, 
he forces their images before him—sees them engaged 
* Cunningham’s Lives of the British Painters, Sculptors, and PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
in fight—beholds his chieftian cut down by the clay- 
more of an enemy—the clansmen routed and dispers- 
ed, their houses destroyed, their cattle carried off. This 
vision he relates to certain individuals. If, as is not 
unlikely, it is borne out by the event, his prophecy is 
spread far and wide, and looked upon as an instance 
of the second sight; while, should nothing jrappen, the 
story is no more thought of by those to whom it was com- 
municated. In some instances, it is probable that the 
accidental fulfilment of an ordinary dream was regard- 
ed as second sight. 
The belief in fairies, no doubt, had also its origin in 
spectral illusions. In the days of ignorance and su- 
perstition nothing was more easy than for an excited 
brain to conjure up those tiny forms, and see them per- 
form their gambols upon the greensward beneath the 
light of the moon. 
The dimensions of the figures which are exhibited in 
spectral illusions vary exceedingly. Sometimes they 
appear as miniatures, sometimes of the size of life, at 
other times of colossal proportions. The same differ- 
ences apply to their colour. In one case they are pale, 
misty, transparent; in another black, red, blue, or green. 
Sometimes we have them fantastically clothed in the 
costume of a former age, sometimes in that of our own. 
Now they are represented grinning, now weeping, now 
in smiles. ‘White or grey Ghosts,’ says Mr Simpson 
‘ result from excited Form, with quiescent Colouring, 
the transparent cobweb effect being colourless. Pale 
spectres, and shadowy yet coloured forms, are the effect 
of partially excited Colouring. Tall ghosts and 
dwarf goblins, are the illusions of over-excited Size.' 
The jabbering of apparitions arises from an excited 
state of that part of the brain which gives us cogni- 
zance of sounds. This explanation seems highly pro- 
bable, or rather quite satisfactory. There arc points, 
however, which it is likely no one will ever be able to 
explain. Why, for instance should the disordered 
brain conjure up persons and faces rather than trees 
and houses ? why should a ghost be dressed in red 
rather than blue, and why should it smile rather than 
grin 1 These are minutiae beyond the reach of in- 
vestigation at least in the present state of our know- 
ledge. 
Mr Simpson, in the second volume of the Phrenolo- 
gical Journal, has published a case of spectral illusion, 
which, for singularity and interest, equals any thing of 
the same kind which has hitherto been recorded. The 
subject of it was a young lady under twenty years of 
age, of good family, well educated, free from any su- 
perstitious fears, in perfect bodily health and of sound 
mind. She was early subject to occasional attacks of 
such illusions, and the first she remembered was 
that of a carpet which descended in the air before her, 
then vanished away. After an interval of some years, 
she began to see human figures in her room as she lay 
wide awake in bed. These figures were whitish or 
rather grey, and transparent like cobweb, and generally 
above the size of life. At this time she had acute 
headaches, very singularly confined to one small spot 
of the head. On being asked to indicate the spot, she 
touched, with her fore-finger and thumb, each side of 
the root of the nose, the commencement of the eye- 
brows, and the spot immediately over the top of the 
nose, the ascertained seats of Form, Size, and Lower 
Individuality. On being asked if the pain was confined 
to these spots, she answered that some time afterwards 
it extended to the right and left, along the eyebrows, 
and a little above them, and completely round the eyes, 
which felt as if they would burst from their sockets. 
On this taking place the visions varied. The organs 
of Weight, Colouring, Order, Number, and Locality, 
were affected, and the phantasmata assumed a change 
corresponding to the irritated condition of these parts. 
‘ The whitish or cobweb spectres assumed the natural 
sent themselves, though not always, above the size of 
life.’ ‘ Colouring being over-excited, began to occas- 
sion itsspecifie and fantastical illusions. Bright spots, 
like stars on a back ground, filled the room in the dark, 
and even in day-light; and sudden, and sometimes 
gradual, illumination of the room during the night took 
place, so that the furnitnre in it became visible. In-! 
numerable balls of fire seemed one day to pour like a 
torrent out of one of the rooms of the house down the 
staircase. On one occasion, the pain between the 
eyes, and along the lower ridge of the brow, struck her 
suddenly with great violence—when, instantly, the 
room filled with stars and bright spots. On attempt- 
ing, on that occasion, to go to bed, she said she was 
conscious of an inability to balance herself, as if she 
had been tipsy, and she fell, having made repeated ef- 
forts to seize the bed-post ; which, in the most unac- 
countable manner eluded her grasp by shifting its 
place, and also by presenting her with a number of bed- 
posts instead of one. If the organ of Weight situated 
between Size and Colouring, be the organ of the in- 
stinct to preserve, and power of preserving equilibrium, 
it must be the necessary consequence of the derange- 
ment of that organ to overset the balance of the per- 
son. Over-excited Number we should expect to pro- 
duce multiplication of objects, and the first experience 
she had of this illusion, was the multiplication of the 
bed-posts, and subsequently of any inanimate object 
she looked at.’ 
‘ For nearly two years, Miss S. L. was free from her 
frontal headaches, and—mark the coincidence—untrou- 
bled by visions or any other illusive perceptions. Some 
months ago, however, all her distressing symptoms re- 
turned in great aggravation, when she was conscious of 
a want of health. The pain was more acute than be- 
fore along the frontal bone, and round and in the eye- 
balls ; and all the organs there situated recommenced 
their game of illusion. Single figures of absent and 
deceased friends were terribly real to her, both in the 
day and in the night, sometimes cobweb, but generally 
coloured. She sometimes saw friends on the street, 
who proved phantoms when she approached to speak to 
them; and instances occurred, where, from not having 
thus satisfied herself of the illusion, she affirmed to 
such friends that she had seen them in certain places, 
at certain times, when they proved to her the clearest 
alibi. The confusion of her spectral forms now dis- 
tressed her.—(Order affected.) The oppression and 
perplexity were intolerable, when figures presented 
themselves before her in inextricable disorder, and still 
more when they changed—as with Nicolai—from whole 
figures to parts of figures—faces and half faces, and 
limbs—sometimes of inordinate size and dreadful de- 
formity. One instance of illusive Disorder, which she 
mentioned, is curious ; and has the farther effect oi 
exhibiting (what cannot be put in terms except those 
of) the derangement of the just perception of gravitaJ 
tion or equilibrium. {Weight.) One night as she sal 
in her bed-room, and was about to go to bed, a stream 
of spectres, persons’ faces, limbs, in the most shocking 
confusion, seemed to her to pour into her room from the 
window, in the manner of a cascade ! Although the 
cascade continued, apparently, in rapid descending mo- 
tion ; there was no accumulation of figures in the room, 
the supply unaccountably vanishing, after having formed 
the cascade. Colossal figures are her frequent visit- 
ers. {Size.)' 
In the fifth volume of the Phrenolagical Journal, 
page 319, a case is mentioned where the patient was 
tortured wdth horrid faces glaring at her, and approach 
ing close to her in every possible aggravation of hor 
ror. ‘ She was making a tedious recovery in child-bed 
when these symptoms troubled her. Besides the forms, 
which were of natural colour, though often bloody, she 
was perplexed by their variation in size, from colossal 44 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
they were always as minute as pins, or even pin-heads, 
and were in great confusion and numbers.’ ‘ She de- 
scribed the pain which accompanied her illusions, viz. 
acute pain in the upper part or root of the nose, the 
seat df the organ of Form, and all along the eyebrows, 
winch takes in Individuality, Form, Size, Weight, 
Order and Number.' In the same volume, page 430, 
Mr Levison relates, that on asking an individual who 
saw apparitions, whether or not he felt pain at any part 
of his head, he answered, ‘ that every time before he 
experienced this peculiar power of seeing figures, he 
invariably felt pain in and between his eyes, and, in 
short, all over the eyebrows.’ It does not appear, how- 
ever, that pain is universally felt in such cases in the 
lower part of the forehead. Dr Andrew Combe in- 
forms me that, so far as he has observed, the pain, when 
it does exist, is more frequently in the exciting organ, 
generally Wonder. 
Spectral illusions constitute the great pathognomonic 
sign of delirium tremens. In this disease they are usu- 
ally of a horrible, a disgusting, or a frightful nature ; 
the person being irresistibly impressed with the notion 
that reptiles, insects, and all manner of vermin are 
crawling upon him, which he is constantly endeavoring 
to pick off—that he is haunted by hideous apparitions 
—that people are in the room preparing to murder and 
rob him, and so forth. In the following case, with 
which I have been favored by Dr Combe, the illusive 
appearances were of a more pleasing kind than gene- 
rally happen. ‘In a case,’ says he, ‘of delirium tre- 
mens in an inn-keeper, about whom I was consulted, 
the spectral illusions continued several days, and had a 
distinct reference to a large and active cerebullum, 
(the organ of Amativeness) conjoined with Wonder. 
The man refused to allow me to look at a blister which 
had been placed between his shoulders, ‘because he 
could not take off his coat before the ladies who were in 
the room /’ When I assured him that there was nobody 
in the room, he smiled at the joke, as he conceived it 
to be, and, in answer to my questions, described them 
as several in number, well dressed, and good-looking. 
At my request he rose up to shake hands with them, 
and was astonished at finding them elude his grasp, and 
his hand strike the wall. This, however, convinced 
him that it was an illusion, and he forthwith took off 
his coat, but was unwilling to converse longer on the 
subject. In a few days the ladies vanished from his 
sight.’ 
Spectral illusions are more frequently induced by 
fever than by any other cause. Indeed, the premoni- 
tory stages of most fevers are accompanied by illusive 
appearances of one kind or another, such as luminous 
bodies, especially when the eyes are shut, hideous faces, 
streaks of fire, &c.; and in the advanced stages, they 
are not uncommon. A medical ffiend has informed 
me, that when ill of fever in Portugal, he was terribly 
harrassed by the vision of a soldier, whose picture was 
hanging in the room. Removing the picture failed to 
dissipate the illusion, which did not disappear till he 
was conveyed to another apartment. Dr Bostock, 
while under a febrile attack, was visited by spectral il- 
lusions of an unusual kind. The following are the par- 
ticulars of his case, as described by himself:— 
‘ I was laboring,’ says he, ‘ under a fever, attended 
with symptoms of general debility, especially of the 
nervous system, and with a severe pain of the head, 
which was confined to a small spot situated above the 
right temple. After having passed a sleepless night, 
and being reduced to a state of considerable exhaustion, 
I first perceived figures presenting themselves before 
me, which I immediately recognised as similar to those 
described by Nicolai, and upon which, as I was free 
from delirium, and as they were visible about three days 
and nights with little intermission, I was able to make 
my observations. There were two circumstance which 
appeared to me very remarkable ; first, that the spectral 
appearances always followed the motion of the eyes; 
and, secondly, that the objects which were the best de- 
fined and remained the longest visible, were such as I 
had no recollection of ever having previously seen. 
For about twenty-four hours I had constantly before 
me a human figure, the features and dress of which 
were as distinctly visible as that of any real existence, 
and of which, after an interval of many years, I still 
retain the most lively impression; yet, neither at the 
time nor since have I been able to discover any person 
whom I had previously seen who resembled it. 
‘ During one part of this disease, after the disap- 
pearance of this stationary phantom, I had a very sin- 
gular and amusing imagery presented to me. It ap- 
peared as if a number of objects, principally human 
faces or figures on a small scale, were placed before 
me, and gradually removed like a succession of me- 
dallions. They were all of the same size, and appeared 
to be all situated at the same distance from the face. 
After one had been seen for a few njinutes, it became 
fainter, and then another, which was more vivid, seemed 
to be laid upon it or substituted in its place, which, in 
its turn, was superseded by a new appearance. During 
all this succession of scenery, I do not recollect that, 
in a single instance, I saw any object with which I had 
been previously acquainted, nor, as far as I am aware, 
were the representations of any of those objects, with 
which my mind was the most occupied at other times, 
presented to me; they appeared to be invariably new 
creations, or, at least, new combinations of which I 
could not trace the original materials.’*' 
The following very curious instance, is not less in- 
teresting : the subject of it was a member of the 
English bar. 
‘ In December, 1823, A. was confined to his bed by 
inflammation of the chest, and was supposed by his 
medical attendant to be in considerable danger. One 
night, while unable to sleep from pain and fever, he 
saw sitting on a chair, on the left side of his bed, a fe- 
male figure which he immediately recognised to be 
that of a young lady who died about two years before. 
His first feeling was surprise, and perhaps a little alarm; 
his second, that he was suffering from delirium. With 
this impression, he put his head under the bed-clothes, 
and, after trying in vain to sleep, as a test of the sound- 
ness of his mind, he went through a long and compli- 
cated process of metaphysical reasoning. He then 
peeped out and saw the figure in the same situation 
and position. He had a fire, but would not allow a 
candle or nurse in the room. A stick was kept by his 
side to knock for the nurse when he required her at- 
tendance. Being too weak to move his body, he en- 
deavored to touch the figure with the stick, but, on « 
real object being put on the chair, the imaginary one 
disappeared, and was not visible again that night. 
The next day he thought of little but the vision, and 
expected its return without alarm, and with some 
pleasure. He was not disappointed. It took the 
same place as before, and he employed himself in ob- 
servations. When he shut his eyes or turned his head, 
he ceased to see the figure ; by interposing his hand 
he could hide part of it; and it was shown, like anv 
mere material substance, by the rays of the fire which 
fell upon and were reflected from it. As the fire de- 
clined it became less perceptible, and as it went out, 
invisible. A similar appearance took place on several 
other nights; but it became less perceptible, and its 
visits less frequent, as the patient recovered from his 
fever. 
1 He says the impressions on his mind were always 
pleasing, as the spectre looked at him with calmness 
and regard. He never supposed it real; but was un- 
able to account for it on any philosophical principles 
within his knowledge. 
‘ In the autumn of 1825. A.’s health was perfectly 
* Bostock’s Phvsioloev. vnl iii. n. 5(14. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
45 
restored, and he had been free from any waking vision 
for nearly eighteen months. Some circumstances oc- 
curred which produced in him great mental excitement. 
One morning he dreamed of the figure, which stood by 
his side in an angry posture, and asked for a locket 
which he usually wore. He awoke and saw it at the 
toilet, with the locket in its hand. He rushed out of 
bed and it instantly disappeared. During the next six 
weeks its visits were incessant, and the sensations 
which they produced were invariably horrible. Some 
years before, he had attended the dissection of a wo- 
man in a state of rapid decomposition. Though much 
disgusted at the time, the subject had been long for- 
gotten ; but was recalled by the union of its putrescent 
body with the spectre’s features. The visits were not 
confined to the night, but frequently occurred while 
several persons were in the same room. They were 
repeated at intervals during the winter; but he was 
able to get rid of them by moving or sitting in an 
erect position. Though well, his pulse was hard, and 
generally from 90 to 100.’* 
In March, 1829, during an attack of fever, accom- 
panied with violent action in the brain, I experienced 
illusions of a very peculiar kind. They did not appear 
except when the eyes were shut or the room perfectly 
dark ; and this was one of the most distressing things 
connected with my illness ; for it obliged me either to 
keep my eyes open or to admit more light into the 
chamber than they could well tolerate. I had the con- 
sciousness of shining and hideous faces grinning at me 
in the midst of profound darkness, from which they 
glared forth in horrid and diabolical relief. They were 
never stationary, but kept moving in the gloomy back- 
ground : sometimes they approached within an inch or 
two of my face: at other times, they receded several 
feet or yards from it. They would frequently break 
into fragments, which after floating about would unite 
—portions of one face coalescing with those of another, 
and thus forming still more uncouth and abominable 
images. The only way I could get rid of those phan- 
toms was by admitting more light into the chamber and 
opening my eyes, when they instantly vanished ; but 
only to reappear when the room was darkened or the 
eyes closed. One night, when the fever was at its 
height, I had a splendid vision of a theatre, in the arena 
of which Ducrow, the celebrated equestrian, was per- 
forming. On this occasion, I had no consciousness of 
a dark back ground like to that on which the monstrous 
images floated ; but every thing was gay, bright, and 
beautiful. I was broad awake, my eyes were closed, 
and yet I saw with perfect distinctness the whole scene 
going on in the theatre, Ducrow performing his wonders 
of horsemanship—and the assembled multitude, among 
whom I recognized several intimate friends ; in short, 
the whole process of the entertainment as clearly as if I 
were present at it. When I opened my eyes the whole 
scene vanished like the enchanted palace of the necro- 
mancer ; when I closed them, it as instantly returned. 
But though I could thus dissipate the spectacle, I found 
it impossible to get rid of the accompanying music. 
This was the grand march in the Opera of Aladdin, and 
was performed by the orchestra with more superb aad 
imposing effect, and with greater loudness, than I ever 
heard it before ; it was executed, indeed, with tre- 
mendous energy. This air I tried every effort to dis- 
sipate, by forcibly endeavouring to call other tunes to 
mind, but it was in vain. However completely the vi- 
sion might be dispelled, the music remained in spite of 
every effort to banish it. During the whole of this sin- 
gular state, I wras perfectly aware of the illusiveness of 
my feelings, and, though labouring under violent head- 
ache, could not help speculating upon them and endeav- 
oring to trace them to their proper cause. This theatri- 
cal vision continued for about five hours ; the previous 
delusions for a couple of days. The whole evidently 
proceeded from such an excited state of some parts of 
the brain, as I have already alluded to. Ideality, Won~ 
der, Form, Colour, and Size, were all in intensely ac- 
tive operation, while the state of the reflecting organs 
was unchanged. Had the latter participated in the gen- 
eral excitement, to such an extent as to be unable to 
rectify the false impressions of the other organs, the 
case would have been one of pure delirium. 
Spectral illusions can only be cured by removing the 
causes which give rise to them. If they proceed from 
the state of the stomach, this must be rectified by means- 
of purgatives and alterative medicines. Should ple- 
thora induce them, local or general blood-letting and 
other antiphlogistic means are requisite. If they ac- 
company fever or delirium tremens, their removal will, 
of course, depend upon that of these diseases. Arising 
from sleeplessness, they will sometimes be cured by 
anodynes ; and from nervous irritation, by the shower- 
bath and tonics. Where they seem to arise without 
any apparent cause, our attention should be directed 
to the state of the bowels, and blood-letting had re- 
course to 
CHAPTER XVI. 
A state of mind somewhat analogous to that which 
prevails in dreaming, also takes place during reverie. 
There is the same want of balance in the faculties, 
which are almost equally ill regulated, and disposed to 
indulge in similar extravagancies. Reverie proceeds 
from an unusual quiescence of the brain, and inability 
of the mind to direct itself strongly to any one point : 
it is often the prelude of sleep. There is a defect in 
the attention, which, instead of being fixed on one sub- 
ject, wanders over a thousand, and even on these is 
feebly and ineffectively directed. We sometimes see 
this while reading, or, rather, while attempting to read. 
We get over page after page, but the ideas take no 
hold whatever upon us ; we are in truth ignorant of 
what we peruse, and the mind is either an absolute 
blank, or vaguely addressed to something else. This 
feeling every person must have occasionally noticed in 
taking out his watch, looking at it, and replacing it 
without knowing what the hour was, In like manner 
he may hear what is said to him without attaching any 
meaning to the words, which strike his ear, yet com- 
municate no definite idea to the sensorium. Persons 
in this mood may, from some ludicrous ideas flashing 
across them, burst into a loud fit of laughter during ser- 
mon or at a funeral, and thus get the reputation of being 
either grossly irreverent or deranged. That kind of re- 
verie in which the mind is nearly divested of all ideas, and 
approximates closely to the state of sleep, I have some- 
times experienced while gazing long and intently upon a 
river. The thoughts seem to glide away, one by one, upon 
the surface of the stream, till the mind is emptied of 
them altogether. In this state we see the glassy vo- 
lume of the water moving past us, and hear its mur- 
mur, but lose all power of fixing our attention defini- 
tively upon any subject : and either fall asleep, or are 
aroused by some spontaneous reaction of the mind, or 
by some appeal to the senses sufficiently strong to star- 
tle us from our reverie. Grave, monotonous, slowly 
repeated sounds—as of a mill, a waterfall, an Eoliar 
harp, or the voice of a dull orator, have the effect oi 
lulling the brain into repose, and giving rise to a plea- 
sing melancholy, and to calmness and inanity of mind 
Uniform gentle motions have a tendency to produce s 
similar state of reverie, which is also very apt to ensut 
in the midst of perfect silence; hence, in walking alon* 
in the country, where there is no sound to distract ou: 
-wn'titatixHM* o'p fronnpntlv cret. into this state. It ii 
REVERIE. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
also apt to take place when we are seated without books, 
companions, or amusement of any kind, by the hearth 
on a winter evening, especially when the fire is begin- 
ning to burn out, when the candles are becoming faint 
for want of topping, and a dim religious light, like that 
filling a hermit’s cell from his solitary lamp, is diffused 
over the apartment. This is the situation most favour- 
able for reveries, waking dreams, and all kinds of brown 
study, abstraction, ennui, and hypochondria. 
Reverie has been known to arise from the mind sus- 
taining temporary weakness, in consequence of long 
and excessive application to one subject. It is also, I 
believe, frequently induced by forcing young people to 
learn what they dislike. In this case, the mind, finding 
it impossible to direct itself to the hated task, goes 
wandering off in another direction, and thus acquires a 
habit of inattention, which, in extreme cases, may ter- 
minate in imbecility. Sometimes reveries arise from 
peculiarity of temperament, either natural or induced by 
mental or bodily weakness. The best regulated minds 
and strongest bodies, may, however, and, in fact, often 
have, occasional attacks : but when the feeling grows 
into a habit, and is too much indulged in, it is apt to 
injure the usefulness of the individual, and impair the 
whole fabric of his understanding. ‘ It is,’ says Dr 
Good, ‘ upon the faculty of attention that every other 
faculty is dependent for its vigour and expansion : with- 
out it, the perception exercises itself in vain; the mem- 
ory can lay up no store of ideas ; the judgment draw 
forth no comparisons; the imagination must become 
blighted and barren ; and where there is no attention 
whatever, the case must necessarily verge upon fatuity.’ 
I conceive that persons in whom the organ of Concen- 
tralivencss is very small, are peculiarly apt to fall into 
reverie. 
The following is a remarkable instance of reverie 
arising from excessive application :—The subject of it 
ivas Mr Spalding, a gentleman well known as an emi- 
nent literary character in Germany, and much respected 
ay those who knew him. The case was drawn up by 
aimself, and published in the Psychological Magazine. 
‘ I was this morning engaged with a great number 
af people who followed each other quickly, and to each 
>f whom I was obliged to give my attention. I was 
ilso under the necessity of writing much ; but the sub- 
ects, which were various and of a trivial and uninter- 
isting nature, had no connexion the one with the oth- 
ir ; my attention, therefore, was constantly kept on the 
itretch, and was continually shifting from one subject 
o another. At last it became necessary that I should 
vrite a receipt for some money I had received on ac- 
count of the poor. I seated myself and wrote the two 
irst words, but in a moment found that I was incapa- 
«le of proceeding, for I could not recollect the words 
vhich belonged to the ideas that were present in my 
nind. I strained my attention as much as possible, 
nd tried to write one letter slowly after the other, al- 
ways having an eye to the preceding one, in order to 
bserve whether they had the usual relationship to each 
ther; but I remarked, and said to myself at the time, 
rat the characters I was writing were not those which 
wished to write, and yet I could not discover where 
re fault lay. I therefore desisted, and partly by broken 
rords and syllables, and partly by gesture, I made the 
erson who waited for the receipt understand he should 
save me. For about half an hour there reigned a kind 
f tumultuary disorder in my senses, in which I was 
icapable of remarking any thing very particular, ex- 
;pt that one series of ideas forced themselves involun- 
lily on my mind. The trifling nature of these thoughts 
was perfectly aware of, and was also conscious that I 
ade several efforts to get rid of them, and supply their 
ace with better ones, which lay at the bottom of my 
fill. I endeavoured as much as lay in my power, con- 
lering the great crowd of confused images which pre- 
nted themselves to my mind, to recall my principles 
of religion, of conscience, and of future expectation; 
these I found equally correct, and fixed as before. 
There was no deception in my external senses, for I 
saw and knew every thing around me ; but I could not 
free myself from the strange ideas which existed in my 
head. I endeavoured to speak in order to discover 
whether I was capable of saying any thing that was 
connected; but although I made the greatest efforts of 
attention, and proceeded, with the utmost caution, I 
perceived that I uniformly spoke other words than those 
I intended. My soul was at present as little master of 
the organs of speech, as it had been before of mv hand 
in writing. Thank God, this state did not continue 
very long, for, in about half an hour, my head began to 
grow clearer, the strange and tiresome ideas became 
less vivid and turbulent, and I could command my own 
thoughts with less interruption. 
‘ I now wished to ring for my servant, and desire hitn 
to inform my wife to come to me ; but I found it still 
necessary to wait a little longer to exercise myself in 
the right pronunciation of the few words I had to say : 
and the first half hour’s conversation I had with her 
was, on my part, preserved with a slow and anxious 
circumspection, until at last I gradually found myself 
as clear and serene as in the beginning of the day, all 
that now remained was a slight headache. I recollect- 
ed the receipt I had begun to write, and in which I 
knew I had blundered ; and upon examining it, I ob- 
served to my great astonishment, that instead of the 
words fifty dollars, being one half year's rate, which I 
ought to have written, the words were fifty dollars 
through the salvation of Bra—, with a break after it, 
for the word Bra was at the end of a line. I cannot 
recollect any perception, or business which I had to 
transact, that could, by means of an obscure influence, 
have produced this phenomenon.’ 
Reverie, when proceeding, as in this case, from ex- 
cessive application, will seldom be difficult of cure ; 
the removal of the exciting cause will of itself naturally 
constitute the remedy. When it arises from such a 
defect in education as that already mentioned, the cure 
will be more difficult, although even then it is not al- 
ways impracticable. In such a case, the person should 
be strongly directed to those subjects in which he feels 
most interest, and never be made to study what he has 
not a positive liking for. Active employment and gay 
and pleasant society, may effect much in restoring the 
intellectual balance. In all cases, whatever, he should 
never be left long alone ; as nothing has such a tenden- 
cy to foster this state of mind as solitude. 
CHAPTER XVn. 
Abstraction, or absence of mind, has been confounded 
with reverie, but it is, in reality, a different intellectual 
operation ; for as in the latter a difficulty is experienced 
in making rhe mind bear strongly on any one point, in 
the former its whole energies are concentrated towards 
a single focus, and every other circumstance is, for the 
time, utterly forgotten. Such was the case with Sir 
Isaac Newton when, in a fit of absence, he made a to- 
bacco stopper of the lady's finger, and with Archimedes, 
who remained unconscious and unmoved during the 
noise and slaughter of captured Syracuse. Though, in 
general, abstraction is easily broken by outward im- 
pressions, there have been instances where it has been 
so powerful as to render the individuals labouring un- 
der it insensible to pain. Pinel in his Nosogra.phie 
Philosophiquc speaks of a priest who in a fit of mental 
absence was unconscious of the pain of burning; and 
Cardan brought himself into such a state as to be in- 
sensible to all external impression. 
ABSTRACTION. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
47 
Some men are naturally very absent; others acquire 
this habit from particular pursuits, such as mathema- 
tics, and other studies demanding much calculation. 
Indeed, all studies which require deep thinking, are apt 
to induce mental absence, in consequence of the sen- 
sorial power being drained from the general circum- 
ference of the mind, and directed strongly to a certain 
point. This draining, while it invigorates the organ of 
the particular faculty towards which the sensorial en- 
ergy is concentrated, leaves the others in an inanimate 
state, and incapacitates them from performing their pro- 
per functions; hence persons subject to abstraction 
are apt to commit a thousand ludicrous errors; they 
are perpetually blundering—committing a multitude of 
petty, yet harmless offences against established rules, 
and for ever getting into scrapes and absurd situations. 
Nothing is more common than for an absent man to 
take the hat of another person instead of his own, to 
give away a guinea for a shilling, to mistake his lodg- 
ings, forget invitations, and so forth. When the fit of 
abstraction is very strong, he neither hears what is said 
to him, nor sees what is passing around. * While you 
fancy,’ says Budgell, in the 77th No. of the Spectator, 
4 he is admiring a beautiful woman, it is an even wager 
that he is solving a proposition in Euclid ; and while 
you imagine he is reading the Paris Gazette, it is far 
from being impossible that he is pulling down and re- 
building his country house.’ In some cases the indi- 
vidual requires to be shaken before he can be brought 
to take notice of any occurrence ; and it is often diffi- 
cult to make him comprehend even the simplest propo- 
sition. Abstraction, therefore, bears an analogy to 
dreaming; inasmuch as, in each of these states,"some 
faculties are active, while others are at rest. In dream- 
ing, however, the organs of the quiescent faculties are 
in a much deeper slumber, and less easily roused into 
activity than in abstraction ; hence in the great majority 
of cases, abstraction is broken with greater facility than 
sleep. 
It appears from the observations of the Edinburgh 
phrenologists, that individuals who have a large develop- 
ment of the organ of Concentrativcness are peculiarly 
liable to fall into a state of abstraction. The effect of 
such a development is fixity of ideas—the power and 
tendency to think consecutively and steadily upon one 
subject. ‘ In conversing with some individuals,’ says 
Mr Combe,* ‘ we find them fall naturally into a con- 
nected train of thinking ; either dwelling on a subject 
which interests them, till they have placed it clearly be- 
fore the mind, or passing naturally and gracefully to a 
connected topic. Such persons uniformly have this 
organ large. We meet with others, who in similar cir- 
cumstances, never pursue one idea for two consecutive 
seconds, who shift from topic to topic, without regard 
to natural connexion, and leave no distinct impression 
on the mind of the listener; and this happens even with 
individuals in whom reflection is not deficient; but this 
organ (Concentrativcness) is, in such persons, uniformly 
small.’ A good endowment of the power in question 
adds very much to the efficiency of the intellect, by 
enabling its possessor to apply his mind continuously 
to a particular investigation, unannoyed by the intru- 
sion of foreign and irrelevant ideas. It seems to have 
been very strong in Sir Isaac Newton, whose liability 
to abstraction has already been alluded to. ‘ During 
the two years,’ says Biot, ‘ which he spent in preparing 
and developing his immortal work, PhilosophceNaturalis 
Principia Mathematica, he lived only to calculate and 
to think. Oftentimes lost in the contemplation of these 
grand objects, he acted unconsciously; his thoughts 
appearing to preserve no connexion with the ordinary 
affairs of life. It is said, that frequently, on rising in 
the morning, he would sit down on his bedside, arrested 
by some new conception, and would remain for hours 
together engaged in tracing it out, without dressing 
himself.’ ‘ To one who asked him, on some occasion, 
by what means he had arrived at his discoveries, he re- 
plied, ‘By always thinking unto them.’ And at an- 
other time, he thus expressed hi3 method of proceeding, 
—‘ I keep the subject constantly before me, and wait 
till the first dawning opens slowly, by little and little, 
into a full and clear light.’ Again, in a letter to Dr 
Bentley, he says, ‘ If I have done the public any ser- 
vice this way, it is due to nothing but industry and pa- 
tient thought.’ Biot mentions farther, that, ‘in gen- 
eral, the intensity of thinking was with him so great 
that it entirely abstracted his attention from other mat- 
ters, and confined him exclusively to one object. Thus, 
we see that he never was occupied at the same time 
with two different scientific investigations.’ 
The instances of abstraction upon record are so nu- 
merous that a volume might easily be filled with them. 
Hogarth, the illustrious painter, affords a good speci- 
men. Having got a new carriage, he went in it to the 
Mansion-House, for the purpose of paying a visit to the 
Lord Mayor. On leaving the house he went out by a 
different door from that by which he entered, and found 
that it rained hard. Notwithstanding this, he walked 
homewards, and reached his own dwelling drenched to 
the skin. His wife seeing him in this state, asked him 
how it happened, and what had become of his carriage 
since he had not returned home in it. The truth was, 
that he had actually forgotten he had a carriage, or had 
gone in one at all. 
The following case, from the pleasant style in which 
it is told, will amuse the reader. 
‘ It is a case of one of the most profound and clear- 
headed philosophical thinkers, and one of the most ami- 
able of men, becoming so completely absorbed in his 
own reflections, as to loose the perception of externa! 
things, and almost that of his own identity and exist- 
ence. There are few that have paid any attention tc 
the finance of this country, but must have heard of Di 
Robert Hamilton’s ‘ essay on the National debt,’ which 
fell on the houses of parliament like a bombshell, or 
rather, which rose and illuminated their darkness like 
an orient sun. There are other writings of his in whicl 
one knows not which most to admire—the profounc 
and accurate, science, the beautiful arrangement, or the 
clear expression. Yet, in public, the man was a shad 
dow ; pulled oft’ his hat to his own wife in the streets 
and apologized for not having the pleasure of her ac 
quaintance ; went to his classes in the college on the 
dark mornings, with one of her white stockings on thi 
one leg, and one of his own black ones on the other 
often spent the whole time of the meeting in movinj 
from the table the hats of the students, which they a 
constantly returned ; sometimes invited them to cal 
on him, and then fined them for coming to insult him 
He would run against a cow in the road, turn round 
beg her pardon, ‘ madam,’ and hope she was not hurt 
at other times he would run against posts, and chid 
them for not getting out of his way ; and yet his con 
versation at the same time, if any body happened to b 
with him, was perfect logic and perfect music. Wer 
it not that there may be a little poetic license in Abei 
deen story-telling, a volume might be filled with anec 
dotes of this amiable and excellent man, all tending, t 
prove how wide the distinction is between first rat 
thought and that merely animal use of the organs ( 
sense which prevents ungifted mortals from walking int 
wells. The fish-market at Aberdeen, if still where i 
usod to be, is near the Dee, and has a stream passin 
through it that falls into that river. The fish wome 
expose their wares in large baskets. The doctor on 
day marched into that place, where his attention we 
attracted by a curiously figured stone in a stack < 
chimneys. He advanced towards it, till he was inte; 
rupted by one of the benches, from which, howeve 
he tumbled one of the baskets into the stream, whic 
was bearing the fish to their native element. Tb 
* System of Phrenology, p. 13o. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
visage of the lady was instantly in lightning, and her 
voice in thunder ; but the object of her wrath was deaf 
;o the loudest sounds, and blind to the most alarming 
;olors. She stamped, gesticulated, scolded, brought a 
:rowd that filled the place ; but the philosopher turned 
rot from his eager gaze and his inward meditations on 
;he stone. While the woman’s breath held good, she 
lid not seem to heed, but when that began to fail, and 
:he violence of the act moved not one muscle of the 
abject, her rage felt no bounds : she seized him by the 
ireast, and yelling, in an effort of despair, ‘ spagh ta 
na, or I’ll burst,’ sank down among the remnant of her 
ish in a state of complete exhaustion ; and before she 
lad recovered, the doctor’s reverie was over, and he 
lad taken his departure.’* 
Many curious anecdotes of a similar kind are related 
if the Rev Dr George Harvest, one of the ministers 
if Thames Ditton. So confused on some occasion, 
vere the ideas of this singular man, that he has been 
cnown to write a letter to one person, address it to a 
second, and send it to a third. He was once on the 
sve of being married to the bishop’s daughter, when 
laving gone a gudgeon-fishing, he forgot the circum- 
stance, and overstaid the canonical hour, which so of- 
ended the lady, that she indignantly broke off the 
natch. If a beggar happened to take off his hat to 
lim on the streets, in hopes of receiving alms, he would 
nake him a bow, tell him he was his most humble ser- 
vant, and walk on. Lie has been known on Sunday to 
orget the days on which he was to officiate, and would 
valk into church with his gun under his arm, to ascer- 
ain what the people wanted there. Once, when he 
vas playing at backgammon, he poured out a glass of 
vine, and it being his turn to throw, having the box in 
me hand and the glass in the other, and being extreme- 
y dry, and unwilling to lose any time, he swallowed 
town both the dice, and discharged the wine upon the 
lice-board. ‘ Another time,’ says the amusing narrative 
vhich has been published of his peculiarities, in one of 
tis absent fits, he mistoook his friend’s house, and 
vent into another, the door of which happened to stand 
'pen; and no servant being in the way, he rambled 
ll over the house, till, coming into a middle room, 
vhere there was an old lady ill in bed of the quincy, 
ie stumbled over the night stool, threw a close-horse 
own, and might not have ended there, had not the af- 
fighted patient made a noise at his intrusion, which 
rought up the servants, who, on finding Dr Harvest in 
he room, instead of the apothecary that was moment- 
rily expected, quieted the lady’s fears, who by this 
ime was taken with such an immoderate fit of laughter 
t his confusion, that it broke the quincy in her throat, 
nd she lived many years afterwards to thank Dr Har- 
est for his unlucky mistake. ‘ILis notorious heed- 
issness was so apparent, that no one would lend him 
horse, as he frequently lost his beast from under him, 
r, at least from out of his hands, it being his frequent 
ractice to dismount and lead the horse, putting the 
ridle under his arm, which the horse sometimes shook 
ff, or the intervention of a post occasioned it to fall ; 
Dinetimes it was taken off by the boys, when the par- 
on was seen drawing his bridle after him ; and if any 
ne asked him after the animal, he could not give the 
last account of it, or how he had lost it.’ In short the 
lunders which he committed were endless, and would 
e considered incredible, were they not authenticated by 
icontestible evidence. Yet, notwithstanding all this, 
larvest was a man of uncommon abilities, and an ex- 
ellent scholar. 
Bacon, the celebrated sculptor, exhibited on one oc- 
asion, a laughable instance of absence of mind. ‘ Ba- 
on was remarkably neat in his dress, and, according 
) the costume of the old school, wore, in fine weather, 
powdered wig, ruffles, silver buckles, with silk stock- 
igs, &c., and walked with his gold-headed cane. 
* ‘-NewMonthly Magazine,’ vol. xxxviii. p. 510. 
Thus attired, he one day called at St. Paul’s, shortly 
after having erected the statue of the benevolent 
Howard, aud before the boarding which enclosed the 
statue had been removed. One of his sons was em- 
ployed, at this time, in finishing the statue. After re- 
maining a short time, he complained of feeling some- 
what cold, on which the son proposed, as no one could 
overlook them, that he should put on, as a kind ot 
temporary spencer, an old torn, green shag waistcoat, 
with a red stuff back, which had been left there by one 
of the workmen. He said it was a ‘good thought,’ and 
accordingly buttoned the waistcoat over his handsome 
new coat. Shortly afterwards, he was missing, but 
returned in about an hour, stating that he had been to 
call on a gentleman in Doctor’s Commons, and had sat 
chatting with his wife and daughters, whom he had 
never seen before ; that he found them to be exceedingly 
pleasant women, though perhaps a little disposed to- 
laugh and titter about he knew not what. ‘ Sir,’ said 
the son, ‘I am afraid I can explain their mysterious 
behavior; surely you have not kept on that waistcoat 
all the time!’ ‘But, as sure as I am a living man, I 
have,’ said he, laughing heartily, ‘and I can now ac- 
count not only for the strange behavior of the ladies, 
but for all the jokes that have been cracked about me 
as I walked along the street—some crying let him 
alone, he does it for a wager, &c. &c. ; all which, from 
being quite unconscious of my appearance, I thought 
was levelled at some other quiz that might be following; 
near me ; and I now recollect that, whenever I looked 
round for the object of their pleasantry, the people 
laughed, and the more so, as, by the merry force of 
sympathy, I laughed also, although I could not com- 
prehend what it all meant.’ 
I shall conclude by mentioning an anecdote of Mr 
Warton, the accomplished Professor of Poetry in the 
University of Oxford. ‘ This good divine having dined 
with some jolly company at a gentleman’s house in that 
city, passing through the streets 10 the church, it being 
summer-time, his ears were loudly saluted with the 
cry of ‘Live mackerel!’ This so much dwelt upon 
the Doctor’s mind, that after a nap while the psalm 
was performing, as soon as the organ ceased playing, 
he got up in the pulpit, and with eyes half open, cried 
out ‘All alive, alive oh 1’ thus inadvertently keeping 
up the reputation of a Latin proverb, which is trans- 
lated in the following lines :— 
‘ Great wits to madness nearly are allied, 
And thin partitions do their bounds divide.’ 
‘ The Professor of Poetry perhaps supposed himself 
yet with his companions at the convivial table.’ 
Mental absence is generally incurable. In stout 
subjects, depletion, purging, and low diet, will some- 
times be of use. Where the affection seems to arise 
from torpor of the nervous system, blistering the head 
and internal stimuli afford the most probable means of 
relief. The person should associate as much as possi- 
ble with noisy, bustling people, and shun solitude and 
all such studies as have a tendency to produce abstrac- 
tion. 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
SLEEP OF PLANTS. 
During night, plants seem to exist in a state analo- 
gous to sleep. At this period they get relaxed, while 
their leaves droop and become folded together. Such 
is peculiarly the case with the tamarind tree, and the 
leguminous plants with pinnated leaves ; but with al- 
most all plants it takes place in a greater or lesser de- 
gree, although in some the change is much more strik- 
ing than in others. The trefoil, the Oxalis, and other 
herbs with ternate leaves, sleep with their leaflets fold- PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
49 
ed together in the erect posture. The cause of the 
different states in which plants exist during the day 
and night has never been correctly ascertained—some 
attributing it to the influence of light, some to the vicis- 
situdes of temperature, and others to atmospherical 
humidity. Probably the whole of these influences are 
concerned. It is very evident that the presence of 
certain stimuli during the day puts the leaves in a state 
of activity, and excites their development ; while the 
want of such stimuli in the night time throws them 
into repose, relaxes them, and occasions them to be 
weighed down, as if the sustaining principle which kept 
them in energy was suspended in the torpor of sleep 
The principal of these stimuli is unquestionably light ; 
indeed, Linnaeus, from the observation of stove plants, 
seems to have demonstrated that it is the withdrawing 
if light, and not of heat, which produces the relaxation, 
or Sleep of Plants, as it is commonly denominated. 
The effect of light upon the leaves of the Acacia is 
peculiarly striking. At sunrise they spread themselves 
out horizontally ; as the heat increases they become 
elevated, and at noon shoot vertically upwards : but as 
soon as the sun declines they get languid and droop, 
and during night are quite pendant and relaxed. Du- 
ring day, the leaves of some plants are spread out, and 
displayed, and at the same time inclined towards the 
sun. Those of the Helianthus annuus, the Helianthe- 
mum annuum, and Croton tinctorium follow the course 
of the sun in their position ; and most buds and flow- 
ers have a tendency to turn their heads in the direction 
of the great luminary of day. As an instance of this 
let us look at the sun flower, which confronts the 
source of light with its broad yellow expansion of as- 
pect, and hangs its gorgeons head droopingly so soon 
as the object of its worship declines. The leaves of 
a great number of vegetables present changes in their 
position corresponding to the different hours of the 
day. * Who does not know,’ says Wildcnow, ‘ that 
the species of Lupinus, especially Lupinus luteus turn, 
in the open air, their leaves and stalks towards the sun, 
and follow its course in so steady a manner, as to en- 
able us to specify the hour of the day from their direc- 
tion.’ Such phenomena were not unknown to Pliny 
and Theophrastus. 
I he analogy between animal and vegetable life is 
still farther demonstrated by the well known fact, that 
while some creatures, such as the cat and owl, sleep 
during the day, and continue awake at night, certain 
plants do the same thing. Such is the case with the 
1 ragopogon lutcum, which becomes closed, or in other 
words, goes to sleep at nine in the morning, and opens 
at night. Every hour of the day, indeed, has some 
particular plant which then shuts itself up : hence the 
idea of the Flower Dial by means of which the hour of 
the day can be told with tolerable accuracy. Some 
plants, which shut themselves up in the day time, 
flower at night. The night-flowering Cercus, a species 
of Cactus, is a beautiful instance of the kind ; and 
there are other plants which exhibit the same interest- 
ing phenomenon. Nothing, indeed, can be more beau- 
tiful than the nocturnal flowering of certain members of 
the vegetable world. Linnaeus used to go out at night 
with a lantern into his garden to have an opportunity of 
witnessing this remarkable peculiarity in the plants by 
which it is exhibited. 
The analogy between the two kingdoms is rendered 
yet more striking, when it is recollected that (with such 
exceptions as the above,) plants increase much more 
rapidly during night, which is their time of sleep, than in 
the day-time, which may be considered the period of 
their active or waking existence. 
The state in which plants exists in the winter season 
resembles the hybernation of animals : there is the 
same torpor and apparent extinction of vitality. Heat 
and light have the power of both reviving plants and 
putting an end to hybernation. Between plants and 
animals, however, there is this difference : that while 
most plants become torpid in winter, only a small 
number of animals get into that state ; but even in 
such dissimilitude we can trace an analogy ; for as 
there are animals upon which winter has no torpifying 
influence, so are there likewise plants. The Hellobo- 
rus hymalis or Christmas rose, flowers at the end of De- 
cember, and the Galanthus nivilis, or snow-drop, in 
the month of February. 
CHAPTER XIX. 
In the foregoing pages, I have detailed at length all 
the principal phenomena of sleep ; and it now only re- 
mains to state such circumstances as alfect the com- 
fort and healthfulness of the individual while in that 
condition. The first I shall mention is the nature of 
the chamber in which we sleep ; this should be always 
large and airy. In modern houses, these requisites are 
too much overlooked; and, while the public rooms are 
of great dimensions, those appropriated for sleeping are 
little better than closets. This error is exceedingly 
detrimental to health. The apartments wherein so 
great a portion of life is passed, should always be 
roomy, and, if possible, not placed upon the ground- 
floor, because such a situation is more apt to be damp 
and ill ventilated than higher up. 
The next consideration applies to the bed itself, 
which ought to be large, and not placed close to the 
wall, but at some distance from it, both to avoid any 
dampness which may exist in the wall, and admit a 
freer circulation of air. The curtains should never be 
drawn closely together, even in the coldest weather; 
and when the season is not severe, it is a good plan to 
remove them altogether. The bed or mattress ought 
to be rather hard. Nothing is more injurious to health 
than soft beds ; they effeminate the individual, render 
his flesh soft and flabby, and incapacitate him from un- 
dergoing any privation. The texture of which the 
couch is made, is not of much consequence, provided it 
is not too soft: hence, feather-beds, or mattresses of 
hair or straw are almost equally good, if suitable in this 
particular. I may mention, however, that the hair 
mattress, from being cooler, and less apt to imbibe 
moisture, is preferable during the summer season, to a 
bed of feathers. Those soft yielding feather-beds, in 
which the body sinks deeply, are highly improper, from 
the unnatural heat and perspiration which they are sure 
to induce.* Air-beds have been lately recommended, 
but I can assert, from personal experience, that they 
are the worst that can possibly be employed. They 
become very soon heated to such an unpleasant degree 
as to render it imposs ble to repose upon them with any 
comfort. For bed-ridden persons, whose skin has be- 
come irritated by long lying, the hydrostatic bed, lately 
brought into use in some of the public hospitals, is (he 
best. 
The pillow as well as the bed, should be pretty hard. 
When very soft, the head soon sinks in it, and becomes 
unpleasantly heated. The objection made to air-beds 
applies with equal force to air-pillows, which I several 
times attempted to use. but was compelled to abandon, 
owing to the disagreeable heat that was generated in a 
few minutes. 
With regard to the covering, there can be no doubt 
that it is more wholesome to lie between sheets than 
blankets. For the same reason, people should avoid 
sleeping in flannel nightshirts. Such a degree of 
warmth as is communicated by those means is only 
justifiable in infancy and childhood, or when there is 
actual disease or weakness of constitution. Parents 
often commit a great error in bringing up their young 
people under so effeminate a system. 
GENERAL MANAGEMENT OF SLEEP. 50 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
A common custom prevails of warming the bed be- 
fore going to sleep. This enervating practice should 
be abandoned except with delicate people, or when the 
cold is very intense. It is far better to let the bed be 
chafed by the natural heat of the body, which, even in 
severe weather, will be sufficient for the purpose, pro- 
vided the clothing is abundant. 
We ought never to sleep overloaded with clothes, 
but have merely what is sufficient to maintain a com- 
fortable warmth. 
When a person is in health, the atmosphere of his 
apartment should be cool; on this account, fires are 
exceedingly hurtful, and should never be had recourse 
to, except when the individual is delicate, or the weather 
intolerably severe. When they become requisite, 
smoke must be carefully guarded against, as fatal acci- 
dents have arisen from this cause. 
The window-shutters ought never to be entirely 
closed, neither ought they to be kept altogether open. 
In the first case, we are apt to oversleep ourselves, 
owing to the prevailing darkness with which we are 
surrounded ; and in the second, the light which fills the 
apartment, especially if it be in the summer season, may 
disturb our repose, and waken us at an earlier hour 
than there is any occasion for. Under both circum- 
stances, the eyes are liable to suffer; the darkness in 
the one instance, disposes them to be painfully affect- 
ed, on exposure to the brilliant light of day, besides di- 
rectly debilitating them—for, in remaining too much in 
the gloom, whether we be asleep or awake, these or- 
gans are sure to be more or less weakened. In the 
other case, the fierce glare of the morning sun acting 
upon them, perhaps for several hours before we get up, 
does equal injury, making them tender and easily affect- 
ed by the light. The extremes of too much and too 
little light must, therefore, be avoided, and such a 
moderate portion admitted into the chamber as not to 
hurt the eyes, or act as too strong a stimulus in break- 
ing our slumbers. 
During the summer heats, the covering requires to 
be diminished, so as to suit the atmospheric tempera- 
ture ; and a small portion of the window drawn down 
from the top, to promote a circulation of air ; but this 
must be done cautiously, and the current prevented 
from coming directly upon the sleeper, as it might give 
rise to colds, and other bad consequences. The late 
Dr Gregory was in the habit of sleeping with the win- 
dow drawn slightly down during the whole year : and 
there can be no doubt that a gentle current pervading 
our sleeping apartments, is in the highest degree essen- 
tial to health. 
Nothing is so injurious as damp beds. It becomes 
every person, whether at home or abroad, to look to this 
matter, and see that the bedding on which he lies is 
thoroughly dry, and free from even the slightest moist- 
ure. By neglecting such a precaution, rheumatism, 
colds, inflammations, and death itself may ensue. In- 
deed these calamities are very frequently traced to 
sleeping incautiously upon damp beds. For the same 
reason, the walls and floor should be dry, and wet 
clothes never hung up in the room. 
We should avoid sleeping in a bed that has been oc- 
cupied by the sick, till the bedding has been cleansed 
and thoroughly aired. When a person has died of any 
infectious disease, not only the clothes in which he lay, 
but the couch itself ought to be burned. Even the 
bed-stead should be carefully washed and fumigated. 
Delicate persons who have been accustomed to sleep 
upon feather-beds, must be cautious not to exchange 
them rashly for any other. 
On going to sleep, all sorts of restraints must be re- 
moved from the body ; the collar of the night-shirt 
should be unbuttoned and the neckcloth taken off. 
With regard to the head, the more lightly it is covered 
the better: on this account, we should wear a thin cot- 
ton or silk night-cap ; and this is still better if made of 
net-work. Some persons wear worsted, or flannel cap*, 
but these are never proper, except in old or rheumatic 
subjects. The grand rule of health is to keep the head 
cool, and the feet warm ; hence, the night-cap cannot 
be too thin. In fact, the chief use of this piece of 
clothing is to preserve the hair, and preserve it from 
being disordered and matted together. 
Sleeping in stockings is a bad and uncleanly habit. 
By accustoming ourselves to do without any covering 
upon the feet, we shall seldom experience cold in these 
parts, if we have clothing enough to keep the rest of 
the system comfortable; and should they still remain 
cold, this can easily be obviated by wrapping a warm 
flannel cloth around them, or by applying to them, for 
a few minutes, a heated iron, or a bottle of warm water. 
The posture of the body must be attended to. The 
head should be tolerably elevated, especially in pletho- 
ric subjects; and the position, from the neck down- 
wards, as nearly as possible horizontal. The half-sit- 
ting posture, with the shoulders considerably raised, is 
injurious, as the thoracric and abdominal viscrea are 
thereby compressed, aud respiration, digestion, and cir- 
culation, materially impeded. Lying upon the back is 
also improper, in consequence of its tendency to pro- 
duce nightmare. Most people pass the greater part of 
the night upon the side, which is certainly the most 
comfortable position that can be assumed in sleep. Ac- 
cording to Dr A. Hunter, women who love their hus- 
bands generally lie upon the right side. This interest- 
ing point I have no means of ascertaining, although, 
doubtless, the ladies are qualified to speak decidedly 
upon the subject. I have known individuals who could 
not sleep except upon the back; but these are rare cases. 
I have mentioned the necessity of a free circulation 
of air. On this account, it is more wholesome to sleep 
single, than double, for there is then less destruction of 
oxygen ; and the atmosphere is much purer and cooler. 
For the same reason, the practice, so common in pub- 
lic schools, of having several beds in one room, and 
two or three individuals in each bed, must be deleteri- 
ous. When more than one sleep in a single bed, they 
should take care to place themselves in such a position 
as not to breath in each other’s faces. Some persons 
have a dangerous custom of covering their heads with 
the bedclothes. The absurdity of this practice needs 
no comment. 
Before going to bed, the body should be brought into 
that state which gives us the surest chance of dropping 
speedily asleep. If too hot, its temperature ought to 
be reduced by cooling drinks, exposure to the open air, 
sponging, or even the cold bath; if too cold, it must 
be brought into a comfortable state by warmth ; for 
both cold and heat act as stimuli, and their removal is 
necessary before slumber can ensue. A full stomach, 
also, though it sometimes promotes, generally prevents 
sleep; consequently, supper ought to be dispensed 
with, except by those who. having been long used to 
this meal, cannot sleep without it. As a general rule, 
the person who eats nothing for two or three hours be- 
fore going to rest, will sleep better than he who does. 
His sleep will also be more refreshing, and his sensa- 
tions upon waking much more gratifying. The Chinese 
recommended brushing the teeth previous to lying 
down : this is a good custom. 
Sleeping after dinner is pernicious. On awaking 
from such indulgence, there is generally some degree 
of febrile excitement, in consequence of the latter stages 
of digestion being hurried on : it is only useful in old 
people, and in some cases of disease. 
The weak, and those recovering from protracted ill- 
nesses, must be indulged with more sleep than such as 
are vigorous. Sleep, in them, supplies, in some mea- 
sure, the place of nourishment, and thus becomes a 
most powerful auxiliary for restoring them to health. 
Much repose is likewise necessary to enable the system 
to recover from the effects of dissipation. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
51 
Too little and too much sleep are equally injurious. 
Excessive wakefulness, according to Hippocrates, pre- 
vents the aliment from being digested, and generates 
crude humours. Too much sleep produces lassitude 
and corpulency, and utterly debases and stupifies the 
mind. Corpulent people being apt to indulge in ex- 
cessive sleep, they should break this habit at once, as, 
in their case, it is peculiarly unwholesome. They ought 
to sleep little, and that little upon hard beds. 
The practice of sleeping in the open air, cannot be 
too strongly reprobated. It is at all times dangerous, 
especially when carried into effect under a burning sun, 
or amid the damps of night. In tropical climates, where 
this custom is indulged in during the day, it is not un- 
usual for the person to be struck with a coup-de-soleil, 
or some violent fever; and in our own country, nothing 
is more common than inflammations, rheumatisms, and 
dangerous colds, originating from sleeping upon the 
ground, either during the heat of the day, or when the 
evening has set in with its attendant dews and vapours. 
As respects the repose of children it may be remark- 
ed that the custom of rocking them asleep in the cra- 
dle, is not to be recommended, sanctioned though it be 
by the voice of ages. This method of procuring slum- 
ber, not only heats the infant unnecessarily, but, in 
some cases, disorders the digestive organs, and, in 
most, produces a sort of artificial sleep, far less con- 
ducive to health, than that brought on by more natural 
means. According to some writers, it has also a ten- 
dency to induce water in the head, a circumstance 
which I think possible, although I never knew a case 
of that disease which could be traced to such a source, 
the cradle, then, should be abandoned, so far as the 
rocking is concerned, and the child simply lulled to re- 
pose in the nurse’s arms, and then deposited quietly in 
bed. Sleep will often be induced by gently scratching 
or rubbing the top of the child’s head. This fact is 
well known to some nurses, by whom the practice is 
had recourse to for the purpose of provoking slumber 
in restless children. For the first month of their ex- 
istence, children sleep almost continually, and they 
should be permitted to do so, for at this early age they 
cannot slumber too much: calm and long-continued 
sleep is a favourable symptom, and ought to be cher- 
ished rather than prevented, during the whole period of 
infancy. When, however, a child attains the age of 
three or four months, we should endeavour to manage 
so that its periods of wakefulness may occur in the day- 
time, instead of at night. By proper care, a child 
may be made to sleep at almost any hour; and, as this 
is always an object of importance, it should be sedul- 
ously attended to in the rearing of children. Until 
about the third year, they require a little sleep in the 
middle of the day, and pass half their time in sleep-. 
Every succeeding year, till they attain the age of seven, 
the period allotted to repose should be shortened one 
hour, so that a child of that age may pass nine hours or 
thereabouts, out of the twenty-four, in a state of sleep. 
Children should never be awakened suddenly, or with 
a noise, in consequence of the terror and starting which 
such a method of arousing them produces: neither 
should they be brought all at once from a dark room 
into a strong glare of light, lest their eyes be weaken- 
ed, and permanent injury inflicted upon these organs. 
The position in which children sleep requires to be 
carefully attended to. Sir Charles Bell mentions that 
the eneuresis infantum,, with which they are so often 
affected, frequently arises from lying upon the back, 
and that it will be removed or prevented by accustom- 
ing them to lie on the side. It is also of the greatest 
importance, that they be kept sufficiently warm. I be- 
lieve that many infantile diseases arise from the neglect 
of this precaution. Children have little power of evol- 
ving heat; on this account, when delicate they should 
never be permitted to sleep alone, but made to lie with 
the nurse, that they may receive warmth from her bodv. 
At whatever period we go to sleep, one fact is cer- 
tain, that we can never with impunity convert day into 
night. Even in the most scorching seasons of the 
year, it is better to travel under the burning sunshine, 
than in the cool of the evening, when the dev/s are 
falling and the air is damp. A case in support of this 
statement, is given by Valangin in his work on Diet. 
Two colonels in the French army had a dispute 
whether it was not most safe to march in the heat of 
the day, or in the evening. To ascertain this point, 
they got permission from the commanding officer to 
put their respective plans into execution. Accordingly, 
the one with his division marched during the day, al- 
though it was in the heat of summer, and rested all 
night—the other slept in the day-time, and marched 
during the evening and part of the night. The result 
was that the first performed a journey of six hundred 
miles, without losing a single man or horse, while the 
latter lost most of his horses, and several of his men. 
It now becomes a question at what hour we should 
retire to rest, how long our rest ought to continue, and 
when it should be broken in the morning. These 
points I shall briefly discuss, in the order in which they 
stand. 
It is not very easy to ascertain the most appropriate 
hour for going to bed, as this depends very much upon 
the habits and occupation of the individual. Laborers 
and all hard wrought people, who are obliged to get up 
betimes, require to go to rest early ; and in their case, 
nine o'clock may be the best hour. Those who are 
not obliged to rise early, may delay the period of re- 
tiring to rest for an hour or two longer; and may thus 
go to bed at ten or eleven. These are the usual 
periods allotted among the middle ranks of life for this 
purpose; and it may be laid down as a rule, that to 
make a custom of remaining up for a later period than 
eleven must be prejudicial. Those, therefore, who 
habitually delay going to bed till twelve, or one, or two, 
are acting in direct opposition to the laws of health, in 
so far as they are compelled to pass in sleep a portion 
of the ensuing day, which ought to be appropriated to 
wakefulness and exertion. Late hours are in every 
respect hurtful, whether they be employed in study or 
amusement. A fresh supply of stimulus is thrown 
upon the mind, which prevents it from sinking into 
slumber at the proper period, and restlessness, dream- 
ing, and disturbed repose inevitably ensue. Among 
other things, the eyes are injured, those organs suffer- 
ing much more from the candle-light, to which they are 
necessarily exposed, than from the natural light of day. 
With regard to the necessary quantity of sleep, so 
much depends upon age, constitution, and employment, 
that it is impossible to lay down any fixed rule which 
will apply to all cases. Jeremy Taylor states that 
three hours only in the twenty-four should be devoted 
to sleep. Baxter extends the period to four hours, 
YVesley to six, Lord Coke and Sir William Jones to 
seven, and Sir John Sinclair to eight. With the latter 
I am disposed to coincide. Taking the average of 
mankind, we shall come as nearly as possible to the 
truth when we say that nearly one-third part of life 
ought to be spent in sleep : in some cases, even more 
maybe necessary, and in few, can a much smaller portion 
be safely dispensed with. When a person in young, 
strong, and healthy, an hour or two less may be suffi- 
cient ; but childhood and extreme old age require a still 
greater portion. No person who passes only eight 
hours in bed, can be said to waste his time in sleep. 
If, however, he exceeds this, and is, at the same time, 
in possession of vigor and youth, ne lays himself open 
to the charge of slumbering away those hours which 
should be devoted to some other purpose. According 
to Georget, women should sleep a couple of hours 
longer than men. For the former he allows six or 
seven hours, for the latter eight or nine. I doubt, how- 
ever. if the female PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
[uires more sleep than the male; at least it is certain 
hat women endure protracted wakefulness better than 
nen, but whether this may result from custom is a 
juestion worthy of being considered. 
Barry, in his work on Digestion, has made an inge- 
lious, but somewhat whimsical, calculation on the ten- 
lency of sleep to prolong life. He asserts, that the 
iuration of human life may be ascertained by the num- 
rer of pulsations which the individual is able to per- 
form. Thus, if a man’s life extends to 70 years, and 
his heart throbs 60 times each minute, the whole num- 
ber of its pulsations will amount to 2,207,520,000 ; but 
if, by intemperance, or any other cause, he raises the 
pulse to 75 in the minute, the same number of pulsa- 
tions would be completed in 56 years, and the duration 
pf life abbreviated 14 years. Arguing from these data, 
he alleges, that sleep has a tendency to prolong life, as, 
during its continuance, the pulsations are less numerous 
than in the waking state. There is a sort of theoreti- 
cal truth in this statement, but it is liable to be modified 
by so many circumstances, that its application can 
never become general. If this were not the case, it 
would be natural to infer that the length of a man’s 
life would correspond with that of his slumbers; 
whereas it is well known, that too much sleep debili- 
tates the frame, and lays the foundation of various dis- 
eases, which tend to shorten rather than extend the 
duration of life. 
Those who indulge most in sleep, generally require 
the least of it. Such are the wealthy and luxurious, 
who pass nearly the half of their existence in slumber, 
while the hard-working peasant and mechanic, who 
would seem, at first sight, to require more than any 
other class of society, are contented with seven or eight 
hours of repose—a period brief in proportion to that ex- 
pended by them in toil, yet sufficiently long for the 
wants of nature, as is proved by the strength and health 
which they almost uniformly enjoy. 
For reasons already stated, more sleep is requisite in 
winter than in summer. Were there even no consti- 
tutional causes for this difference, we should be disposed 
to sleep longer in the one than in the other, as some of 
the circumstances which induce us to sit up late and rise 
early in summer, are wanting during winter ; and we 
consequently feel disposed to lie longer in bed during 
the latter season of the year. 
The hour of getting up in the morning is not of less 
importance than that at which we ought to lie down at 
night. There can be no doubt that one of the most 
admirable conducives to health is early rising. ‘ Let 
us,’ says Solomon, ‘ go forth into the fields ; let us 
lodge in the villages ; let us get up early to the vine- 
yards ; let us see if the vine flourish—if the tender 
grape appear—if the pomegranates bud forth.’ 
Almost all men who have distinguished themselves 
in science, literature, and the arts, have been early ris- 
ers. The industrious, the active-minded, the enthu- 
siast in the pursuit of knowledge or gain, are up be- 
times at their respective occupations ; while the slug- 
gard wastes the most beautiful period of life in perni- 
cious slumber. Homer, Virgil, and Horace are all re- 
presented as early risers : the same was the case with 
Paley, Franklin, Priestly, Parkhurst, and Buft’on, the 
latter of whom ordered his valet de chambre to awaken 
him every morning, and compel him to get up by force 
if he evinced any reluctance : for this service the valet 
was rewarded with a crown each day, which recom- 
pense he forfeited if he did not oblige his master to get 
out of bed before the clock struck six. Bishops Jewel 
and Burnet rose regularly every morning at four o'- 
clock. Sir Thomas More did the same thing ; and so 
convinced was he of the beneficial effects of getting up 
betimes, that, in his ‘ Utopia,’ he represented the inha- 
bitants attending lectures before sunrise. Napoleon 
was an early riser; so was Frederick the Great and, 
Charles XII ; so is the Duke of Wellington ; and so 
in truth, is almost every one distinguished for energy 
and indefatigability of mind. 
Every circumstance contributes to render early 
rising advisable to those who are in the enjoyment 
of health. There is no time equal in beauty and 
freshness to the morning, when nature has just parted 
with the gloomy mantle which night had flung over her, 
and stands before us like a young bride, from whose 
aspect the veil which covered her loveliness, has been 
withdrawn. The whole material world has a vivifying 
appearance. The husbandman is up at his labour, the 
forest leaves sparkle with drops of crystal dew, the flow- 
ers raise their rejoicing heads towards the sun, the birds 
pour forth their anthems of gladness; and the wide face of 
creation itself seems as if awakened and refreshed from 
a mighty slumber. All these things, however, are hid 
from the eyes of the sluggard ; nature, in her most glo- 
rious aspect, is, to him, a sealed book ; and while every 
scene around him is full of beauty, interest, and anima- 
tion, he alone is passionless and uninspired. Behold 
him stretched upon his couch of rest ! In vain does 
the clock proclaim that the reign of day has commenced! 
In vain does the morning light stream fiercely in by the 
chinks of his window, as if to startle him from his re- 
pose ! He hears not—he sees not, for blindness and 
deafness rule over him with despotic sway, and lay a 
deadening spell upon his faculties. And when he does 
at length awake—far on in the day—from the torpor of 
this benumbing sleep, he is not refreshed. He does 
not start at once into new life—an altered man, with 
joy in his mind, and vigour in his frame. On the con- 
trary, he is dull, languid, and stupid, as if half recover- 
ed from a paroxysm of drunkenness. He yawns, 
stretches himself, and stalks into the breakfast parlour, 
to partake in solitude, and without appetite, of his un- 
refreshing meal—while his eyes are red and gummy, 
his beard unshorn, his face unwashed, and his clothes 
disorderly, and ill put on. Uncleanliness and sluggish- 
ness generally go hand in hand ; for the obtuseness of 
mind which disposes a man to waste the most precious 
hours of existence in debasng sleep, will naturally 
make him neglect his person. 
The character of the early riser is the very reverse 
of the sloven’s. His countenance is ruddy, his eye 
joyous and serene, and his frame full of vigour and ac- 
tivity. His mind, also, is clear and unclouded, and free 
from that oppressive languor which weighs like a night- 
mare upon the spirit of the sluggard. The man who 
rises betimes, is in the fair way of laying in both health 
and wealth; while he who dozes away his existence in 
unnecessary sleep, will acquire neither. On the con- 
trary, he runs every chance of losing whatever portion 
of them he may yet be in possession of, and of sinking 
fast in the grade of society—a bankrupt both in person 
and in purse.* 
The most striking instances of the good effects of 
early rising, are to be found in our peasantry and farm- 
ers, whose hale complexions, good appetites, and vig- 
ourous persons, are evidences of the benefit derived 
from this custom, conjoined with labour; while the 
wan, unhealthy countenances and enfeebled frames of 
those who keep late hours, lie long in bed, and pass the 
night in dissipation, study, or pleasure, are equally con- 
* In the will of the late Mr Janies Sergeant of the borough of 
Leicester, is the following clause relative to early rising:— 
* As my nephews are fond of indulging in bed of a morning, and 
as I wish them to improve the time while they are young, I di- 
rect that they shall prove to the satisfaction of my executors, 
that have got out of bed in the morning, and either employed 
themselves in business, or taken exercise in the open air, from 
five o’clock every morning, from the 5th of April, to the 
10th of October, being three hours each day, and from seven 
o’clock in the morning from the loth of October to the 5th of 
April, being two hours every morning for two whole years ; this 
to be done for some two years during the first seven years, to the 
satisfaction of my executors, who may excuse them in case of 
illness, but the task must be made up when they are well, and 
if they will not do this, they shall not receive any share of my 
property.’ PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
53 
elusive proofs of the pernicious consequences resulting 
from an opposite practice. 
Early rising, therefore, is highly beneficial; but care 
should be taken not to carry it to excess. It can never 
be healthful to rise till the sun has been for some 
time above the horizon ; for until this is the case, there 
is a dampness in the air which must prove injurious to 
the constitution, especially when it is not naturally very 
strong. Owing to this, early rising is injurious to most 
•delicate people ; and, in all cases, the heat of the sun 
should be allowed to have acquired some strength be- 
fore we think of getting out of doors. No healthy man 
in the summer, should lie longer in bed than six 
o’clock. If he does so, he loses the most valuable part 
of the day, and injures his own constitution. Persons 
subject to gout, should always go to sleep early, and 
arise early. The former mitigates the violence of the 
evening paroxysm, which is always increased by wake- 
fulness ; and the latter lessens the tendency to plethora, 
which is favoured by long protracted sleep. 
It is common in some of the foreign universities to 
go to bed at eight, and rise at three or four in the 
morning; and this plan is recommended by Willich in 
his 4 Lectures on Diet and Regimen.’ Sir John Sin- 
clair, in allusion to it, judiciously observes, 41 have no 
doubt of the superior healthiness, in the winter time, of 
rising by day-light, and using candle-light at the close 
of the day, than rising by candle-light, and using it 
some hours before day-light approaches. It remains 
to be ascertained by which system the eyes are least 
likely to be affected. 
Dr Franklin in one of his ingenious Essays, has some 
fine observations on early rising; and makes an amusing 
calculation of the saving that might be made in the city 
of Paris alone, by using the sunshine instead of candles. 
This saving he estimates at 96,000,000 of livres, or 
.£4,000,000 sterling. This is mentioned in a satirical 
vein, but probably there is a great deal of truth in the 
statement. Indeed, if people were to go sooner to bed, 
and get up earlier, it is inconceivable what sums might 
be saved ; but according to the absurd custom of polish- 
ed society, day is, in a great measure, converted into 
night, and the order of things reversed in a manner at 
once capricious and hurtful. 
To conclude. The same law which regulates our 
desire for food, also governs sleep. As we indulge in 
sleep to moderation or excess, it becomes a blessing or 
a curse—in the one case recruiting the energies of na- 
ture, and diffusing vigour alike over the mind and 
frame: in the other, debasing the character of man, 
stupifying his intellect, enfeebling his body, and render- 
ing him useless alike to others and himself. The glut- 
ton, the drunkard, and the sloven bear the strictest af- 
finity to each other, both in the violation of nature’s 
laws, and in the consequences thence entailed upon 
themselves. What in moderation is harmless or bene- 
ficial, in excess is a curse; and sleep carried to the lat- 
ter extreme, may be pronounced an act of intem- 
perance almost as much as excessive eating or drinking. 
TH8 END. 
CONTENTS OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
CHAPTER I. 
Pag 
Introduction, ....... S 
CHAPTER II. 
Sleep in General, 4 
CHAPTER III. 
Dreaming, 9 
CHAPTER IV. 
Prophetic Power of Dreams, .... 20 
CHAPTER V. 
Nightmare ,24 
CHAPTER VI. 
Daymare, ....... 27 
CHAPTER VII. 
Sleep-Walking . 28 
CHAPTER VIII. 
Sleep-Talking, 31 
CHAPTER IX. 
Sleeplessness, ... . . S3 
CHAPTER X. 
CHAPTER XI. 
Paob 
Protracted Sleep, S5 
CHAPTER XII. 
Sleep From Cold 36 
CHAPTER XIII. 
Trance, . .... 37 
CHAPTER XIV. 
Voluntary Waking Dreams, .... 89 
CHAPTER XV. 
Spectral Illusions, 40 
CHAPTER XVI. 
Reverie, 43 
CHAPTER XVII. 
Abstraction, . . .... 46 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
Sleep of Plants, 48 
CHAPTER XIX. 
General Management of Sleep, ... 49 INDEX 
TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
| PAGE 
Abercrombie, Dr, case related by, of the veri- 
fication of a dream, .... 22 
— , his distinction between 
dreaming and insanity .... 9 
Absorption, increased by sleep, ... 6 
Animal life, ------ 3 
— magnetism, ----- 30 
Aristotle, his account of the sleep of fishes, - 4 
Armitage, Elizabeth, a great sleeper, - 35 
Awaking, phenomena of, 9 
Bacon the sculptor, anecdote of, - 48 
Barclay, Captain, anecdote of, 8 
Barry, curious calculation by, 52 
Baxter, his theory of dreaming,' - 9 
Bayle. his account of spectral illusions, - 42 
Beattie, Dr, facts concerning, ... 11-12 
Bed, directions.with regard to the, - 45 
Bell, Sir Charles, on the eneuresis infantum, 51 
Bichat, his division of life, - - - - 3 
Birds, sleep of, ----- 4 
Blacklock, Dr, the peculiarity of his dreams, 17 
•—■— , curious anecdote of, - 29 
Blake the painter, extraordinary case of, - 42 
Blindness, dreams modified by, - - - 16 
Boerhaave, anecdote of, 5 
• , case spoken of by, ... 35 
Bostock, Dr, his case, .... 44 
Bourdeaux, Archbishop of, case of somnambu- 
lism related by, 29 
Brain, effects of its size in reference to sleep, 4 
■ , determination of blood to the, induces 
sleep, - -- -- -- 5 
Browne, Mr W. A. F., cases by, - - 31 
Buffon denies any affinity between hyberna- 
tion and sleep, ----- 37 
Buzareinguez, M. Giron de, experiments by, 
to produce dreams at will, - - - 11 
Byron, Lord, scene described by, in his ‘ Para- 
sina,’ - -- -- -- 31 
Cabanis, fact concerning, - - - - 13 
Caesar, Julius, the apparition of, which appeared 
to Brutes, accounted for, - 22 
Caligula tormented by frightful dreams, - 17 
Cardan, fact concerning, ... - 47 
Carmichael, Mr, his explanation of the pro- 
cess of waking, ----- 9 
■ , supposes sleep to be the pe- 
riod when assimilation goes on in the brain, 9 
Castel, Mr, observation by, - 7 
Catalepsy, ------ 20 
Chapelain, M, operation performed by, upon a 
lady under the magnetic influence, - 30 
Children, dreams of, - 10 
, sleep of, 8 
, directions regarding the sleep of, - 50 
Circulation, its rapidity diminished by sleep, - 6 
Cold produces sleep, ----- 36 
, sleep from, 36 
PAGE. 
Coleridge, Mr, account by, of the origin of 
Cubla Khan, ------ 13 
Colquhoun,Mr,the Parisian report translated by, 30 
Combe, Mr, cases mentioned by, - - - 23 
, his remarks on concentrativcness, 47 
Combe, Dr, case of spectral illusion by, - 44 
Concentrativeness, effect of a large develop- 
ment of, in inducing abstraction, - - 47 
Condorcet, fact concerning, ... 13 
Conolly, Dr, case related by, ... 41 
Cook, Captain, extracted from his ‘ Voyages,’ 37 
Cullen, his remark on the effect of monotony, 5 
Culpepper, Lord trial of his brother, 29 
Cumin, Dr, case related by, - - - 16 
Currie Dr, his remarks on the visions of hypo- 
chondria, ------ 11 
Darwin, Dr, fact noticed by, - 15 
, method recommended by, to 
prevent attacks of nightmare, - 27 
, case of sleep-talking described 
by, ------- 32 
Daymare, - - - - - - 27 
Dead, visions of the, - - - - 16 
Deafness, dreams modified by, - - 17 
Democritus, his theory of dreaming, - 9 
Dogs, dreams of, ----- 10 
Donne, Dr, his case of spectral illusion, - 22 
Dreaming, ------ 10 
Dreams, causes of, - - - - ll 
, management of, 19 
, prophetic power of, 20 
Drowning, - -- -- - 12 
Drowsiness, ------ 24 
Drunkenness, analogy between it and dreaming, 16-18 
, nature of the dreams induced by, 18 
Dubrie, Mr, anecdote of, 29 
Dull sermon, the effect of a, m inducing sleep, 5 
Dumbness, case of, cured by a frightful dream, 14 
Dyce, Dr, remarkable case of somnambulism, 
related by, ----- 31 
Early rising, benefits of, 52 
Edwards, Dr, fact by, concerning hyberna- 
ting animals, ------ 36 
Ellicot, Major remarkable case related by - 31 
Fairies, belief in accounted for, - - - 42 
Familiar spirits, ------ 40 
Fanshawe, Lady, case from her ‘ Memoirs,’ - 21 
Fish, sleep of, ----- 4 
Forestus, case of daymare related by, - 27 
Foetus, state of, ----- 8 
Franklin, Dr, his case of somnambulism, - 29 
, amusing calculation by, - 53 
, Captain, fact stated by, con- 
cerning the freezing of fish, - 36 
Gall, Dr, cases of somnambulism related by, - 29 
on spectral illusions, - - - 40 
George III, method employed to procure him 
sleep, - -- -- -- 34 
Georget on the sleep of woman, - - - 52 
Gooch, curious case related by, - 8 INDEX TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. 
55 
PAGE 
Good, Dr, his remarks on sleep-walking, - 28 
— , his description of waking dreams, 39 
Goose, the, a very light sleeper, ... 4 
Gordon, John, Esq, case mentioned by, - 8 
Gregory, Dr, case of, - 41 
Grey Earl, haunted by a bloody head, - - 49 
Griffith’s, Mrs, verification of her dreams, - 21 
Crokatzhi, George, case of, - - - - 39 
Guilty, dreams of the, .... - 19 
Habit, sleep modified by, 7 
Hamilton, Dr Robert, anecdote of, - - 47 
Hare sleeps with its eyes open, - 7 
Harvest, Dr George, anecdotes of, - - 48 
Haycock, Dr, delivered sermons and prayers 
in his sleep, ------ 31 
Hazlitt, his opinion, that in sleep we are al- 
ways thinking, disputed, - - - - 9 
Heat produces sleep, ----- 4 
Hildesheim, his remark concerning nightmare, 26 
Hoff bauer, case related by him of murder oc- 
casioned by a frightful dream, - - - 14 
Hogarth anecdote of, - 47 
Hood, Mr, incongruous dream related by, - 17 
Hoole, Mr, his account of Tasso’s familiar spirit, 40 
Horror, a frequent accompaniment of dreams, 15 
Horses dream, ------ 10 
Hunter, Dr A, his remark on the position of 
women, ...... 50 
Hybernation, ...... 36 
Hypochondriac, visions of the, - - - 12 
Illusion of dreams, 17 
Insanity, curious case of, occasioned by a fright- 
ful dream, ....-- 14 
, analogy between it and dreaming, 10-18 
Irish porter, case of, - 16 
Kubla Khan composed by Mr Coleridge in a 
dream, ------ - 13 
Lady of Nismes, extraordinary case of, - 35 
Levison, Mr, case of spectral illusion by, - 44 
Life, definition of, 3 
Love as experienced in dreams, - - - 16 
Lucretius, his theory of dreaming, - 9 
Lyall, Mary, a great sleeper, ... 8-35 
Lyttleton, Lord, case of, 22 
M , Miss, verification of her dream, - 20 
Mackay, James, anecdote of, 8 
Martinet, cases of somnambulism described by, 29 
Meal, a heavy, induces sleep, ... 5 
Moisture, torpor produced by a want of, - 36 
Moivre, De, a sleeper, - 8 
Murder, case of, occasioned by a frightful 
dream, ------ - 14 
Narcotics, the manner in which they induce 
sleep, ------- 6 
, nature of the visions induced by, 11—18 
Nervous energy, how its distribution occasions 
sleep, - -- -- -- 5 
Newton, Sir Isaac, anecdotes of, - - 46-47 
Nicolai, case of, ----- 42 
Night, the time for sleep, - 3 
Nightmare, - 24 
Old age, sleep greatly modified in, - - 8-11 
‘Opium Eater,’ extracts from his ‘Confes- 
sions,’ ------- 12-18 
Organic life, ------ 3 
Orvin, Elizabeth, a great sleeper, - - 8 
Parr, Dr, remarks on dreaming by, - - 13 
Parrot, the, said to dream, ... - 10 
Past and forgotten events renewed by dreams, 15 
Perkins, Elizabeth, a great sleeper, - - 8-25 
PAGE 
Perspiration increased by sleep, ... 6 
Pichegru, General, curious fact concerning, - 8 
Pillow, directions with regard to the, 49 
Plants, sleep of, ----- - 48 
Polydori, Dr, subject to nightmare, - - 27 
Positions assumed in sleep, ... 6-7-50 
Pritchard, Dr, case of somnambulism spoken 
of by, 29 
Profoundness of sleep, varieties of, 7 
Protracted sleep, ..... 25 
Pulse, state of the, in sleep, ... 6 
Quin, the celebrated player, fact concerning, 8 
Reid, Dr, curious facts concerning, - - 8-10 
Reverie, 45' 
R d of Bowland, case of, - - - 23i 
Rush, Dr, his distinction between dreaming 
and delirium, - - - - .- - 10 
Russel, Lady, narrowly escaped premature in- 
terment, ...... 38 
Sanctorius, 'his remarks on perspiration, - 6 
Schidmaizig, Bernard, case of, - - - 14 
Scott, Sir Walter, remarks by, on the case of 
Lord Lyttleton, ..... 22 
, curious case of a verified 
dream related by him in the Antiquary, - 23 
Scott, executed for murder, case of, - - 23 
Sergeant, James, Mr, his will, ... 52 
Second Sight accounted for, ... 42 
Secretions, effect of sleep on the, - 6 
Sensorial power, the, - - - _ 5 
Sherigny, case of, - - - - - 38 
Simpson, Mr, case of spectral illusion related by, 43 
Sinelair, Sir John, his remarks on early rising, 53 
Sleep of plants, ..... 48 
Sleep, general management of, - - - 49 
Sleep-walking, ..... 28 
Sleep in general, ----- 4 
Sleep-talking, ..... 32 
Sleeplessness, ----- 33 
Sleep from cold, ----- 36 
Sluggard, picture of the, .... 52 
Snoring, ------ 6 
Somnambulism, analogy between it and mad- 
ness, - - -J f- \ 28 
Spalding, Mr, his case, - - - - 46 
Spectral Illusions, ..... 40 
Squire, Archdeacon, case related by, [- - 14 
Stewart Dougal, Mr, facts related by, - - 11 
Stewart, Mr, the pedestrian, statement by, - 20 
Stilling, Jung, Dr, saw visions, ... 4o 
Stupor, difference between it and sleep, - 3 
Suetonius, his picture of the tyrant Caligula, 19 
Surprise, absence of, in dreams, - - - 15 
Tasso, his familiar spirit, - 40 
Time, perception of curiosity affectedby dream- 
ing, ....... 
Townsend, Colonel, extraordinary case of, - 38 
Trance, - 37 
Vision, effect of sleep on the organs of, - . 6 
Voluntary walking dreams, ... - 39 
Waller, Mr, cases of dreaming illusion related 
by, 17-26 
Warton, Mr, anecdote of, - 48 
Wasse, Mr, on the effect of rest upon the sta- 
ture, .... ... 
Welsh girl, curious case of a, - - - 15 
Wonder, effect of a large developement of, in 
inducing apparitions, .... 40 
Xenophon, his recommendation to the Greek 
troops, ...... 37 
Yawning, - 5 - - - - * 
Young lady, dream related by a, - - - 18 THE 
ANATOMY 
or 
DRUNKENNESS. 
BY 
• / 
ROBERT MACNISH, 
AUTHOR OF “THE PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP,” AND MEMBER OF THE FACULTY OF PHYSICIANS 
AND SURGEONS OF GLASGOW. 
FROM THE FIFTH GLASGOW EDITION. 
NEW-YORK: 
WILLIAM PEARSON & CO., 106 NASSAU STREET; 
SAMUEL COLMAN, BOSTON ; AND CHAPPELL AND CO., PHILADELPHIA. 
1835. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
In preparing the present edition of the Anatomy of Drunkenness for the press, I have spared no pains to ren- 
der the work as complete as possible. Some parts have been re-written, some new facts added, and several 
inaccuracies, which had crept into the former edition, rectified. Altogether, I am in hopes that this impres- 
sion will be considered an improvement upon its predecessors, and that no fact of any importance has been 
overlooked or treated more slightly than it deserves. 
R. M. 
September 20th, 1834. 
CHAPTER I. 
and fever into the brain of the Hindoo. Even in £a- 
rope, the inhabitants of the south are far less adapted 
to sustain intoxicating agents than those of the north. 
Much of this depends upon the coldness of the climate, 
and much also upon the peculiar physical and moral 
frame to which that coldness gives rise. The natives, 
of the south are a lively, versatile people ; sanguine in 
their temperaments, and susceptible, to an extraordi- 
nary degree, of every impression. Their minds seem 
to inherit the brilliancy of their climate, and are rich 
with sparkling thoughts and beautiful imagery. The 
northern nations are the reverse of all this. With more 
intensity of purpose, with greater depth of reasoning 
powers, and superior solidity of judgment, they are in 
a great measure destitute of that sportive and creative 
brilliancy which hangs like a rainbow over the spirits 
of the south, and clothes them in a perpetual sunshine 
of delight. The one is chiefly led by the heart, the 
other by the head. The one possesses the beauty of a 
flower-garden, the other the sternness of the rock, mix- 
ed with its severe and naked hardihood. Upon consti- 
tutions so differently organized, it cannot be expected 
that a given portion of stimulus will operate with 
equal power. The airy inflamable nature of the first, 
is easily roused to excitation, and manifests feelings 
which the second does not experience till he has par- 
taken much more largely of the stimulating cause. On 
this account, the one may be inebriated, and the other 
remain comparatively sober upon a similar quantity. In 
speaking of this subject, it is always to be remembered 
that a person is not to be considered a drunkard because 
he consumes a certain portion of liquor ; but because 
what he does consumes produces certain effects upon 
his system. 1'he Russian, therefore, may take six 
glasses a-day, and be as temperate as the Italian who 
takes four, or the Indian who takes two. But even when 
this is acceded to, the balance of sobriety will be found 
in favour of the south: the inhabitants there not only 
drink less, but are, bona fide, more seldom intoxicated 
than the others. Those who have contrasted London 
and Paris, may easily verify this fact; and those who 
have done the same to the cities of Moscow and Rome, 
can bear still stronger testimony. Who ever heard of 
an Englishman sipping can sucree, and treating his 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
Drunkenness is not, like some other vices, peculiar 
to modern times. It is handed down to us from ‘ hoar 
antiquityand, if the records of the antediluvian era 
were more complete, we should probably find that it 
was not unknown to the remotest ages of the world. 
The cases of Noah and Lot, recorded in the sacred 
writings, are the earliest of which tradition or history 
has left any record ; and both occurred in the infancy 
of society. Indeed, wherever the grape flourished, in- 
ebriation prevailed. The formation of wine from 
this fruit, was among the earliest discoveries of man, 
and the bad consequences thence resulting, seem to 
have been almost coeval with the discovery. Those 
regions whose ungenial latitudes indisposed them to 
yield the vine, gave birth to other products which serv- 
ed as substititutes; and the inhabitants rivalled or sur- 
passed those of the south in all kinds of Bacchanalian 
indulgence—the pleasures of drinking constituting one 
of the most fertile themes of their poetry, in the same 
manner as, in other climates, they gave inspiration to 
the souls of Anacreon and Hafiz. 
Drunkenness has varied greatly at different times and 
among different nations. There can be no doubt that 
it prevails more in a rude than in a civilized society. 
This is so much the case, that as men get more refin- 
ed, the vice will gradually be found to soften down, 
and assume a less revolting character. Nor can there 
be a doubt that it prevails to a much greater extent in 
northern than in southern latitudes. * The nature of 
the climate renders this inevitable, and gives to the hu- 
man frame its capabilities of withstanding liquor: 
hence a quantity which scarcely ruffles the frozen cur- 
rent of a Norwegian’s blood, would scatter madness 
* In making this observation, I have only in view the countries 
north of the equator ; for as we proceed to the south of that line, 
the vice increases precisely in the same manner as in the oppo- 
site direction. To use the words of Montesquieu, ‘ Go from the 
equator to our pole, and you will find drunkenness increasing to- 
gether with the degree of latitude. Go from the same equator to 
the opposite pole, and you will find drunkenness travelling 
south, as on this side it travels towards the north.’ ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
59 
friends to a glass of lemonade! Yet such things are 
common in France ; and, of all the practices of that 
country, they are those most thoroughly visited by the 
contemptuous malisons of John Bull. 
It is a common belief that wine was the only inebri- 
ating liquor known to antiquity ; but this is a mistake. 
Tacitus mentions the use of ale or beer as common 
among the Germans of his time. By the Egyptians, 
likewise, whose country was ill adapted to the cultiva- 
tion of the grape, it was employed as a substitute for 
wine. Ale was common in the middle ages; and Mr 
Park states that very good beer is made, by the usual 
process of brewing and malting, in the interior of Af- 
rica. The favourite drink of our Saxon ancestors was 
ale or mead. Those worshippers of Odin were so no- 
toriously addicted to drunkenness, that it was regarded 
as honourable rather than otherwise ; and the man who 
could withstand the greatest quantity was looked upon 
with admiration and respect: whence the drunken 
songs of the Scandinavian scalds ; whence the glories 
of Valhalla, the fancied happiness of whose inhabitants 
consisted in quaffing draughts from the skulls of their 
enemies slain in battle. Even ardent spirit, which is 
generally supposed to be a modern discovery, existed 
from a very early period. It is said to have been first 
made by the Arabians in the middle ages, and in all 
likelihood may lay claim to a still remoter origin. Al- 
cohol was known to the alchymists as early as the mid- 
dle of the twelfth century, although the process of pre- 
paring it was by them, at that time, kept a profound 
secret. The spirituous liquor called arrack, has been 
manufactured in the island of Java, as well as in the 
continent of Hindostan, from time immemorial. Brandy 
appears to have been known to Galen, who recommends 
it for the cure of voracious appetite ;* and its distilla- 
tion was common in Sicily at the commencement of the 
fourteenth century. As to wine, it was so common in 
ancient times as to have a tutelar god appropriated to 
it: Bacchus and his companion Silenus are as house- 
hold words in the mouths of all, and constituted most 
important features of the heathen mythology. We 
have all heard of the Falernian and Campanian wines, 
and of the wines of Cyprus and Shiraz. Indeed, there 
is reason to believe that the ancients were in no respect 
inferior to the moderns in the excellence of their vinous 
liquors, whatever they may have been in the variety. 
Wine was so common in the eastern nations, that Ma- 
homet, foreseeing the baleful effects of its propagation, 
forbade it to his followers, who, to compensate them- 
selves, had recourse to opium. The Gothic or dark 
ages seem to have been those in which it was least 
■common : in proof of this it may be mentioned, that in 
1298 it was vended as a cordial by the English apothe- 
caries. At the present day it is little drunk, except by 
the upper classes, in those countries which do not 
natnrally furnish the grape. In those that do, it is so 
cheap as to come within the reach of even the lowest, f 
In speaking of drunkenness, it is impossible not to 
be struck with the physical and moral degradation which 
it has spread over the world. Wherever intoxicating 
liquors become general, morality has been found on the 
decline. They seem to act like the simoom of the de- 
sert, and scatter destruction and misery around their 
path. The ruin of Rome was owing to luxury, of 
which indulgence in wine was the principal ingredient. 
Hannibal’s army fell less by the arms of Scipio than by 
the wines of Capua; and the inebriated hero of Mace- 
don after slaying his friend Clytus, and burning tho 
palace of Persepolis, expired at last of a fit of intoxica- 
tion, in his thirty-third year. A volume might be writ- 
ten in illustration of the evil effects of dissipation ; but 
this is unnecessary to those who look carefully around 
them, and more especially to those who are conversant 
with the history of mankind. At the same time, when 
we speak of drunkenness as occurring in antiquity, it is 
proper to remark, that there were certain countries in 
which it was viewed in a much more dishonourable 
light than by any modern nation. The Nervii refused 
to drink wine, alleging that it made them cowardly and 
effeminate : these simple people had no idea of what 
by our seamen is called Dutch courage ; they did not 
feel the necessity of elevating their native valour by an 
artificial excitement. The ancient Spartans held ebri- 
ety in such abhorrence, that, with a view to inspire the 
rising generation with a due contempt of the vice, it 
was customary to intoxicate the slaves and exhibit them 
publicly in this degraded condition. By the Indians, 
drunkenness is looked upon as a species of insanity; 
and, in their language, the word ramgam, signifying a 
drunkard, signifies also a madman. Both the ancients 
arid moderns could jest as well as moralize upon this 
subject. * There hangs a bottle of wine,’ was the deri- 
sive exclamation of the Roman soldiery, as they pointed 
to the body of the drunken BOnosus, who, in a fit of 
despair, suspended himself upon a tree. ‘ If you wish 
to have a shoe of durable materials,’ exclaims the face- 
tious Matthew Langsberg, ‘ you should make the upper 
leather of the mouth of a hard drinker—for that never 
lets in water.’ 
If we turn from antiquity to our own times, we shall 
find little cause to congratulate ourselves upon any 
improvement. The vice has certainly diminished 
among the higher orders of society, but there is every 
reason to fear that, of late, it has made fearful strides 
among the lower. Thirty or forty years ago, a land- 
lord did not conceive he had done justice to his guests 
unless he sent them from his table in a state of intoxi- 
cation. This practice still prevails pretty generally in 
Ireland and in the highlands of Scotland, but in othei 
parts of the kingdom it is fast giving way : and it is to 
be hoped that the day is not far distant when greater 
temperance will extend to these jovial districts, and 
render their hospitality a little more consonant with 
prudence and moderation. The increase of drunken- 
ness among the lower classes may be imputed to vari- 
ous causes, and chiefly to the late abandonment of pari 
of the duty on rum and whiskey. This was done with 
a double motive of benefiting agriculture and com- 
merce, and of driving the ‘ giant smuggler’ from the 
field. The latter object it has in a great measure failed 
of effecting. The smuggler still plies his trade to a 
considerable extent, and brings his commodity to the 
market with nearly the same certainty of acquiring pro- 
fit as ever. It would be well if the liquor vended tc 
the poor possessed the qualities of that furnished by the 
contraband dealer ; but, instead of that, it is usually i 
vile compound of every thing spurious and pestilent 
and seems expressly contrived for preying upon the vi- 
tals of the unfortunate victims who partake of it. The 
extent to which adulteration has been carried in al 
kinds of liquor, is indeed such as to interest every clase 
of society. Wine, for instance, is often impregnatec 
with alum and sugar of lead, the latter dangerous in 
gredient being resorted to by innkeepers and others, t< 
take away the sour taste so common in bad wines 
Even the colour of these liquids is frequently artificial 
and the deep rich complexion so greatly admired In 
persons not in the secrets of the trade, is often caused 
or at least heightened, by factitious additions, such a: 
elder-berries, bilberries, red-woods, &c. Alum am 
sn<rar of lead are also common in sriirituous liquors 
* Good’s Study of Medicine, vol. i. p. 113, 2d edit, 
t The quantity of wine raised in France alone is almost incred- 
ible. The vineyards in that country are said to occupy five mil- 
lions of acres, or a twenty-sixth part of the whole territory. Paris 
alone consumes more than three times the quantity of wine con- 
sumed in the British Isles. It is true that much of the wine drank 
m the French capita) is of a weak quality, being used as a sub- 
stitute for small beer. But afterevery allowance is made, enough 
remains to show clearly, if other proofs were wanting, how 
much use of wine here is restricted by our exorbitant duties. It 
would be well for the morals of this country if the people aban- 
doned the use of ardent spirits, and were enabled to resort to 
win« «<, rKa ir, >t,o Uvir,b-i„rr 60 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
; n 1, in any cases, oil of vitriol, turpentine, and other 
materials equally abominable, are to be found in com- 
bination with them. That detestable liquor called 
1 British gin, is literally compounded of these ingredients: 
nor are malt liquors, with their multifarious narcotic ad- 
ditions, less thoroughly sophisticated or less detrimental 
to the health. From these circumstances, two conclu- 
sions must naturally be drawn; viz. that inebriating 
agents often contain elements of disease foreign to 
themselves; and that all persons purchasing them 
should endeavour to ascertain the state of their purity, 
and employ no dealer whose honour and honesty are 
not known to be unimpeachable. Liquors, even in their 
purest state, are too often injurious to the constitution 
without the admixture of poisons.* 
The varieties of wine are so numerous as almost to 
defy calculation. Mr Brande, in his table, gives a list 
of no less than forty-four different kinds, and there are 
others which he has not enumerated. Ardent spirits 
are fewer in number, and may be mostly comprised un- 
der thenames of rum, gin, brandy, and whiskey. The 
first is the prevailing drink over the West Indies, North 
America, and such cities of Great Britain as are in- 
timately connected with these regions by commerce. 
The second is extensively used in Holland and Swit- 
zerland, the countries which principally furnish it, and 
has found its way pretty generally over the whole of 
Europe. The third is chiefly produced in Charente 
and Languedoc, and is the spirit most commonly found 
in the south. The fourth is confined in a great mea- 
sure to Ireland and Scotland, in which latter country 
the best has always been made. Of malt liquors we 
have many varieties. Britain, especially England, is 
the country which furnishes them in greatest perfection 
They are the natural drinks of Englishmen—the vinutn 
Anglicorum, as foreigners have often remarked. Every 
towm of any consequence in the empire has its brewery ; 
and in almost every one is there some difference in the 
quality of the liquor. Brown stout, London and Scotch 
porters, Burton, Dorchester, Edinburgh and Alloa ales, 
are only a few of the endless varieties of these widely- 
circulated fluids. 
Besides wines, ardent spirits, and malt liquors, there 
are many other agents possessing inebriating properties. 
Among others, the Peganum Harmala or Syrian rue, 
so often used by the sultan Solyman; the Hibiscus 
Saldarissa, which furnishes the Indian bangue, and 
from which the Nepenthes of the ancients is supposed 
to have been made ; the Balsac, or Turkish bangue, 
found on the shores of the Levant; the Penang, or In- 
dian betle ; the Hyoscyamus Niger; and the Atropa 
Belladonna. In addition to these, and many more, 
there are opium, tobacco, Cocculus Indicus, and the 
innumerable tribes of liqueurs and ethers, together with 
other agents of a less potent nature, such as clary, dar- 
nel, and saffron. The variety of agents capable of ex- 
citing drunkenness is indeed surprising, and in propor- 
tion to their number seems the prevalence of that fatal 
vice to which an improper use of them gives rise. 
of coarse unintellectual minds, and of low and animal 
propensities. They have, in general, a certain rigidity 
of fibre, and a flow of animal spirits which other people 
are without. They delight in the roar and riot of 
drinking clubs ; and with them, in particular, all the 
miseries of life may be referred to the bottle. 
The drunkard by necessity was never meant by na 
ture to be dissipated. He is perhaps a person of 
amiable disposition, whom misfortune has overtaken, 
and who, instead of bearing up manfully against it, 
endeavours to drown his sorrows in liquor. It is an ex- 
cess of sensibility, a partial mental weakness, an abso- 
lute misery of the heart, which drives him on. Drunk- 
enness, with him, is a consequence of misfortune ; it is 
a solitary dissipation preying upon him in silence. 
Such a man frequently dies broken-hearted, even be- 
fore his excesses have had time to destroy him by their 
own unassisted agency. 
Some become drunkards from excess of indulgence 
in youth. There are parents who have a common cus- 
tom of treating their childern to wine, punch, and 
other intoxicating liquors. This, in reality, is regu- 
larly bringing them up in an apprenticeship to drunken- 
ness. Others are taught the vice by frequenting drink- 
ing clubs and masonic lodges. These are the genuine 
academies of tippling. Two-thirds of the drunkards 
we meet with, have been there initiated in that love of 
intemperance and boisterous irregularity which distin- 
guish their future lives. Men who are good singers 
are very apt to become drunkards and, in truth, most 
of them are so, more or less, especially if they have 
naturally much joviality or warmth of temperament. 
A fine voice to such men is a fatal accomplishment. 
Ebriety prevails to an alarming degree among the 
lower orders of society. It exists more in towns than 
in the country, and more among mechanics than hus- 
bandmen. Most of the misery to be observed among 
the working classes spring from this source. No per- 
sons are more addicted to the habit, and all its attendant 
vices than the pampered servants of the great. Inn- 
keepers, musicians, actors, and men who lead a rambling 
and eccentric life, are exposed to a similar hazard. 
Husbands sometimes teach their wives to be drunkards 
by indulging them in toddy and such fluids, every time 
they themselves sit down to their libations. 
Women frequently acquire the vice by drinking por- 
ter and ale while nursing. These stimulants are usually 
recommended to them from well-meant but mistaken 
motives, by their female attendants. Many fine young 
women are ruined by this pernicious practice. Their 
persons become gross, their milk unhealthy, and a 
foundation is too often laid for future indulgence in 
liquor. 
The frequent use of cordials, such as noyeau, shrub, 
kirsch-wasser, curacoa, and anissette, sometimes leads 
to the practice. The active principle of these liqueurs 
is neither more nor less than ardent spirits.* 
Among other causes, may be mentioned the exces- 
sive use of spiritous tinctures for the cure of hypo- 
chondria and indigestion. Persons who use strong 
tea, especially green, run the same risk. The latter 
species is singularly hurtful to the constitution, producing 
hysteria, heartburn, and general debility of the chylo- 
poetic viscera. Some of these bad effects are relieved 
for a time by the use of spirits ; and what was at first 
employed as a medicine, soon becomes an essential re- 
quisite. 
Certain occupations have a tendency to induce 
drunkenness. Innkeepers, recruiting-sergeants, pugi- 
lists, &c., are all exposed in a great degree to tempta- 
tion in this respect; and intemperance is a vice which 
may be very often justly charged against them. Com- 
mercial travellers, also, taken as a body, are open to 
the accusation of indulging too freely in the bottle, al- 
CHAPTER II. 
The causes of drunkenness are so obvious, that few 
authors have thought it necessary to point them out: 
we shall merely say a few words upon the subject. 
There are some persons who will never be drunkards, 
and others who will be so in spite of all that can be done 
•O prevent them. Some are drunkards by choice, and 
Jthers by necessity. The former have an innate and 
institutional fondness for liquor, and drink con amove. 
such men are usually of a sanguineous temperament, 
CAUSES OF DRUNKENNESS. 
* See Accum’s Treatise on the Adulteration of Food : Child™ 
* T.inueura often contain narcotic nrincirtles; thornfhrn their ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
61 
though I am not aware that they carry it to such excess 
as to entitle many of them to be ranked as drunkards. 
‘ Well fed, riding from town to town, and walking to 
the houses of the several tradesmen, they have an em- 
ployment not only more agreeable, but more conducive 
to health than almost any other dependant on traffic. 
But they destroy their constitutions by intemperance ; 
not generally by drunkenness, but by taking more li- 
quor than nature requires. Dining at the traveller’s 
table, each drinks his pint or bottle of wine ; he then 
takes negus or spirit with several of his customers; 
and at night he must have a glass or two of brandy 
and water. Few commercial travellers bear the em- 
ploy for thirty years—the majority not twenty.’* 
Some waiters allege that unmarried women, espe- 
cially if somewhat advanced in life, are more given to 
liquor than those who are married. This point I am 
unable from my own observation to decide. Women 
who indulge in this way, are solitary dram-drinkers, 
and so would men be, had not the arbitrary opinions of 
the world invested the practice in them with much less 
moral turpitude than in the opposite sex. Of the two 
sexes, there can he no doubt that men are much the 
more addicted to all sorts of intemperance. 
Drunkenness appears to be in some measure heredi- 
tary. We frequently see it descending from parents 
to their children. This may undoubtedly often arise 
from bad example and imitation, but there can be little 
question that, in many instances at least, it exists as a 
family predisposition. 
Men of genius are often unfortunately addicted to 
drinking. Nature, as she has gifted them with greater 
powers than their fellows, seem also to have mingled 
with their cup of life more bitterness. There is a 
melancholy which is apt to come like a cloud over the 
imaginations of such characters. Their minds possess 
a susceptibility and delicacy of structure which unfit 
them for the gross atmosphere of human nature; 
wherefore, high talent has ever been distinguished for 
sadness and gloom. Genius lives in a world of its 
own : it is the essence of a superior nature—the loftier 
imaginings of the mind, clothed with a more spiritual 
and refined verdure. Few men endowed with such 
faculties enjoy the ordinary happiness of humanity. 
The stream of their lives runs harsh and broken. 
Melancholy thoughts sweep perpetually across their 
soul; and if these be heightened by misfortune, they 
are plunged into the deepest misery. 
To relieve these feelings, many plans have been 
adopted. Dr Johnson fled for years to wine under his 
habitual gloom. He found that the pangs were re- 
moved while its immediate influence lasted, but he also 
found that they returned with double force when that 
influence passed away. He saw the dangerous preci- 
pice on which he stood, and, by an unusual effort of 
volition, gave it over. In its stead he substituted tea ; 
and to this milder stimulus had recourse in his melan- 
choly. Voltaire and Fontenelle, for the same purpose, 
used coffee. The excitements of Newton and Hobbes 
were the fumes of tobacco, while Demosthenes and 
Haller were sufficiently stimulated by drinking freely 
of cold water. Such are the differences of constitu- 
tion. 
‘ As good be melancholy still, as drunken beasts and 
beggars.’ So says old Burton, in his Anatomy of 
Melancholy, and there are few who will not subscribe 
to his creed. The same author quaintly, but justly re- 
marks, ‘ If a drunken man gets a child, it will never, 
likely, have a good brain.’ Dr Darwin, a great authori- 
ty on all subjects connected with life, says, that he 
never knew a glutton affected with the gout, who was 
not at the same time addicted to liquor. He also ob- 
serves, ‘ it is remarkable that all the diseases from 
drinking spirituous or fermented liquors are liable to 
become hereditary, even to the third generation, gradu- 
ally increasing, if the cause be continued, till the 
family becomes extinct.’* 
We need not endeavour to trace farther the remote 
causes of drunkenness. A drunkard is rarely able to 
recall the particular circumstances which made him so.1 
The vice creeps upon him insensibly, and he is involved 
in its fetters before he is aware. It is enough that we 
know the proximate cause, and also the certain conse- 
quences. One thing is certain, that a man who addicts 
himself to intemperance, can never be said to be sound 
in mind or body. The former is a state of partial in- 
sanity, while the effects of the liquor remain ; and the 
latter is always more or less diseased in its actions. 
CHAPTER III. 
phenomena of drunkenness. 
The consequences of drunkenness are dreadful, but 
the pleasures of getting drunk are certainly ecstatic. 
While the illusion lasts, happiness is complete; care 
and melancholy are thrown to the wind : and Elysium, 
with all its glories, descends upon the dazzled imagi- 
nation of the drinker. 
Some authors have spoken of the pleasure of being 
completely drunk; this, however, is not the most ex- 
quisite period. The time is when a person is neither 
‘drunken nor sober, but neighbor to both,’ as Bishop 
Andrews says in his ‘ ‘Ex—ale—tation of Ale.’ The 
moment is when the ethereal emanations begin to floa! 
around the brain—when the soul is commencing to ex- 
pand its wings and rise from earth—when the tongue 
feels itself somewhat loosened in the mouth, and breaks 
the previous taciturnity, if any such existed. 
What are the sensations of incipient drunkenness' 
First, an unusual serenity prevails over the mind, anc 
the soul of the votary is filled with a placid satisfaction 
By degrees he is sensible of a soft and not unmusica 
humming in his ears, at every pause of the conversa 
tion. He seems, to himself, to wear his head lighte 
than usual upon his shoulders. Then a species of ob 
scurity, thinner than the finest mist, passes before hi: 
eyes, and makes him see objects rather indistinctly 
The lights begin to dance and appear double, 'j 
gayety and warmth are felt at the same time about th 
heart. The imagination is expanded, and filled with 
thousand delightful images. He becomes loquacious 
and pours forth, in enthusiastic language, the thought 
which are born, as it were, within him. 
Now comes a spirit of universal contentment wit 
himself and all the world. He thinks no more c 
misery; it is dissolved in the bliss of the momenl 
This is the acme of the fit—the ecstacy is now perfec 
As yet the sensorium is in tolerable order ; it is onl 
shaken, but the capability of thinking with accurac 
still remains. About this time, the drunkard pours or 
all the secrets of his soul. His qualities, good or bac 
come forth without reserve; and now, if at any time 
the human heart may be seen into. In a short perio< 
he is seized with a most inordinate propensity to tal 
nonsense, though he is perfectly conscious of doing s< 
He also commits many foolish things, knowing them 1 
be foolish. The power of volition, that faculty whit' 
keeps the will subordinate to the judgment, seems t< 
tally weakened. The most delightful time seems t 
be that immediately before becoming very talkativi 
When this takes place, a man turns ridiculous, and h 
mirth, though more boisterous, is not so exquisite. J 
first the intoxication partakes of sentiment, but latter! 
it becomes mere animal. 
After this the scene thickens. The drunkard’s in 
agination gets disordered with the most grotesque eo; 
* Thackrah on the Effects of the Principal Arts, Trades an 
Professions, p. S3. 
* Botanic Garden. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
Instead of moderating his drink, he pours 
t down more rapidly than ever ; glass follows glass 
with reckless energy. His head becomes perfectly 
jiddy. The candles burn blue, or green, or yellow; 
uid where there are perhaps only three on the table, he 
sees a dozen. According to his temperament, he is 
imorous, or musical, or quarrelsome. Many possess 
i most extraordinary wit; and a great flow of spirits is 
i general attendant. In the latter stages, the speech 
is thick, and the use of the tongue in a great measure 
lost. His mouth is half open, and idiotic in the ex- 
pression ; while his eyes are glazed, wavering, and 
watery. He is apt to fancy that he has offended some 
me of the company, and is ridiculously profuse with 
pis apologies. Frequently he mistakes one person for 
mother, and imagines that some of those before him 
ire individuals who are, in reality, absent or even dead. 
1 he muscular powers are, all along, much affected: 
;kis indeed happens before any great change takes place 
n the mind, and goes on progressively increasing. He 
:?n no longer walk with steadiness, but totters from 
side to side. The limbs become powerless, and inade- 
quate to sustain his weight. He is, however, not al- 
ways sensible of any deficiency in this respect: and 
A'hile exciting mirth by his eccentric motions, imagines 
hat he walks with the most perfect steadiness. In at- 
xmpting to run, he conceives that he passes over the 
rrcund with astonishing rapidity. To his distorted 
yes, all men, and even inanimate nature itself, seem 
o be drunken, while he alone is sober. Houses reel 
rom side to side as if they had lost their balance ; 
rees and steeples nod like tipsy Bacchanals ; and the 
•ery earth seems to slip from under his feet, and leave 
tim walking and floundering upon the air. The last 
tage of drunkenness is total insensibility. The man 
umbles perhaps beneath the table, and is carried away 
n a state of stupor to his couch. In this condition he 
s said to be dead drunk. 
When the drunkard is put to bed, let us suppose 
hat his faculties are not totally absorbed in apoplectic 
tupor ; let us suppose that he still possesses conscious- 
ess and feeling, though these are both disordered; 
hen begins ‘ the tug of war then comes the misery 
idiich is doomed to succeed his previous raptures. No 
oonor is his head laid upon the pillow, than it is seized 
nth the strongest throbbing. His heart beats quick 
nd hard against the ribs. A noise like the distant fall 
f a cascade, or rushing of a river, is heard in his ears : 
ough—sough—sough, goes the sound. His senses 
ow become more drowned and stupified. A dim re- 
ollection of his carousals, like a shadowy and indis- 
nct dream, passes before the mind. He still hears, 
s in echo, the cries and laughter of his companions. 
7ild fantastic fancies accumulate thickly around the 
rain. His giddiness is greater than ever ; and he feels 
s if in a ship tossed upon a heaving sea. At last he 
rops insensibly into a profound slumber. 
In the morning he awakes in a high fever. The 
diole body is parched ; the palms of the hands in par- 
cular, are like leather. His head is often violently 
ainful. He feels excessive thirst; while his tongue 
i white, dry, and stiff. The whole inside of the mouth 
! likewise hot and constricted, and the throat often 
jre. Then look at his eyes—how sickly, dull, and 
•iiguid ! The fire, which first lighted them up the eve- 
ing before, is all gone. A stupor like that of the last 
'.age of drunkenness still clings about them, and they 
:e disagreeably affected by the light. The complex- 
m sustains as great a chauge : it is no longer flushed 
ith the gayety and excitation, but pale and wayworn, 
idicating a profound mental and bodily exhaustion, 
here is probably sickness, and the appetite is totally 
me. Even yet the delirium of intoxication has not 
ft him, for his head still rings, his heart still throbs 
olently ; and if he attempt getting up, he stumbles 
ith giddiness. The mind also is sadly depressed, and 
the proceedings of the previous night are painfully re- 
membered. He is sorry for his conduct, promises 
solemnly never again so to commit himself, and calls 
impatiently for something to quench his thirst. Such 
are the usual phenomena of a fit of drunkenness. 
In the beginning of intoxication we are inclined 
to sleep, especially if we indulge alone. In companies, 
the noise and opportunity of conversing prevent this; 
and when a certain quantity has been drunk, the drowsy 
tendency wears away. A person who wishes to stand 
out well, should never talk much. This increases the 
effects of the liquor, and hurries on intoxication. 
Hence, every experienced drunkard holds it to be a 
piece of prudence to keep his tongue under restraint 
The giddiness of intoxication is always greater in 
darkness than in the light. I know of no rational way 
by which this can be explained ; but, certain it is, the 
drunkard never so well knows his true condition as 
when alone and in darkness. Possibly the noise and 
light distracted the mind, and made the bodily sensa- 
tions be, for the time, in some measure unfelt. 
There are some persons who get sick from drinking 
even a small quantity ; and this sickness is, upon the 
whole, a favourable circumstance, as it proves an ef- 
fectual curb upon them, however much they may be 
disposed to intemperance. In such cases, it will gen- 
erally be found that the sickness takes place as soon as 
vertigo makes its appearance : it seems, in reality, to 
be produced by this sensation. This, however, is a 
rare circumstance, for though vertigo from ordinary 
causes has a strong tendency to produce sickness, that 
arising from drunkenness has seldom this effect. The 
nausea and sickness sometimes occurring in intoxica- 
tion, proceed almost always from the surcharged and 
disordered state of the stomach, and very seldom from 
the accompanying giddiness. 
Intoxication, before it proceeds too far, has a power- 
ful tendency to increase the appetite. Perhaps it would 
be more correct to say, that inebriating liquors, by 
stimulating the stomach, have this power. We often 
see gluttony and drunkenness combined together at 
the same time. This continues till the last stage, 
when, from overloading and excess of irritation, the 
stomach expels its contents by vomiting. 
All along, the action of the kidneys is much in- 
creased, especially at the commencement of intoxica- 
tion. When a large quantity of intoxicating fluid has 
been suddenly taken into the stomach, the usual pre- 
liminary’ symptoms of drunkenness do not appear. An 
instantaneous stupefaction ensues; and the person is 
at once knocked down. This cannot be imputed to 
distention of the cerebral vessels, but to a sudden ope- 
ration on the nervous branches of the stomach. The 
brain is throwm into a state of collapse, and many of its 
functions suspended. In such cases the face is not at 
first tumid and ruddy, but pale and contracted. The 
pulse is likewise feeble, and the body cold and power- 
less. When re-action takes place, these symptoms 
wear off, and those of sanguineous apoplexy succeed; 
such as turgid countenance, full but slow pulse, and 
strong stertorous breathing. The vessels of the brain 
have now become filled, and there is a strong determina- 
tion to that organ. 
Persons of tender or compassionate minds are par- 
ticularly subject, during intoxication, to be affected to 
tears at the sight of any distressing object, or even on 
hearing an affecting tale. Drunkenness in such charac- 
ters, may be said to melt the heart, and open up the 
fountains of sorrow. Their sympathy is often ridicu- 
lous, and aroused by the most trifling causes. Those 
who have a living imagination, combined with this ten- 
derness of heart, sometimes conceives fictitious causes 
of distress, and weep bitterly at the woe of their own 
creating. 
There are some persons in whom drunkenness calls 
forth a spirit of pietv. or rather of religious hvnocrisv ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
63 
which is both ludicrous and disgusting. They become 
sentimental over their cups; and, while in a state of 
debasement most offensive to God and man, they will 
weep at the wickedness of the human heart, entreat 
you to eschew swearing and profane company, and have 
a greater regard for the welfare of your immortal soul. 
These sanetimonious drunkards seem to consider ebri- 
ety as the mest venial of offences. 
During a paroxysm of drunkenness, the body is much 
less sensible to external stimuli than at other times : 
it is particularly capable of resisting cold. Seamen, 
when absent on shore, are prone to get intoxicated; 
and they will frequently lie for hours on the highway, 
even in the depth of winter, without any bad conse- 
quences. A drunk man seldom shivers from cold. 
His frame seems steeled against it, and he holds out 
with an apathy which is astonishing. The body is, in 
like manner, insensible to injuries, such as cuts, 
bruises, &c. He frequently receives, in fighting, the 
most severe blows, without seemingly feeling them, 
and without, in fact, being aware of the matter, till so- 
bered. Persons in intoxication have been known to 
chop off their fingers, and otherwise disfigure them- 
selves, laughing all the while at the action. But when 
the paroxysm is off, and the frame weakened, things 
are changed. External agents are then withstood with 
little vigour, with even less than in the natural state of 
the body. The person shivers on the slightest chill, 
and is more than usually subject to fevers and all sorts 
of contagion. 
External stimuli frequently break the fit. Men have 
been instantly sobered by having a bucket of cold wa- 
ter thrown upon them, or by falling into a stream. 
Strong emotions of the mind produce the same effect, 
such as the sense of danger, or a piece of good or bad 
news, suddenly communicated. 
There are particular situations and circumstances in 
which a man can stand liquor better than in others. In 
the close atmosphere of a large town, he is soon over- 
powered ; and it is here that the genuine drunkard is 
to be met with in the greatest perfection. In the coun- 
try, especially in a mountainous district, or on the sea- 
shore, where the air is cold and piercing, a great quan- 
tity may be taken with impunity. The highlanders 
drink largely of ardent spirits, and they are often in- 
toxicated, yet, among them, there are comparatively 
few who can be called habitual drunkards. A keen 
air seems to deaden its effects, and it soon evaporates 
from their constitutions. Sailors and soldiers who are 
hard wrought, also consume enormous quantities with- 
out injury; porters and all sorts of labourers do the 
same. With these men exercise is a corrective ; but 
in towns, where no counteracting agency is employed, 
it acts with irresistible power upon the frame, and soon 
proves destructive. 
A great quantity of liquors may also be taken with- 
out inebriating, in certain diseases, such as spasm, te- 
tanus, gangrene, and retrocedent gout. 
Certain circumstances of constitution make one per- 
son naturally more apt to get intoxicated than another. 
‘ Mr Pitt,’ says a modern writer, ‘ would retire in the 
midst of a warm debate, and enliven his faculties with 
a couple of bottles of Port. Pitt’s constitution ena- 
bled him to do this with impunity. He was afflicted 
with what is called a coldness of stomach ; and the 
quantity of wine that would have closed the oratory of 
so professed a Bacchanalian as Sheridan, scarcely ex- 
cited the son of Chatham.’* 
All kinds of intoxicating agents act much more rapidly 
and powerfully upon an empty than a full stomach. In 
like manner, when the stomach is disordered, and sub- 
ject to weakness, heartburn, or disease of any kind, 
ebriety is more rapidly produced than when this organ 
is sound and healthy. 
The stomach may get accustomed to a strong stimu- 
lus, and resist it powerfully, while it yields to one much 
weaker. I have known people who could drink eight 
or ten glasses of raw spirits at a sitting without feeling 
them much, become perfectly intoxicated by half the 
quantity made into toddy. In like manner, he who is< 
in the constant habit of using one spirit,—rum, for in- 
stance,—cannot, for the most part, indulge to an equal 
extent in another, without experiencing more severe 
effects than if he had partaken of his usual beverage. 
This happens even when the strength of the two liquors 
is the same. 
The mind exercises a considerable effect upon drunk- 
enness, and may often control it powerfully. When in 
the company of a superior whom we respect, or of a 
female in whose presence it would be indelicate to get 
intoxicated, a much greater portion of liquor may be 
withstood than in societies where no such restraints 
operate. 
Drunkenness has sometimes a curious effect upon 
the memory. Actions committed during intoxication 
may be forgotten on a recovery from this state, and re- 
membered distinctly when the person becomes again 
intoxicated. Drunkenness has thus an analogy to 
dreaming, in which state circumstances are occasionally 
brought to mind which had entirely been forgotten. 
The same thing may also occur in fevers, wherein even 
languages with which vve were familiar in childhood oi 
youth, but had forgotten, are renewed upon the mem- 
ory and pass away from it again when the disease whict 
recalled them is removed. 
With most people intoxication is a gradual process 
and increases progressively as they pour down the 
liquor; but there are some individuals in whom it takes 
place suddenly, and without any previous indication o 
its approach. It is not uncommon to see such persons 
sit for hours at the bottle without experiencing an; 
thing beyond a moderate elevation of spirits, yet as 
sume all at once the outrage and boisterous irregularity 
of the most decided drunkenness. 
Some drunkards retain their senses after the physics 
powers are quite exhausted. Others, even when tb 
mind is wrought to a pitch leading to the most absuri 
actions, preserve a degree of cunning and observatioi 
which enables them to elude the tricks which thei 
companions are preparing to play upon them. In suci 
cases, they display great address, and take the firs 
opportunity of retaliating; or, if such does not occui 
of slipping out of the room unobserved and gettin 
away. Some, while the whole mind seems locked u 
in the stupor of forgetfulness, hear all that is going or 
No one should ever presume on the intoxicated stat 
of another to talk of him detractingly in his presence 
While apparently deprived of all sensation, he may b 
an attentive listener ; and whatever is said, though ur 
heeded at the moment, is not forgotten afterwards, br 
treasured carefully up in the memory. Much discor 
and ill-will frequently arise from such imprudence. 
There are persons who are exceedingly profuse, an 
fond of giving away their money, watches, rings, &c 
to the company. This peculiarity will never, I believ 
be found in a miser : avarice is a passion strong und< 
every circumstance. Drinking does not loosen the gras 
of the covetous man, or open his heart : he is for evi 
the same. 
The generality of people are apt to talk of their pr 
vate affairs when intoxicated. They then reveal tl 
most deeply-hidden secrets to their companions. Othe. 
have their minds so happily constituted that nothing e 
capes them. They are, even in their most unguarde 
moments, secret and close as the grave. 
The natural disposition may be better discovered . 
drunkenness than at any other time. In modem societr 
life is all a disguise. Almost every man walks 
masquerade, and his most intimate friend very ofte 
does not know his real character. Many wear smiL 
constantly upon their cheeks, whose hearts are unprij 
* Rede’s Memoir of the right Hon. George Canning. 64 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
cipled and treacherous. Many with violent tempers 
have all the external calm and softness of charity itself. 
Some speak always with sympathy, who, at soul, are 
full of gall and bitterness. Intoxication tears off the 
veil, and sets each in his true light, whatever they may 
'be. The combative man will quarrel, the amorous 
will love, the detractor will abuse his neighbour. I 
have known exceptions, but they are few in number. 
At one time they seemed more numerous, but closer 
observation convinced me that most of those whom I 
thought drunkenness had libelled, inherited at bottom the 
genuine dispositions which it brought forth. The ex- 
ceptions, however, which now and then occur, are 
sufficiently striking, and point out the injustice of al- 
ways judging of a man’s real disposition from his 
drunken moments. To use the words of Addison, 
‘ Not only does this vice betray the hidden faults of a 
man, and show them in the most odious colours, but 
often occasions faults to which he is not naturally 
subject. Wine throws a man out of himself, and in- 
fuses qualities into the mind which she is a stranger to 
in his sober moments.’ The well known maxim 
‘ in vino veritas,' therefore, though very generally true, 
is to be received with some restrictions, although, these 
I am satisfied, are by no means so numerous, as many 
authors would have us to belive. 
II. Melancholy Drunkard.—Melancholy, in drunk- 
ards, sometimes arises from temperament, but more 
frequently from habitual intoxication or misfortune, 
Some men are melancholy by nature, but become 
highly mirthful when they have drunk a considerable 
quantity. Men of this tone of mind seem to enjoy the 
bottle more exquisitely than even the sanguineous 
class. The joyousness which it excites breaks in 
upon their gloom like sunshine upon darkness. Above 
all. the sensations, of the moment when mirth begins 
with its magic to charm away care, are inexpressible. 
Pleasure falls in showers of fragrance upon their souls ; 
they are at peace with themselves and all mankind, and 
enjoy, as it were, a foretaste of paradise. Robert 
Burns was an example of this variety. His melancholy 
was constitutional, but heightened by misfortune. The 
bottle commonly dispelled it, and gave rise to the most 
delightful images ; sometimes, however, it only aggra- 
vated the gloom. 
III. Surly Drunkard.—Some men are not excited 
to mirth by intoxication : on the contrary', it renders 
them gloomy and discontented. Even those who in 
the sober state are sufficiently gay, become, occasion- 
ally thus altered. A great propensity to take offence 
is a characteristic among persons of this temperament. 
They are suspicious, and very often mischievous. If 
at some former period they have had a difference with 
any of the company, they are sure to revive it, although, 
probably, it has been long ago cemented on both sides, 
and even forgotten by the other party. People of this 
description are very unpleasant companions. They 
are in general so foul-tongued, quarrelsome, and inde- 
cent in conversation, that established clubs of drinkers 
have made it a practice to exclude them from their so- 
ciety. 
IV. Phlegmatic Drunkard.—Persons of this tem- 
perament are heavy-rolling machines, and, like the 
above, are not roused to mirth by liquor. Their vital 
actions are dull and spiritless—the blood in their veins 
as sluggish as the river Jordan, and their energies stag- 
nant as the Dead Sea. They are altogether a negative 
sort of beings, with passions too inert to lead them to 
any thing very good or very bad. They are a species 
of animated clods, but not thoroughly animated—for 
the vital fire of feeling has got cooled in penetrating 
their frozen frames. A new prometheus would require 
to breathe into their nostrils, to give them the ordinary 
glow and warmth of humanity. Look at a phlegmatic 
man—how dead, passionless and uninspired is the ex- 
pression of his clammy lips and vacant eye ! Speak 
to him—how cold, slow, and tame is his conversation ! 
the words come forth as if they were drawn from his 
mouth with a pair of pincers : and the ideas are as fro- 
zen as if concocted in the bowels of Lapland. Liquor 
produces no effect upon his mental powers ; or, if it 
does, it is a smothering one. The whole energies of 
the drink fall on his almost impassive frame. From 
the first, his drunkenness is stupifying; he is seized 
with a kind of lethargy, the white of his eyes turns up, 
he breathes loud and haishly, and sinks into an apoplec- 
tic stupor. Yet all this is perfectly harmless, and wears 
away without leaving any mark behind it. 
Such persons are very apt to be played upon by their 
companions. There are few’ men who, in their younger 
days who have not assisted in shaving the heads and 
painting the faces of these lethargic drunkards. 
V. Nervous Drunkard.—This is a very harmless and 
very tiresome personage. Generally of a weak mind 
and irritable constitution, he does not become boister- 
ous with mirth, and rarely shows the least glimmering 
of wit or mental energy. He is talkative and fond of 
long winded stories, which he tells in a drivelling, silly 
manner. Never warmed into enthusiasm by liquor he 
keeps chatting at some ridiculous tale, very much in 
the way of a garrulous old man in his dotage.* 
CHAPTER IV 
DRUNKENNESS MODIFIED BY TEMPERAMENT. 
Under the last head I have described the usual phe- 
nomena of intoxication ; but it is necessary to remark 
;hat these are apt to be modified by the physical and 
noral frame of the drinker. Great diversity of opinion 
;xists with regard to the doctrine of the temperaments ; 
some authors affirming, and others denying their exist- 
?nce. Into this controversy it is needless to enter. All 
’ contend for is, that the bodily and mental constitution 
>f every man is not alike, and that on these peculiari- 
ies depend certain differences during a paroxysm of 
Irunkcnness. 
1. Sanguineous Drunkard.—The sanguine temper- 
ment seems to feel most intensely the excitement of 
he bottle. Persons of this stamp have usually a ruddy 
omplexion, thick neck, small head, and strong muscu- 
ir fibre. Their intellect is in general mediocre, for 
Teat bodily strength and corresponding mental powers 
re rarely united together. In such people, the animal 
ropensities prevail over the moral and intellectual ones, 
i'hey are prone to combativeness and sensuality, and 
re either very good-natured or extremely quarrelsome, 
ill their passions are keen : like the Irish women, 
rey will fight for their friends or with them as occasion 
squires. They are talkative from the beginning, and, 
uring confirmed intoxication, perfectly obstreporous. 
t is men of this class who are the heroes of all drunk- 
n companies, the patron of masonic lodges, the presi- 
ents and getters-up of jovial meetings. With them, 
iting and drinking are the grand ends of human life, 
ook at their eyes, how they sparkle at the sight of 
ine, and how their lips smack and their teeth water in 
;e neighbourhood of a good dinner : they would scent 
it a banquet in Siberia. When intoxicated, their 
issions are highly excited : the energies of a hundred 
inds then seem concentrated into one focus. Their 
irth, their anger, their love, their folly, are ali equally 
tense and unquenchable. Such men cannot conceal 
eir feelings. In drunkenness, the veil is removed 
am them, and their characters stand revealed, as in a 
ass to the eye of the beholder. The Roderick Ran- 
)m of Smollett had much of this temperament, blend- 
1, however, with more intellect tnan usually belongs 
it. 
* The old gentleman who is represented as speaking, in Bun- ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
VI. Choleric Drunkard.—There are a variety of 
drunkards whom I can only class under the above title. 
They seem to possess few of the qualities of the other 
races,and are chiefly distinguished by an uncommon tes- 
tiness of disposition. They are quick, irritable, and impa- 
tient, but withal good at heart, and, when in humour, 
very pleasant and generous. They are easily put out of 
temper, but it returns almost immediately. This dis- 
position is very prevalent among Welshmen and High- 
land lairds. Mountaineers are usually quick tempered : 
but such men are not the worst or most unpleasant. 
Sterne is undoubtedly right, when he says that more vir- 
tue is to be found in warm than cold dispositions. Com- 
modore Trunnion is a marked example of this tempera- 
ment ; and Captain Fluellen, who compelled the heroic 
Pistol to eat the leek, is another. 
VII. Periodical Drunkard.—There are persons 
whose temperaments are so peculiarly constituted, that 
they indulge to excess periodically, and are, in the in- 
tervals of these indulgences, remarkably sober. This 
is not a very common case, but I have known more 
than one instance of it ; and a gentleman, distinguish- 
ed by the power of his eloquence in the senate and at 
the bar, is said to furnish another. In the cases which 
I have known, the drunken mania, for it can get no 
other name, came on three or four time a-year. The 
persons from a state of complete sobriety, felt the most 
intense desire for drink ; and no power, short of abso- 
lute force or confinement, could restrain them from the 
indulgence. In every case they seemed to be quite 
aware of the uncontrollable nature of their passion, and 
proceeded systematically by confining themselves to 
their room, and procuring a large quantity of ardent 
spirits. As soon as this was done, they commenced 
and drank to excess till vomiting ensued, and the 
stomach absolutely refused to receive another drop of 
liquor. This state may last a few days or a few weeks 
according to constitutional strength, or the rapidity 
with which the libations are poured down. During 
the continuance of the attack, the individual exhibits 
such a state of mind as may be looked for from his pe- 
culiar temperament; he may be sanguineous, or melan- 
choly, or surly, or phlegmatic, or nervous, or choleric. 
So soon as the stomach rejects enery thing that is 
swallowed, and severe sickness comes on, the fit ceases. 
From that moment recovery takes place, and the for- 
mer fondness for liquor is succeeded by aversion or dis- 
gust. This gains such ascendency over him, that he 
abstains religiously from it for weeks, or months, or 
even for a year, as the case may be. During this inter- 
val he leads a life of the most exemplary temperance, 
drinking nothing but cold water, and probably shunning 
every society where he is likely to be exposed to in- 
dulgence. So soon as this period of sobriety has ex- 
pired, the fit again comes on ; and he continues play- 
ing the same game for perhaps the better part of a 
long life. This class of persons I would call periodical 
drunkards. 
These different varieties are sometimes found strong- 
ly marked ; at other times so blended together that it 
is not easy to say which predominates. The most 
agreeable drunkard is he whose temperament lies be- 
tween the sanguineous and the melancholic. The 
genuine sanguineous is a sad noisy dog, and so com- 
mon that every person must have met with him. The 
naval service furnishes a great many gentlemen of this 
description. The phlegmatic, I think, is rarer, but both 
the nervous and the surly are not unusual. 
but by the nature of the agent which produces it. Thus, 
ebriety from ardent spirits differs in some particulars 
from that brought on by opium or malt liquors, such as 
porter and ale. 
I. Modified by Ardent Spirits.—Alcohol is the prin- 
ciple of intoxication in all liquors. It is this which 
gives to wine,* ale, and spirits, their characteristic pro- 
perties. In the natural state, however, it is so pun- 
gent, that it could not be received into the stomach, 
even in a moderate quantity, without producing death. 
It can, therefore, only be used in dilution; and in this 
state we have it, from the strongest ardent spirits, to 
simple small beer. The first (ardent spirits) being the 
most concentrated of its combinations, act most rapidly 
upon the constitution. They are more inflammatory, 
and intoxicate sooner than any of the others. Swal- 
lowed in an overdose, they act almost instantaneously- 
extinguishing the senses and overcoming the whole 
body with a sudden stupor. When spirits are swal- 
lowed raw, as in the form of a dram, they excite a glow 
of heat in the throat and stomach, succeeded, in those 
who are not much accustomed to their use, by a flush- 
ing of the countenance, and a copious discharge of 
tears, They are strongly diuretic. 
Persons who indulge too much in spirits rarely get 
corpulent, unless their indulgence be coupled with good 
living. Their bodies become emaciated ; they get spin- 
dle-shanked ; their eyes are glazed and hollow; their 
cheeks fall in ; and a premature old age overtakes 
them. They do not eat so well as their brother drunk- 
ards. An insatiable desire for a morning dram makes 
them early risers, and their breakfast amounts to almost 
nothing. 
The principal varieties of spirits, as already men- 
tioned, are rum, brandy, whiskey, and gin. It is need- 
less to enter into any detail of the history of these 
fluids. Brandy kills soonest; it takes most rapidly to 
the head, and, more readily than the others, tinges the 
face to a crimson or livid hue. Rum is probably the 
next in point of fatality; and, after that, whiskey and 
gin. The superior .diuretic qualities of the two latter, 
and the less luscious sources from whence they are 
procured, may possibly account for such differences. I 
am at the same time aware that some persons entertain 
a different idea of the relative danger of these liquors : 
some, for instance, conceive that gin is more rapidly 
fatal than any of them; but it is to be remembered, that 
it, more than any other ardent spirit, is liable to adul- 
teration. That, from this circumstance, more lives 
may be lost by its use, I do not deny. In speaking of 
gin, however, and comparing its effects with those of 
the rest of the class to which it belongs, I must be un- 
derstood to speak of it in its pure condition, and not in 
that detestable state of sophistication in which such vast 
quantities of it are drunk in London and elsewhere. 
When pure, I have no hesitation in affirming that it is 
decidedly more wholesome than either brandy or rum ; 
and that the popular belief of its greater tendency to 
produce dropsy, is quite unfounded. 
An experiment has lately been made for the purpose 
of ascertaining the comparative powers of gin, brandy, 
and rum upon the human body, which is not less re- 
markable for the inconsequent conclusions deduced 
from it, than for the ignorance it displays in confound- 
ing dead animal matter with the living fibre. It was 
made as follows :— 
A piece of raw liver was put into a glass of gin, an- 
other into a glass of rum, and a third into a glass of 
brandy. That in the gin was, in a given time, partially 
decomposed ; that in the rum, in the same time, not 
diminished; and that in the brandy quite dissolved. It 
was concluded from these results, that rum was the 
most wholesome spirit of the three, and brandy the 
65 
CHAPTER V. 
DRUNKENNESS MODIFIED BY THE INEBRIATING AGENT. 
Intoxication is not only influenced by temperament, 
bury’s admirable caricature of thfe ‘ Long'Story,’ furnishes one 
of the best illustrations I have ever seen of this variety. It is 
worth consulting, both on account of the story-teller, and the ef- 
* Alcohol appears to exist in wines, in a very peculiar state of 
combination. In the Annendix. I have availed mvself of Dr ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
66 
least. The inferences deduced from these premises 
are not only erroneous, but glaringly absurd ; the pre- 
mises would even afford grounds for drawing results of 
1 the very opposite nature : it might be said, for instance, 
that though brandy be capable of dissolving dead ani- 
mal matter, there is no evidence that it can do the same 
to the living stomach, and that it would in reality prove 
less hurtful than the others, in so far as it would, more 
effectually than they, dissolve the food contained in 
that organ. These experiments, in fact, prove nothing ; 
and could only have been suggested by one completely 
ignorant of the functions of the animal economy. There 
is a power inherent in the vital principle which resists 
the law’s that operate upon dead matter. This is known 
to every practitioner, and is the reason why the most 
plausible and recondite speculations of chemistry have 
come to naught in their trials upon the living frame. 
The only way to judge of the respective effects of ar- 
dent spirits, is by experience and physiological reason- 
ing, both of which inform us that the spirit most power- 
fully diuretic must rank highest in the scale of safety. 
Now and then persons are met with on whose frames 
both gin and whiskey have a much more heating effect 
than the two other varieties of spirits. This, however, 
is not common, and when it does occur, can only be 
referred to some accountable idiosyncrasy of constitu- 
tion. 
II. Modified by Wines.—Drunkenness from wines 
closely resembles that from ardent spirits. It is equally 
airy and volatile, more especially if the light wines, 
such as Champagne, Claret, Chambertin, or Volnay, be 
drunk. On the former, a person may get tipsy several 
times of a night. The fixed air evolved from it pro- 
duces a feeling analogous to ebriety, independent of 
the spirit it contains. Port, Sherry, and Madeira are 
heavier wines, and have a stronger tendency to excite 
headache and fever. 
The wine-bidder has usually an ominous rotundity 
of face, and, not unfrequently, of corporation. His 
nose is well studded over with carbuncles of the claret 
complexion ; and the red of his cheeks resembles very 
closely the hue of that w’ine. The drunkard from ar- 
dent spirits is apt to be poor, miserable, emaciated 
figure, broken in mind and in fortune ; but the votary 
of the juice of the grape may usually boast the 
‘paunch well lined with capon,’ and calls to recollec- 
tion the bluff’ figure of Sir John Falstaff over kis pota- 
tions of sack.* 
III. Modified by Malt Liquors.—Malt liquors under 
which title we include all kinds of porter and ales, pro- 
duce the worst species of drunkenness ; as, in addition 
to the intoxicating principle, some noxious ingredients 
are usually added, for the purpose of preserving them 
and giving them their bitter. The hop of these fluids 
is highly narcotic, and brewers often add other sub- 
stances, to heighten its effect, such as hyoscyamus, 
opium, belladonna, cocculus Indicus, lauro cerasus, &c. 
Malt liquors, therefore, act in two ways upon the body, 
partly by the alcohol they contain, and partly by the 
narcotic principle. In addition to this, the fermenta- 
tion which they undergo is much less perfect than that 
of spirits or wine. After being swallowed, this process 
is carried on in the stomach, by which fixed air is co- 
piously liberated, and the digestion of delicate stomachs 
materially impaired. Cider, spruce, ginger, and table 
beers, in consequence of their imperfect fermentation, 
often produce the same bad effects, long after their first 
briskness has vanished. 
Persons addicted to malt liquors increase enormously 
in bulk. They become loaded with fat; their chin 
gets double or triple, the eye prominent, and the whole 
face bloated and stupid. Their circulation is clogged, 
while the pulse feels like a cord, and is full and laboring, 
but not quick. During sleep, the breathing is sterto- 
rous. Every thing indicates an excess of blood ; and 
when a pound or two is taken away, immense relief is 
obtained. The blood, in such cases, is more dark and 
sizy than in the others. In seven cases out of ten, 
malt liquor-drunkards die of apoplexy or palsy. If 
they escape this hazard, swelled liver or dropsy carries 
them off. The abdomen seldom loses its prominency, 
but the lower extremities get ultimately emaciated. 
Profuse bleedings frequently ensue from the nose, and 
save life, by emptying the blood-vessels of the brain. 
The drunkenness in question is peculiarly of British 
growth. The most noted examples of it are to be 
found in innkeepers and their wives, recruiting ser- 
geants, guards of stage-coaches, &c. The quantity of 
malt liquors which such persons will consume in a day 
is prodigious. Seven English pints is quite a common 
allowance, and not linfrequently twice that quantity is 
taken without any perceptible effect. Many of the 
coal-heavers on the Thames think nothing of drinking 
daily two gallons of porter, especially in the summer 
season, when they labor under profuse perspiration. 
A friend has informed me that he knew an instance of 
one of them having consumed eighteen pints in one 
day, and he states that there are many such instances.*' 
The effects of malt liquors on the body, if not so 
immediately rapid as those of ardent spirits, are more 
stupifying, more lasting, and less easily removed. The 
last are particularly prone to produce levity and mirth, 
but the first have a stunning influence on the brain, and, 
in a short time, render dull and sluggish the gayest dis- 
position. They also produce sickness and vomiting 
more readily than either spirits or wine. 
Both wine and malt liquors have a greater tendency 
to swell the body than ardent spirits. They form blood 
with greater rapidity, and are altogether more nourish- 
ing. The most dreadful effects, upon the whole, are 
brought on by spirits, but drunkenness from malt li- 
quors is the most speedily fatal. The former break 
down the body by degrees, the latter operate by some 
instantaneous apoplexy or rapid inflammation. 
No one has ever given the respective characters of 
the malt liquor and ardent spirit drunkard with greater 
truth than Hogarth, in his Beer Alley and Gin Lane. 
The first is represented as plump, rubicund, and bloat- 
ed ; the second as pale, tottering, and emaciated, and 
dashed over with the aspect of blank despair. 
IY. Modified by Opium.—The drunkenness pro- 
duced by opium has also some characteristics which it 
is necessary to mention. The drug is principally em- 
ployed by the Mahometans. By their religion, these 
people are forbidden the use of wine,f and use opium 
as a substitute. And a delightful substitute it is while 
the first excitation continues ; for images it occasions 
in the mind are more exquisite than any produced even 
by wine. 
There is reason to believe that the use of this medi- 
cine has, of late years, gained ground in Great Britain. 
We are told by the ‘ English Opium-Eater,’ whose 
powerful and interesting 4 Confessions’ have excited so 
deep an interest, that the practice exists among the 
work people at Manchester. Many of our fashionable 
ladies have recourse to it when troubled with vapours, 
or low spirits ; some of them even carry it about with 
them for the purpose. This practice is most pemi- 
* There is reason to believe that the Sack of Shakspeare was 
Sherry.—‘Falstaff. You rogue! here’s lime in this Sack too. 
There i3 nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man. 
Yet a coward is worse than a cup of Sack with lime in it.’— 
Lime, it is well known, is added to the grapes in the manufac- 
ture of Sherry. This not only gives the wine what is called its 
dry quality, but probably acts* by neutralizing a portion of the 
* ‘ It is recorded of a Welsh squire, William Lewis, who 
died in 1793, that he drank eight gallons of ale per diem, and 
weighed forty stones.'—Wadd's Comments on Corpulency. 
t 1 The law of Mahomet which prohibits the drinking of wine, 
is a law fitted to the climate of Arabia; and, indeed, before Ma- 
homet’s time, water was the common drink of the Arabs. The 
law which forbade the Carthaginians to drink wine, was also a ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
67 
cious, and no way different from that of drunkards, 
who swallow w.':>e and other liquors to drive away care. 
While the first effects continue, the intended purpose 
is sufficiently gained, but the melancholy which follows 
is infinitely greater than can be compensated by the 
previous exhilaration. 
Opium acts differently on different constitutions. 
While ;t disposes some to calm, it arouses others to 
fury. Whatever passion predominates at the time, it 
increases; whether it be love, or hatred, or revenge, 
or benevolence. Lord Karnes, in his Sketches of 
Man, speaks of the fanatical Faquirs, who, when ex- 
cited by this drug, have been known, with poisoned 
daggers, to assail and butcher every European whom 
they could overcome. In the century before last, one 
of this nation attacked a body of Dutch sailors, and 
murdered seventeen of them in one minute. The 
Malays are strongly addicted to opium. When vio- 
lently aroused by it, they sometimes perform what is 
called Running-a-Muck, which consists in rushing out 
in a state of phrensied excitement, heightened by fanati- 
cism, and murdering every one who comes in their 
way. The Turkish commanders are well aware of the 
powers of this drug in inspiring an artificial courage ; 
and frequently give it to their men when they put them 
on any enterprise of great danger. 
Some minds are rendered melancholy by opium. Its 
usual effect, however, is to give rise to lively and happy 
sensations. The late Duchess of Gordon is said to 
have used it freely, previous to appearing in great par- 
ties, where she wished to shine by the gayety of her 
conversation and brilliancy of her wit. A celebrated 
pleader at the Scotch bar is reported to do the same 
thing, and always with a happy effect. 
In this country opium is much used, but seldom with 
the view of producing intoxication. Some, indeed, 
ileny that it can do so, strictly speaking. If by intoxi- 
cation is meant a state precisely similar to that from 
over-indulgence in vinous or spiritous liquors, they are 
undoubtedly right; but drunkenness merits a wider 
latitude of signification. The ecstacies of opium are 
much more entrancing than those of wine. There is 
more poetry in its visions—more mental aggrandize- 
ment—more range of imagination. WTir.e, in common 
with it, invigorates the animal powers and propensities, 
but opium, in a more peculiar manner, strengthens those 
proper to man, and gives, for a period amounting to 
hours, a higher tone to the intellectual faculties. Bin- 
spires the mind with a thousand delightful images, lifts 
the soul from earth, and casts a halo of poetic thought 
and feeling over the spirits of the most unimaginative. 
Under its influence, the mind wears no longer that 
blank passionless aspect which, even in gifted natures, 
it is apt to assume. On the contrary, it is clothed with 
beauty ‘ as with a garment,’ and colours every thought 
that passes through it with the hues of wonder and ro- 
mance. Such arc the feelings which the luxurious and 
opulent mussulman seeks to enjoy. To stir up the 
languid current of his mind, satiated with excess of 
pleasure and rendered sluggish by indolence, he has re- 
course to that remedy which his own genial climate 
produces in greatest perfection. Seated perhaps amid 
the luxuries of Oriental splendour—with fountains bub- 
bling around, and the citron shading him with its canopy, 
and scattering perfume on all sides—he lets loose the 
reins of an imagination conversant from infancy with 
every thing gorgeous and magnificent. The veil which 
shades the world of fancy is withdrawn, and the won- 
ders lying behind it exposed to view; he sees palaces 
and temples in the clouds ; or the Paradise of Ma- 
homet, with its houris and bowers of amaranth, may 
stand revealed to his excited senses. Every thing is 
steeped in poetic exaggeration. The zephyrs seem 
converted into aerial music, the trees bear golden fruit, 
the rose blushes with unaccustomed beauty and ner- 
and becomes one vast Eden of pleasure. Such are the 
first effects of opium; but in proportion as they are 
great, so is the depression which succeeds them. Lan- 
guor and exhaustion invariably come after; to removo 
which, the drug is again had recourse to, and becomes 
almost an essential of existence. 
Opium retains at all times its power of exciting the 
imagination, provided sufficient doses are taken. But, 
when it has been continued so long as to bring disease 
upon the constitution, the pleasurable feelings wear 
away, and are succeeded by others of a very different 
kind. Instead of disposing the mind to be happy, it 
now acts upon it like the spell of a demon, and calls up 
phantoms of horror and disgust. The fancy is still as 
powerful as ever, but it is turned in another direction. 
Formerly it clothed all objects with the light of heaven; 
now it invests them with the attributes of hell. Gob- 
lins, spectres, and every kind of distempered vision 
haunt the mind, peopling it with dreary and revolting 
imagery. The sleep is no longer cheered wjth its for- 
mer sights of happiness. Frightful dreams usurp their 
place, till, at last, the person becomes the victim of an 
almost perpetual misery.* Nor is this confined to the 
mind alone, for the body suffers in an equal degree. 
Emaciation, loss of appetite, sickness, vomiting, and a 
total disorganization of the digestive functions, as well 
as of the mental powers, are sure to ensue, and never 
fail to terminate in death, if the evil habit which brings 
them on is continued. 
Opium resembles the other agents of intoxication in 
this, that the fondness for it increases with use, and 
that at last, it becomes nearly essential for bodily com- 
fort and peace of mind. The quantity which may be 
taken varies exceedingly, and depends wholly upon 
age, constitution, and habit. A single drop of lauda- 
num has been known to kill a new-born child; and 
four grains of solid opium have destroyed an adult. 
Certain diseases such as fevers, phrensies, &c., facili- 
tate the action of opium upon the system ; others, such 
as diarrhosa, cramp, &c., resist it; and a quantity which 
would destroy life in the former, would have little per- 
ceptible effect in the latter. By habit, enormous quan- 
tities of the drug may be taken with comparative im- 
punity. There are many persons in this country who 
make a practice of swallowing half an ounce of lauda- 
num night and morning, and some will even take from 
one to two drachms daily of solid opium. The Teria- 
kis, or opium-eaters of Constantinople, will sometimes 
swallow a hundred grains at a single dose. Nay, it is 
confidently affirmed that some of them will take at 
once three drachms in the morning, and repeat the 
same dose at night, with no other effect than a pleasing 
exhilaration of spirits. The ‘ English Opium-Eater’ 
himself, furnishes one of the most extraordinary in- 
stances on record of the power of habit in bringing the 
body to withstand this drug. He took daily eight 
thousand drops of laudanum, containing three hundred 
and twenty grains of opium. This enormous quantity 
* The following description, by a modern traveller, of a scene 
witnessed by him in the East, gives a lively picture of the effect* 
of this'drug:— 
‘ There is a decoction of the bead and seeds of the poppy, 
which they call Coquenar, for the sale of which there are tav- 
erns in every quarter of the town,similar to our coffee-houses. It 
is extremely amusing to visit these houses, and to observe care- 
fully those who resort there for the purpose of drinking it, both 
before they have taken the dose, before it begins to operate, and 
while it is operating. On entering the tavern, they are dejected 
and languishing : soon after they have taken two or three cups 
of this beverage, they are peevish, and as ft were enraged; every 
thing displeases them. They find fault with every thing, and 
quarrel with one another, but in the course of its operation they 
make it up again ;—and, each one giving himself up to his pre- 
dominant passion, the lover speaks sweet things to nis idol—an- 
other, half asleep, laughs in his sleeps—a third talks big and 
blusters—a fourth tells ridiculous stories. In a word, a person 
would believe himself to be really in a mad-house. A kind of 
lethergy and stupidity succeed to this disorder y gayety ; but the 
Persians, far from treating it as it deserves, cal) it an ecstacy, and 68 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
he reduced suddenly, and without any considerable ef- 
fort, to one thousand, drops, or forty grains. ‘ In- 
stantaneously,’ says he, ‘ and as if by magic, the cloud 
of profoundest melancholy which rested upon my brain, 
like some black vapours which I have seen roll away 
from the summits of the mountains, drew of in one 
day—passed off with its murky banners, as simultane- 
ously as a ship that has been stranded, and is floated 
off by the spring-tide.’ 
The circumstance of the body being brought by de- 
grees to withstand a great quantity of opium is not 
solitary, but exists as a general rule with regard to all 
stimulants and narcotics. A person who is in the 
habit of drinking ale, wine, or spirits, will take much 
more with impunity than one who is not; and the 
faculty of withstanding these agents goes on strength- 
ening till it acquires a certain point, after which it be- 
comes weakened. When this takes place, their is 
either organic disease or general debility. A confirmed 
drunkard, whose constitution has suffered from indul- 
gence, can not take so much liquor, without feeling it, 
as one who is in the habit of taking his glass, but 
whose strength is yet unimpaired. It is, I suspect, the 
same, though probably in a less degree, with regard to 
opium. 
Mithridates, king of Pontus, affords an instance of 
the effects of habit in enabling the body to withstand 
poisons : and on the same principle, we find that phy- 
sicians and nurses who are much exposed to infection, 
are less liable than those persons whose frames are not 
similarly fortified. 
Opium resembles wine, spirit, and ales, in effecting 
the brain and disposing to apoplexy. Taken in an 
over-dose, it is fatal in from six to twenty-four hours, 
according to the quantity swallowed, and the constitu- 
tion, habits, &c., of the persons submitted to its opera- 
tion. The following are the principal symptoms of 
poisoning from opium. Giddiness succeeded by stu- 
por ; insensibility to light, while the eyes are closed, 
and the pupil immoveable, and sometimes dilated. 
The pulse is generally small and feeble, but, occasion- 
ally, slow and full, as in common apoplexy. The 
breathing at first is scarcely perceptible, but is apt to 
become stertorous. Foam sometimes issues from the 
mouth: in other cases there is vomiting. The coun- 
tenance is cadaverous and pale or livid. A narcotic 
odour is often perceptible in the breath. The skin is 
cold, and the body exceedingly relaxed ; now and then 
it is convulsed. By being struck shaken, or ex- 
cited any way, the person sometimes recovers for a 
short period from his stupor, and stares wildly around 
him, but only to relapse into lethargy. At last death 
ensues, but shortly before this event, a deceitful show 
of animation occasionally makes its appearance, and 
may impose upon superficial observers. 
I extract the following interesting case of opium- 
eating from a London paper :— 
‘An inquest was held at Walpole lately, on the body 
of Rebecca Eason, aged five years, who had been dis- 
eased from her birth, was unable to walk or articulate, 
and from her size, did not appear to be more than five 
weeks old. The mother had for many years been in 
the habit of taking opium in large quantities, (nearly a 
quarter of an ounce a day ;*) and, it is supposed, had 
entailed a disease on her child which caused its death ; 
it was reduced to a mere skeleton, and had been in 
that state from birth. Verdict; 4 Died by the visitation 
of God ; but from the great quantity of opium taken bv 
the mother during her pregnancy 'of the said child, and 
of sucking it, she had greatly injured its health.’ It 
appeared that the mother of the deceased had had five 
children ; that she began to take opium after the birth 
and weaning of her first child, which was and is re- 
markably healthy ; and that the other children have all 
1. I ~ —J J*A/1 i»-> +v>/-,_ OOnmnmatod ofaro qo til O 
child who was the subject of this investigation. Tho 
mother is under thirty c she was severely censured by 
the coroner for indulging in so pernicious a practice.’ 
V. Modified by Tobacco.—A variety of drunkenness 
is excited by tobacco. This luxury was introduced 
into Enrope from the new world, in 1559, by a Spanish 
gentleman, named Hernandez de Toledo, who brought 
a small quantity into Spain and Portugal. From 
thence, by the agency of the French ambassador at 
Lisbon, it found its way to Paris, where it was used 
in the form of powder by Catherine de Medicis, the 
abandoned instigator of the massacre of the Protestants 
on St. Bartholomew’s day. This woman, therefore, 
may be considered the inventor of snuff, as well as the 
contriver of that most atrocious transaction. It then 
came under the patronage of the Cardinal Santa Croce, 
the Pope’s nuncio, who, returning from his embassy at 
the Spanish and Portuguese courts, carried the plant 
to his own country, and thus acquired a fame little in- 
ferior to that which, at another period, he had won by 
piously bringing a portion of the real cross from the 
Holy Land. It was received with general enthusiasm 
in the Papal States, and hardly less favorably in Eng- 
land, into which it was introduced by Sir Walter 
Raleigh, in 1585. It was not, however, without oppo- 
sition that it gained a footing either in this country or 
in the rest of Europe. Its principal opponents were 
the priests, the physicians, and the sovereign princes ; 
by the former, its use was declared sinful; and in 1624, 
Pope Urban VIII. published a bull, excommunicating 
all persons found guilty of taking snuff when in church. 
This bull was renewed in 1690 by Pope Innocent ; and 
about twenty-nine years afterwards, the Sultan Amu- 
rath IV. made smoking a capital offence, on the ground 
of its producing infertility. For a long time smoking 
was forbidden in Russia, under the pain of having the 
nose cut off: and in some parts of Switzerland, it was 
likewise made a subject of public prosecution—the 
public regulations of the Canton of Berne, in 1661, 
placing the prohibition of smoking in the list of the ten 
commandments, immediately under that against adul- 
tery. Nay, that British Solomon James I. did not 
think it beneath the royal dignity to take up his pen 
upon the subject. He accordingly, in 1603, published 
his famous 4 Counterblaste to Tobacco,’ in which the 
following remarkable passage occurs :—4 It is a custom 
loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to 
the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and, in the black 
stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible 
Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.’'*' But 
notwithstanding this regal and sacerdotal wrath, the 
plant extended itself far and wide, and is at this mo- 
ment the most universal luxury in existence. 
The effects of tobacco are considerably different 
from those of any other inebriating agent. Instead of 
quickening, it lowers the pulse, and, when used to ex- 
cess, produces languor, depression of the system, gid- 
diness, confusion of ideas, violent pain in the stomach, 
vomiting, convulsions, and even death. Its essential 
oil is so intensely powerful, that two or three drops in- 
serted into a raw wound, would prove almost instantly 
fatal.* Mr Barrow, in his travels, speaks of the use 
* 4 Tobacco,’ King James farther observes, 4 is the lively im- 
age anil pattern of hell, for it hath, by allusion, in it all the 
parts and vices of the world, whereby hell may be gained ; to 
wit, first, it is a smoke ; so are all the vanities of this world. 
Secondly, it delightest them that take it; so do all the pleasures 
of the world delight the men of the world. Thirdly, it maketh 
men drunken and light in the head ; so do all the vanities of the 
world, men are drunken therewith. Fourthly, he that taketh 
tobacco cannot leave it; it doth bewitch him ; even so the plea- 
sures of the world make men loath to leave them ; they are, for 
the most part, enchanted with them. And, farther, besides all 
this, it is like hell in the very substance of it, for it is a stinking 
loathsome thing, and so is hell.’ And, moreover, his majesty 
declares, that ‘ were he to invite the devil to a dinner, he should 
have three dishes ; first, a pig ; second, a poll of ling and mus- ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
69 
made by the Hottentots of this plant, for the purpose of 
destroying snakes. ‘A Hottentot,’ says he, ‘applied 
some of it from the short end of his wooden tobacco 
pipe to the mouth of a snake while darting out his 
tongue. The effect was as instantaneous as an electric 
shock : with a convulsive motion that was momentary, 
the snake half untwisted itself, and never stirred more ; 
and the muscles were so contracted, that the whole 
animal felt hard and rigid, as if dried in the sun.’ 
When used in moderation, tobacco has a soothing effect 
upon the mind, disposing to placid enjoyment, and mel- 
lowing every passion into repose. Its effects, there- 
fore, are inebriating ; and those who habitually indulge 
in it may with propriety be denominated drunkards. In 
whatever form it is used, it produces sickness, stupor, 
bewilderment, and staggering, in those unaccustomed 
to its use. There is no form in which it can be taken 
that is not decidedly injurious and disgusting. The 
■whole, from snuffing to plugging, are at once so utterly 
uncleanly and unnatural, that it is incredible in what man- 
ner they ever insinuated themselves into civilized so- 
ciety. A vast quantity of valuable time is wasted by 
the votaries of tobacco, especially by the smokers ; and 
that the devotees of snuff are not greatly behind in this 
respect, will be shown by the following singular calcu- 
lation of Lord Stanhope :— 
‘ Every professed, inveterate, incurable snuff-taker,’ 
says his Lordship, ‘ at a moderate computation, takes 
one pinch in ten minutes. Every pinch, with the 
agreeable ceremony of blowing and wiping the nose, 
and other incidental circumstances, consumes a minute 
and a half. .One minute and a half out of every ten, 
allowing sixteen hours to a snuff-taking day, amounts 
to two hours and twenty-four minutes out of every na- 
tural day, or one day out of ten. One day out of every 
ten amounts to thirty-six days and a half in a year. 
Hence, if we suppose the practice to be persisted in 
forty years, two entire years of the snuff-taker’s life 
will be dedicated to tickling his nose and two more to 
blowing it. The expense of snuff, snuff-boxes, and 
handkerchiefs, will be the subject of a second essay, in 
which it will appear that this luxury encroaches as much 
on the income of the snuff-taker as it does on his time ; 
and that by proper application of the time and money 
thus lost to the public, a fund might be constituted for 
the discharge of the national debt.’ 
But this is not the worst of snuffing, for though a 
moderate quantity taken now and then, may do no 
harm, yet, in the extent to which habitual snuffers carry 
it, it is positively perniciouq, The membrane which 
lines the nose gets thickened, the olfactory nerves 
blunted, and the sense of smell consequently impaired. 
Nor is this all, for, by the strong inspirations which are 
made when the powder is drawn up, some of the latter 
is pretty sure to escape into the stomach. -This organ 
is thence directly subjected to a powerful medicine, 
which not only acts as a narcotic, but produces heart- 
burn and every other symptom of indigestion. It is 
generally believed that Napoleon owed his death to the 
morbid state of his stomach produced by excessive 
snuffing. Snuffing has also a strong tendency to give 
a determination to the head, and on this account pleth- 
oric subjects should be the very last ever to enter upon 
the habit. If it were attended with no other inconve- 
nience, the black loathsome discharge from the nose, 
and swelling and rubicundity of this organ, with other 
circumstances equally disagreeable, ought to deter 
every man from becoming a snuffer. 
The smoker, while engaged at his occupation, is even 
a happier man than the snuffer. An air of peculiar 
satisfaction beams upon his countenance; and as he puffs 
forth volumes of fragrance, he seems to dwell in an at- 
mosphere of contented happiness. His illusions have 
not the elevated and magnificent character of those 
brought on-by opium or wine. There is nothing of 
Raphael or Michael Angelo in their composition—no- 
thing of the Roman or Venitian schools—nothing of 
Milton’s sublimity, or Ariosto’s dazzling romance; but 
there is something equally delightful, and in its way, 
equally perfect. His visions stand in the same relation 
to those of opium or wine, as the Dutch pictures of 
Ostade to the Italian ones of Paul Veronese—as 
Washington Irving to Lord Byron—or as Izaak Wal- 
ton to Froissart. There is an air of delightful home- 
liness about them. He does not let his imagination 
run riot in the clouds, but restrains it to the lower 
sphere of earth, and meditates delightfully in this less 
elevated region. If his fancy be unusually brilliant, or 
somewhat heated by previous drinking, he may see 
thousands of strange forms floating in the tobacco 
smoke. He may people it, according to his tempera- 
ment, with agreeable or revolting images—with flowers 
and gems springing up, as in dreams before, him—or 
with reptiles, serpents, and the whole host of diablerie, 
skimming, like motes in the sunshine, amid its curling 
wreaths. 
This all that can be said in favour of smoking, and 
quite enough to render the habit too common to leave 
any hope of its suppression, either by the weapons of 
ridicule, or the more summary plan of the Sultan Amu- 
rath. In no sense, except as affording a temporary 
gratification, can it be justified or defended. It pol- 
lutes the breath, blackens the teeth, wastes the saliva 
which is required for digestion, and injures the com- 
plexion. In addition to this, it is apt to produce dys- 
pepsia, and other disorders of the stomach ; and in 
corpulent subjects, it disposes to apoplexy. At the 
present moment, smoking is fashionable, and crowds of 
young men are to be seen at all hours walking the, 
streets with cigars in their mouths, annoying the pas- 
sengers. They seem to consider it manly to be able 
to smoke a certain number, without reflecting that 
there is scarcely an old woman in the country who 
would not beat them to naught with their own weap- 
ons, and that they would gain no sort of honour were 
they able to outsmoke all the burgomasters of Amster- 
dam. As the practice, however, seems more resorted 
to by these young gentlemen for the sake of effect, and 
of exhibiting a little of the haut ton, than for any thing 
else, it is likely soon to die a natural death among them ; 
particularly as jockeys and porters have lately taken the 
field in the same way, being determined, that no class ol 
the community shall enjoy the exclusive monopoly of 
street smoking. 
The observatians made upon'the effects of snuffing 
and smoking, apply in a still stronger degree to chew- 
ing. This is the worst way for the health in which to- 
bacco can be used. The waste of saliva is greater than 
even in smoking, and the derangements of the diges- 
tive organs proportionably severe. All confirmed 
chewers are more than usually subject to dyspepsia 
and hypochondriasis : and many of them are afflicted 
with liver complaint, brought on by their imprudent 
habit. 
The most innocent, and at the same time most dis- 
gusting way of using tobacco, is plugging, which com 
sists in inserting a short roll of the plant in the nostril, 
and allowing it to remain there so long as the person 
feels disposed. Fortunately this habit is as rare as it is 
abominable ; and it is to be hoped that it will never be- 
come common in Great Britain. 
I have observed, that persons who are much addict- 
ed to liquor have an inordinate liking to tobacco in all its 
different forms : and it is remarkable that in the early 
stages of ebriety almost every man is desirous of having 
a pinch of snuff. This last fact it is not easy to explain, 
but the former may be accounted for by that incessant 
oil of tobacco operates very differently from the infusion. The 
former acts instantly on the heart, suspending its action, even 
while the animal continues to inspire, and destroying life by pro- 
ducing syncope. The latter appears to operate solely on the 
brain, leaving the circulation unaffected. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
craving after excitement which cling to the system of 
the confirmed drunkard. 
From several of the foregoing circumstances, we are 
justified in considering tobacco closely allied to intoxi- 
cating liquor, and its confirmed votaries as a species of 
drunkards. At least, it is certain that when used to 
excess, it gives birth to many of the corporeal and men- 
tal manifestations of ebriety. 
VI. Modified by Nitrous Oxide.—The drunkenness, 
if it merit that name, from inhaling nitrous oxide, is 
likewise of a character widely differing from intoxica- 
tion in general. This gas was discovered by Dr Priest- 
ley, but its peculiar effects upon the human body were 
first perceived in 1799, by Sir Humphrey Davy, who, in 
the following year, published a very elaborate account 
of its nature and properties, interspersed with details by 
some of the most eminent literary and scientific charac- 
ters of the sensations they experienced on receiving it 
into their lungs. 
According to these statements, on breathing the gas 
the pulse is accelerated, and a feeling of heat and ex- 
pansion pervades the chest.. The most vivid and high- 
ly pleasurable ideas pass, at the same time, through the 
mind ; and the imagination is exalted to a pitch of en- 
trancing ectascy. The hearing is rendered more acute, 
the face is flushed, and the body seems so light that the 
person conceives himself capable of rising up and 
mounting into the air. Some assume theatrical attitudes ; 
others laugh immoderately, and stamp upon the ground. 
There is an universal increase of muscular power, at- 
tended with the most exquisite delight. In a few cases 
there are melancholy, giddiness, and indistinct vi- 
sion but generally the feelings are those of perfect plea- 
sure. After these strange effects have ceased, no de- 
bility ensues, like that which commonly follows high 
excitement. On the contrary, the mind is strong and 
collected, and the body unusually vigorous for some 
hours after the operation. 
At the time of the discovery of the effects of nitrous 
oxide strong hopes were- excited that it might prove 
useful in various diseases. These, unfortunatelv have 
not been realized. Even the alleged properties of the 
gas have now fallen into some discredit. That it has 
produced remarkable effects cannot be denied, but 
there is much reason for thinking that, m many cases, 
these were in a great measure brought about by the 
influence of imagination. Philosophers seem to be 
divided on this point and their conflicting testimo- 
nies it is not easy to reconcile. Having tried the ex- 
periment of inhaling the gas myself, and having seen 
it tried upon‘others, I have no doubt that there is 
much truth in the reports generally published of its 
properties, although in many cases, imagination has 
made these appear greater than they really are. 
The intoxication which it produces is entirely one sui 
generis, and differs so much from that produced by 
other agents, that it can hardly be looked upon as the 
same thing. 
The effects of nitrous oxide upon myself, though con- 
siderable, were not so striking as I have seen upon 
others. The principal feelings produced, were giddi- 
ness and violent beating in the head, such as occur in 
the acme of drunkenness. There was also a strong 
propensity to laugh: it occurs to me, however, that in 
my own case, and probably in some others, the risible 
tendency might be controlled by a strong effort of voli- 
tion, in the same way as in most cases of drunkenness, 
were the effort imperatively requisite. Altogether I 
experienced nearly the sensations of highly excited 
ebriety. There was the same seeming lightness and 
expansion of the, head, the same mirthfulness of spirit, 
and the same inordinate propensity to do foolish things, 
knowing them-to be foolish, as occur in drunkenness 
in general. I was perfectly aware what I was about, 
and could, I am persuaded, with some effort, have sub- 
iaetori the whimsies of fanr.v to the sober dictates of 
judgment. In a word, the gas produced precisely a 
temporary paroxysm of drunkenness, and such a deter- 
mination of blood upwards as rendered the complexion 
livid, and left behind some degree of headache. Such 
are the effects upon myself, but with most people, there 
is a total unconsciousness of the part they are acting. 
They perform the most extravagant pranks, and on re- 
covering their self-possession are totally ignorant of the 
circumstance.' Sometimes the gas has an opposite ef- 
fect, and the person instantly drops down insensible, as 
if struck by lightning: he recovers, however, immedi- 
ately. Those who wish to know more of this curious 
subject, should read Sir Hi Davy’s work, but, above all, 
they should try the gas upon themselves. In the mean 
time I shall lay before the reader the details, in their 
own words, of the sensations experienced by Messrs 
Edgeworth and Coleridge, and by Dr Kirrglake. 
Mr Edgeworth’s Case.—‘ My first sensation was 
an universal and considerable tremor. I then perceived 
some giddiness in my head, and a violent dizziness in 
my sight; these sensations by degrees subsided, and I 
felt a great propensity to bite through the wooden 
mouth-piece, or the tube of the bag through which I in- 
spired the air. After I had breathed all the air that 
was in the bag, I eagerly wished for more. I then felt 
a strong propensity to laugh, and did burst into a vio- 
lent fit of laughter, and capered about the room without, 
having the power of restraining myself. Bv degrees, 
these feelings subsided, except the tremor, which lasted 
for an hour after I had breathed the air, and I felt a 
weakness in my knees. The principal feeling through 
the whole of the time, or what I should ca[l the charac- 
teristics! part of the effect, was a total difficulty of re- 
straining my feelings, both corporeal and mental, or, in 
other words, not having any command of myself.’ 
Mr Coleridge’s Case.—‘The fir3t time I inspired 
the nitrous oxide, I felt an highly pleasurable sensation 
of warmth over my whole frame, resembling that which 
I once remember to have experienced after returning 
from a walk in the snow into a warm room. The only 
motion which I felt inclined to make, was that of laugh- 
ing at those who were looking at me. My eyes felt 
distended, and, towards the last, my heart heat as if it 
were leaping up and down. On removing the mouth- 
piece, the whole sensation went off almost instantly. 
‘ The second time, I felt the same pleasurable sensa- 
tion of warmth, but not, I think, in quite so great a de- 
gree. I wished to know what effect it would have on 
my impressions : I fixed my eye on some trees in the 
distance, but I did not .find any other effect, except 
that they became dimmer and dimmer, and looked at 
last as if I had seen them through tears. My heart 
beat more violently than the first time. This was after 
a hearty dinner. 
‘ The third time, I was more violently acted on than 
in the two former. Towards the last, I could not 
avoid, nor indeed felt any wish to avoid, beating the 
ground with my feet; and, after the mouth-piece was 
removed, I remained for a few seconds motionless, in 
great ecstacy. 
‘ The fourth time was immediately after breakfast. 
The first few inspirations affected me so little, that I 
thought Mr Davy had given me atmospheric air ; but 
soon felt the warmth beginning about my chest, and 
spreading upward and downward, so that I could feel 
its progress over my whole frame. My heart did not 
beat so violently ; my sensations were highly pleasura- 
ble, not so intense or apparently local, but of more un- 
mingled pleasure than I had ever before experienced.’ 
Dr Kinglake’s Case.—‘ My first inspiration of it 
was limited to four quarts, diluted with an equal quan- 
tity of atmospheric air. After a few inspirations, a 
sense of additional freedom and power (call it energy, 
if you please) agreeably pervaded the region of the 
lungs ; this was quickly succeeded by an almost deliri- 
ous but highly pleasurable sensation in the brain, which ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
71 
was soon diffused over the whole frame, imparting to 
die muscular power at once an increased disposition 
and tone for action ; but the mental effect of the ex- 
citement was such as to absorb in a sort of intoxicating 
placidity and delight, volition, or rather the power of 
voluntary motion. These effects were in a greater or 
less degree protracted during about five minutes, when 
the former state returned, with the difference however 
of feeling more cheerful and alert, for several hours after. 
* It seemed also to have had the farther effect of re- 
viving rheumatic irritations in the shoulder and knee- 
joints, which had not been previously felt for many 
months. No perceptible change was induced in the 
pulse, either at or subsequent to the time of inhaling 
the gas. 
‘ The effects produced by a second trial of its powers, 
were more extensive, and concentrated on the brain. 
In this instance, nearly six quarts undiluted, were ac- 
curately and fully inhaled. As on the former occasion, 
it immediately proved agreeably respirable, but before 
the whole quantity was quite exhausted, its agency was 
exerted so strongly on the brain, as progressively to 
suspend the senses of seeing, hearing, feeling, and ul- 
timately the power of volition itself. At this period, 
the pulse was much augmented both in force and fre- 
quency; slight convulsive twitches of muscles of the 
arms were also induced ; no painful sensation, nausea, 
or languor, however, either preceded, accompanied or 
followed this state, nor did a minute elapse before the 
brain rallied, and resumed its wonted faculties, when a 
sense of glowing warmth extended over the system, 
was speedily succeeded by a re-instatement of the 
equilibrium of health. 
‘ The more permanent effects were (as in the first 
experiment) an invigorated feel of vital power, im- 
proved spirits, transient irritations in different parts, 
but not so characteristically rheumatic as in the former 
instance. 
‘ Among the circumstances most worthy of regard 
in considering the properties and administration of this 
powerfnl aerial agent, may be ranked, the fact of its 
being contrary to the prevailing opinion, both respirable, 
and salutary; that it impresses the brain and system 
at large with a more or less strong and durable degree 
of pleasurable sensation ; that unlike the effect of other 
violently exciting agents, no sensible exhaustion or di- 
munition of vital power accrues from the exertions of 
its stmulant property; that its most excessive opera- 
tion even, is neither permanently nor transiently de- 
bilitating ; and finally, that it fairly promises, under ju- 
dicious application, to prove an extremely efficient 
remedy, as well in the vast tribe of diseases originating 
from deficient irritability and sensibility, as in those pro- 
ceeding from morbid associations, and modifications of 
those vital principles.’* • 
Bangue.—This is the leaf of a species of wild hemp, 
growing on the shores of Turkey, and of the Grecian 
Archipelago. It possesses many of the properties of 
opium, and is used by the poorer classes of Mussulmen 
as a substitute for this drug. Before being used, it is 
dried, and the excissated leaves are either chewed en- 
tire, or reduced into a fine powder, and made into pills. 
Its effects arc to elevate the spirits, dispel melancholy, 
and give increased energy to the corporeal faculties— 
followed by languor both of body and mind. 
Hop.—Similar in its effects to opium, only inferior 
in degree. Used in porter brewing. 
Wolf 8-bane.—(Aconitum napcllus.)—A most deadly 
narcotic, producing, in small doses, the usual symptoms 
ofebriety, such as giddiness, elevation of spirits, &c. 
When taken to excess it is inevitably fatal. 
Cocculus Indicus.—The intoxicating powers of this 
berry are considerable. It is used by the brewers to 
increase the strength of porter and ales ; and is some- 
times thrown into ponds for the purpose of intoxicat- 
ing the fishes, but they may thereby be more easily 
caught. 
Foxglove.—(Digitalis.)—Likewise a powerful nar- 
cotic, and capable of producing many of the symptoms 
of drunkenness. It has the peculiar effect of lowering, 
instead of raising the pulse. 
Nightshade.—(Belladonna.)—This is one of the 
most virulent narcotics we possess. Like opium, hop, 
and cocculus Indicus, it is used by brewers to augment 
the intoxicating properties of malt liquors. ‘ The 
Scots,’ says Buchanan, ‘ mixed a quantity of the juic8 
of the belladonna with the bread and drink with which, 
by their truce, they were bound to supply the Danes, 
which so intoxicated them, that the Scots killed the 
greater part of Sweno’s army.’ 
1 Some children ate, in a garden, the fruit of the 
belladonna, (deadly nightshade.) Shortly after, they 
had burning fever, with convulsions, and very strong 
palpitations of the heart; they lost their senses, and. 
became completely delirious : one of them, four years 
of age, died the next day : the stomach contained some 
berries of the belladonna crushed, and some seeds ; it 
exhibited three ulcers; the heart was livid, and the 
pericardium without serosity.’* 
1 One child ate four ripe berries of the belladonna, 
another ate six. Both one and the other were guilty 
of extravagancies which astonished the mother ; their 
pupils were dilated; their countenances no longer re- 
mained the same ; they had a cheerful delirium, ac- 
companied with fever. The physician being called in, 
found them in a state of great agitation, talking at ran- 
dom, running, jumping, laughing sardonically; theit 
countenances purple, and pulse hurried. He admin- 
istered to each of them half a grain of emetic tartai 
and a drachm of glauber salt, in four or five ounces ol 
water: they had copious evacuations during seven or 
eight hours, and the symptoms disappeared.’! 
Henbane.—(Hyoscyamus.)—Similar in its properties 
to nightshade and opium. The intoxicating properties 
of hyoscyamus appear to have been known from a very 
early period. It was with this plant that the Assassin 
Prince, commonly called the ‘ Old Man of the Moun- 
tain,’ inebriated his followers preparatory to installing 
them into his service. The following eloquent pas- 
sage from a modern writer will prove interesting :— 
‘ There was at Alamoot, and also at Masiat, in Syria, 
a delicious garden, encompassed with lofty wallsi 
adorned with trees and flowers of every kind—wit! 
murmuring brooks and translucent lakes—with bowers 
of roses and trellises of the vine—airy halls and splen- 
did kiosks, furnished with carpets of Persia and silks 
of Byzantium. Beautiful maidens and blooming boys 
were the inhabitants of this delicious spot, which re- 
sounded with the melody of birds, the murmur o 
CHAPTER VI. 
ENUMERATION OF THE LESS COMMON INTOXICATING 
AGENTS. 
In this chapter, I shall content myself with the en- 
umeration of a few of the less common intoxicating 
agents. To detail all the productions of nature which 
have the power of inebriating, would be an endless and 
uninteresting topic. 
Hemlock,—A powerful narcotic, producing giddiness, 
elevation of spirits, and other symptoms of ebriety. It 
was by an effusion of the leaf of this plant that Socrates 
was poisoned. 
Leopard's-banc.—(Arnica montana.)—Properties an- 
alogous to those of hemlock and other narcotics. 
* The doses in these experiments, were from five to seven 
(marts a 
* Journal Gfinfirale de M6deeine, lix. xxiv. p. 224. 
t Gazette de Same. 11 Thermidor, an xv. p. 308 ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
streams, and the tones and voices of instruments—all 
respired contentment and pleasure. When the chief 
had noticed any youth to be distinguished for strength 
and resolution, he invited him to a banquet, where he 
placed him beside himself, conversed with him on the 
happiness reserved- for the faithful, and contrived to ad- 
minister to him an intoxicating draught, prepared from 
the hyoscyamus. While insensible, he was conveyed to 
the garden of delight, and there awakened by the ap- 
plication of vinegar. On opening his eyes, all' Paradise 
met his view ; the black-eyed and blue-robed houris 
surrounded him, obedient to his wishes ; sweet music 
filled his ears; the richest viands were served up in 
the most costly vessels, and the choicest wines sparkled 
in golden cups. The fortunate youth believed himself 
really in the Paradise of the Prophet, and the language 
of his attendants confirmed the delusion. When he 
dad had his tilled enjoyment, and nature, was yielding 
to exhaustion, the opiate was again administered, and 
the sleeper transported back io the side of the chief, to 
whom he communicated what had passed, and who as- 
sured him of the truth and reality of all he had ex- 
oerienced, telling him such was the bliss reserved for 
:he obedient servants of the Imaum, and enjoining, at 
the same time, the strictest secrecy. Ever after, the 
rapturous vision possessed the imagination of the de- 
uded enthusiast, and he panted for the hour when 
leath, received in obeying the commands of his su- 
serior, should dismiss him to the bowers of Paradise.’* 
Palm Wine■—This i@ prepared from the juice which 
exudes from the palm tree. Its properties are very 
nebriatincr; and it is an amusing fact to witness the 
stupor and giddiness into which the lizards frequenting 
hese trees are thrown, by partaking of the juice which 
nelds it. They exhibit all the usual phenomena of 
ntoxication. 
Camphor.—The intoxicating properties of camphor 
ire considerable. It elevates the spirits, increases 
.'oluntary motion, and gives rise to vertigo ; and these 
:fleets, as in the case of all narcotics, are succeeded 
ly drowsiness, lassitude, and general depression. In 
arge doses, syncope, convulsions, delirium, and even 
leath, take place. It is sometimes used as a substi- 
ute for opium in cases of delirium, where, from parti- 
:ular circumstances, the latter either cannot be taken, 
>r does not produce its usual effects. The common 
lelief, however, of camphor being an antidote to this 
nedicine, is quite unfounded. It neither decomposes 
tpium, nor prevents it from acting poisonousiy upon 
he system: blit, in consequence of its stimulating 
iroperties, it may be advantageously given in small 
loses to remove the stupor and coma produced by 
tpium. 
Saffron.—This aromatic possesses moderate intoxi- 
:ating properties. Taken in sufficient doses, it aceel- 
■rates the pulse, produces giddiness, raises the spirits, 
nd gives rise to paroxysms of laughter. In a word, it 
exhibits many of the phenomena occasioned by over- 
ndulgence in liquors, only in a very inferior degree. 
Darnel.—Possesses slight intoxicating properties. 
Clary.—Possesses slight intoxicating properties. 
Carbonic Acid.—Carbonic acid partially inebriates, 
s is seen in drinking ginger beer, cider, Champagne, or 
:ven soda water, in which no alcoholic principle exists. 
Ethers.—Ethers, when taken in quantity, give rise 
o a species of intoxication, which resembles that from 
rdent spirits in all respects, except in being more 
ugacious. 
Intense Cold.—Intense cold produces giddiness, 
hickness of speech, confusion of ideas, and other 
ymptoms of drunkenness. Captain Parry speaks of 
he effects so produced upon two young gentlemen 
vho were exposed to an extremely low temperature. 
They looked wild,’ says he, ‘ spoke thick and indis- 
inctly, and it was impossible to draw from them a 
rational answer to any of our questions. After being 
on board for a short time, the mental faculties appeared 
gradually to return, and it was not till then that a 
looker-on could easily persuade himself that they had 
not been drinking too freely.’ 
CHAPTER VII. 
DIFFERENCES IN THE ACTION OF OPIUM AND ALCOHOL. 
The modus operandi of opium upon the body is con- 
siderably different from that of alcohol. The latter 
intoxicates chiefly by acting directly upon the nerves, 
the former by acting secondarily upon them, through 
the medium of absorption. This is easily proved by 
injecting a quantity of each into the cellular tissue of 
any animal, and comparing the effects with those pro- 
duced when either is received into the stomach. M. 
Orfila* details some interesting experiments which he 
made upon dogs. In applying the watery extract of 
opium to them in the first manner, (by injection into 
the cellular tissue,) immediate stupor, convulsions, and 
debility ensue, and proved fatal in an hour or two. 
When, on the contrary, even a larger quantity was intro- 
duced into the stomach of the animal, it survived ten, 
twelve, or eighteen hours, although the oesophagus was 
purposely tied to prevent vomiting. The operation of 
alcohol was the reverse of this; for, when injected 
into the cellular substance, the effects were slight; but 
when carried info the stomach, they were powerful and 
almost instantaneous. This proves that opium acts 
chiefly by being taken up by the absorbents, as this is 
done much more rapidly by the drug being directly ap- 
plied to a raw surface than in the stomach, where the 
various secretions and processes of digestion retard its 
absorption. Besides, alcohol taken in quantity produces 
instant stupefaction. It is no sooner swallowed than 
the person drops down insensible. Here is no time 
for absorption; the whole energies of the spirit are 
exerted against the nervous system. The same rapid 
privation of power never occurs after swallowing opium. 
There is always an interval, and generally one of some 
extent, between the swallowing and the stupor which 
succeeds. Another proof that opium acts in this 
manner, is the circumstance of its being much more 
speedily fatal than alcohol, when injected into the blood- 
vessels. Three or four grains in solution, forced into 
the carotid artery of a dog, will kill him in a few 
minutes. Alcohol, used in the same manner, would 
not bring on death for several hours. 
In addition it may be stated, that a species of drunk- 
enness is produced by inhaling the gas of intoxicating 
liquors. Those employed in bottling spirits from the 
cask, feel jt frequently with great severity. This proves 
that there is a close sympathy between the nerves of 
the nose and lungs, and those of the stomach. From 
all these circumstances, it is pretty evident that intoxi- 
cation from spirits is produced more by the direct ac- 
tion of the fluid upon the nerves of the latter organ, 
than by absorption. • 
Mr Brodie supposes that there is no absorption 
whatever of alcohol, and supports his views with a num- 
ber of striking facts.* This, however, is a length to 
* Toxiologi G6nerale. 
t The following are the grounds on which he supports his 
doctrine ‘ 1. In experiments where animals have been killed 
by the injection of spirits into the stomach,I have found this organ 
to bear the marks of great inflammation, but never any preter- 
natural appearances whatever in the brain. 2. The effects of 
spirits taken into the stomach, in the last experiment, were so in- 
stantaneous, that it appears impossible that absorption should 
have taken place before they were produced. 3. A person who 
is intoxicated frequently becomes suddenly sober after vomiting. 
4. In the experiments which I have just related, I mixed tincture 
of rhubarb with the spirits, knowing, from the experiments of 
Mr Home and Mr William Brande, that this (rhubarb) when 
absorbed into the circulation, was readily separated from the 
blood by the kidneys, and that very small quantities might bo 
* Von Hammer’s Hist, of the Assassins. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
73 
which I cannot go. I am inclined to think that though 
such absorption is not necessary to produce drunken- 
ness, it generally takes place to a greater or lesser de- 
gree ; nor can I conceive any reason why alcohol may 
not be taken into the circulation as well as any other 
fluid. My reasons for supposing that it is absorbed are 
the following 1. The blood, breath, and perspiration 
of a confirmed drunkard differ from those of a sober 
man; the former being darker, and the two latter 
strongly impregnated with a spiritous odour. 2. The 
perspiration of the wine-drinker is often of the hue of 
his favourite liquor ; after a debauch on Port, Burgun- 
dy, or Claret, it is not uncommon to see the shirt or 
sheets in which he lies, tinted to a rosy colour by the 
moisture which exudes from his body. 2. Madder, 
mercury, and sulphur, are received into the circulation 
unchanged ; the former dyeing the bones, and the others 
exhaling through the pores of the skin, so as to com- 
municate their peculiar odours to the person, and even 
discolour coins and other metallic substances in his 
pockets. The first of these reasons is a direct proof of 
absorption : the second shows, that as wine is received 
into the circulation, and passes throught it, alcohol may 
do the same ; and the third furnishes collateral evidence 
of other agents exhibiting this phenomenon as well as 
spiritous liquors. The doctrine of absorption is sup- 
ported by Dr Trotter,* who conceives that alcohol de- 
oxygenizes the blood, and causes it to give out an un- 
usual portion of hydrogen gas. The quantity of this 
gas in the bodies of drunkards is so great, that many 
have attempted to explain from it the circumstances of 
Spontaneous Combustion, by which it is alleged, the 
human frame has been sometimes destroyed, by being 
burned to ashes. 
I. Vertigo.—This is partly produced by the occular 
delusions under which the drunkard labours, but it is 
principally owing to other causes; as it is actually 
greater when the eyes are shut than when they are 
open—these causes, by the exclusion of light, being 
unaccountably increased. Vertigo, from intoxication, 
is far less liable to produce sickness and vomiting than 
from any other cause ; and when it does produce them, 
it is to a very inconsiderable degree. These symptoms, 
in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, arise from the 
disordered state of the stomach, and not, as we have 
elsewhere mentioned, from the accompanying giddiness, 
There are, indeed, a certain class of subjects who vomit 
and become pale, as soon as vertigo comes over them, 
but such are few in number compared with those 
whose stomachs are unaffected by this sensation. Ir 
swinging, smoking, sailing at sea, on turning rapidly 
round, sickness and vomiting are apt to occur; ant 
there seems no doubt that they proceed in a great mea- 
sure from the vertigo brought on by these actions. Thf 
giddiness of drunkenness, therefore, as it very rarel} 
sickens, must be presumed to have some character; 
peculiar to itself. In this, as well as in some othel 
affections, it seems to be the consequence of a clos( 
sympathy between the brain and nerves of the stomach 
and whatever affects the latter organ, or any other viscu: 
sympathizing with it, may bring it on equally with in 
ebriating agents : calculi in the ureters or biliary duct: 
are illustrations of this fact. In intoxication, the gid 
diness is more strongly marked, because the power: 
both of body and mind are temporarily impaired, an< 
the sensorium so disordered as to be unable to regulati 
the conduct. 
A degree of vertigo may be produced by loading thi 
stomach too rapidly and copiously after a long fast 
Common food, in this instance, amounts to a stron; 
stimulus in consequence of the state of the stomach, ii 
which there was an unnatural want of excitement 
This organ was in a state of torpor ; and a stimuli! 
which, in ordinary circumstances, would hardly hav 
been felt, proves, in reality, highly exciting. For th 
same reason, objects have an unnatural luminousnes 
when a person is suddenly brought from intense dark 
ness to a brilliant light. 
II. Double Vision.—The double vision which occur 
in drunkenness may be readily accounted for by the in 
fluence of increased circulation in the brain upon th 
nerves of sight. In frenzy, and various fevers, the sam 
phenomenon occurs. Every nerve is supplied witl 
vessels ; and it is conceivable that any unusual impuls 
of blood into the optics may so far affect that pair as t 
derange their actions. Whence, they convey false im 
pressions to the brain, which is itself too much throw 
off its just equilibrium to remedy, even if that unde 
any circumstances were possible, the distorted image 
of the retina. The refraction of light in the tears, whic 
are secreted more copiously than usual during intox: 
cation, may also assist in multiplying objects to the eye 
III. Staggering and Stammering.—These symp 
toms are, in like manner, to be explained from the dis 
ordered state of the brain and nervous system. Whe 
the organ of sensation is affected, it is impossible the 
parts whose actions depend upon it can perform the: 
functions well. The nervous fluid is probably carrie 
to the muscles in a broken and irregular current, an 
the filaments which are scattered over the body ar 
themselves directly stunned and paralyzed; hence, th 
insensibility to pain, and other external impressions 
This insensibility extends everywhere, even to the 01 
gans of diglutition and speech. The utterance is thic 
and indistinct, indicating a loss of power in the lingui 
nerves which give action to the tongue ; and the sam 
want of energy seems to prevail in the gustator 
branches which give it tase. 
IV. Heat and Flushing.—These result from th 
strong determination of blood to the surface of tb 
CHAPTER VIII. 
PHYSIOLOGY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
In administering medicines, the practitioner has a 
natural desire to learn the means by which they produce 
their effects upon the body. Thus, he is not contented 
with knowing that squill acts as a diuretic, and that 
mercury increases the secretion of the bile. He in- 
quires by what process they do so ; and understands 
that the first excites into increased action the secretory 
arteries of the kidneys, and the last the secretory veins 
of the liver. In like manner, he does not rest satisfied 
with the trite knowledge that wines, and spirits, and 
ales, produce intoxication: he extends his researches 
beyond this point, and is naturally anxious to ascertain 
by what peculiar action of the system these agents give 
rise to so extraordinary an effect. 
All the agents of which we have spoken, with the 
exception of tobacco, whose action from the first is de- 
cidedly sedative, operate partly by stimulating the 
frame. They cause the heart to throb more vigorous- 
ly, and the blood to circulate freer, while, at the same 
time, they exert a peculiar action upon the nervous 
system. The nature of this action, it is probable, will 
never be satisfactorily explained. If mere stimulation 
were all that was wanted, drunkenness ought to be pre- 
sent in many cases where it is never met with. It, or 
more properly speaking, its symptoms, ought to exist 
in inflammatory fever, and after violent exercise, such 
as running or hard walking. Inebriating agents, there- 
fore, with few exceptions, have a twofold action. They 
both act by increasing the circulation, and by influencing 
the nerves; and the latter operation, there can be no 
doubt, is the more important of the two. Having stated 
this general fact, it will be better to consider the cause 
of each individual symptom in detail. 
detected in the urine by the addition of potash ; but though I 
never failed to find urine in the bladder, 1 never detected rhubarb 
in it.’—Phil. Trans of Hie Ray. Soc, of Loud. 1*511. part I. p. 178. 
* Essay on Drunkyjjiess. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS- 
iody. This reddens and tumefies the face and eyes, 
md excites an universal glow of heat. Blood is the 
:ause of animal heat, and the more it is determined to 
iny part, the greater is the quantity of caloric evolved 
herefrom. 
V Ringing in the Ears.-—This is accounted for by 
he generally increased action within the head, and 
nore particularly by the throbbing of the internal carotid 
irteries which run in the immediate neighbourhood of 
he ears. 
VI. Elevation of Spirits.—The mental pleasure of 
ntoxication is not easily explained on physiological 
principles. We feel a delight in being rocked gently, 
n swinging on a chair, or in being tickled. These un- 
loubtedly act upon the nerves, but in what manner, it 
vould be idle to attempt investigating. Intoxicating 
tgents no doubt do the same thing. The mental mani- 
estations produced by their influence depend almost 
mtirely upon the nerves, and are, unlike the corporeal 
>nes, in a great measure independent of vascular ex- 
;itemerjt. The power of exciting the feelings inherent 
n these principles, can only be accounted for by sup- 
posing a most intimate relation to subsist between the 
pody and the mind. The brain, through the medium 
if its nervous branches, is the source of all this excite- 
nent. These branches receive the impressions and 
.onvey them to their fountain-head, whence they are 
howered like sparkling rain-drops over the mind, in a 
housand fantastic varieties. No bodily affection ever 
nfluences the mind but through the remote or proxi- 
nate agency of this organ. It sits enthroned in the 
dtadel of thought, and, though material itself, acts with 
vizard power both upon matter and spirit. No other 
exture has the same pervading principle. If the lungs 
>e diseased, we have expectoration and cough; if the 
iver, jaundice or dropsy ; if the stomach, indigestion ; 
iut when the brain is affected, we have not merely many 
iodily symptoms, but severe affections of the mind; 
:or are such affections ever produced by any organ but 
hrough the agency of the brain. It therefore acts in a 
ouble capacity upon the frame, being both the source 
f the corporeal feelings, and of the mental manifesta- 
ions. Admitting this truth, there can bp little diffi- 
ulty in apprehending why intoxication produces so 
owerful a mental influence. This must proceed from 
resistless impulse being given to the brain, by virtue 
f the peculiar action of inebriating agents upon the 
erves. That organ of the mind is suddenly en- 
owed with increased energy. Not only does the blood 
irculate through it more rapidly, but an action, sui 
cncris, is given to its whole substance. Mere in- 
rease of circulation, as we have already stated, is not 
ufficient: there must be some other principle at work 
pon its texture; and it is this principle, whatever it 
lay be, which is the main cause of drunkenness. At 
rst, ebriety has a soothing effect, and falls over the 
pirit like the hum of bees, or the distant murmur of a 
ascade. Then to these soft dreams of Elysiuhi suc- 
eed a state of maddening energy and excitement in the 
rain. The thoughts which emanate from its prolific 
ibcmacle, are more fervid and original than ever— 
ley rush out with augmented copiousness, and sparkle 
ver the understanding like the aurora borealis, or the 
ccentric scintillations of light upon a summer cloud, 
n a word, the organ is excited to a high, but not a dis- 
used action, for this is coupled with pain, and, instead 
f pleasurable, produces afflicting ideas. But its ener- 
ies, like those of any other part, are apt to be over- 
xcited. When this takes place, the balance is broken ; 
le mind gets tumultuous and disordered, and the ideas 
iconsistent, wavering, and absurd. Then come the 
irpor and exhaustion subsequent on such excessive 
timulus. The person falls into drowsiness or stupor, 
nd his mind, as well as his body, is followed by lan- 
uor corresponding to the previous excitation. 
Such is a slight and unsatisfactory attempt to eluci- 
date some of the more prominent phenomena of drunk- 
enness. Some are omitted as being too obvious 
to require explanation, and others have been else- 
where cursorily accounted for in differents parts of the 
word. 
METHOD OP CURING THE FIT OF DRUNKENNESS. 
CHAPTER IX 
1. From Liquors.—Generally speaking, there is ncr 
remedy for drunkenness equal to vomiting. The soon- 
er the stomach is emptied of its contents the better, 
and this may, in most cases, be accomplished by drink- 
ing freely of tepid water, and tickling the fauces. On 
more obstinate occasions, powerful emetics will be ne- 
cessary. The best for the purpose, are ten grains of 
sulphate of copper, half a drachm of sulphate of zinc, 
or five grains of tartar emetic. Either of these should 
be dissolved in a small quantity of tepid water, and 
instantly swallowed. Should this treatment fail in ef- 
fecting vomiting, and dangerous symptoms supervene, 
the stomach pump should be employed. Cold appli- 
cations to the head are likewise useful. In all cases, 
the head ought to be well elevated, and the neckcloth 
removed, that there may be no impediment to the circu- 
lation. Where there is total insensibility, where the 
pulse is slow and full, the pupils dilated, the face flush- 
ed, and the breathing stertorous, it becomes a question 
whether blooding might be useful. Darwin* and Trot- 
ter speak discouragingly of the practice. As a general 
rule I think it is bad ; and that many persons who 
would have recovered, if left to themselves, have lost 
their lives by being prematurely bled. In all cases it 
should be done cautiously, and not for a considerable 
time. Vomiting and other means should invariably be 
first had recourse to, and if they fail, and nature is un- 
able of her own power to overcome the stupor, blooding 
may be tried. In this respect, liquors differ from opium 
the insensibility from which is benefitted by abstraction 
of blood. 
There is one variety of drunkenness in which both 
blooding and cold are inadmissible. This is when a 
person is struck down, as it were, by drinking sudden- 
ly a great quantity of ardent spirits. Here he is over- 
come by an instantaneous stupor : his countenance is 
ghastly and pale, his pulse feeble, and his body cold, 
While these symptoms continue, there is no remedy 
but vomiting. When, however, they- wear off, and 
are succeeded, as they usually are by flushing, beat, 
and general excitement, the case is changed, and 
must be treated as any other where such symptoms 
exist. 
The acetate of ammonia is said to possess singular 
properties in restoring from intoxication. This fact 
was ascertained by M. Masurer, a French chemist. Ac- 
cording to him, from twenty to thirty drops in a glass 
of water, will, in most cases, relieve the patient from 
the sense of giddiness and oppression of the brain ; or, 
if that quantity should be insufficient, half the same may 
be again given in eight or ten minutes after. In some 
esses the remedy will occasion nausea or vomiting, 
which, however, will be salutary to the patient, as the 
state of the brain is much aggravated by the load on the 
stomach and subsequent indigestion. It is also farther 
stated that the value of this medicine is greatly enhanc- 
ed from its not occasioning that heat of the stomach 
and subsequent inflammation which are apt to be pro- 
duced by pure ammonia. Whether it possesses all the 
virtues attributed to it, I cannot say from personal ob- 
servation, having never had occasion to use it in any 
case which came under my management ; but I think 
it at least promises to be useful, and is, at all events, 
* Zoonomia. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
75 
'worthy of a trial. I must mention, however, that the 
acetate of ammonia is seldom to be procured in the 
highly concentrated state in which it is used by M. 
Masurer. Owing to the great difficulty of crystalliz- 
ing it, it is rarely seen except in the fluid state, in 
which condition it is recommended by the French che- 
mist. The form in which it is almost always used in this 
country is that of the Aq. Acet. Ammon, or Spirit of 
Mindeierus, in doses of haif an ounce or an ounce, but 
whether in this shape it would be equally effectual 
in obviating the effects of drunkenness, remains to be 
seen. 
Mr Broomley of Deptford recommends a draught 
composed of two drachms of Aq. Ammon. Aromat. in 
two ounces of water, is an effectual remedy in drunk- 
enness. 
The carbonate of ammonia might be used with a 
good effect. M. Dupuy, director to the veterinary 
school at Toulonse, tried a curious experiment with 
this medicine upon a horse. Having previously intoxi- 
cated the animal by injecting a demiletre of alcohol into 
the jugular vein, he injected five grains of the carbo- 
nate of ammonia, dissolved in an ounce of water, into 
the same vein, when the effects of the alcohol immedi- 
ately ceased. 
We have already mentioned that the excitement of 
■drunkenness is succeeded by universal languor. In the 
first stage, the drunkard is full of energy, and capable 
of withstanding vigorously all external influences. In 
the second, there is general torpor and exhaustion, and 
he is more than usually subject to every impression, 
whether of cold or contagion. Persons are often pick- 
ed up half dead in the second stage. The stimulus of 
intoxication had enabled them to endure the chill of 
the atmosphere, but the succeeding weakness left them 
more susceptible than before of its severity. In this 
state the body will not sustain any farther abstraction 
of stimuli; and blooding and cold would be highly in- 
jurious. Vomiting is here equally necessary, as in 
all other instances ; but the person must be kept in a 
warm temperature, and cherished with light and nour- 
ishing food—with soups, if such can be procured, and 
even with negus, if the protrastration of strength is 
very great. 
A paroxysm of periodical drunkenness may be some- 
times shortened by putting such small quantities of tar- 
tar emetic into the liquor which the person indulges in, 
as to. bring on nausea. This, however, must be done 
with secrecy and caution. 
It may here be mentioned, though not with a view 
of recommending the practice, that the vegetable acids 
have a strong effect both in counteracting and remov- 
ing drunkenness. To illustrate this fact, the following 
circumstance may be mentioned :—About twenty years 
ago, an English regiment was stationed in Glasgow, 
the men of which, as is common in all regiments, De- 
came enamoured of whskey. This liquor, to which 
they gave the whimsical denomination of white ale, was 
new to them—being nearly unknown in England : and 
they soon indulged in it to such an extent, as to attract 
the censure of their officers. Being obliged to be at 
quarters by a certain hour, they found out the plan of 
sobering themselves by drinking large quantities of vine- 
gar, perhaps a gill or two at a draught. This, except 
in very bad cases, had the desired effect, and enabled 
them to enter the barrack-court, or appear on parade, 
in a state of tolerable sobriety. The power of the vege- 
table acids in resisting intoxication, is well shown in 
the case of cold punch—a larger portion of which can 
be withstood than of either grog or toddy, even when 
the quantity of spirit is precisely the same. 
There is nothing which has so strong a tendency to 
dispel the effects of a debauch as hard exercise especial- 
ly if the air be cold. Aperients and diaphoretics are 
also extremely useful for the same purpose. 
For some davs«after drinking too much, the food 
should be light and unirritating, consisting principally 
of vegetables. Animal food is apt to heat the body, 
and dispose it to inflammatory complaints.* 
II. From Opium.—When a dangerous quantity of 
opium has been taken, the treatment, in the first in- 
stance is the same as with regard to spirits, or any 
other intoxicating fluid. Immediate vomiting, by the 
administration of similar emetics, is to be attempted, 
and when it has taken place, it should be encouraged 
by warm drinks till there is reason to believe that the 
stomach has been freed of the poison. These drinks, 
however, should not be given before vomiting is pro- 
duced, for, in the event of their failing to excite it, 
they remain upon the stomach, and thus dissolve the 
opium and promote its absorption. But when vomiting 
occurs from the action of the emetics, it will in all pro- 
bability be encouraged by warm drinks, and the stomach 
thus more effectually cleared of the poiso* Large 
quantities of a strong infusion of coffee ought then to 
be given, or the vegetable acids, such as vinegar or 
lemon-juice, mixed with water. These serve to miti- 
gate the bad consequences which often follow, even 
after the opium has been brought completely up. If 
the person show' signs of apoplexy, more especially if 
he be of a plethoric habit, the jugular vein, or temporal 
artery should be opened, and a considerable quantity of 
blood taken away. Indeed, it may be laid down as a 
general rule, that as soon as poison is rejected, the 
patient ought to be bled, and the operation should be 
repeated according to circumstances. Every means 
must be used to arouse him from stupor. He must be 
moved about, if possible, from room to room, hartshorn 
applied to his nostrils, and all plans adopted to prevent 
him from sinking into lethargy. For this purpose, cam- 
phor, assafoetida, or musk, might be administered with 
advantage. It is also a good practice to sponge the 
body well with cold water; and the effusion of cold 
water on the head and over the body, is still more effec- 
tual. In cases where vomiting cannot be brought 
about by the ordinary means, M. Orfila suggests that 
one or t.wo grains of tartar emetic, dissolved in an 
ounce or two of water, might be injected into the veins. 
In desperate cases, the stomach pump must be had re- 
course to. Purgatives are latterly necessary. 
Many practitioners consider vinegar and the othei 
vegetable acids antidotes to opium. This opinion M 
Orfila has most satisfactorily shown to be erroneous 
In a series of well-conducted and conclusive experi- 
ments made by him, it appears that the vegetable acidf 
aggravate the symptoms of poisoning by opium, when 
ever they are not vomited. .They hurry them on mori 
rapidly, render them more violent, produce death at ai 
earlier period, and give rise to an inflammation of th 
stomach—an event which hardly ever occurs when the; 
are not employed. These effects, it would appear, ari 
partly produced by their power of dissolving opium 
which they do better than the mere unassisted fluids c 
the stomach ; consequently the absorption is more en 
ergetic. The only time when acids can be of any use 
is after the person has brought up the poison by vomit 
ing. They then mitigate the subsequent symptoms 
and promote recovery ; but if they be swallowed befoi 
vomiting takes place, and if this act cannot by an 
means be brought about, they aggravate the disorde: 
* In speaking of the treatment, it is necessary to guard again 
confounding other affections with drunkenness:—1 There is 
species of delirium that often attends the accession of typhus J 
ver, from contagion, that I have known to be mistaken for ebi 
ety. Among seamen and soldiers, whose habits of intoxicatii 
are common, it will sometimes require nice discernment tod 
cide ; for the vacant stare in the countenance, the look of idit 
ism, incoherent speech, faltering voice, and tottering walk, a 
so alike in both cases, that the naval and military surgeon oug 
at all times to be very cautious how he gives up a man to punis 
ment, under these suspicious circumstances. Nay, the appea 
ances of his having come from a tavern, with even the effluvia 
of liquor about him, are signs not always to be trusted ; for the 
haunts of seamen and soldiers are often the sources of infectio 
—Trotter. 76 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
and death ensues more rapidly than if they had not been 
taken. 
Coffee has likewise a good effect when taken after 
the opium is got off the stomach ; but it differs from the 
acids in this, that it does not, under any circumstances, 
increase the danger. While the opium is still unre- 
moved, the coffee may be considered merely inert; and 
it is, therefore, a matter of indifference whether at this 
time it be taken or not. Afterwards, however, it pro- 
duces the same beneficial effects as lemonade, tartaric 
acid, or vinegar. According to Orfila, the infusion is 
more powerful as an antidote than the decoction. 
Drunkenness or poisoning from the other narcotics, 
such as hemlock, belladonna, aconite, hyoscyamus, &c., 
is treated precisely in the same manner as that from 
opium. 
III. From Tobacco.—If a person feel giddy or lan- 
guid use of this luxury, he should lay himself 
down on his back, exposed to a current of cool air. 
Should this fail of reviving him, let him either swallow 
twenty or thirty drops of hartshorn, mixed with a glass 
of cold water, or an ounce of vinegar moderately diluted. 
When tobacco has been received into the stomach, so as 
to produce dangerous symptoms, a powerful emetic must 
immediately be given, and vomiting encouraged by copi- 
ous drinks, till the poison is brought up. After this, vine- 
gar ought to be freely exhibited, and lethargy prevented 
by the external and internal use of stimuli. If apoplec- 
tic symptoms appear, blooding must be had recourse to. 
The same rule applies here, with regard to acids, as in 
the case of opium. They should never be given till 
the stomach is thoroughly liberated of its contents by 
previous vomiting. 
Accidents happen oftener with tobacco than, is com- 
monly supposed. Severe languor, retching, and con- 
vulsive attacks sometimes ensue from the application of 
ointment made with this plant, for the cure of the ring- 
worm ; and Santeuil, the celebrated French poet, lost 
his life in consequence of having unknowingly drunk a 
glass of wine, into which had been put some Spanish 
snuff. 
IV. From Nitrous Oxide.—Though the inhalation of 
this gas is seldom attended with any risk, yet, in very 
jlethoric habits, there might be a determination of blood 
o the head, sufficient to produce apoplexy. If a per- 
ion therefore becomes after the experiment, convulsed, 
dupified, and livid in the countenance, and if these 
symptoms do not soon wear away, some means must 
>e adopted for their removal. In general, a free expo- 
sure to fresh air, and dashing cold water over the face, 
vill be quite sufficient; but if the affection is so obsti- 
late as to resist this plan,’ it will then be necessary to 
Iraw some blood from the arm', or, what is still better, 
rom the jugular vein. When, in delicate subjects, 
lysteria and other nervous symptoms are produced, 
'loodingis not necessary ; all that is requisite to be done 
eing the application of cold water to the brow or tem- 
les, and of hartshorn to the nostrils. In obstinate 
ases, twenty or thirty drops of the latter in a glass of 
rater, may be administered with advantage. 
in favour of the accuracy of ancient knowledge, we shall 
simply proceed to detail the effects of drunkenness, so 
far as the medical practitioner is professionally interest- 
ed in knowing them. The moral consequences belong 
more properly to the legislator and divine, and do not 
require to be here particularly considered. 
I. State of the Liver.—One of the most common 
consequences of drunkenness is acute inflammation. 
This may affect any organ, but its attacks are princi- 
pally confined to the brain, the stomach, and the liver. 
It is unnecessary to enter into any detail of its nature 
and treatment. These are precisely the same as when 
it proceeds from any other cause. The inflammation 
of drunkenness is, in a great majority of cases, chronic; 
and the viscus which, in nine cases out of ten, suffers, 
is the liver. 
Liquors, from the earliest ages, have been known to 
affect this organ. Probably the story of Prometheus 
stealing fire from heaven and animating clay, alluded 
to the effects of wine upon the human body ; and the 
punishment of having his liver devoured by a vulture, 
may be supposed to refer to the consequences which 
men draw upon themselves by over-indulgence—this 
organ becoming thereby highly diseased. Man is not 
the only animal so affected. Swine who are fed on the 
refuse of breweries, have their livers enlarged in the 
same manner. Their other viscera become also indu- 
rated, and their flesh so tough, that unless killed early, 
they are unfit to be eaten. Some fowl-dealers in Lon- 
don are said to mix gin with the food of the birds, by 
which means they are fattened, and their livers swelled 
to a great size. The French manage to enlarge this 
organ in geese, by piercing it shortly after the creatures 
are fledged.* 
Neither malt liquors nor wine have so rapid and de- 
cided an effect upon the liver as ardent spirits. Indeed, 
it is alleged, although I cannot go this length, that the 
wine that is ■perfectly pure does hot affect the liver; 
and the fact of our continental neighbours being much 
less troubled with hepatic complaints than the wine- 
drinkers among ourselves, gives some countenance to 
the allegation ; for it is well known that to suit the 
British market, the vinous liquors used in this country 
are sophisticated with brandy. In wine that is per- 
fectly pure the alcohol exists in such a state of chemical 
combination, as greatly to modify its effects upon the 
system. In the wine generally to be met with, much 
of it exists mechanically or unaombined, and all this 
portion of spirit acts precisely in the same manner' as if 
separately used.f 
The liver is a viscus which, in confirmed topers, 
never escapes; and it withstands disease better than 
any other vital part, except, perhaps, the spleen. Some- 
times, by a slow chronic action, it is enlarged to dou- 
ble its usual size, and totally disorganized, and yet the 
person suffers comparatively little. The disease fre- 
quently arises in tropical climates, from warmth and 
other natural causes, but an excess in spiritous liquors 
is more frequently the cause than is generally imagined. 
The consequences which follow chronic inflamma- 
tion of the liver, are very extensive. The bile, in gen- 
eral, is not secreted in due quantity or quality, conse- 
quently digestion is defective, the bowels, from want 
of their usual stimulus, become torpid. The person 
gets jaundiced, his skin becoming yellow, dry, and 
rough, and the white of his eyes discoloured. As the 
enlargement goes on, the free passage of blood in the 
veins is impeded, and their extremities throw out 
lymph : this accumulating, forms dropsy, a disease with 
which a great proportion of drunkards are ultimately 
more or less affected. 
The jaundice of drunkenness is not an original dis- 
CHAPTER X. 
PATHOLOGY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
The evil consequences of drinking, both in a physi- 
d and moral point of view, seem to have been known 
om the most remote antiquity. They are expressly 
entioned in Scripture ; nor can there be a doubt that 
le Homeric fiction of the companions of Ulysses being 
irned into swine by the enchanted cup of Circe, plainly 
iplied the bestial degradation into which men bring 
lemselves by coming under the dominion of so detest- 
>le a habit. Having mentioned these circumstances 
* ‘ They have a custom of fostering a liver complaint in tlieit 
geese, which encourages its growth to the enormous weight of 
some pounds ; and this diseased viscus is considered a greatdeli- 
cacy.’— Matthew's Diary of an invalid, 
f Vide Appendix iso. i. _ ANATOMY Of* DRUNKENNESS. 
77 
ease, but merely a symptom of the one under consider- 
ation. A very slight cause will often bring it on; it 
is, consequently, not always dangerous. Dropsy is, for 
the most part, also symptomatic of diseased liver, but 
sometimes, more especially in dram-drinkers, it arises 
from general debility of the system. In the former 
case, effusion always takes place in the cavity of the 
abdomen. In the latter, there is general anasarca 
throughout the bod}', usually coupled with more or less 
topical affection. In every instance, dropsy, whether 
general or local, is a very dangerous disease. 
II. State of the Stomach, $c.—Like the liver, the 
stomach is more subject to chronic than acute inflam- 
mation. It is also apt to get indurated, from long- 
continued, slow action going on within its substance. 
This disease is extremely insidious, frequently proceed- 
ing great lengths before it is discovered. The organ is 
often thickened to half an inch, or even an inch; and 
its different tunics so matted together that they cannot 
be separated. The pyloric orifice becomes, in many 
cases, contracted. The cardiac may suffer the same 
disorganization, and so may the oesophagus; but these 
are less common, and, it roust be admitted, more 
rapidly fatal. When the stomach is much thickened, 
it may sometimes be felt like a hard ball below the left 
ribs. At this point there is also a dull uneasy pain, 
which is augmented upon pressure. 
Indigestion or spasm may arise from a mere imper- 
fect action of this organ, without any disease of its 
structure ; but when organic derangement takes place, 
they are constant attendants. In the latter case it is 
extremely difficult for any food to remain on the stom- 
ach ; it is speedily vomited. What little is retained 
undergoes a painful fermentation, which produces sick- 
ness and heartburn. There is, at the same time, much 
obstinacy in the bowels, and the body becomes ema- 
ciated. 
This disease, though generally produced by dissipa- 
tion, originates sometimes from other causes, and af- 
fects the soberest people. Whenever the stomach is 
negle'ied, when acidity is allowed to become habitual, 
or indigestible food too much made use of, the founda- 
tion may be laid for slow inflammation, terminating in 
schirrus and all its bad consequences. 
Vomiting of bilious matter in the mornings, is a very 
common circumstance among all classes of drunkards. 
But there is another kind of vomiting, much more dan- 
gerous, to which they are subject; and that is when in- 
flammation of the villous coat of the stomach takes 
place. In such a state there is not much acute pain, 
but rather a dull feeling of uneasiness over the abdo- 
men, attended with the throwing up of a dark, crude 
matter, resembling coffee grounds. I have seen two 
cases in which the vomiting stopped suddenly, in con- 
sequence of metastasis to the head. In these, the af- 
fection soon proved fatal, the persons being seized with 
indistinctness of vision, low delirium, and general want 
of muscular power : the action of the kidneys was also 
totally suspended for three days before death. On ex- 
amination, post, mortem, there was effusion in the ven- 
tricles of the brain, besides extensive inflammation 
along the inner surface of the ripper portion of the ali- 
mentary canal. 
Bilious complaints, which were formerly in a great 
measure unknown to the common people, are now ex- 
ceedingly common among them, and proceed in a great 
measure from the indulgence in ardent spirits to which 
that class of society is so much addicted. 
There is nothing more indicative of health, than a 
good appetite for breakfast; but confirmed topers, from 
the depraved state of their stomachs, lose all relish for 
this meal. 
Persons of this description are generally of a costive 
habit of body, but a debauch, with those who are con- 
stitutionally sober is, for the most part, followed by 
In the latter stages of a drunkard’s life, though he 
has still the relish for liquor as strongly as ever, he no 
longer enjoys his former power of withstanding it. 
This proceeds from general weakness of the system, 
and more particularly of the stomach. This organ gets 
debilitated, and soon gives way, while the person is in- 
toxicated much easier, and often vomits what he has 
swallowed. His appetite likewise fails; and, to re- 
store it, he has recourse to various bitters, which only 
aggravate the matter, especially as they are in most 
cases taken under the medium of ardent spirits. Bit- 
ters are often dangerous remedies. When used mo- 
derately, and in cases of weak digestion from natural 
causes, they frequently produce the best effects ; but a 
long continuance of them is invariably injurious. There 
is a narcotic principle residing in most bitters, which 
physicians have too much overlooked. It destroys the 
sensibility of the stomach, determines to the head, and 
predisposes to apoplexy and palsy. This was the effects 
of the famous Portland powder,* so celebrated many 
years ago for the cure of gout; and similar conse- 
quences will, in the long run, follow bitters as they are 
commonly administered. Persons addicted to intemper- 
ance, have an inordinate liking for these substances; 
let them be ever so nauseous, they are swallowed greed- 
ily, especially if dissolved in spirits. Their fondness 
for purl, herb-ale, and other pernicious morning drinks, 
is equally striking. 
There is nothing more characteristic of a tipplei 
than an indifference to tea, and beverages of a like na- 
ture. When a woman exhibits this quality, we may 
reasonably suspect her of indulging in liquor. If drunk- 
ards partake of tea, they usually saturate it largely 
with ardent spirits. The unadulterated fluid is tor 
weak a stimulous for unnatural appetites. 
III. State of the Brain.—Inflammation of this orgai 
is often a consequence of intemperance. It may fol 
low immediately after a debauch, or it may arise second 
arily from an excess of irritation being applied to thi 
body during the stage of debility. Even an abstractioi 
of stimulus, as by applying too much cold to the head 
may bring it on in this latter state. 
Dr Armstrong, in his lectures, speaks of a chronic in 
flammation of the brain and its membranes, proceeding 
among other causes, from the free use of strong wine 
and liquors. According to him, it is much more com 
mon after, than before, forty years of age, although h 
has seen several instances occurring in young person; 
The brain gets diseased, the diameter of the vessel 
being diminished, while their coats are thickened an 
less transparent than usual. In some places they swe 
out and assume a varicose appearance. The organ i' 
self has no longer the same delicate and elastic tes 
ture, becoming either unnaturally hard, or of a morbi 
softness. Slight effusions in the various cavities ai 
apt to take place. Under these cirunmstances, thei 
is a strong risk of apoplexy. To this structure is to b 
ascribed the mental debasement, the loss of memor; 
and gradual extinction of the intellectual powers, 
believe that the brains of all confirmed drunkards e: 
hibit more or less of the above appearances. 
IV. State of the Kidneys.—During intoxication tb 
action of the kidneys is always much increased ; ar 
this is a favourable circumstance, as, more than ar! 
thing else, it carries off the bad effects of drinkin) 
The kidney, however, in confirmed drunkards, is apt 
become permanently diseased, and secrets its accu 
tomed fluid with unusual activity, not only in the m 
merits of drunkenness, when such an increase is useft 
but at all periods, even when the persons abstains frti 
every sort of indulgence. The disease called diabeti 
* The Portland Powder consisted of equal parts of the roots 
round birth wort and gentian, of the leaves of germander a 
ground pine, and of the tops of the lesser centaury, all drit 
Drs Cullen, Darwin, and Murray of Gottingen, with many otl 
eminent physicians, bear testimony to the pernicious effects 78 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
is thus produced, which consists in a morbid increase 
of the secretion, accompanied with a diseased state of 
the texture of the kidneys. This affection is mostly 
fatal. 
V. State of the Bladder.—Drunkenness affects this 
organ in common with almost every other; hence it is 
subject to paralysis, spasm, induration, &c., and to all 
bad consequences thence resulting—such as pain, in- 
continence, and retention of urine. 
VI. State of the Blood and Breath.—The blood of a pro- 
fessed drunkard, as already stated, differs from that of 
a sober man. It is more dark, and approaches to the 
character of venous. The ruddy tint of those carbun- 
cles which are apt to form upon the face, is no proof 
to the contrary, as the blood which supplies them crim- 
soned by exposure to the air, on the same principle as 
that by which the blood in the pulmonary arteries re- 
ceives purificatien by the prpeess of breathing. The 
blood of a malt-liquor drinker is not merely darker, but 
also more thick and sizy than in other cases, owing, no 
doubt, to the very nutritious nature of his habitual 
beverage. 
The breath of a drunkard is disgustingly bad, and 
has always a spiritous odour. This is partly owing to 
the stomach, which communicates the flavour of its 
customary contents to respiration; and partly, also, 
there can be little doubt, to the absorption of the liquor 
by the blood, through the medium of the lacteals. 
VII. State of the Perspiration.—The perspiration of 
a confirmed drunkard is as offensive as his breath, and 
has often a strong spiritous odour. I have met with 
two instances, the one in a Claret, the other in a Port 
drinker, in which the moisture which exuded from 
their bodies had a ruddy complexion, similar to that of 
the wine on which they had committed their debauch. 
VIII. State of the Eyes, 4-c.—The eyes may be 
affected with acute or chronic inflammation. Almost 
all drunkards have the latter more or less. Their eyes 
are red and watery, and have an expression so peculiar, 
that the cause can never be mistaken. This, and a 
certain want of firmness about the lips, which are loose, 
gross, and sensual, betray at once the topor Drunken- 
ness impairs vision. The delicacy of the retina is 
arobably affected ; and it is evident, that, from long- 
lontinued. inflammation, the tunica adnata which covers 
;he cornea must lose its original clearness and trans- 
larency. 
Most drunkards have a constant tenderness and red- 
less of the nostrils. This, I conceive, arises from the 
itate of the stomach and oesophagus. The same mem- 
iranc which lines them is prolonged upwards to the 
lose and mouth, and carries thus far its irritability. 
There is no oigan which so. rapidly betrays the 
bacchanalian propensities of its owner as the nose, 
t not only becomes red and fiery, like that of Bar- 
lolph,* but acquires a general increase of size—dis- 
maying upon its surface various small pimples, either 
vnolly of a deep crimson hue, or tipped with yellow, 
u consequence of an accumulation of viscid matter 
vithin them. The rest of the face often presents the 
atne carbuncled appearance. 
I have remarked that drunkards who have a foul, 
ivid, and pimpled face, are less subject to liver com- 
plaint than those who are free from snch eruptions. It» 
this case the determination of blood to the surface of 
the body seems to prevent that fluid from being directed 
so forcibly to the viscera as it otherwise would be. 
The same fact is sometimes observed in sober persons 
who are troubled with hepatic affection. While there 
is a copious rush upon the face or body, they are com- 
paratively well, but no sooner does it go in than they 
are annoyed by the liver getting into disorder. 
IX. State of the Skin.—The skin of a drunkard, 
especially if he be advanced in life, has seldom the ap- 
pearance of health. It is apt to become either livid or 
jaundiced in its complexion, and feels rough and scaly. 
There is a disease spoken of by Dr Darwin, under the 
title of Psora Ebriorum, which is peculiar to people 
of this description. ‘ Elderly people,’ says he, ‘ who 
have been much addicted to spintous drinks, as beer, 
wine, or alcohol, are liable to an eruption all over their 
bodies ; which is attended with very afflicting itching, 
and which they probably propagate from one part of 
their bodies to another with their own nails by scratch- 
ing themselves.’ I have met with several cases of 
this disease, which is only one of the many forms of 
morbid action, which the skin is apt to assume in 
drunkards. 
X. State of the Hair.—The hair of drunkards is 
generally dry, slow of growth, and liable to come out; 
they are consequently more subject to baldness than 
other people. At the same time, it would be exceed- 
ingly unjust to suspect any one, whose hair was of this 
description, of indulgence in liquors, for we frequently 
find in the soberest persons that the hairs are arid, few 
in number, and prone to decay. Baldness with such 
persons is merely a local affection, but in drunkards it 
is constitutional, and proceeds from that general defect 
of vital energy which pervades their whole system. 
XI. Inflammations.—Drunkards are exceedingly sub- 
ject to all kinds of inflammation, both from the direct 
excitement of the liquor, and from their often remain- 
ing out in a state of intoxication, exposed to cold and 
damp. Hence inflammatory affections of the lungs, 
intestine, bladder, kidneys, brain, &c., arising from 
these sources. Rheumatism is often traced to the neg- 
lect and exposure of a fit of drunkenness. 
XII. Gout.—Gout is the offspring of gluttony, 
drunkenness, or sensuality, or of them all put together. 
It occurs most frequently with the wine-bibber. A 
very slight cause may bring it on when hereditary pre- 
disposition exists ; but in other circumstances con- 
siderable excess will be required before it makes its ap- 
pearance. It is one of the most afflicting conse- 
quences of intemperance, and seems to have been 
known as such from-an early age—mention being made 
of it by Hippocrates, Aretasus, and Galen. Among 
the Roman ladies gout was very prevalent during the 
latter times of the empire; and, at the present day, 
there are few noblemen who have it not to hand down 
to their offspring as a portion of their heritage. 
XIII. Tremors.—A general tremor is an attendant 
upon almost all drunkards. This proceeds from nerv- 
ous irritability. Even those who are habitually tem- 
perate, have a quivering in their hands next morning, if 
they indulge over night in a debauch. While it lasts, 
a person cannot hold anything without shaking, neither 
can he write steadily. Among those who have long 
devoted themselves to the mysteries of Silenus, this 
amounts to a species of palsy, affecting the whole body, 
and even the lips, with a sort of paralytic trembling. 
On awaking from sleep, they frequently feel it so 
strongly, as to seem in the cold fit of an ague, being 
neither able to walk steadily, nor articulate distinctly. 
It is singular that the very cause of this distemper 
should be employed for its cure. When the confirmed 
drunkard awakes with tremor, he immediately swallows 
a dram: the most violent shaking is quieted by this 
; * ‘ FalstalT. Thou art our admiral : thou bearest the lanthprn 
i the poop ; but ’tis in the nose of thee : thou art the knight of 
re burning lamp. 
‘ Bardolph. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. 
‘ Falstan. No, I’ll be sw<yn ! I make as good use of it as ma- 
y a man doth of a death’s head or a memento mori. I never 
ee thy face but I think of hell-fire.’—‘ When thou rann’st up 
lads-hill in the night to catcli niy horse, if I did not think thou 
adst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there’s no 
Urchasein money. O ! thou art a perpetual triumph—an ever- 
isting bonfire light: thou hast saved me a thousand marks in 
nks and torches, walking with me in the night betwixt tavern 
nd tavern ; but the Sack thou hast drunk me would have 
ought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler’s in 
lUrope. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire 
tty time this two and thirtv venrs—heaven it *> ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
r 
79 
method : to remove the agitation produced by one dose 
of opium, he takes another. This, in both cases, is 
only adding fuel to the fire—the tremors coming on at 
shorter intervals, and larger doses being required for 
their removal. 
Drunkards are more subject than any other class of 
people to apoplexy and palsy. 
XIV. Palpitation of the Heart.—This is a very dis- 
tressing consequence of drunkenness, producing diffi- 
cult breathing, and such a determination to the head 
as often brings on giddiness. Drunkards are apt to 
feel it as they step out of bed, and the vertigo is fre- 
quently so great as to make them stumble. There 
are some sober persons who are much annoyed by 
this affection. In them it may arise from spasmodic 
action of the fibres of the heart, nervous irritability, 
or organic disease, such as aneurism, or angina pec- 
toris. 
XV. Hysteria.—Female drunkards are very subject 
to hysterical affections. There is a delicacy of fibre in 
women, and a susceptibility of mind, which makes them 
feel more acutely than the other sex all external influ- 
ences. Hence their whole system is often violently 
affected with hysterics and other varieties of nervous 
weakness. These affections are not always traced to 
their true cause, which is often neither more nor less 
than dram-drinking. When a woman’s nose be- 
comes crimsoned at the point, her eyes somewhat 
red, and more watery than before, and her lips 
full and less firm and intellectual in their expres- 
sion, we may suspect that something wrong is go- 
ing on. 
XVI. Epilepsy.—Drunkenness may bring on epi- 
lepsy, or falling sickness, and may excite it into action 
in those who have the disease from other causes. Many 
persons cannot get slightly intoxicated without having 
an epileptic or other convulsive attack. These fits 
generally arise in the early stages before drunkenness has 
got to a height. If they do not occur early the indi- 
vidual will probably escape them altogether for the 
time. 
XVII. Sterility.—This is a state to which confirm- 
ed drunkards are very subject. The children of such 
persons are, in general, neither numerous nor healthy. 
From the general defect of vital power in the parental 
system they are apt to be puny and emaciated, and 
more than ordinarily liable to inherit all the diseases of 
those from whom they are sprung. On this account, 
the chances of long life are much diminished among the 
children of such parents. In proof of this, it is only 
necessary to remark, that according to the London bills 
of mortality one-half of the children born in the metro- 
polis die before attaining their third year ; while of the 
children of the Society of Friends, a class remarkable 
for sobriety and regularity of all kinds one-half actually 
attain the age of forty-seven years: Much of this dif- 
ference, doubtless, originates in the superior degree of 
comfort, and correct general habits of the Quakers, 
which incline them to bestow every care in the rearing 
of their offspring, and put it in their power to obtain 
the means of combating disease ; but the mainspring 
of this superior comfort and regularity is doubtless 
temperance—a virtue which this class of people possess 
in an eminent degree. 
XVIII. Emaciation.—Emaciation is peculiarly char- 
acteristic of the spirit drinker. He wears away, be- 
fore his time, into the ‘ lean and slippered pantaloon’ 
spoken of by Shakspeare in his ‘Stages of Human 
life.’ All drunkards, however, if they live long enough, 
become emaciated. The eyes get hollow, the cheeks 
fall in, and wrinkles soon furrow the countenance with 
the marks of age. The fat is absorbed from every 
* part, and the rounded plumpness which formerly char- 
acterized the body soon wears away. The whole form 
oets lank and debilitated. There is a want of due 
warmth, and the hand is usually covered with a chill 
clammy perspiration. 
The occurrence of emaciation is not to be wondered 
at in persons who are much addicted to ardent spirits, 
for alcohol, besides being possessed of no nutritive 
properties, prevents the due chymification of the food, 
and consequently deteriorates the quality, besides 
diminishing the quantity of the chyle. The principle 
of nutrition being thus affected, the person becomes 
emaciated as a natural consequence. 
XIX. Corpulency.—Malt liquor and wine drinkers 
are, for the most part, corpulent, a state of body which 
rarely attends the spirit drinker, unless he be, at the 
same time, a bon vivant. Both wines and malt liquors 
are more nourishing than spirits. Under their use, the 
blood becomes, as it were, enriched, and an universal 
deposition of fat takes place throughout the system. 
The omentum and muscles of the belly are, in a par- 
ticular manner, loaded with this secretion ; whence the 
abdominal protuberance so remarkable in persons who 
indulge themselves in wines and ales. As the abdo- 
men is the part which becomes most enlarged, so is it 
that which longest retains its enlargement. It seldom 
parts with it, indeed, even in the last stages, when the 
rest of the body is in the state of emaciation. There 
can be no doubt that the parts which first lose theii 
corpulency are the lower extemities. Nothing is more 
common than to see a pair of spindle-shanks tottering 
under the weight of an enormous corporation, to whicl 
they seem attached more like artificial appendages, thar 
natural members. The next parts which give way ar< 
the shoulders. They fall flat, and lose their forme: 
firmness and rotundity of organization. After this, thi 
whole body becomes loose, flabby, and enelastic ; an< 
five years do as much to the constitution as fifteei 
would have done under a system of strict tern 
perance and sobriety. The worst system that can be 
fall a corpulent man, is the decline of his lower ex 
tremities.* So long as they continue firm, and coi 
respondent with the rest of the body, it is a proof the 
there is still vigor remaining ; but when they graduall 
get attenuated, while other parts retain their origint 
fullness, there can be no sign more sure that his const 
tution is breaking down, and that he will never agai 
enjoy his wonted strength. 
XX. Premature Old Age.—Drunkenness has a drear 
ful effect in anticipating the effects of age. It cause 
time to pace on with giant strides—chases youth froi 
the constitution of its victims—and clothes them pr< 
maturely with the gray garniture of years. How ofte 
do we see the sunken eye, the shrivelled cheek, tl 
feeble, tottering step, and hoary head, in men who hav 
scarcely entered into the autumn of their existenc' 
To witness this distressing picture, we have only I 
walk out early in the mornings, and see those gaun 
melancholy shadows of mortality, betaking themselvt 
to the gin-shops, as to the altar of some dreadf 
demon, and quaffing the poisoned cup to his honor, i 
the Carthaginians propitiated the deity of their worshi 
by flinging their children into the fire which burnt 
within his brazen image. Most of these unhappy pe 
sons are young, or middle-aged men ; and though son 
drunkards attain a green old age, they are few in nur 
ber compared with those who sink untimely into tl 
grave ere the days of their youth have well passed by 
* This circumstance has not escaped the observation 
Shakspeare ;—‘ Chief Justice. Do you set down your name 
the scroll of youth that are written down old, with all the chi 
acters of age 1 Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, am 
yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasi 
belly ? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your cl 
double, your wit single, and every part of you blasted with t 
tiquity ; and will you yet call yourself young ? Fie, fie, 1 
Sir John !’ 
f ‘ Let nobody tell me that there are numbers who, thou 
they live most irregularly, attain, in health, and spirits., those 
mote periods of life attained by the most sober ; for this ar 
ment being grounded on a case full of uncertainty and haza 
and which, besides, so seldom occurs as to look more like a i 80 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
Nothing is more common than to see a man of fifty as 
hoary, emaciated, and wrinkled, as if he stood on the 
borders of fourscore. 
The effect of intemperance in shortening life is 
strikingly exemplified in the contrast afforded by other 
classes of society to the Quakers, a set of people of 
whom I must again speak favorably. It appears from 
accurate calculation, that in London only one person in 
forty attains the age of four-score, while among 
Quakers, whose sobriety is proverbial, and who have 
long set themselves against the use of ardent spirits, 
not less than one in ten reaches that age—a most 
striking difference, and one which carries its own in- 
ference along with it. 
It is remarked by an eminent practitioner, that of 
more than a hundred men in a glass manufactory, three 
irank nothing but water, and these three appeared to 
re of their proper age, while the rest who indulged in 
strong drinks seemed ten or twelve years olders than 
hey proved to be. This is conclusive.* 
XXI. Ulcers.—Ulcers often break out on the bodies 
>f drunkards. Sometimes they are fiery and irritable, 
rut in general they possess an indolent character. Of 
whatever kind they may be, they are always aggravated 
n such constitutions. A slight cause gives rise to them; 
md a cut or bruise which, in health, would have 
lealed in a few days, frequently degenerates into a foul 
loughy sore. When drunkards are affected with 
crofula, scurvy, or any cutaneous disease whatever, 
hey always, cceteris paribus, suffer more than other 
icople. 
XXII. Melancholy.—Though drunkards over their 
ups are the happiest of mankind, yet, in their solitary 
ours, they are the most wretched. Gnawing care, 
eightened perhaps by remorse, preys upon their con- 
cience. While sober, they are distressed both in body 
nd mind, and fly to the bowl to drown their misery 
1 oblivion. Those, especially, whom hard fate drove 
■> this desperate remedy, feel the pangs of low spirits 
nth seven-fold force. The weapon they employ to 
rive away care is turned upon themselves. Every 
me it is used, it becomes less capable of scaring the 
end of melancholy, and more effectual in wounding 
im that uses it. 
All drunkards arc apt to become peevish and dis- 
mtented with the world. They turn enemies to the 
itablished ord,er of things, and, instead of looking to 
lemselves, absurdly blame the government as the ori- 
n of their misfortunes. 
XXIII. Madness.—This terrible infliction often pro- 
;eds from drunkenness. When there is hereditary 
iedisposition, indulgence in liquor is more apt to call 
into action than when there is none. The mind and 
>dy act reciprocally upon one another; and when the one 
injured the other must suffer more or less. In in- 
mperance, the structure of the brain is no longer the 
me as in health; and the mind, that immortal part of 
an, whose manifestions depend upon this organ, suffers 
corresponding injury. 
Intoxication may effect the mind in two ways. A 
rson, after excessive indulgence in liquor, may be 
ized with delirium, and run into a state of violent 
trage and madness. In this case the disease comes 
ddenly on : the man is fierce and intractable, and re- 
ires a strait jacket to keep him in order. Some 
never get drunk without being insanely outrageous: 
they attack, without distinction, all who come in their 
way, foam at the mouth, and lose all sense of danger. 
This fit either goes off in a few hours, or degenerates 
into a confirmed attack of lunacy. More generally, 
however, the madness of intoxication is of another 
character, partaking of the nature of idiotism, into 
which state the miud resolves itself, in consequence of 
a long-continued falling off in the intellectual powers. 
Drunkenness, according to the reports of Bethlehem 
Hospital, and other similar institutions for the insane, 
is one of the most common causes of lunacy. In sup- 
port of this fact, it may be mentioned that of two hun- 
dred and eighty-six lunatics now in the Richmond Asy- 
lum, Dublin, one-half owe their madness to drinking; 
and there are few but must have witnessed the wreck 
of the most powerful minds by this destructive habit. 
It has a more deplorable effect upon posterity than any 
other practice, for it entails, not only bodily disease 
upon the innocent offspring, but also the more afflicting 
diseases of the mind. Madness of late years has been 
greatly on the increase among the lower classes, and 
can only be referred to the alarming progress of drunk- 
enness, which prevails now to a much greater extent 
among the poor than ever it did at any former period.* 
XXlY. Delirium Tremens.—Both the symptoms and 
treatment of this affection require to be mentioned, be- 
cause, unlike the diseases already enumerated,- it inva- 
riably originates in the abuse of stimuli, and is cured in 
a manner peculiar to itself. 
Those who indulge in spirits, especially raw, arc 
most subject to delirium tremens, although wine, malt 
liquor, opium, and even ether, may give rise to it, if 
used in immoderate quantities. The sudden cessation 
of drinking in a confirmed toper, or a course of violent 
or long protracted intemperance may equally occasion 
the disease. A man, for instance, of the former de- 
scription, breaks his leg, or is seized with some com- 
plaint, which compels him to abandon his potations. 
This man in consequence of such abstinence is attack- 
ed with delirium tremens. In another man, it is induced 
by a long course of tippling, or by a hard drinking-bout 
of several days’ continuance. 
The disease generally comes on with lassitude, loss 
of appetite, and frequent exacerbations of cold. The 
pulse is weak and quick, and the body covered writh a 
chilly moisture. The countenance is pale, there are 
usually tremors of the limbs, anxiety, and a total dis- 
relish for the common amusements of life. Then suc- 
ceed retching, vomiting, and much oppression at the 
pit of the stomach, with sometimes slimy stools. When 
the person sleeps, which is but seldom, he frequently 
starts in the utmost terror, having his imagination 
haunted by frightful dreams. To the first coldness, 
glows of heat succeed, and the slightest renewed agi- 
tation of body or mind, sends out a profuse perspiration. 
The tongue is dry and furred. Every object appears 
unnatural and hideous. There is a constant dread of 
being haunte4 by spectres. Black or luminous bodies 
seem to float before the person : he conceives that ver- 
min and all sorts of impure things are crawling upon 
him, and is constantly endeavouring to pick them off. 
His ideas are wholly confined to himself and his own 
affairs, of which he entertains the most disordered no- 
tions. He imagines that he is away from home, forgets 
those who are around him, frequently abuses his attend- 
ants, and is irritated beyond measure by the slightest 
contradiction. Calculations, buildings, and other fan 
tastic schemes often occupy his mind; and a belief that 
;le than the work of nature, men should not suffer themselves 
be thereby persuaded to live irregularly, nature having been 
' liberal to those who did so without suffering by it; a favour 
;ich very few have any right to expect’— Carnaro on Health. 
• ‘ The workmen in provision stores have large allowances 
whiskey bound to them in their engagements. These are 
ved out to them daily by their employers, for the purpose of 
[ing them, by excitement, to extraordinaty exertion. And 
at is the effect of this murderous system ? The men are ruin- 
scarcely one of them being capable of work beyond fifty years 
ige, though none but the most able-bodied men can enter such 
ployment,’—[Beecher’s Sermons on Intemperance, with an 
roductory Essay by John Edgar. This is an excellent little 
* It has been considered unnecessary to enter into any detail 
of the nature and treatment of the foregoing diseases, because 
they may originate from many other causes besides drunken- 
ness ; and when they do arise from this source, they acquire no 
peculiarity of character. Their treatment is also precisely the 
same as in ordinary cases—it being always understood, that the 
bad habit which brought them on must be abandoned before any 
good can result from medicine. The disease, however, which ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
81 
every person is confederated to ruin him, is commonly 
entertained. Towards morning there is often much 
sickness and sometimes vomiting. This state generally 
lasts from four to ten days, and goes off after a refresh- 
ing sleep ; but sometimes, either from the original vio- 
lence of the disease, or from improper treatment, it 
proves fatal. 
Such, in nine cases out of ten, is the character of de- 
lirium tremens. Sometimes, however, the symptoms 
vary, and instead of a weak there is a full pulse ; in- 
stead of the face being pallid, it is flushed, and the eyes 
fiery; instead of a cold clammy skin, the surface is hot 
and dry. This state only occurs in vigorous plethoric 
subjects. A habitually sober man who has thought- 
lessly rushed into a debauch, is more likely to be at- 
tacked in this manner than a professed drunkard. In- 
deed, I never met with an instance of the latter having 
this modification of the disease. 
When the patient perishes from delirium tremens, he 
is generally carried off in convulsions. There is an- 
other termination which the disease sometimes assumes: 
it may run into madness or confirmed idiotism. In- 
deed, when it continues much beyond the time men- 
tioned, there is danger of the mind becoming perman- 
ently alienated. 
Subsultus, low delirium, very cold skin, short dis- 
turbed sleep, contracted pupil, strabismus, rapid inter- 
mittent pulse, and frequent vomiting, are indications of 
great danger. When the patient is affected with sub- 
sultus from which he recovers in terror, the danger is 
extreme. 
In treating delirium tremens, particular attention 
must be paid to the nature of the disease, and consti- 
tution of the patient. In the first mentioned, and by 
far the most frequent variety, blooding, which some 
physicians foolishly recommend, is most pernicious. I 
have known more than one instance where life was 
destroyed by this practice. As there is generally much 
gastric irritation, as is indicated by the foul tongue, 
black and viscid evacuations and irritable state of the 
stomach, I commence the treatment by administering 
a. smart dose of calomel. As soon as this has operated, 
I direct tepid water strongly impregnated with salt, to 
be dashed over the body, and the patient immediately 
thereafter to be well dried and put to bed. I then ad- 
minister laudanum in doses of from forty to sixty drops, 
according to circumstances, combining with each dose 
from six to twelve grains of the carbonate of ammonia : 
this I repeat every now and then till sleep is procured. 
It may sometimes be necessary to give such doses every 
two hours, or even every hour, for twelve or twenty 
successive hours, before the effect is produced. The 
black drop in doses proportioned to its strength, which 
is more than three times that of laudanum, may be used 
as a substitute for the latter; the acetate or muriate of 
morphia in doses of a quarter or half a grain, is also a 
good medicine, having less tendency to produce stupor 
or headache than laudanum, and therefore preferable in 
cases where the patient is of a plethoric habit of body. 
It must be admitted, however, that their effects are less 
to be depended upon than those of laudanum, which, in 
all common cases will, I believe, be found the best 
remedy. The great object of the treatment is to soothe 
the apprehensions of the patient, and procure him rest. 
So soon as a sound sleep takes place there is generally 
a crisis, and the disease begins to give way ; but till 
this occurs it is impossible to arrest its progress and 
effect a cure. A moderate quantity of wine will be ne- 
cessary, especially if he has been a confirmed drinker, 
and labours under much weakness. Perhaps the best 
way of administering wine is along with the laudanum, 
the latter being dropped into the wine. Where wine 
cannot be had, porter may be advantageously given in 
combination with laudanum. The principal means, in- 
deed, after the first purging, are opium, wine, ammo- 
»io. tcniH offneinns • the latter mav be tried two. 
three, or four times in the twenty-four hours, as occa- 
sion requires, The mind is, at the same time, to bo 
soothed in the gentlest manner, the whimsical ideas of 
the patient to be humoured, and his fancies indulged as 
far as possible. x\ll kinds of restraint or contradiction 
are most hurtful. Some recommend blisters to the 
head, but these are, in every case, injurious. So soon 
as all the symptoms of the disease have disappeared 
some purgative should be administered, but during its 
progress we must rely almost wholly upon stimulants. 
To cure, by means of stimuli, a complaint which arose 
from an over-indulgence in such agents, is apparently 
paradoxical; but experience confirms the propriety of 
the practice where, a priori, we might expect the con- 
trary. 
In the second variety of the disease, the same objec- 
tions do not apply to blood-letting as in the first, but 
even there, great caution is necessary, especially if the 
disease has gone on for any length of time, if the pulso 
is quick and feeble or the tongue foul. At first, gene- 
ral blooding will often have an excellent effect, but 
should we not be called till after this stage it will prove 
a hazardous experiment. Local blooding will then 
sometimes be serviceable where general blooding could 
not be safely attempted. The patient should be purged 
well with calomel, have his head shaved, and kept cool 
with wet cloths, and sinapisms applied to his feet. 
When the bowels are well evacuated, and no symp- 
toms of coma exist, opiates must be given as in the 
first variety, but in smaller and less frequently repeated 
doses. 
Much yet remains to be known with reguard to' the 
pathology of delirium tremens. I believe that physi- 
cians have committed a dangerous error, in considering 
these two varieties as modifications of the same disease. 
In my opinion they are distinct affections and ought to 
be known under different names. This cannot be bet- 
ter shown than in the conflicting opinions with regard 
to the real nature of the disease. Dr Clutterbuck, hav- 
ing apparently the second variety in his eye, conceives 
that delirium tremens arises from congestion or inflam- 
mation of the brain; while Dr Ryan, referring to the 
first, considers it a nervous affection, originating in that 
species of excitement often accompanying debility. It 
is very evident, that such different conditions require 
different curative means. The genuine delirium tre- 
mens is that described under the first variety, and I 
agree with Dr Ryan in the view he takes of the char- 
acter of this singular disease. 
General remarks.—Such are the principal dis- 
eases brought on by drunkenness. There are still se- 
veral others which have not been enumerated—nor is 
there any affection incident to either the body or mind 
which the voice does not aggravate into double activi- 
ty, The number of persons who die in consequence 
of complaints so produecd, is much greater than un- 
professional people imagine. This fact is well known 
to medical men, who are aware that many of the cases 
they are called upon to attend, originate in liquor, al- 
though very often the circumstance is totally unknown 
either to the patient or his friends. This is particularly 
the case with regard to affections of the liver, stomach, 
and other viscera concerned in digestion. Dr Willan, 
in his reports of the diseases of London, states his con- 
viction that considerably more than one-eight of all 
the deaths which take place in persons above twenty 
years old, happen prematurely through excess in drink- 
ing spirits. Nor are the moral consequences less strik- 
ing : Mr Poynter, for three years Under-Sheriff of Lon- 
don and Westminster, made the following declaration 
before a committee of the House of Commons :—‘ I 
have long been in the habit of hearing criminals refer 
all their misery to drinking, so that I now almost cease 
to ask them the cause of their ruin. This evil lies at 
the root of all other evils of this city and elsewhere. 
Nearly all the convicts for murder with whom I have 82 
ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
conversed, have admitted themselves to have been un- 
der the influence of liquor at the time of the act.’ ‘ By 
due observation for nearly twenty years,’ says the great 
Judge Hales, ‘ I have found that if the murders and 
manslaughters, the burglaries and robberies, and riots 
and tumults, and adulteries, fornications, rapes, and 
other great enormities, they have happened in that time, 
were divided into five parts, four of them have been 
the issues and product of excessive drinking—of tavern 
and ale-house meetings.’ According to the Cale- 
donian Mercury of October 26, 1829, no fewer than 
ninety males, and one hundred and thirty females, in a 
state of intoxication, were brought to the different 
police watch-houses of Edinburgh, in the course of the 
week—being the greatest number for many years. Nor 
is Glasgow, in this respect, a whit better than Edin- 
burgh. On March 1, 1830, of forty-five cases brought 
before the police magistrate in Glasgow, forty were for 
drunkenness ; and it is correctly ascertained that more 
than nine thousand cases of drunkenness are annually 
brought before the police, from this city and suburbs— 
a frightful picture of vice. In the ingenuous Introduc- 
tory Essay attached to the Rev Dr Beecher’s sermons 
on Intemperance, the following passage occurs, and I 
think, instead of exaggerating it rather underrates the 
number of drunkards in the quarter alluded to. ‘ Sup- 
posing that one-half of the eighteen hundred licensed 
houses for the sale of spirits which are in that city, send 
forth each a drunken man every day, there are, in Glas- 
gow, nine hundred drunken men, day after day, spread- 
ing around them beggary, and wretchedness, and 
crime !’ Had the author given to each licensed house, 
one drunkard, on an average, I do not think he would 
have overstepped the bounds of truth. As it is, what 
a picture of demoralization and wretchedness does it 
not exhibit! 
ever, to be remarked, that while the waking thoughts ot 
the drunkard are full of sprightly images, those of his 
sleep are usually tinged with a shade of perplexing 
melancholy. 
II. Nightmare.—Drunkards are more afflicted than 
other people with this disorder, in so far as they 
are equally subject to all the ordinary causes, and 
liable to others from which sober people are exempt- 
ed. Intoxication is fertile in producing reveries 
and dreams, those playthings of the fancy ; and 
it may also give rise to such a distortion of idea, 
as to call up incubus, and all its frightful accompani- 
ments. 
III. Sleep-walking. — Somnambulism is another 
affection to which drunkards are more liable than their 
neighbours. I apprehend that the slumber is never 
profound when this takes place, and that, in drunken- 
ness in particular, it may occur in a state of very im- 
perfect sleep. Drunkards, even when consciousness is 
not quite abolished, frequently leave their beds and 
walk about the room. They know perfectly well what 
they are about, and recollect it afterwards, but if ques- 
tioned, either at the moment or at any future period, 
they are totally unable to give any reason for their con 
duct. Sometimes after getting up, they stand a little 
time and endeavour to account for rising, then go again 
deliberately to bed. There is often, in the behaviour 
of these individuals, a strange mixture of folly and ra- 
tionality. Persons half tipsy have been known to arise 
and go out of doors in their night-dress, being all the 
while sensible of what they were doing, and aware of 
its absurdity. The drunken somnambulism has not 
always this character. Sometimes the reflecting facul- 
ties are so absorbed in slumber, that the person has no 
consciousness of what he does. From drinking, the 
affection is always more dangerous than from any other 
cause, as the muscles have no longer their former 
strength and are unable to support the person in his haz- 
ardous expeditions. If he gets upon a house-top, he does 
not balance himself properly, from giddiness ; he is con- 
sequently liable to falls-and accidents of every kind. It is 
considered, with justice, dangerous to awaken a sleep- 
walker In a drunken fit, there is less risk than under 
other circumstances, the mind being so far confused by 
intoxication, as to be, in some measure, insensible to 
the shock. 
IV. Sleep-talking.—For the same reason that drunk- 
ards are peculiarly prone to somnambulism are they sub- 
ject to sleep-talking, which is merely a modification of the 
other. The imagination, being vehemently excited by 
the drunken dream, embodies itself often in speech, 
which however is, in almost every case, extremely in- 
coherent, and wants the rationality sometimes posses- 
sed by the conversation of sleep-talkers under other cir- 
cumstances. 
CHAPTER XI. 
SLEEP OF DRUNKARDS. 
To enter at large upon the subject of sleep would re- 
quire a volume. At present I shall only consider it so 
far as it is modified by drunkenness. 
The drunkard seldom knows the delicious and re- 
freshing slumbers of the temperate man. He is restless, 
and tosses in bed for an hour or two before falling asleep. 
Even then, his rest is not comfortable. He awakes 
frequently during night, and each time his mouth is dry, 
his skin parched, and his head, for the most part, painful 
and throbbing. These symptoms from the irritable 
state of his constitution, occur even when he goes so- 
berly to bed ; but if he lie down heated with liquor, he 
feels them with double force. Most persons who fall 
asleep in a state of intoxication, have much headach, 
exhaustion and general fever, on awaking. Some con- 
stitutions are lulled to rest by liquors, and others ren- 
dered excessively restless ; but the first are no gainers 
by the difference, as they suffer abundantly afterwards. 
Phlegmatic drunkards drop into slumber more readily 
than the others : their sleep is, in reality a sort of apo- 
pletic stupor. 
I. Dreams.—Dreams may be readily supposed to be 
common, from the deranged manifestations of the stom- 
ach and brain which occur in intoxication. They are 
usually of a painful nature, and leave a gloomy impres- 
sion upon the mind. In general, they arc less palpable 
to the understanding than those which occur in sober- 
ness. They come like painful grotesque conceptions 
across the imagination ; and though this faculty can 
embody nothing into shape, meaning, or consistence, it 
is yet haunted with melancholy ideas. These visions 
depend much on the mental constiution of the person, and 
CHAPTER XII. 
SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION OF DRUNKARDS. 
Whether such a quantity of hydrogen may accumu- 
late in the bodies of drunkards as to sustain combus- 
tion, is not easy to determine. This subject is, indeed, 
one which has never been satisfactorily investigated; 
and, notwithstanding the cases brought forward in sup- 
port of the doctrine, the general opinion seems to be, 
that the whole is fable, or at least so much involved in 
obscurity as to afford no just grounds for belief. The 
principal information on this point is in the Journal dc 
Physique, in an article by Pierre Aime Lair, a copy of 
which was published in the sixth volume of the Philo- 
sophical Transactions, by Mr. Alexander Tilloch. A 
number of cases are there given : and it is not a little ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
83 
advanced life. When we consider that writers like 
Vicq d’Azyr, Le Cat, Maffei, Jacobseus, Rolli, Bian- 
chini, and Mason Good, have given their testimony in 
support of such facts, it requires some effort to believe 
them unfounded in truth. At the same time, in peru- 
sing the case themselves, it is difficult to divest the 
mind of an idea that some misstatement or other exists, 
either as to their alleged cause or their actual nature— 
and that their relaters have been led into an unintention- 
al misrepresentation. The most curious fact connected 
with this subject is, that the combustion appears sel- 
dom to be sufficiently strong to inflame combustible 
substances with which it comes in contact, such as 
woollen or cotton, while it destroys the body, which in 
other circumstances is hardly combustible at all.* Some- 
times the body is consumed by an open flame flicker- 
ing over it—at other times there is merely a smothered 
heat or fire, without any visible flame. It is farther 
alleged that water, instead of allaying, aggravates the 
combustion. This species of burning, indeed, is per- 
fectly sui generis, and bears no resemblance to any 
species of combustion with which we are acquainted. 
In most cases it breaks out spontaneously, although it 
may be occasioned by a candle, a fire, or a stroke of 
lightning ; but in every case it is wholly peculiar to it- 
self. M. Fodere remarks, that hydrogen gas is devel- 
oped in certain cases of disease, even in the living 
body ; and he seems inclined to join with M. Mere in 
attributing what is called spontaneous combustion, to 
the united action of hydrogen and electricity in the first 
instance, favoured by the accumulation of animal oil, 
and the impregnation of spiritous liquors. In the pre- 
sent state of our knowledge, it is needless to hazard any 
conjectures upon this mysterious subject. The best 
way is to give a case or two, and let the reader judge 
for himself. 
Case of Mary Clues.—‘ This woman, aged fifty, 
was much addicted to intoxication. Her propensity to 
this vice had increased after the death of her husband, 
which happened a year and a half before : for about a 
year, scarcely a day had passed in the course of which 
she did not drink at least half a pint of rum or aniseed 
water. Her health gradually declined, and about the 
beginning of February she was attacked by the jaundice 
and confined to her bed. Though she was incapable of 
much action, and not in a condition to work, she still 
continued her old habit of drinking every day, and 
smoking a pipe of tobacco. The bed in which she lay 
stood parallel to the chimney of the apartment, at the 
distance from it of about three feet. On Saturday 
morning, the 1st of March, she fell on the floor, and her 
extreme weakness having prevented her from getting 
up, she remained in that state till some one entered and 
put her to bed. The following night she wished to be 
left alone : a woman quitted her at half past eleven, 
and, according to custom, shut the door and locked it. 
She had put on the fire two large pieces of coal, and 
placed a light in a candlestick on a chair at the head of 
the bed. At half past five in the morning, smoke was 
seen issuing through the window, and the door being 
speedily broken open, some flames which were in the 
room were soon extinguished. Between the bed and 
the chimney were found the remains of the unfortunate 
Clues ; one leg and a thigh were still entire, but there 
remained nothing of the skin, the muscles, and the vis- 
cera. The bones of the cranium, the breast, the spine, 
and the upper extremities, were entirely calcined, and 
covered with a whitish efflorescence. The people were 
much surprised that the furniture had sustained so lit- 
tle injury. The side of the bed which was next the 
chimney had suffered most; the wood of it was slightly 
burned, but the feather-bed, the clothes, and covering 
were Safe. I entered the apartment about two hours 
after it had been opened, and observed that the walls 
and every thing in it were blackened ; that it was filled 
with a very disagreeable vapour ; but that nothing ex- 
cept the body exhibited any very strong traces of fire.’ 
This case first appeared in the Annual Register for 
1773, and is a fair specimen of the cases collected in 
the Journal de Physique. There is no evidence that 
the combustion was spontaneous, as it may have been 
occasioned either by lightning, or by contact with the 
fire. The only circumstance which militates against 
the latter supposition, is the very trifling degree ol 
burning that was found in the apartment. 
Case of Grace Pitt.—‘ Grace Pitt, the wife of a 
fishmonger in the Parish of St. Clement, Ipswich, aged 
about sixty, had contracted a habit, which she continu- 
ed for several years, of coming down every night from 
her bed-room, half-dressed, to smoke a pipe. On the 
night of the 9th of April, 1744, she got up from her bed 
as usual. Her daughter, who slept with her, did not 
perceive she was absent till next morning when she 
awoke, soon after which she put on her clothes, and 
going down into the kitchen, found her mother stretched 
out on the right side, with her head near the grate ; the 
body extended on the hearth, with the legs on the floor, 
which was of deal, having the appearance of a log ol 
wood, consumed by a fire w'ithout apparent flame. On 
beholding this spectacle, the girl ran in great haste and 
poured over her mother's body some water contained in 
two largo vessels in order to extinguish the fire ; while 
the feetid odour and smoke which exhaled from the 
body, almost suffocated some of the neighbours who 
had hastened to the girl’s assistance. The trunk was 
in some measure incinerated, and resembled a heap ol 
coals covered with white ashes. The head, the arms, 
the legs, and the thighs, had also participated in the 
burning. This woman, it is said, had drunk a large 
quantity of spiritous liquors in consequence of being 
overjoyed to hear that one of her daughters had returned 
from Gibraltar. There was no fire in the grate, and 
the candle had burned entirely out in the socket of the 
candlestick, which was close to her. Besides, there 
were found near the consumed body, the clothes of a 
child and a paper screen, which had sustained no injury 
by the fire. The dress of this woman consisted of a 
cotton gown.’ 
This case is to be found in the Transactions of the 
Royal Society of London, and is one of the most de- 
cided, and least equivocal instances of this species ol 
combustion to be met with. It was mentioned at the 
time in all the journals, and was the subject of muct 
speculation and remark. The reality of its occurrence 
was attested by many witnesses, and three several ac- 
counts of it, by different hands, all nearly coincide. 
Case of Don Gio Maria Bertholi.—‘ Having 
spent the day in travelling about the country, he arrivec 
in the evening at the house of his brother-in-law. He 
immediately requested to be shown to his destinec 
apartment, where he had a handkerchief placed betweer 
his shirt and shoulders ; and, being left alone, betook 
himself to his devotions. A few minutes had scarcely 
elapsed when an extraordinary noise was heard in tht 
chamber, and the cries of the unfortunate man werf 
particularly distinguished : the people of the house 
hastily entering the room, found him extended on tht 
floor, and surrounded by a light flame, which recedec 
(a mesure) as they approached, and finally vanished 
On the following morning, the patient was examinee 
by Mr Battlagha, who found the integuments of tht 
* ‘ At a period when criminals were condemned to expiate 
their crimes in the flames, it is well known what a large quantity 
of combustible materials was required for burning their bodies. 
A baker’s boy named Renaud being several years ago condemn- 
ed to be burned at Caen, two large cart loads of fagots were re- 
quired to consume the body ; and at the end of more than ten 
hours some remains were still visible. In this country, the ex- 
treme incombustibility ofthe human body was exemplified in the 
case of Mrs King, who, having been murdered by a foreigner, 
was afterwards burned by him ; but in the execution of this plan 
he was engaged for several weeku, and, after all, did not sir - 
ceedin its completion.’—Paris and Fonblanque’s Medical Jit- ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
;he flesh; from the shoulders to the thighs, the integu- 
nents were equally injured ; and on the right hand, the 
oart most injured, mortification had already commenced, 
which, notwithstanding immediate scarification, rapidly 
extended itself. The patient complained of burning 
thirst, was horribly convulsed, and was exhausted by 
ecntinual vomiting, accompanied by fever and delirium. 
Dn the fourth day, after two hours of comatose insen- 
sibility, he expired. During the whole period of his 
sufferings, it was impossible to trace any symptomatic 
affection. A short time previous to his death, M. Bat- 
tlaglia observed with astonishment that putrefaction 
had made so much progress ; the body already exhaled 
an insufferable odour ; worms crawled from it on the 
bed, and the nails had become detached from the left 
hand. 
‘ The account given by the unhappy patient was, that 
he felt a stroke like the blow of a cudgel on the right 
hand, and at the same time he saw a lambent flame at- 
tach itself to his shirt, which was immediately reduced 
to ashes, his wristbands, at the same time, being utterly 
untouched. The handkerchief which, as before men- 
tioned, was placed between his shoulders and his shirt, 
was entire, and free from any traces of burning; his 
breeches were equally uninjured, but though not a hair 
of his head was burned, his coif was totally consumed. 
The weather, on the night of the accident, was calm, 
and the air very pure ; no empyreumatic or bituminous 
odour was perceived in the room, which was also free 
from smoke ; there was no vestige of fire, except that 
the lamp which had been full of oil, was found dry, and 
the wick reduced to a cinder.’ 
This case is from the work of Fodere, and is given 
as abridged by Paris and Fonblanque, in their excellent 
treatise on Medical Jurisprudence. It occurred in 
1776, and is one of the best authenticated to be met 
with. I am not aware that the subject of it was a 
drunkard: if he were not, and if the facts be really 
true, we must conclude that spontaneous combustion 
may occur in sober persons as well as in the dissipated. 
Case of Madame Millet.—‘ Having,’ says Le 
Cat, ‘ spent several months at Rheims, in the years 
1724 and 1725, I lodged at the house of Sieur Millet, 
whose wife got intoxicated every day. The domestic 
economy of the family was managed by a pretty young 
girl, which I must not omit to remark, in order that all 
the circumstances which accompanied the fact I am 
about to relate, may be better understood. This wo- 
man was found consumed on the 20th of February, 
1725, at the distance of a foot and a half from the 
hearth in her kitchen. A part of the head only, with a 
portion of the lower extremities, and a few of the ver- 
tebras, had escaped combustion. A foot and a half of 
the flooring under the body had been consumed, but a 
kneading trough and a powdering tub, which were very 
near the body, sustained no injury. M. Chriteen, a 
surgeon, examined the remains of the body, with every 
judicial formality. Jean Millet, the husband, being in- 
terrogated by the judges who instituted the inquiry into 
the affair, declared, that about eight in the evening, on 
the 19th of February, he had retired to rest with his 
wife who not being able to sleep, went into the kitchen, 
where he thought she was warming herself; that, hav- 
ing fallen asleep, he was awakened about two o’clock 
by an infectious odour, and that, having run to the 
kitchen, he found the remains of his wife in the state 
[described in the report of the physicians and surgeons. 
The judges, having no suspicion of the real cause of 
this event prosecuted the affair with the utmost dilli- 
gence. It was very unfortunate for Millet that he had 
a handsome servant-maid, for neither his probity nor 
innocence were able to save him from the suspicion of 
having got rid of his wife by a concerted plot, and of 
having arranged the rest of the circumstances in such 
a manner as to give it the appearance of an accident. 
He experienced,, therefore, the whole severity of the 
law ; and though, by an appeal to a superior and very 
enlightened court, which discovered the cause of the 
combustion, he came off victorious, he suffering so 
much from uneasiness of mind, that he was obliged to 
pass the remainder of his days in an hospital.’ 
The above case has a peculiar importance attached 
to it, for it shows that, in consequence of combustion, 
possibly spontaneous, persons have been accused of 
murder. Fordere, in his work, alludes to several cases 
of this kind. 
Some chemists have attempted to account for this 
kind of combustion, by the formation of phosphuretted 
hydrogen in the body. This gas, as is well known, in- 
flames on exposure to the air ; nor can there be a doubt 
that if a sufficient quantity were generated, the body 
might be easily enough consumed. If such an accu- 
mulation can be proved ever to take place, there is an 
end to conjecture ; and we have before us a cause suf- 
ficiently potent to account for the burning. Altogether 
I am inclined to think, that although most of the re- 
lated cases rest on vague report, and are unsupported 
by such proofs as would warrant us in placing much 
reliance upon them, yet sufficient evidence nevertheless 
exists, to show that such a phenomenon as spontaneous 
combustion has actually taken place, althongh doubtless 
the number of cases has been much exaggerated. Dr 
Mason Good, justly observes, ‘There may be some 
difficulty in giving credit to so marvellous a diathesis : 
yet, examples of its existence, and of its leading to a 
migratory and fatal combustion are so numerous, and 
so well authenticated, and press upon us from so many 
different countries and eras, that it would be absurd to 
withhold our assent.’ ‘It can no longer be doubted,’ 
says Dr Gordon Smith, M that persons have retired to 
their chambers in the usual manner, and in place of the 
individual, a few cinders, and perhaps part of his bones, 
were found.’ Inflammable eructations are said to oc- 
cur occasionally in northern latitudes, when the body 
has been exposed to intense cold after excessive in- 
dulgence in spiritous liquors ; and the case of a Bohe- 
mian peasant is narrated, who lost his life in conse- 
quence of a column of ignited inflammable air issuing 
from his mouth, and baffling extinction. This case, as 
well as others of the same kind, is alleged to have 
arisen from phosphuretted hydrogen, generated by 
some chemical combination of alcohol and animal sub- 
stances in the stomach. What truth there may be in 
these relations I do not pretend to say. They wear 
unquestionably the aspect of a fiction; and are, not- 
withstanding, repeated from so many quarters, that it 
is nearly as difficult to doubt them altogether as to give 
them our entire belief. There is one thing, however, 
which may be safely denied; and that is the fact of 
drunkards having been blown up in consequence of 
their breath or eructations catching fire from the appli- 
cation of a lighted candle. These tales are principally 
of American extraction ; and seem elaborated by that 
propensity for the marvellous for which our transatlantic 
brethren have, of late years, been distinguished. 
Upon the whole, this subject is extremely obscure, 
and has never been satisfactorily treated by any writer. 
Sufficient evidence appears to me to exist in support of 
the occurrence, but any information as to the remote or 
proximate cause of this singular malady, is as yet ex- 
ceedingly defective and unsatisfactory. 
In a memoir lately read before the Academie des 
Sciences, the following are stated to be the chief cir- 
cumstances connected with spontaneous combustion: 
‘ 1. The greater part of the persons who have fallen 
victims to it, have made an immoderate use of alcoholic 
liquors. 2. The combustion is almost always general, 
but sometimes is only partial. 3. It is much rarer among 
men than among women, and they are principally old 
women. There is but one case of the combustion of 
a girl seventeen years of age, and that was only partial. 
4. The body and the viscera are invariably burnt, while ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
85 
the feet, the hands, and the top of the skull almost al- 
ways escape combustion. 5. Although it requires 
several fagots to burn a common corpse, incineration 
takes place in these spontaneous combustions without 
any effect on the most combustible matters in the 
neighborhood. In an extraordinary instance of a double 
combustion operating upon two persons in one room, 
neither the apartment nor the furniture was burnt. 6. 
It has not been at all proved that the presence of an 
inflamed body is necessary to develope spontaneous 
human combustions. 7. Water, so far from extinguish- 
ing the flame, seems to give it more activity ; and when 
the flame has disappeared, secret combustion goes on. 
•8. Spontaneous combustions are more frequent in 
winter than in summer. 9. General combustions are 
not susceptible of cure, only partial. 10. Those who 
undergo spontaneous combustions are the prey of a 
very strong internal heat. 11. The combustion bursts 
out all at once, and consumes the body in a few hours. 
12. The parts of the body not attacked are struck with 
mortification. 13. In persons who have been attacked 
with spontaneous combustion, a putrid degeneracy 
takes place which soon leads to gangrene.’ 
In this singular malady medicine is of no avail. The 
combustion is kept up by causes apparently beyond the 
reacn of remedy, and in almost every case, life is ex- 
tinct before the phenomenon is perceived. 
by way of indictment: and this act remained in opera- 
tion till the 10th of October, 1828, at which time, by 
the act of the 9 Geo. IV. c. 61, f) 35, the law for the 
suppression of drunkenness was repealed, without pro- 
viding any punishment for offenders in this respect. 
Previous to this period, the ecclesiastical courts could 
take cognizance of the offence, and punish it accord- 
ingly. As the law stands at present, therefore drunk 
enness, per se, is not punishable, but acts of violence 
committed under its influence are held to be aggravated 
rather than otherwise; nor can the person bring it for- 
ward as an extenuation of any folly or misdemeanor 
which he may chance to commit. In proof of this, it 
may be stated, that a bond signed in a fit of intoxica- 
tion, holds in law, and is perfectly binding, unless it 
can be shown that the person who signed it was inebri- 
ated by the collusion or contrivance of those to whom 
the bond was given. A judge or magistrate found 
drunk upon the bench, is liable to removal from his office ; 
and decisions pronounced by him in that state are held 
to be null and void. Such persons cannot, while act- 
ing ex officio, claim the benefit of the repeal in the 
ancient law—their offence being in itself an outrage on 
justice, and, therefore, a misdemeanor. Even in 
blasphemy, uttered in a state of ebriety, the defence 
goes for nothing, as is manifest from the following case, 
given in Maclaurin’s Arguments and Decisions, p. 731. 
‘Nov. 22, 1694. Patrick Kinninmouth, of that Ilk, 
was brought to trial for blasphemy and adultery. The 
indictment alleged, he had affirmed Christ was a bas- 
tard. And that he had said, ‘ If any woman had God 
on one side, and Christ on the other, he would stow 
[cut] the lugs [ears] out of her head in spite of them 
both.’ He pleaded chiefly that he was drunk or mad 
when he uttered these expressions, if he did utter them. 
The court found the libel relevant to infer the pains li- 
belled, i. e. death; and found the defence, that the 
pannel was furious or distracted in his wits relevant : 
but repelled the alledgance of fury or distraction aris- 
ing/rom drunkenness 
It thus appears that the laws both of Scotland and 
England agree in considering drunkenness no pallia- 
tion of crime, but rather the reverse ; and it is well 
that it is so, seeing that ebriety could be easily counter- 
feited, and made a cloak for the commission of atroci- 
ous offences. By the laws, drunkenness is looked upon 
as criminal, and this being the case, they could not 
consistently allow one crime to mitigate the penalties 
due to another. 
There is only one case where drunkenness can ever 
be alleged in mitigation of punishment—that is, where 
it has induced ‘ a state of mind perfectly akin to insanity.’ 
It is, in fact, one of the common causes of that disease. 
The partition line between intoxication and insanity, 
may hence become a subject of discussion. 
‘ William M'Donough was indicted and tried for the 
murder of his wife, before the supreme court of the 
State of Massachusetts, in November, 1817. It ap- 
peared in testimony, that several years previous he had 
received a severe injury of the head ; that although re- 
lieved of this, yet its effects were such as occasionally 
to render him insane. At these periods he complained 
greatly of his head. The use of spiritous liquors im- 
mediately induced a return of the paroxysms, and in 
one of them, thus induced he murdered his wife. Ho 
was with great propriety found guilty. The voluntary 
use of a-stimulus which, he was fully aware, would 
disorder his mind, fully placed him under the power of 
the law,’* 
‘ In the state of New-York, we have a statue which 
places the property of habitual drunkards under the 
care of the chancellor, in the same manner as that of 
lunatics. The overseer of the poor in each town may, 
when they discover a person to be an habitual drunkard, 
apply to the chancellor for the exercise of his power 
CHAPTER XIII. 
DRUNKENNESS JUDICIALLY CONSIDERED. 
Not only does the drunkard draw down upon himself 
many diseases, both of body and mind, but if, in his 
intoxication, he commit any crime or misdemeanor, he 
becomes, like other subjects, amenable to the pains of 
law. In this respect, indeed, he is worse off than 
sober persons, for drunkenness, far from palliating, is 
held to aggravate every offence : the law does not re- 
gard it as any extenuation of crime. ‘ A drunkard,’ 
says Sir Edward Coke, * who is voluntarius demon, 
hath no privilege thereby; but what hurt or ill soever 
he doeth, his drunkenness doth aggravate it.’ In the 
case of the King versus Maclauchlin, March, 1737, the 
plea of drunkenness, set up in mitigation of punish- 
ment, was not allowed by the court. Sir George Mac- 
kenzie says he never found it sustained, and that in a 
case of murder it was repelled—Spott uerswxDouglass, 
1667. Sir Matthew Hales, c. 4. is clear against the 
validity of the defence, and all agree that ‘ levis ct 
modica ebrietas non excusat nee minuit delictum.' It 
is a maxim in legal practice, that ‘ those who pre- 
sume to commit crimes when drunk, must submit to 
punishment when sober.’ This state of the law is not 
peculiar to modern times. In ancient Greece it was 
decreed by Pittacus, that ‘ he who committed a crime 
when intoxicated, should receive a double punishment,’ 
viz. one for the crime itself, and the other for the 
ebriety which prompted him to commit it. The Athe- 
nians not only punished offences done in drunkenness 
with increased severity, but, by an enactment of Solon, 
inebriation in a magistrate was made capital. The 
Roman law was in some measure, an exception, and 
admitted ebriety as a plea for any misdeeds committed 
under its influence : per vinum delapsis capitalis poena 
remittitur. Notwithstanding this tenderness to offences 
by drunkards, the Romans, at one period, were incon- 
sistent enough to punish the vice itself with death, if 
found occurring in a woman. By two acts passed in 
the reign of James I., drunkenness was punishable 
with a fine, and, failing payment, with sitting publicly 
for six hours in the stocks; 4 Jac. I. c. 5, and 21 Jac. 
I. c. 7. By the first of these acts, Justices of the 
/-» wmr nw\s* n/a/J drunkardc of fVio Socgi'rtpp ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
nd jurisdiction. And in certain cases, when the per- 
on considers himself aggrieved, it may be investigated 
y six freeholders, whether he is actually what he is de- 
cribed to be, and their declaration is, prima facie, evi- 
ence of the fact.’* [This act was passed March 16, 
821.] 
‘In Rydgway v. Darwin, Lord Eldon cites a case 
ffiere a commission of lunacy w’as supported against a 
erson, who, when sober, was a very sensible man, but 
eing in a constant state of intoxication, he was inca- 
able of managing his property.’! 
nature, and is not to be rapidly changed with impunity, 
more than other natures. Spurzheina* advances the 
same opinion. ‘ Drunkards,’ says he, ‘cannot leave off 
their ba-d habits suddenly, without injuring their health.’ 
Dr Darwin speaks in like terms of the injurious effects 
of too sudden a change ; and for these, and other rea- 
sons about to be detailed, I am disposed, upon the 
whole, to coincide with them. 
If we consider attentively the system of man, we will 
be satisfied that it accommodates itself to various states 
of action. It will perform a healthy action, of which 
there is only one state, or a diseased action, of which 
there are a hundred. The former is uniform, and homo- 
geneous. It may be raised or lowered, according to 
the state of the circulation, but its nature is ever the 
same : when that changes—when it assumes new char- 
acters—it is no longer the action of health, but of dis- 
ease. The latter may be multiplied to infinity, and 
varies with a thousand circumstances ; such as the or- 
gan which is affected, and the substance which is taken. 
Now, drunkenness in the long run, is one of those dis- 
eased actions. The system no longer acts with its 
original purity : it is operated upon by a fictitious ex- 
citement, and, in the course of time, assumes a state 
quite foreign to its original constitution—an action 
which, however unhealthy, becomes, ultimately, in 
some measure, natural. When we use opium for a 
long time, we cannot immediately get rid of it, because 
it has given rise to a false action in the system—which 
would suffer a swdden disorder if deprived of its accus- 
tomed stimulus. To illustrate this, it may be mention- 
ed, that when Abbas the Great published an edict to 
prohibit the use of coquenar, (the juice of boiled pop- 
pies,) on account of its dismal effects on the constitu- 
tion, a great mortality followed, which was only stopped 
at last by restoring the use of the prohibited beverage. 
Disease, under such circumstances, triumphs over 
health, and has established so strong a hold upon the 
body, that it is dislodged with difficulty by its lawful 
possessor. When we wish to get rid of opium, or any 
other narcotic to which we are accustomed, we must 
do so by degrees, and let the healthy action gradually 
expel the diseased one. Place spirits or wine in the 
situation of opium, and the results will be the same. 
For these reasons, I am inclined to think, that, in many 
cases at least, it would be improper and dangerous to 
remove intoxicating liquors all at once from the drunk- 
ard. Such a proceeding seems at variance with the 
established actions of the human body, and as injudi- 
cious as unphiiosophical. 
I do not, however, mean to say, that there are no 
cases in which it would be necessary to drop liquors 
all at once. When much bodily vigour remains—when 
the morning cravings for the bottle are not irresistible, 
nor the appetite altogether broken, the person should 
give over his bad habits instantly. This is a state of 
incipient drunkenness. He has not yet acquired the 
constitution of a confirmed sot, and the sooner he 
ceases the better. The immediate abandonment of 
drinking may also, in general, take place when there is 
any organic disease, such as enlarged liver, dropsy, or 
schirrus stomach. Under these circumstances, the sa- 
crifice is much less than at a previous period, as the 
frame has, in a great measure, lost its power of with- 
standing liquors, and the relish for them is also consi- 
derably lessened. But even then, the sudden depriva- 
tion of the accustomed stimulus has been known to 
produce dangerous exhaustion ; and it has been found 
necessary to give it again, though in more moderate 
quantities. Those drunkards who have no particular 
disease, unless a tremor and loss of appetite be so de 
nominated, require to be deprived of the bottle by de- 
grees. Their system would be apt to fall into a state 
of torpor if it were suddenly taken away, and various 
mental diseases, such as melancholy, madness, and de- 
CHAPTER XIV. 
METHOD OF CURING THE HABIT OF DRUNKENNESS. 
To remove the habit of drunkenness from any one 
n whom it has been long established, is a task of pecu- 
iar difficulty. We have not only to contend against 
he cravings of the body, but against those of the mind; 
nd in struggling with both, we are, in reality, carrying 
>n a combat with nature herself. The system no long- 
er performs its functions in the usual manner ; and to 
estore these functions to their previous tone of action, 
s more difficult than it would be to give them an action 
ltogether the reverse of nature and of health. 
The first step to be adopted, is the discontinuance of 
11 liquors or substances which have the power of in- 
oxicating, The only question is—should they be 
Iropped at once, or by degrees 1 Dr Trotter, in his Es- 
ay on Drunkenness, has entered into a long train of 
rgument, to prove that, in all cases, they ought to be 
;iven up instanter. He contends, that, being in them- 
elves injurious, their sudden discontinuance cannot 
lossibly be attended with harm. But his reasonings on 
his point, though ingenious, are not conclusive. A 
lark unwholesome dungeon is a bad thing, but it has 
teen remarked, that those w ho have been long confined 
o such a place, have become sick if suddenly exposed 
b the light and pure air, on recovering their liberty: 
lad this been done by degrees, no evil effects would 
iave ensued. A removal from an unhealthy climate 
to which years had habituated a man) to a healthy one, 
las sometimes been attended with similar consequences. 
Dven old ulcers cannot always be quickly healed up 
vith safety. Inebriation becomes, as it were, a second 
* Beck on Medical Jurisprudence. 
f Collinson on Lunacy. 
1 The laws against intoxication are enforced with great rig- 
nrin Sweden. Whoever is seen drunk, is fined, for the first 
ffence, three dollars; for the second, six, for the third and 
jurth, a still larger sum, and is also deprived of the right of 
oting at elections, and of being appointed a representative. He 
3, besides, publicly exposed in the parish church on the follow- 
ng Sunday. If the same individual is found committing the 
ame offence a fifth time, he is shut up in a house of correction, 
,nd condemned to six months’ hard labour ; and if he is again 
uilty, of a twelvemonths’ punishment of a similar description. 
(the offence has been committed in public, such as at a fair, an 
action, &c., the fine is doubled ; and if the offender has made 
.is appearance in a church, the punishment is still more severe. 
Vhoever is convicted of having induced another to intoxicate 
limself, is fined three dollars, which sum is doubled if the per- 
on is a minor. An ecclesiastic who falls into this offence loses 
lis benefice : if it is a layman who occupies any considerable 
lost, his functions are suspended, and perhaps he is dismissed. 
Irunkenness is never admitted as an excuse for any crime ; and 
fhoever dies when drunk is buried ignominiously, and deprived 
f the prayers of the church. It is forbidden to give and more 
xplicitly to sell, any spirituous liquors to students, workmen, 
ervants, apprentices, and private soldiers. Whoever is observ- 
d drunk in the streets, or making a noise in a tavern, is sure to 
e taken to prison and detained till sober, without, however, be- 
fgon that account exempted from the fines. Half ofthese fines 
pestothe informers, (who are generally police officers,) the 
ther half to the poor. If the delinquent has no money, he is 
opt in prison until some one pays for him, or until he has work- 
tl out his enlargement. Twice a-year these ordinances are 
earl aloud from the pulpit by the clergy : and every tavern- 
Oeper is bound under the penalty of a heavy fine, to have a 
opy of them hung up in the principal rooms of his house.’— ANATOMY'OF DRUNKENNESS. 
87 
lirium tremens, might even be the result. With such 
persons, however, it must be acknowledged that there 
is very great difficulty in getting their potations dimin- 
ished. Few have fortitude to submit to any reduction. 
There is, as the period of the accustomed indulgence 
arrives, an oppression and faintness at the prcecordia, 
which human nature can scarcely endure, together with 
a gnawing desire, infinitely more insatiable than the 
longings of a pregnant woman. 
To prove the intensity of the desire for the bottle, 
and the difficulty, often insurmountable, of overcoming 
it, I extract the following interesting and highly char- 
acteristic anecdote from a recent publication :—‘ A 
gentleman of very amiable dispositions, and justly popu- 
lar, contracted habits of intemperance : his friends ar- 
gued, implored, remonstrated ; at last he put an end to 
all importunity in this manner :—To a friend who was 
addressing him in the following strain-r-‘ Dear Sir 
George, your family are in the utmost distress on ac- 
count of this unfortunate habit; they perceive that 
business is neglected; your moral influence is gone; 
your health is ruined ; and, depend upon it, the coats of 
your stomach will soon give way, and then a change 
will come too late.’ The poor victim, deeply convinced 
of the hopelessness of his case, replied thus :—‘ My 
good friend, your remarks are just; they are, indeed, 
too true ; but I can no longer resist temptation : if a 
bottle of brandy stood at one hand, and the pit of hell 
yawned at the other, and if 1 were convinced I would 
be pushed in as sure as I took one glass, I could not 
refrain. You are very kind. I ought to be grateful for 
so many kind good friends, but you may spare your- 
selves the trouble of trying to reform me : the thing is 
impossible.’ ’ 
The observation of almost every man must have fur- 
nished him with cases not less striking than the above. 
I could relate many such which have occurred in my 
own practice, but shall at present content myself with 
one. I was lately consulted by a young gentleman of 
fortune from the north of England. He was aged 
twenty-six, and was one of the most lamentable in- 
stances of the resistless tyranny of this wretched habit 
that can possibly be imagined. Every morning, before 
breakfast, he drank a bottle of brandy : another he 
consumed between breakfast and dinner ; and a third 
shortly before going to bed. Independently of this, he 
indulged in wine and whatever liquor came within his 
reach. Even during the hours usually appropriated to 
sleep, the same system was pursued—brandy being 
placed at the bed side for his use in the night-time. To 
this destructive vice he had been addicted since his 
sixteenth year and it had gone on increasing from day 
to day, till it had acquired its then alarming and almost 
incredible magnitude. In vain did he try to resist the 
insidious poison. With the perfect consciousness that 
he was rapidly destroying himself, and with every de- 
sire to struggle against the insatiable cravings of his 
diseased appetite, he found it utterly impossible to of- 
fer the slightest opposition to them. Intolerable sick- 
ness, faintings, and tremors, followed every attempt 
to abandon his potations ; and had they been taken 
suddenly away from him, it cannot be doubted that 
delirium tremens and death would have been the re- 
sult. 
There are many persons that cannot be called drunk- 
ards, who, nevertheless, indulge pretty freely in the 
bottle, though after reasonable intervals. Such persons 
usually possess abundance of health, and resist intoxi- 
cation powerfully. Here the stomach and system in 
general lose their irritability, in the same way as in con- 
firmed topors, but this is more from torpor than from 
weakness. The springs of life become less delicate ; 
the pivots on which they move get, as it were, clogged, 
and, though existence goes on with vigour, it is not 
the bounding and elastic vigour of perfect health. This 
p'oceeds, not from debility but from torpor ; the mus- 
cular fibre becoming, like the hands of a labouring man 
hardened and blunted in its sensibilities. Such are the 
effects brought on by a frequent use of inebriating 
agents, but an excessive use in every case gives rise to 
weakness. This the system can only escape by a pro- 
per interval being allowed to elapse between our indul- 
gences. But if dose be heaped on dose, before it has 
time to rally from former exhaustion, it becomes more 
and more debilitated ; the blood ceases to circulate 
with its wonted force; the secretions get defective, 
and the tone of the living fibre daily enfeebled. A de- 
bauch fevers the system, and no man can stand a per- 
petual succession of fevers without injuring himself, and 
at last destroying life. 
Drunkenness, in the long run changes its character. 
The sensations of the confirmed tippler, when intoxi- 
cated, are nothing, in point of pleasure, to those of the 
habitually temperate man, in the same condition. We 
drink at first for the Serenity which is diffused over the 
mind, and not from any positive love we bear to the 
liquor. But, in the course of time, the influence of 
the latter, in producing gay images, is deadened. It is 
then chiefly a mere animal fondness for drink which 
actuates us. We like the taste of it, as a child likes 
sweetmeats ; and the stomach, for a series of years, 
has been so accumstomed to an unnatural stimulus, 
that it cannot perform its functions properly with- 
out it. In such a case, it may readily be believ- 
ed that liquor could not be suddenly removed with 
safety. 
The habit will sometimes be checked by operating 
skilfully upon the mind. If the person has a feeling 
heart, much may be done by representing to him the 
state of misery into which he will plunge himself, his 
family, and his friends. Some men by a strong effort, 
have given up liquors at once, in consequence of such 
representations. 
Some drunkards have attempted to cure themselves 
by the assumption of voluntary oaths. They go before 
a magistrate, and swear that, for a certain period, they 
shall not taste liquors of any kind ; and it is but just tc 
state, that these oaths are sometimes strictly enough kepi 
They are, however, much oftener broken—the physica 
cravings for the bottle prevailing over whatever religious 
obligation may have been entered into. Such a proceed 
ing is as absurd as it is immoral, and never answer the 
purpose of effecting any thing like a radical cure ; for 
although the person abides by his solemn engagement, i1 
is only to resume his old habits more inveterately thar 
ever, the moment it expires. 
Many men become drunkards from family broils 
They find no comfort at home, and gladly seek for i 
out of doors. In such cases, it will be almost impos 
sible to break the habit. The domestic sympathiei 
and affections, which oppose a barrier to dissipation 
and wean away the mind from the bottle, have here n< 
room to act. When the mother of a family becomei 
addicted to liquor, the case is very afflicting. Horm 
instead of being the seat of comfort and order, become; 
a species of Pandemonium : the social circle is broke) 
up, and all its happiness destroyed. In this case then 
is no remedy but the removal of the drunkard. A feel 
ing of perversity has been known to effect a cun 
among the fair sex. A man of Philadelphia, who wa 
afflicted with a drunken wife, put a cask of rum in he 
way, in the charitable hope that she would drink her 
self to death. She suspected the scheme, and, from 
a mere principle of contradiction, abstained in all tim; 
coming, from any sort of indulgence in the bottle, 
may mention another American anecdote of a persoi 
reclaimed from drunkenness, by means not less singular 
A man in Maryland, notoriously addicted to this vice 
hearing an uproar in his kitchen one evening, felt th 
curiosity to step without noise to the door, to knov 
what was the matter, when he beheld his servants in 
dulging in the most unbounded roar of laughter at ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
couple of his negro boys, who were mimicking himself 
in his drunken fits, showing how he reeled and stagger- 
ed—how he looked and nodded, and hiccupped and 
tumbled. The picture which these children of nature 
drew of him, and which had filled the rest with so much 
merriment, struck him so forcibly, that he became a 
perfectly sober man, to the unspeakable joy of his wife 
and children. 
Man is very much the creature of habit. By drink- 
ing regularly at certain times, he feels the longing for 
liquor at the stated return of those periods—as after 
dinner, or immediately before going to bed, or whatever 
the period may be. He even feels it in certain com- 
panies, or in a particular tavern at which he is in the 
habit of taking his libations. We have all heard the 
story of the man who could never pass an inn on the 
roadside without entering it and taking a glass, and 
ivho, when, after a violent effort, he succeeded in get- 
ting beyond the spot, straightway returned to reward 
iiimself with a bumper for his resolution. It is a good 
rule for drunkards to break all such habits. Let the 
'requenter of drinking clubs, masonic lodges, and other 
Bacchanalian assemblages, leave off attending these 
nlaces ; and if he must drink, let him do so at home, 
where there is every likelihood his potations will be 
ess liberal. Let him also forswear the society of boon 
rompanions, either in his own habitation or in theirs. 
Let him, if he can manage it, remove from the place of 
lis usual residence, and go somewhere else. Let him 
llso take abundance of exercise, court the society of in- 
.ellectual and sober persons, and turn his attention to 
•eading, or gardening, or sailing, or whatever other 
imusement he has a fancy for. By following this ad- 
dee rigidly, he will get rid of that baleful habit which 
taunts him like his shadow, and intrudes itself by day 
ind by night into the sanctuary of his thoughts. And 
f he refuses to lay aside the Circean cup, let him re- 
ject that Disease waits upon his steps—that Dropsy, 
Palsy, Emaciation, Poverty, and Idiotism, followed by 
he pale phantom, Death, pursue him like attendant 
spirits, and claim him as their prey. 
Sometimes an attack of disease has the effect of so- 
aring drunkards for the rest of their lives. I knew a 
mntleman who had apoplexy in consequence of dissi- 
>ation. He fortunately recovered, but the danger 
vhich he had escaped made such an impression upon 
lis mind, that he never, till his dying day, tasted any 
iquor stronger than simple water. Many persons, after 
;uch changes, become remarkably lean; but this is not 
in unhealthy emaciation. Their mental powers also 
uffer a very material improvement—the intellect be- 
aming more powerful, and the moral feelings more soft 
;nd refined. 
In a small treatise on Naval Discipline, lately pub- 
ished, the following whimsical and ingenious mode of 
finishing drunken seamen is recommended :—1 Sepa- 
atc for one month every man who was found drunk, 
rom the rest of the crew : mark his clothes ‘ drunkard 
;ive him six-water grog, or, if beer, mixed one- 
alf water ; let them dine when the crew had fin- 
shed ; employ them in every dirty and disgraceful 
rork, &c. This had such a salutary effect, that in less 
han six months not a drunken man was to be found in 
he ship. The same system was introduced by the 
irriter into every ship on board which he subsequently 
erved. When first lieutenant of the Victory and Dio- 
lede, the beneficial consequences were acknowledged 
-the culprits were heard to say that they would rather 
sceive six dozen lashes at the gangway, and be done 
nth it, than be put into the ‘ drunken mess’ (for so it 
las named) for a month.’ 
Those persons who have been for many years in the 
abit of indulging largely in drink, and to whom it has 
ecomc an elixir vitce indispensable to their happiness, 
annot be suddenly deprived of it. This should be done 
V slow degrees, and must be the result of conviction. 
If the quantity be forcibly diminished against the per- 
son’s will, no good can be done ; he will only seize the 
first opportunity to remunerate himself for what he has 
been deprived of, and proceed to greater excesses than 
before. If his mind can be brought, by calm reflection, 
to submit to the decrease, much may be accomplished 
in the way of reformation. Many difficulties undoubt- 
edly attend this gradual process, and no ordinary 
strength of mind is required for its completion. It is, 
however, less dangerous than the method recommended 
by Dr Trotter, and ultimately much more effectual. 
Even although his plan were free of hazard, its effects 
are not likely to be lasting. The unnatural action, to 
which long intemperance had given rise, clings to the 
system with pertinacious adherence. The remembrance 
of liquor, like a delightful vision, still attaches itself to 
the drunkard’s mind ; and he longs with insufferable 
ardour, to feel once more the ecstacies to which it gave 
birth. This is the consequence of a too rapid separa- 
tion. Had the sympathies of nature been gradually 
operated upon, there would have been less violence, 
and the longings had a better chance of wearing insen- 
sibly away. 
Among the great authorities for acting in this man- 
mer, may be mentioned the celebrated Dr Pitcairn. In 
attempting to break the habit in a Highland chieftain, 
one of his patients, he exacted a promise that the latter 
would every day drop as much sealing-wax into his 
glass as would receive the impression of his seal. He 
did so, and as the wax accumulated, the capacity of the 
glass diminished, an I, consequently, the quantity of 
whiskey it was capable of containing. By this plan he 
was cured of his had habit altogether. In mentioning 
such a whimsical proceeding, I do not mean particular- 
ly to recommend it for adoption ; although I am satis- 
fied that the principle on which its eccentric contriver 
proceeded was substantially correct. 
A strong argument against too sudden a change is 
afforded in the case of food. I have remarked that 
persons who are in the daily habit of eating animal 
food feel a sense of weakness about the stomach if 
they suddenly discontinue it, and live for a few days 
entirely upon vegetables. This I have experienced 
personally, in various trials made for the purpose ; and 
eveiy person in health, and accustomed to good living, 
will, I am persuaded, feel the same thing. The 
stomach, from want of stimulus, loses its tone; the 
craving for animal food is strong and incessant; and, if 
it be resisted, heart-burn, water-brash, and other forms 
of indigestion, arc sure to ensue. In such a case 
vegetables are loathed as intolerably insipid, and even 
bread is looked upon with disrelish and aversion. It is 
precisely the same with liquors. Their sudden dis- 
continuance, where they have been long made use of, 
is almost sure to produce the same, and even worse 
consequences to the individual. 
I cannot give any directions with regard to the regi- 
men of a reformed drunkard. This will depend upon 
different circumstances, such as age, constitution, dis- 
eases, and manner of living. It may be laid down as 
a general rule, that it ought to be as little heating as 
possible. A milk or vegetable diet will commonly be 
preferable to every other. But there are cases in 
which food of a richer quality is requisite, as when 
there is much emaciation and debility. Here it may 
even be necessary to give a moderate quantity of wine. 
In gout, likewise, too great a change of living is not 
always salutary, more especially in advanced years, 
where there is weakness of the digestive organs, 
brought on by the disease. In old age, wine is often 
useful to sustain the system, more especially when 
sinking by the process of natural decay. The older a 
person is, the greater the inconvenience of abstaining 
all at once from liquors, and the more slowly ought they 
to be taken away. I cannot bring myself to believe 
that a man who for half a century has drunk freely, ANATOMY of drunkenness. 
•can suddenly discontinue this ancient habit without a 
certain degree of risk; the idea is opposed to all that 
we know of the bodily and mental functions. 
In attempting to cure the habit of drunkenness, 
opium may sometimes be used with advantage. By 
giving it in moderate quantities, the liquor which the 
person is in the habit of taking, may be diminished to 
a considerable extent, and he may thus be enabled to 
leave them off altogether. There is only one risk, and it 
is this—that he may become as confirmed a votary of 
opium as he was before of strong liquors. Of two 
evils, however, we should always choose the least: and 
it is certain that however perniciously opium may act 
upon the system, its moral effects and its power of in- 
juring reputation are decidedly less formidable than 
those of the ordinary intoxicating agents. 
The following anecdote has been communicated to 
me by the late Mr Alexander Balfour, (author of 
“ Contemplation,’ ‘ Weeds and Wildflowers,’ and other 
ingenious works,) and exhibts a mode of curing dram- 
drinking equally novel and effective : 
About the middle of last century, in a provincial 
town on the east coast of Scotland, where smuggling 
was common, it was the practice for two respectable 
merchants to gratify themselves with a social glass of 
good Hollands, for which purpose they regularly ad- 
journed at a certain hour, to a neighboring gin-shop. 
It happened one morning that something prevented one 
of them from calling on his neighbor at the usual time. 
Many a wistful and longing look was cast for the friend 
so unaccountably absent, but he came not. His dis- 
appointed companion would not go to the dram-shop 
alone ; but he afterwards acknowledged that the want 
of his accustomed cordial rendered him uneasy the 
whole day. However, this feeling induced him to re- 
flect on the bad habit he was acquiring, and the conse- 
quences which were likely to follow. He therefore re- 
solved to discontinue dram-drmking entirely, but found 
it difficult to put his resolution into practice, until, 
after some deliberation, he hit upon the following expe- 
dient:—Filling a bottle with excellent Hollands, he 
lodged it in his back-shop, and the first morning taking 
his dram, he replaced it with simple water. Next 
morning he took a second dram, replacing it with water ; 
and in this manner he went on, replacing the fluid sub- 
tracted from the bottle with water, till at last the mix- 
ture became insipid and ultimately nauseous, which had 
such an effect upon his palate, that he was completely 
cured of his bad habit, and continued to live in exemp- 
lary soberness till his death, which happened in ex- 
treme old age. 
Dr Kain, an American physician, recommends tartar 
emetic for the cure of habitual drunkenness. ‘ Pos- 
sessing,’ he observes, ‘no positive taste itself, it com- 
municates a disgusting quality to those fluids in which 
it is dissolved. I have often seen persons who, from 
taking a medicine in the form of antimonial wine, could 
never afterwards drink wine. Nothing, therefore, seems 
better calculated to form our indication of breaking up 
the association, in the patient’s feelings, between his 
disease and the relief to be obtained from stimulating 
liquors. These liquors, with the addition of a very 
small quantity of emetic tartar, instead of relieving, in- 
crease the sensation of loathing of food, and quickly 
produce in the patient an indomitable repugnance to 
the vehicle of its administration.’ ‘ My method of pre- 
scribing it, has varied accordingly to the habits, age, 
and constitution of the patient. I give it only in alter- 
ative slightly nauseating doses. A convenient pre- 
paration of the medicine is eight grains dissolved in 
four ounces of boiling water—half an ounce of the 
solution to be put into half-pint, pint, or quart of the 
patient’s favorite liquor, and to be taken daily in divided 
portions. If severe vomiting and purging ensue, I 
should direct laudanum to allay the irritation, and 
diminish the dose. In every patient it should be varied 
according to its effects. In one instance, in a patienl 
who lived ten miles from me, severe vomiting was pro- 
duced, more, I think, from excessive drinking, than the 
use of the remedy. He recovered from it, however, 
without any bad effects. In some cases, the change 
suddenly produced in the patient’s habits, has brought 
on considerable lassitude and debility, which were 01 
but short duration. In a majority of cases, no othei 
effect has been perceptible than slight nausea, some 
diarrhoea, and a gradual, but very uniform, distaste to 
the menstruum.’* 
Having tried tartar emetic in several instances, I car 
bear testimony to its good effects in habitual drunken! 
ness. The active ingredient in Chambers’s celebrated 
nostrum for the cure of ebriety, was this medicine 
Tartar emetic, however, must always be used with cau- 
tion, and never except under the eye of a medical man. 
as the worst consequences might ensue from the indis- 
creet employment of so active an agent. 
It seems probable that, in plethoric subjects the ha- 
bit of drunkenness might be attacked with some suc- 
cess by the application of leeches, cold applications and 
blisters to the head, accompanied by purgatives and 
nauseating doses of tartar emetic. Dr Caldwell o 
Lexington, conceives drunkenness to be entirely a dis- 
ease of the brain, especially of the animal compartments 
of this viscus, and more especially of that portion cal- 
led by phenologists the organ of alimentiveness, on whicl 
the appetite for food and drink is supposed mainly tc 
depend. Should his views be correct, the above treat 
ment seems eligible, at least in drunkards of a full habi 
of body, and in such cases it is certainly worthy of 5 
full trial. I refer the reader to Dr Caldwell’s Essay 
in which both the above doctrine and the practice 
founded upon it are very ably discussed. It is, indeed 
one of the ablest papers which has hitherto appeared 
upon the subject of drunkenness.! 
It very often happens, after a long course of dissipa- 
tion, and that the stomach loses its tone, and reject! 
almost every thing that is swallowed. The remedy, ii 
this case, is opium, which should be given in the solid 
form in preference to any other. Small quantities o 
negus are also beneficial; and the carbonate of am- 
monia, combined with some aromatic, is frequently at 
tended with the best effects. When there is mucl 
prostration of strength, wine should always be given 
In such a case, the entire removal of the long-accus- 
tomed stimulus would be attended with the worst ef 
fects. This must be done gradually. 
Enervated drunkards will reap much benefit by re- 
moving to the country, if their usual residence is ii 
town. The free air and exercise renovate their en- 
feebled frames ; new scenes are presented to occupj 
their attention; and, the mind being withdrawn from 
former scenes, the chain of past associations is broker 
in two. 
Warm and cold bathing will occasionally be useful, 
according to circumstances. Bitters are not to be re- 
commended, especially if employed under the medium 
of spirits. When there is much debility, chalybeate! 
will prove serviceable. A visit to places where there 
are mineral springs is of use, not only from the waters, 
but from the agreeable society to be met with at sue! 
quarters. The great art of breaking the habit consists 
in managing the drunkard with kindness and address 
This managment must, of course, be modified by the 
events which present themselves, and which will varj 
in different cases. 
Persons residing in tropical climates ought, more 
than others, to avoid intoxicating liquors. It is toe 
much the practice in the West Indies to allay thirst b) 
copious draughts of rum punch. In the East Indies, 
the natives, with great propriety, principally use rice- 
* American Journal of the Medical Sciences, No. IV. 
f See Transylvinia Journal of Medicine and the Associate 
Sciences, for July. An trust, and Sentember,.'.1832. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
ater, (congee;) while the Europeans residing there, 
e in the habit of indulging in Champagne, Madeira, 
id other rich wines, which may in a great measure 
mount for the mortality prevailing among them in 
at region. A fearful demoralization, as well as loss of 
"e, is occasioned among the British troops in the East 
id West Indies, from the cheapness of spiritous liquors, 
hich enables them to indulge in them to excess. 
Since the institution of the recorder’s and supreme 
lurts at Madras,’ says Sir Thomas Hislop, ‘ no less 
Lan thirty-four British soldiers have forfeited their lives 
r murder, and most of them were committed in their 
toxicated moments.’ DrRollo relates, that the 45th 
giment, while stationed in Grenada, lost within a very 
w weeks, twenty-six men out of ninety-six; at a 
me, too, when the island was remarkably healthy. On 
quiry, it was found that the common breakfast of the 
en was raw spirits and pork. It is remarked by Des- 
snnetts, in his medical history of the French army in 
gypt, that, ‘ daily experience demonstrates that almost 
1 the soldiers who indulge in intemperate habits, and 
e attacked with fevers, never recover.’ In countries 
here the solar influence is felt with such force, we 
innot be too temperate. The food should be chiefly 
igetable, and the drink as unirritating as possible. It 
ay be laid down as an axiom, that in these regions, 
ine and ardent spirits are invariably hurtful; not only 
immediately heating the body, but in exposing it to 
;e influence of other diseases.* A great portion of 
e deaths which occur among Europeans in the tro- 
cs, are brought on by excess. Instead of suiting 
teir regimen to the climate, they persist in the habits 
' their own country, without reflecting that what is 
imperatively harmless in one region, is most destruc- 
ve in another. There cannot be a stronger proof of 
lis than the French troops in the West Indies having 
most always suffered less in proportion to their num- 
3rs than the British, who are unquestionably more 
Idicted to intemperance. ‘ I aver, from mv own 
lowledge and custom,’ observes Dr Mosely, 1 as from 
le. custom and observation of others, that those who 
rink nothing but water, are but little affected by the 
imate, and can undergo the greatest fatigue without 
convenience.’f 
It is a common practice in the west of Scotland to 
snd persons who are excessively addicted to drunk- 
mess, to rusticate and learn sobriety on the islands of 
och Lomond. There are, I believe, two islands ap 
ropriated for the purpose, where the convicts meet 
ith due attention, and whatever indulgences their 
iends choose to extend towards them. Whether such 
proceeding is consistent with law, or well adapted to 
iswer the end in view, may be reasonably doubted; 
it of its severity, as a punishment, there can be no 
jestion. It is indeed impossible to inflict any penalty 
pon drunkards so great as that of absolutely debarring 
lem from indulging in liquor. 
In the next chapter, I shall consider the method of 
iring and preventing drunkenness by means of tem- 
srance societies. 
reformation from drunkenness, and improving the whole 
face of society, by introducing a purer morality, and 
banishing the hundred-headed monster, intemperance, 
and all its accompanying vices, from the world. By 
their opponents, they have been ridiculed as visionary 
and impracticable—as, at best, but temporary in their 
influence—as erroneous in many of their leading views 
—as tyrannical, unsocial, and hypocritical. Their 
members are represented as enthusiasts and fanatics ; 
and the more active portion of them,—those who lec- 
ture on the subject, and go about founding societies,— 
traduced as fools or impostors. Such are the various 
views entertained by different minds of temperance soci- 
eties ; but, leaving it to others to argue the point, for 
or against, according to their inclinations, I shall simply 
state what I think myself of these institutions—how far 
they do good or harm—and under what circumstances 
they ought to be thought favourable of, or the reverse. 
Truth generally lies in mediis rebus, and I suspect they 
will not form an exception to the rule. 
Temperance societies proceed upon the belief that 
ardent spirits are, under all circumstances, injurious to 
people in health, and that, therefore, they ought to be 
altogether abandoned. I am anxious to think favour- 
ably of any plan which has for its object the eradication 
of drunkenness ; and shall therefore simply express my 
belief that those societies have done good, and ought 
therefore to be regarded with a favourable eye. That 
they have succeeded, or ever will succeed, in reclaim- 
ing any considerable number of drunkards, I have great 
doubts ; but that they may have the effect of preventing- 
many individuals from becoming drunkards, is exceed- 
ingly probable. If this can be proved,—which I think 
it may without much difficulty,—it follows that they are 
beneficial in their nature, and, consequently, deserving 
of encouragement. That they are wrong in supposing 
ardent spirits invariably hurtful in health, and they are 
also in error in advocating the instant abandonment, in 
all cases, of intoxicating liquors, I have little doubt; 
but that they are correct in their great leading views of 
the pernicious effects of spirits to mankind in general, 
and that their principles, if carried into effect, will pro- 
duce good, is self-evident. Spirits when used in mod- 
eration, cannot be looked upon as pernicious ; nay, in 
certain cases, even in health, they are beneficial and 
necessary. In countries subject to intermittents, it is 
very well known that those who indulge moderately in 
spirits are much less subject to these diseases than the 
strictly abstinent. ‘ At Walcheren it was remarked 
that those officers and soldiers who took schnaps, alias 
drams, in the morning, and smoked, escaped the fever 
which was so destructive to the British troops; and the 
natives generally insisted upon doing so before going 
out in the morning.’* The following anecdote is 
equally in point. ‘ It took place on the Niagara fron- 
tier of Upper Canada, in the year 1813. A British 
regiment, from some accident, was prevented from re- 
ceiving the usual supply of spirits, and in a very short 
time, more than two-thirds of the men were on the sick 
list from ague or dysentery ; while, the very next year, 
on the same ground, and in almost every respect under 
the same circumstances, except that the men had their 
usual allowance of spirits, the sickness was extremely 
trifling. Every person acquainted with the circum- 
stances believed that the diminution of the sick, during 
the latter period, was attributable to the men having 
received the quantity of spirits to which they had been 
habituated.’f Indeed, I am persuaded that while, in 
the tropics, stimulating liquors are highly prejudicial, 
and often occasion, while they never prevent, disease, 
they are frequently of great service in accomplishing 
the latter object in damp foggy countries, especially 
when fatigue, poor diet, agues, dysenteries, and other 
diseases of debility are to be contended against. It. 
t 
TEMPERANQE SOCIETIES. 
CHAPTER XV. 
Much has been said and written of late concerning 
smperance societies. They have been represented by 
leir friends as powerful engines for effecting a total 
:** In warm countries, the acqueous part of the blood loses it- 
df greatly by perspiration ; it must therefore be supplied by a 
ke liquid. Water is there of admirable use ; strong liquors 
ould coagulate the globules of blood that remain after the 
ansuding of the acqueous humour.—Montesquieu, Book xiv. 
/mp. x. 
tf Tropical Diseases, 
* Glasgow Medical Journal, IMo. XV. 
f Ibid. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
91 
lias been stated, and, I believe with much truth, that 
the dystentery which has prevailed so much of late 
among the poorer classes in this country, has been in 
many cases occasioned, and in others aggravated, in 
consequence of the want of spirits, which, from the de- 
pressed state of trade, the working classes are unable 
to procure ; and should this assertion turn out to be 
correct, it follows, that temperance societies, by the 
rigid abstinence urged upon their members, have con- 
tributed to increase the evil. The system is fortified 
against this disorder, as well as various others, by a 
proper use of stimuli; while excess in the indulgence 
of these agents exposes it to the attack of every dis- 
ease, and invariably aggravates the danger. Water is 
unquestionably the natural drink of man, but in the ex- 
isting condition of things, we are no longer in a state 
of nature, and cases consequently often occur wherein 
we must depart from her original principles. There are 
many persons who find a moderate use of spirits neces- 
sary to the enjoyment of health. In these cases it 
would be idle to abandon them. They ought only to 
be given up when their use is not required by the sys- 
tem. That such is the case in a great majority of in- 
stances, must be fully admitted ; and it is to these that 
the principles of temperance societies can be applied 
with advantage. Considering the matter in this light, 
the conclusion we must come to is simply that ardent 
spirits sometimes do good, but much oftener mischief. 
By abandoning them altogether, we escape the mis- 
chief and lose the good. Such is the inevitable effect, 
supposing temperance societies to come into general 
operation. It remains, therefore, with people them- 
selves to determine whether they are capable of using 
spirits only when they are beneficial, and then with a 
due regard to moderation. If they have so little self- 
command, the sooner they connect themselves with 
temperance societies the better. I believe that by a 
moderate indulgence in spirits no man can be injured, 
and that many will often be benefited. It is their 
abuse which renders them a curse rather than a blessing 
to mankind ; and it is with this abuse alone I find fault, 
in the same way as I would object to excess in eating, 
or any other excess. People, therefore, would do well 
to draw a distinction between the proper use and the 
abuse of these stimulants, and regulate themselves 
accordingly. 
Temperance societies, however, though erroneous 
in some of their principles, and injurious as applied to 
particular cases, may be of great use towards society 
in general. Proceeding upon the well-known fact that 
ardent spirits are peculiarly apt to be abused, and 
habitual drunkenness to ensue, they place these agents 
under the ban of total interdiction, and thus arrest the 
march of that baneful evil occasioned by their excessive 
use. So far, therefore, as the individual members of 
these institutions are concerned, a great good is effect- 
ed at the sacrifice of comparatively little. On such 
grounds, I fully admit their beneficial effects, and wish 
them all success. At the same time, many sober per- 
sons would not wish to connect themselves with them, 
for the plain reason—that having never felt any bad 
effects from the small quantity of ardent spirits they 
are in the habit of taking, but, on the contrary, some- 
times been the better for it—they would feel averse to 
come under any obligation to abstain from these liquors 
altogether. Such, I confess, are my own feelings on 
this subject; and in stating them I am fully aware that 
the advocates of the societies will answer—that a man’s 
private inclinations should be sacrificed to public good, 
and that, for the sake of a general example, he should 
abandon that which, though harmless to him, in the 
limited extent to which he indulges in it, is pernicious 
to the mass of mankind. This argument is not with- 
out point, and upon many will tell with good effect, 
though, I believe, people in general will either not 
acknowledge its force, or, at least, refuse to act up to it. 
Temperance societies have had one effect: they 
have lessened the consumption of spiritous liquors to a 
vast extent, and have left that of wines and malt 
liquors undiminished, or rather increased it; for 
although the more strict members avoid even them, 
their use is not interdicted by the rules of the societies. 
By thus diminishing the consumption of spirits, they 
have been the means of shutting up many small public 
houses ; of keeping numerous tradesmen and laborers 
from the tavern; of encouraging such persons to sober 
habits, by recommending coffee instead of strong 
liquor ; and, generally speaking, of promoting industry 
and temperance. 
If a person were disposed to be very censorious, he 
might object to some other things connected with them, 
such as the inconsistency of allowing their members to 
drink wine and malt liquors, while they debar them from 
ardent spirits. They do this on the ground that on the 
two first a man is much less likely to become a drunk- 
ard than upon spirits—a fact which may be fairly ad- 
mitted, but. which, I believe, arises, in some measure, 
from its requiring more money to get drunk upon 
malt liquors and wine than upon spirits. In abandon- 
ing the latter, however, and having recourse to the 
others, it is proper to state, that the person often 
practices a delusion upon himself; for in drinking wine, 
such at least as it is procured in this country, he in re- 
ality consumes a large proportion of pure spirits ; and 
malt liquors contain not only the alcbholic principle ol 
intoxication, but are often sophisticated, as we have 
already seen, with narcotics. I believe that, thougi 
not in the majority of cases, yet in some, spirits ir. 
moderation are better for the system than malt liquors; 
this is especially the case in plethoric and dyspeptic 
subjects. Independently of this, it is much more dif- 
ficult to get rid of the effects of the latter. Much ex- 
ercise is required for this purpose ; and if such is neg- 
lected, and the person is of full habit of body, it woulc 
have been better if he had stuck by his toddy than rur 
the risk of getting overloaded with fat, and dropping 
down in a fit of apoplexy. 
I know several members of the temperance society 
who are practising upon themselves the delusion ir 
question. They shun spirits, but indulge largely ir 
porter—to the extent perhaps of a bottle a-day. No- 
body can deny that by this practice they will suffer s 
great deal more than if they took a tumbler or so o] 
toddy daily ; and the consequences are the more per- 
nicious, because, while indulging in these libations, 
they imagine themselves to be all the while paragons ol 
sobriety. Rather than have permitted such a license 
to their members, temperance societies should have 
proscribed malt liquors as they have done spirits. As 
it is, a person may be a member, and follow the rules 
of the societies, while he is all the time habituating 
himself to drunkenness. These facts, with all my re- 
spect for temperance societies, and firm belief in theii 
utility, I am compelled to mention; and I do so the 
more readily, as there is a large balance of good ir, 
their favour, to overweigh whatever bad may be broughl 
against them. 
But notwithstanding this, the fact that a habit o' 
drunkenness is far more likely to be caused by indulg- 
ing habitually in spirits than in any thing else, is unde- 
niable ; and temperance societies, in lessening the con- 
sumption of spirits, have accomplished a certain good, ir 
so far as they have thus been the means of diminishing! 
to a considerable extent, the vice of drunkenness, ol 
reclaiming a few topers, and preventing many from be- 
coming so who would certainly have fallen into the 
snare, had they not been timely checked by their in- 
fluence and example. 
In conclusion, I have to repeat that I do not agree 
with the societies in considering ardent spirits always 
hurtful in health, or in recommending the instant dis- 
use of liquor in all cases of drunkenness. The reasons ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
yr entertaining my own opinions on these points are 
iven in the work, and they are satisfactory to myself, 
whatever they may be to others. At the same time, I 
ally admit that these institutions may often prove 
minently useful, and that the cases wherein they may 
e injurious to those connected with them, are not 
lany, compared to the mass of good which they are 
apable of effecting. The man, therefore, who feels 
:ie appetite for liquor stealing upon him, cannot adopt 
wiser plan than to connect himself with a body, the 
lembers of which will keep him in countenance in so- 
rietv, and, by their example, perhaps wean him away 
•oin the bottle, and thus arrest him on the road to 
uin.* 
CHAPTER XVI. 
ADVICE TO INVETERATE DRUNKARDS. 
If a man is resolved to continue a drunkard, it may 
here be proper to mention in what manner he can do 
so with least risk to himself. One of the principal rules 
to be observed, not only by him, but by habitually sober 
people, is never to take any inebriating liquor, especial- 
ly spirits, upon an empty stomach. There is no habit 
more common or more destructive than this : it not 
only intoxicates readier than when food has been pre- 
viously taken, but it has a much greater tendency to 
impair the functions of the digestive organs. In addi- 
tion, drunkards should shun raw spirits, which more 
rapidly bring on disease of the stomach, than when 
used in a diluted state. These fluids are safe in pro- 
portion to the state of their dilution ; but to this gene- 
ral rule there is one exception, viz. punch. This, 
though the most diluted form in which they are used, 
is, I suspect, nearly the very worst—not from the 
weakness of the mixture, but from the acid which is 
combined with it. This acid, although for the time 
being, it braces the stomach, and enables it to with- 
stand a greater portion of liquor than it would other- 
wise do, has ultimately the most pernicious effect upon 
this organ—giving rise to thickening of its coats, heart- 
burn, and all the usual distressing phenomena of indi- 
gestion. Other organs, such as the kidneys, also suf- 
fer, and gravelly complaints are apt to be induced. A 
common belief prevails that punch is more salubrious 
than any other spirituous compound, but this is ground- 
ed on erroneous premises. When people sit down to 
drink punch they are not so apt—owing to the great 
length of time which elapses ere such a weak fluid pro- 
• duces intoxication—to be betrayed into excess as when 
indulging in toddy. In this point of view it may be 
said to be less injurious ; but let the same quantity of 
spirits be taken in the form of punch, as in that of grog 
or toddy, and there can be no doubt that in the long 
run the consequences will be far more latal to the con- 
stitution. If we commit a debauch on punch, the bad 
consequences cling much longer to the system than 
those proceeding from a similar debauch upon any oth- 
er combination of ardent spirits. In my opinion, the 
safest way of using those liquids is in the shape of 
grog.* Cold toddy, or a mixture of spirits, cold water 
and sugar, ranks next in the scale of safety ; then warm 
toddy ; then cold punch—and raw spirit is the most 
pernicious of all. 
The malt-liquor drunkard should, as a generla rule, 
prefer porter to strong ale. Herb ale and purl aie very 
pernicious, but the lighter varities, such as small beer 
and home-brewed, are not only harmless but even use- 
ful. The person who indulges in malt liquor should 
take much exercise. If he neglects this, and yields to 
the indolence apt to be induced by these fluids, he be- 
comes fat and stupid, and has a stong tendency to apo- 
plexy, and other diseases of plethora. 
As to the wine-bibber, no directions can be given 
which will prove very satisfactory. The varities of 
wines are so numerous, that any complete estimate of 
their respective powers is here impossible. It may, 
however, be laid down as a general rule, that those 
which are most diuretic, and excite least headach and 
fever are the safest for the constitution. The light 
dry wines, such as Hock, Claret, Burgundy, Bucellas, 
Rhenish, and Hermitage, are, generally speaking, more 
salubrious than the stronger varieties, such as Port, 
Sherry, 6r Madeira. Claret, in particular, is the 
. 
* The following account of temperance societies is by Pro- 
:ssor Edgar, one of their most enthusiastic advocates:— 
‘ Temperance societies direct their chief exertions against the 
se of distilled spirits, conceiving them to be the great "bane of 
re community; but they do not exclude these to introduce other 
itoxicaiing liquors in their room. Their object is to disabuse the 
ublic mind respecting the erroneous opinions and evil practices 
rhich produce and perpetuate intemperance ; and though they 
o not hold it to he sinful to drink wine, yet they are cheerfully 
rilling to accord with the sentiment of inspiration,—‘ It is good 
either to drink wine nor any thing whereby thy brother stum- 
leth, or is offended, or is made weak.’ Were the wine spoken 
f in Scripture alone used in these countries, they do not believe 
tat there would be a necessity for temperance societies ; yet 
ven from such wine, so different from that commonly in use, 
te Scriptures gave them the fullest liberty to refrain. Avoid- 
ig, however, all appearance of rigorous abstinence, they leave 
i every man’s judgment and conscience, how far he shall feel 
imself warranted in the use of fermented liquors, and only in- 
X as their fundamental principle, on an abstinence from distil- 
1 spirits, and a discountenancing of the causes and practices of 
(temperance. Their regulations respect persons in health 
lone ; with the prescriptions of physicians they do not interfere. 
Iven the moderate use of distilled spirits they consider to be in- 
n-ions ; and they call upon their brethren for their owrf sake, 
> renounce it. The great mass of excellences attributed to in- 
dicating liquors, they believe to be fictitious ; and though all 
le virtues attributed to them were real, they are cheerfully wil- 
ng to sacrifice them, while they have the remotest hope of thus 
uttmg off even one of the sources of drunkenness, or arresting 
ne friend or neighbor on the road to ruin. They do not look on 
le use of intoxicating liquors as necessary either to their health 
r happiness ; they do not love them, and therefore, they do not 
fish to represent an abstinence from them as, on their part, a 
reat sacrifice ; and they trust that they only require to he con- 
inced that the good of their brother demands it, to induce them 
» do much more than they have yet done. They know tjiat the 
nly prospect of reformation for the intemperate is immediate 
nd complete abstinence, and they joyfully contribute their in- 
uence and example to save him. They know that the present 
ustoms and practices of the temperate, are now preparing a 
eneration for occupying the room of those who shall soon sleep 
1 drunkards' graves, and it is their earnest wish to exercise 
ach a redeeming influence on the public mind, that should the 
resent race of drunkards refuse to be saved, there may be none 
i fill their place when they are no more. The abstinence of 
te temperate, they are convinced, will accomplish this, and 
tat ■'bstinence it is their business to promote by those means 
fitn which the God of truth has furnished them. They believe 
tat such abstinence, instead of being productive of any injury 
> the community, will greatly benefit it ;■ and already there are 
te fairest prospects of the great objects of such voluntary ab- 
linence being effected, by associations sustaining one another 
1 new habits, to make them reputable and common. They re- 
uire no oaths, no vows ; their bond of obligation is a sense of 
uty, and subscription to their fundamental principle, is merely 
n expression of present conviction and determination. The 
iw of temperance societies, like the Gospel is the law of lib- 
fty—the law which binds to do that which is considered a de- 
ght and a privilege. They look forward to the time as not far 
istant, when the temperate, having withdrawn their support 
•om the trade in ardent spirits, it shall be deserted by ail respec- 
tive men, and shall gradually die away, as premature death 
tins the ranks of drunkards; they trust that the falsehoods by 
rhich temperate men have been cheated into the ordinary use 
f ardent spirits, will soon be completely exposed ; and that full 
(formation and proper feeling being extended, respecting the 
ature and effects of intoxicating liquors they will occupy their 
roper place, and the unnumbered blessings of temperance on 
tdividuals and families, and the whole community, will uni- 
ersally prevail. Not only will temperance societies cut off the 
(sources of drunkenness, but to the reformed drunkard, they 
•ill open a refuge from the tyranny of evil customs, and they 
fill support and encourage him in his new habits. To promote 
tese invaluable objects, they call for the united efforts of all 
imperate men ; they earnestly solicit the assistance of pliysi- 
3ns, of clergymen, of the conductors of public journals, of all 
ten possessing authority and influence ; and by every thing 
tcred and good, they beseech drunkards to turn from the wick- 
Viesa of their wavs and live.' 1 . 
* The origin of the term ‘ grog’ is curious. Before the time 
of Admiral Vernon, rum was given in its raw state to the sea- 
men ; but he ordered it to be diluted, previous to delivery, with 
a certain quantity of water. So incensed were the tars at this 
watering of their favourite liquor, that they nicknamed the Ad- 
miral Old grog, in allusion to a grogram coat which he was in 
habit of wearing : hence the name. _ ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
93 
most wholesome wine that is known. Tokay,* Fron- 
tignac, Malmsey, Vino Tinto, Montifiascone, Canary, 
and other sweet wines, are apt, in consequence of 
their imperfect fermentation, to produce acid upon 
weak stomachs; but in other cases they are delightful 
drinks ; and when there is no tendency to acidity in 
the system, they may be taken with comparative safety 
to a considerable extent. Whenever there is disease, 
attention must be paid to the wines best adapted to 
its particular nature. For instance, in gout, the aces- 
cent wines, such as Hock and Claret, must be avoid- 
ed, and Sherry, or Madeira substituted in their room ; 
and should even this run into the acetous fermentation, 
it must be laid aside, and replaced by weak brandy 
and water. Champagne, except in cases of weak 
digestion, is one of the safest wines that can be 
drunk. Its intoxicating effects are rapid, but exceed- 
ingly transient, and depend partly upon the carbonic 
acid which is evolved from it, and partly upon the 
alcohol which is suspended in this gas, being ap- 
plied rapidly and extensively to a large surface of the 
stomach. 
Drunkards will do well to follow the maxim of the 
facetious Morgan Odoherty, and never mix their 
wines. Whatever wine they commence with, to 
that let them adhere throughout the evening. If 
there be any case where this rule may be transgressed 
with safety, it is perhaps in favour of Claret, a mod- 
erate quantity of which is both pleasant and refresh- 
ing after a course of Port or Madeira. Nor is the 
advice of the same eccentric authority with regard to 
malt liquors, less just or less worthy of observance 
—the toper being recommended to abstain scrupulous- 
ly from such fluids when he means beforehand to ‘ make 
an evening of it,’ and sit long at the bottle. The mix- 
ture, unquestionably, not only disorders the stomach, 
but effectually weakens the ability of the person to 
withstand the forthcoming debauch. 
liquor, there can be no doubt that they are thereby ex- 
posed to risk, and that they would have had a much 
better chance of doing well, if the same quantity of 
milk had been furnished by natural means. If a wo- 
man cannot afford the necessary supply without these 
indulgences, she should give over the infant to some 
one who can, and drop nursing altogether. The only 
cases in which a moderate portion of malt liquor is 
justifiable, are when the milk is deficient, and the nurse 
averse or unable to put another in her place. Here, of 
two evils, we choose the least, and rather give the in- 
fant milk of an inferior quality, than endanger its health, 
by weaning it prematurely, or stinting it of its accus- 
tomed nourishment. 
Connected with this subject is the practice of ad- 
ministering stimulating liquors to children. This habit 
is so common in some parts of Scotland, that infants of 
a few days old are often forced to swallow raw whis- 
key. In like manner, great injury is often inflicted 
upon children by the frequent administration of lauda- 
num, paregoric, Godfrey’s cordial, and other prepara- 
tions of opium. The child in a short time becomes 
pallid, emaciated, and fretful, and is subject to convul- 
sive attacks, and every variety of disorder in the stom- 
ach and bowels. Vomiting, diarrhoea, and other affec- 
tions of the digestive system ensue, and atrophy, fol- 
lowed by death, is too often the consequence. 
An experiment made by Dr Hunter upon two of his 
children, illustrates in a striking manner the pernicious 
effects of even a small portion of intoxicating liquors, 
in persons of that tender age. To one of the childrer 
he gave, every day after dinner, a full glass of Sherry : 
the child was five years of age, and unaccustomed tc 
the use of wine. To the other child, of nearly the 
same age, and equally unused to wine, he gave ar 
orange. In the course of a week, a very marked dif 
ference was perceptible in the pulse, urine, and evacu 
ations from the bowels of the two children. The pulse 
of the first child was raised, the urine high coloured 
and the evacuations destitute of their usual quantity o 
bile. In the other child, no change whatever was pro 
duced. He then reversed the experiment, giving te 
the first the orange, and to the second the wine, am 
the results corresponded : the child who had the orangi 
continued well, and the system of the other got straight 
way into disorder, as in the first experiment. Parent 
should therefore be careful not to allow their youtbfu 
offspring stimulating liquors of any kind, except in case 
of disease, and then only under the guidance of 
medical attendant. The earlier persons are initiatei 
in the use of liquor, the more completely does it gaii 
dominion over them, and the more difficult is the pas 
sion for it to be eradicated. Children naturally disliki 
liquors—a pretty convincing proof that in early life the; 
are totally uncalled for, and that they only beeoim 
agreeable by habit. It is, in general, long before th> 
palate is reconciled to malt liquors ; and most younj 
persons prefer the sweet home-made wines of thei 
own country, to the richer varieties imported fror 
abroad. This shows that the love of such stimulant 
is in a great measure acquired, and also points out th 
necessity of guarding youth as much as possible fror 
the acquisition of so unnatural a taste. 
CHAPTER XVII. 
EFFKCTS OF INTOXICATING AGENTS ON NURSES AND 
CHILDREN. 
Women, especially in a low station, who act as 
nurses, are strongly addicted to the practice of drinking 
porter and ales, for the purpose of augmenttng their 
milk. This very common custom cannot be sufficiently 
deprecated. It is often pernicious to both parties, and 
may lay the foundation of a multitude of diseases in 
the infant. The milk, which ought to be bland and un- 
irritating, acquires certain heating qualities, and be- 
comes deteriorated to a degree of which those unac- 
customed to investigate such matters have little con- 
ception. The child nursed by a drunkard is hardly 
ever healthy. It is, in a particular manner, subject to 
derangements of the digestive organs, or convulsive 
affections. With regard to the latter, Dr Northf re- 
marks, that he has seen them almost instantly removed 
by the child being transferred to a temperate woman. 
I have observed the same thing, not only in convulsive 
cases, but many others. Nor are liquors the only 
agents whose properties are communicable to the nurs- 
ling. It is the same with regard to opium, tobacco, 
and other narcotics. Purgatives transmit their powers 
in a similar manner, so much so, that nothing is more 
common than for the child suckled by a woman who 
has taken physic, to be affected with bowel complaint. 
No woman is qualified to be a nurse, unless strictly so- 
ber ; and though stout children are sometimes reared 
by persons who indulge to a considerable extent in 
* Catherine I. of Russia was intemperately addicted to the use 
of Tokay. She died of dropsy, which complaint was probably i 
brought on by such indulgence. 
X Pfontinol nhaoru'jtinna r»n tKo Pnnvn1sinn« of Tnf»nf<* 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
LIQUORS NOT ALWAYS HURTFUL. 
Though drunkenness is always injurious, it does nc 
follow that a moderate and proper use of those agent 
which produce it is so. These facts have been so full 
illustratated that it is unnecessary to dwell longer upo 
them; and I only allude to them at present for the puj 
pose of showing more fully a few circumstances i 
which all kinds of liuuors mav be indulged in. not on' ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS 
without injury, but with absolute benefit. It is impos- 
sible to deny that in particular situations, as in those of 
hard-wrought sailors and soldiers, a moderate allowance 
is proper. The body, in such cases, would often sink 
under the accumulation of fatigue and cold, if not re- 
cruited by some artificial excitement. In both the 
naval and mercantile service the men are allowed a cer- 
tain quantity of grog, experience having shown the ne- 
cessity of this stimulus in such situations. When 
Captain Bligh and his unfortunate companions were ex- 
posed to those dreadful privations consequent to their 
icing set adrift, in an open boat, by the mutineers of 
he Bounty, the few drops of rum which were occa- 
sionally doled out to each individual, proved of such 
ncalculable service, that, without this providential aid, 
every one must have perished of absolute cold and ex- 
mustion.* The utility of spirits in enabling the frame 
o resist severe cold, I can still farther illustrate by a 
urcumstance personal to myself; and there can be no 
loubt that the experience of every one must have fur- 
lished him with similar examples. I was travelling on 
he top of the Caledonian coach, during an intensely 
cold day, towards the end of November, 1821. We 
eft Inverness at five in the morning, when it was near- 
y pitch dark, and when the thermometer probably 
stood at 18° of Fahr. I was disappointed of an inside 
seat, and was obliged to take one on the top, where 
here were nine outside passengers besides myself, 
nostly sportsmen returning from their campaigns in the 
noors. From being obliged to get up so early, and 
vithout having taken any refreshment, the cold was 
ruly dreadful, and set fear-noughts, fur-caps, and ho- 
iery, alike at defiance. So situated, and whirling 
long at the rate of nearly nine miles an hour, with a 
.een east wind blowing upon us from the snow-covered 
sills, I do not exaggerate when I say, that some of us 
t least owed our lives to ardent spirits. The cold was 
o insufferable, that, on arriving at the first stage, we 
vere nearly frozen to death. Our feet were perfectly 
enumbed, and our hands, fortified as they were with 
varm gloves, little better. Under such circumstances, 
ve all instinctively called for spirits, and took a glass 
ach of raw whiskey, and a little bread. The effect 
vas perfectly magical: heat diffused itself over the sys- 
em, and we continued comparatively warm and com- 
ortable till our arrival at Aviemore Inn, where we 
reakfasted This practice was repeated several times 
uring the journey, and always with the same good ef- 
sct. When at any time the cold became excessive, 
?e had recourse to our dram, which insured us w’armth 
nd comfort for the next twelve or fourteen miles, with- 
ut, on any occasion, producing the slightest feeling 
f intoxication. Nor had the spirits which we took 
ny bad effects either upon the other passengers or 
lyself. On the contrary, we were all, so far as I could 
;arn, much the better of it; nor can there be a doubt, 
rat without spirits, or some other stimulating liquor, 
le consequences of such severe weather would have 
een highly prejudicial to most of us. Some persons 
eny that spirits possess the property of enabling the 
ody to resist cold, but, in the face of such evidence, I 
an never agree with them. That, under these circum- 
tances, they steel the system, at least for a consider- 
ble time, against the effects of a low temperature, I 
m perfectly satisfied. Analogy is in favour of this as- 
srtion, and the experience of every man must prove 
its accuracy. At the same time, I do not mean to de- 
ny that wine or ale might have done the same thing 
equally well, and perhaps with less risk of ulterior con- 
sequences. We had no opportunity of trying their effi- 
cacy in these respects, and were compelled, in self-de- 
fence, to have recourse to what, in common cases 
ought to be shunned, viz. raw spirits. The case was 
an extreme one, and required an extreme remedy; 
such, however, as I would advise no one to have re- 
course to without a similar plea of strong necessity to 
go upon. 
It follows, then, that if spirits are often perverted to 
the worst purposes, and capable of producing the 
greatest calamities, they are also, on particular occa- 
sions, of unquestionable benefit. In many affections, 
both they and wine are of more use than any medicine 
the physician can administer. Wine is indicated in 
various diseases of debility. Whenever there is a 
deficiency of the vital powers, as in the low stages of 
typhus fever, in gangrene, putrid sore throat, and 
generally speaking, whenever weakness, unaccompanied 
by acute inflammation, prevails, it is capable of render- 
ing the most important services. Used in moderation, 
it enables the system to resist the attack of malignant 
and intermittent fevers. It is a promoter of digestion, 
but sometimes produces acidity, in which case, spirits 
are preferable. To assist the digestive process in 
weak stomachs, I sometimes prescribe a tumbler of 
negus or toddy to be taken after dinner, especially if 
the person be of a studious habit, or otherwise em- 
ployed in a sedantary occupation. Such individuals 
are often benefited by the stimulus communicated to 
the frame by these cordials. In diarrhsoa, dysentery, 
cholera, cramps, tremors, and many other diseases, 
both spirits and wine often tell with admirable effect, 
while they are contra-indicated in all inflammatory af- 
fections. Malt liquors also, when used in moderation, 
are often beneficial. Though the drunkenness pro- 
duced by their excessive use is of the most stupifying 
and disgusting kind, yet, when under temperate 
management, and accompanied by sufficient exercise, 
they are more wholesome than either spirits or wine. 
They abound in nourishment, and are well adapted to 
the laboring man, whose food is usually not of a very 
nutritive character. The only regret is, tlrat they 
are much adulterated by narcotics. This renders them 
peculiarly improper for persons of a plethoric habit, 
and also prevents them from being employed in other 
cases where they might be useful. Persons of a spare 
habit of body, are those likely to derive most benefit 
from malt liquors. I often recommend them to delicate 
youths and young girls who are just shooting into 
maturity, and often with the best effect. Lusty, full- 
bodied, plethoric people, should abstain from them, at 
least from porter and strong ale, which are much too 
fattening and nutritious for persons of this description. 
They are also, generally speaking, injurious to indi- 
gestion and bowel complaints, owing to their tendency 
to produce flatulence. In such cases, they yield the 
palm to wine and spirits. It is to be regretted that 
the system of making home-brewed ale, common 
among the English, has made so little progress in 
Scotland. This excellent beverage is free from those 
dangerous combinations employed by the brewers, and 
to the laboring classes in particular, is a most nourish- 
ing and salubrious drink. I fully agree with Sir John 
Sinclair in thinking, that in no respect is the alteration 
in diet more injurious than in substituting ardent spirits 
for ale—the ancient drink of the common people. 
Though an occasional and moderate allowance of 
spirits will often benefit a working man, still the ten- 
dency of people to drink these fluids to excess renders 
even their moderate indulgence often hazardous ; and 
hence, in one respect, the superiority possessed over 
them by malt liquors. 
* ‘ At day-break,’ says Captain Bligh, ‘ I served to every per- 
ma tea-spoonful of rum, our limbs being so much cramped 
tat we could scarcely move them.’ 
‘ Being unusually wet and cold, I served to the people a tea- 
ioonfulof rum each, to enable them to bear with their distres- 
hg situation.’ 
‘ Our situation was miserable : always wet, and suffering cx- 
eme cold in the night, without the least shelter from the weath- 
f. The little rum we had was of the greatest service —when 
tr nights were particularly distressing, I generally served a 
'a-spoonful or two to each person, and it was always joyful 
Mngs when they heard of my intention.’—Family Libraru. ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
little work, liquors of any kind are far less neces- 
sary ; and, till a man gets into the decline of life, they 
are, except under such circumstances as have been de- 
tailed, absolutely useless. When he attains that age, 
he will be the better of a moderate allowance to re- 
cruit the vigor which approaching years steal from the 
frame. For young and middle-aged men, in good cir- 
cumstances and vigorous health, water is the best 
drink ; the food they eat being sufficiently nutritious 
and stimulating without any assistance from liquor. 
For young people, in particular, liquors of all kinds 
are, under common circumstances, not only unneces- 
sary in health, but exceedingly pernicious, even in 
what the world denominate moderate quantities. This 
is especially the case when the habit is daily in- 
dulged in. One of the first physicians in Ireland has 
published his conviction on the result of twenty years’ 
observation—‘ That were ten young men on their twenty- 
first birth day, to begin to drink one glass (equal to two 
ounces) of ardent spirits, or a pint of Port wine or 
Sherry, and were they to drink this supposed moderate 
quantity of strong liquor daily, the lives of eight out 
of the ten would be abridged by twelve or fifteen years.’ 
* An American clergyman,’ says Professor Edgar, ‘ lately 
told me that one of his parishoners was in the habit of 
sending to his son at school a daily allowance of brandy 
and water, before the boy was twelve years of age. 
The consequence was, that his son, before the age of 
seventeen, was a confirmed drunkard, and he is now 
confined in a public hospital.’ The force of this anec- 
dote must come home to every one. Nothing is more 
common, even in the best society, than the practice of 
administering wine, punch, &c., even to children— 
thus not only injuring their health, and predisposing 
them to disease, but laying the foundation for intem- 
perance in their maturer years. 
Having stated thus much, it is not to be inferred that 
I advocate the banishment of liquors of any kind from 
society. Though I believe mankind would be benefit- 
ed upon the whole, were stimulants to be utterly pro- 
scribed, yet, in the present state of things, and know- 
ing the fruitlessness of any such recommendation, I do 
not go the length of urging their total disuse. I only 
would wish to inculcate moderation, and that in its 
proper meaning, and not in the sense too often applied 
to it ; for, in the practice of many, moderation, (si 
called) is intemperance, and perhaps of the most dan 
gerous species, in so far as it becomes a daily practice 
and insinuates itself under a false character, into thi 
habits of life. Men thus indulge habitually, day by day 
not perhaps to the extent of producing any eviden 
effect either upon the body or mind at the time, am 
fancy themselves all the while strictly temperate, whil' 
they are, in reality, undermining their constitution b 
slow degrees—killing themselves by inches, and short 
ening their existence several years. The quantit 
such persons take at a time, is perhaps moderate an 
beneficial, if only occasionally indulged in, but, bein; 
habitually taken, it injures the health, and thus amount 
to actual intemperance. ‘ It is,’ says Dr Beecher, an 
I fully concur with him, ‘ a matter of unwonted cei 
tainty, that habitual tippling is worse than periodic? 
drunkenness. The poor Indian who once a-mont 
drinks himself dead, all but simple breathing, will 011I 
live for years the man who drinks little and often, an 
is not perhaps suspected of intemperance. The us 
of ardent spirits daily as ministering to cheerfulnes 
or bodily vigour, ought to be regarded as intempei 
ance. No person probably ever did or ever will receiv 
ardents spirits into his system once a-day and fortii 
his constitution against its deleterious effects, or e: 
ercise such discretion and self-government, as that th 
quantity will not be increased, and bodily infirmitk 
and mental imbecility be the result ; and, in moi 
than half the instances, inebriation. Nature ma 
hold out long against this sapping and mining of th 
constitution which daily tippling is carrying on, bu 
first, or last, this foe of life will bring to the assau 
enemies of its own formation, before whose powi 
the feeble and the mighty will be alike unable 1 
stand. 
Let those, therefore, who will not abandon liquor 
use them in moderation, and not habitually or day l 
day, unless the health should require it, for cases 
this kind we sometimes do meet with, though by 1 
means so often as many would believe. Abstract 
considered, liquors are not injurious. It is their abu: 
that makes them so, in the same manner as the mo 
wholesome food becomes pernicious when taken to i 
improper excess. 
APPENDIX. 
No. I. 
der, then, that such results should stagger the philos 
pher, who is naturally unwilling to accept any tests 
difference from the nervous system, which elude t! 
ordinary resources of analytical chemistry ; the concl 
s-ion was therefore drawn, that alcohol must necessari 
exist in wine, in a far different condition from that 
which we know it in a separate state, or, in other wore 
that its elements only could exist in the vinous liqu< 
and that their union was determined, and, consequer 
ly, alcohol produced by the action of distillation. Th 
it was the product and not the educt of distillation, w 
an opinion which originated with Rouelle, who asserti 
that alcohol was not completely formed until the ter 
perature was raised to the point of distillation : mo 
lately, the same doctrine was revived and promulgati 
by Fabbronni, in the memoirs of the Florentine Aca 
emy. Gay-Lussac has, however, silenced the clamc 
ous partisans of this theory, by separating the alcoh 
by distillation at the temperature of 660 Fah., and 1 
the aid of a vacuum, it has since been effected at 56' 
besides, it has been shown that by precipitating the d 
Excerpt from Paris' Pharmacologia. 
* The characteristic ingredient of all wines is alco- 
hol, and the quantity of this, and the condition or state 
of combination in which it exists, are the circumstances 
that include all the interesting and disputed points of 
medical inquiry. Daily experience convinces us that 
the same quantity of alcohol, applied to the stomach 
under the form of natural wine, and in a state of mix- 
ture with water, will produce very different effects upon 
the body, and to an extent which it is difficult to com- 
prehend : it has, for instance, been demonstrated that 
Port, Madeira, and Sherry, contain from one-fourth to 
one-fifth of their bulk of alcohol, so that a person who 
takes a bottle of either of them, will thus take nearly 
half a pint of alcohol, or almost a pint of pure brandy ! 
and moreover, that different wines, although of the 
same specific gravity, and consequently containing the 
same absolute proportion of spirit, will be found to vary APPENDIX TO THE ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
fine, by sub-acetate of lead, and then saturating the 
lear liquor with sub-carbonate of potass, the alcohol 
lay be completely separated without any elevation of 
smperature ; and this ingenious expedient, Mr Brande 
as been enabled to construct a table, exhibiting the 
roportions of combined alcohol which exist in the sev- 
il kinds of wine : no doubt, therefore, can remain 
pon this subject, and the fact of the difference of effect, 
roduced by the same bulk of alcohol, when presented 
> the stomach in different states of combination, adds 
nother striking and instructive illustration to those al- 
jady enumerated in the course of this work, of the 
xtraordinary powers of chemical combination in modi- 
ring the activity of substances upon the living system, 
r the present instance, the alcohol is so combined 
ith the extractive matter of the wine, that it is proba- 
ly incapable of exerting its full specific effects upon 
le stomach, before it becomes altered in its properties, 
r, in other words, digested; and this view of the sub- 
ct may be fairly urged in explanation of the reason 
hy the intoxicating effects of the same wine are so 
ible to vary, in degree, in the same individual, from 
ie peculiar state of his digestive organs at the time of 
s potation. Hitherto we have only spoken of pure 
ine, but it is essential to state, that the stronger wines 
Spain, Portugal, and Sicily, are rendered remarkable 
this country by the addition of brandy, and must con- 
iquently contain uncombined alcohol, the proportion of 
hich, however, will not necessarily bear a ratio to the 
quantity added, because, at the period of its admixture, 
a renewed fermentation is produced by the scientific 
vintner, which will assimilate and combine a certain por- 
tion of the foreign spirit with the wine : this manipula- 
tion, in technical language, is called fretting-in. The 
free alcohol may, according to the experiments of Fab- 
broni, be immediately separated by saturating the vinous 
fluid with sub-carbonate of potass, while the combined 
portion will remain undisturbed: in ascertaining the 
fabrication and salubrity of a wine, thfs circumstance 
ought always to constitute a leading feature in the in- 
quiry ; and the tables of Mr Brande would have been 
greatly enhanced in practical value, had the relative 
proportions of uncombined spirit been appreciated in his 
experiments, since it is to this, and not to the combined 
alcohol, that the injurious effects of wine are to be at- 
tributed. ‘ It is well known,’ observes Dr Macculloch, 
‘ that diseases of the liver are the most common, and 
the most formidable of those produced by the use of 
ardent spirits ; it is equally certain that no such disor- 
ders follow the intemperate use of pure wine, however 
long indulged in : to the concealed and unwitting con- 
sumption of spirit, therefore, as contained in the wines 
commonly drunk in this country, is to be attributed the 
excessive prevalence of those hepatic affections, which 
are comparatively little known to our continental neigh- 
bors.’ Thus much is certain, that their ordinary wines 
contain no alcohol but what is disarmed of its virulence 
by the prophylactic energies of combination,’ 
THE END. 
CONTENTS OF THE ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS. 
Page 
CHAPTER I. 
Preliminary Observations, .... 68 
CHAPTER II. 
Causes of Drunkenness, ..... 60 
CHAPTER III. 
Phenomena of Drunkenness, . . j i 61 
CHAPTER IV. 
Drunkenness Modified by Temperament, . 64 
CHAPTER V. 
Drunkenness Modified by the Inebriating Agent, 65 
CHAPTER VI. 
Enumeration of the Less Common Intoxicating 
Agents, 
CHAPTER VH. 
Differences in the Action of Opium and Alcohol, 72 
CHAPTER VIII. 
Physiology of Drunkenenness, ... 73 
CHAPTER IX. 
Method of Curing the fit of Drunkenness, . 74 
' CHAPTER X. 
Pathology of Drunkenness, . . . : 76 
Page 
CHAPTER XI. 
Sleep of Drunkards, 82 
CHAPTER XII. 
Spontaneous Combustion of Drunkards, . 82 
CHAPTER XIII. 
Drunkenness Judicially Considered, . , 85 
CHAPTER XIY. 
Method of Curing the Habit of Drunkenness, 86 
CHAPTER XY. 
Temperance Societies, ..... 90 
CHAPTER XVI. 
Advice to Inveterate Drunkards, . . .j 92 
CHAPTER XVII. 
Effects of Intoxicating Agents on Nurses and 
Children, 98 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
Liquors not always Hurtful 93 
APPENDIX. 
Excerpt from Paris’ Pharmacologia, . . 95