Part 63

"You can't imagine the delightful agility of the mind under the influence of alcohol."

"The brain works more quickly, more energetically, more freely."

"After drinking a certain amount I can live more in an hour than I could ordinarily in a month," etc. ----

These men who believe that alcohol improves the mind, stimulating it to better effort, constitute a very large class, perhaps the largest class of those who drink to excess.

We wish we could persuade such men that they are mistaken in believing that excessive alcohol feeds the brain.

The man who has drunk too much, and thinks that his mind is working splendidly, might learn something by studying any sort of machinery when the belt slips off the wheel, or the screw of a steamer when the power of the waves throws the screw out of the water.

While the belt is securely attached, doing its works, it turns slowly and monotonously.

While the screw is buried in the water, fighting its way and pushing its load ahead, it turns slowly and laboriously.

When the belt slips off or the screw comes out of the water, the whole thing is changed. The screw whizzes around like lightning.

The belt rattles and dances.

The screw in the water and the machinery doing its work properly are like the sober brain.

The brain that is made abnormal by alcohol is simply the screw out of water, the misplaced machine belt. The brain is no longer connected with the working realities of life. It has lost its balance and its function. It works rapidly and aimlessly. It moves with wonderful swiftness, but it accomplishes nothing.

Let men who drink too much, believing that the action of their minds is improved by drinking, think over this proposition about the machinery and see if there is not something in it to interest them.

How much actual work does this alcoholized brain turn out? What do they actually DO "next day"?

TRY WHISKEY ON YOUR FRIEND'S EYEBALL

Your friend drinks too much, or drinks temperately but unwisely.

You may entreat, or argue, or abuse, or threaten.

You may show your friend the happy home where rum never enters.

You may lead him through the alcoholic ward at Bellevue.

Such sights may produce an impression. But usually they do not.

The man who possesses, indulges and keenly enjoys an overwhelming passion--for drink or any other vice--is rarely moved by your fine talk, for the reason that he believes in his wily soul that you do not know what you are talking about.

Mr. Lecky, in his history of European morals, page 135, volume I., observes:

"That which makes it so difficult for a man of strong, vicious passions to unbosom himself to a naturally virtuous man is not so much the virtue as THE IGNORANCE OF THE LATTER."

You are naturally virtuous. Your drinking friend is naturally and proudly bad. He thinks you do not know what you are talking about when you ask him to give up drink. ----

When you start out to cure a vicious friend by arguing with him, do you ever reflect how little you know what goes on within him? Suppose that in his nerves there is a craving ten thousand times louder and stronger than your most virtuous arguments? What good will those arguments do? No use whispering poetry to a man in a boiler shop. No use humming a love song in a whirlwind.

The poetry, the song, are out of place. Any sort of argument save the most powerful is wasted on a man whose soul is filled with the racket of a dominating passion, such as drink or gambling. ----

Just two things can cure a drunkard--two things, and nothing else on earth.

First, his own cold reason and strength of will.