CHAPTER XVII. THE INFLUENCE OF INTOXICATING AGENTS ON THE MIND. INORDINATE excitement is the result of inordinate arterial action of the brain, and of course, if once established, it is apt to go on as a chronic disease, subject to alternations of activity and exhaustion, with consequent changes in mental manifestation. A certain order, as regards time, in the action of the nervous system, is essential to its orderly employment by the mind, for thoughts and ideas are but as the shifting of scenes in the dramas of the soul. Disease of the brain, and every disorder in the functions of its several parts, whether produced by the state of the blood or the state of the morals, equally interferes with orderly nerve-action, and therefore so far disturbs memory and imagination; hence, in the hurry of excitement, comparison is impaired in proportion to the degree of that excitement. It may amount only to what we call nervousness, or it may proceed to the extent of actual madness. Reason may be startled by the rush of ideas, confounded by a crowd of sensations, or altogether lost in the whirl of thoughts suggested to the soul by the workings of the brain The effects of impure blood on the mental state illustrate the subject, and these are probably best exhibited by the phenomena of intoxication, which will, therefore, be especially worthy our attention. Whatever either excites or depresses the nerve-power, appears, in a proportionate degree, to disturb the equilibrum in which the mind and body best maintain their due influence on each other. Every deviation from this equipoise, whether commencing in the corporeal or mental state, is so far a departure from perfect health. If, however, the animal preponderates over the rational, as when the body is stimulated beyond the proper management of reason, then, of course, the rate and character of enjoyment must be degraded and depraved, and the man thus disordered must for the time become insane. The very individual who, under other circumstances, would delight in the beautiful realities of order and truth, in the right use of his senses, now feels some undefined pleasure in the rude fancies that mingle in confusion before his mental vision. The drunken man is, in short, quite a mad man. The gradual development of this insanity is curious and instructive. The demon to whom he has voluntarily resigned his faculties, slowly, craftily, witchingly stirs his blood, and then takes full possession of his heart, that he may qualify the man for Bedlam and for hell. See the sot with his strong drink before him. He has taken his seat with a determination to be oblivious of his responsibility as a social being, and as an agent of the Almighty, and instead of setting his attention upon subjects that would raise his soul above his sorrows, he empties his glass until sensations excited by the stimulus disorder his nervous system, and break his thoughts and ideas into fragments, like the light of heaven upon an agitated sea. At first he is gratified by the splendid confusion : "He swims in mirth, and fancies he has wings But soon a heavy darkness steals over him, and having forgotten his home and his relationship, and with not a distinct idea left, he looks like a beast that has just satisfied his stomach and has lain down to chew the cud. His eyes stare vacantly into the air, while his features and limbs all lazily partake of that brutal quiet so stupidly expressive of the absence of all possibility of intellectual content. But ere long the stimulus, working mischief within, stirs his brain and blood in a new manner, and he seems to wake up to new perceptions. Objects about him become veiled in a haze, and obscure, bubbling, whispering sounds, as from the boiling of the witches' caldron of infernal abominations, fall on his ear, not to disturb, but to enchant his soul with a horrible spell. The mistiness fuming out from that caldron grows higher and wider, and the serpent sounds thicken and grow louder, until all at once he seems surrounded by a living cloud full of strange forms and faces, at first pleasing as the fancies of a child, and then suddenly twisting into obscene contortions and hideous grimaces, while words of blasphemy and filthy merriment mingle their babble so closely on his ear that they seem to issue out of his own heart, and yet he is not afraid. Imagination is doing its worst work; the deluding devil has him at his mercy now, and according to his temperament he will yield to any temptation that may assail him. He now betrays the secret habits of his mind, and endows his imaginary companions with qualities in keeping with his own fancies. He has voluntarily lost his reason, and therefore both moral and intellectual perception are equally obscured, and he no more distinguishes vice from virtue than truth from falsehood. Thus selfish indulgence invariably terminates in complete stolidity and desolation. Though for a time sentimental, witty, or ingenious, as the natural character may determine, having no more control over his desires than he has over his dreams, the thoughts and language of the drunkard mix the sublime and ridiculous in chaotic confusion; and having just power enough left in his reckless hand to pour another glass, his mad inspiration is at once turned into a mumbling idiocy, and then his brain becoming thoroughly palsied, he falls under the table in a disgusting apoplectic stupor. The habitual drunkard is distinguished not only by the haggard dinginess and lividity of his features, but also by the perpetual obscurity of his mind. Ask him any question beyond the range of his daily drudgery, and he will fumble about in vain endeavours to control his brains, and set them in the order necessary to think and recollect. His ideas are all awry, and his associations all in confusion, for the habit of drunkenness renders the brain always unsteady and unmanageable, ready at the slightest mental effort to fill the man with most miserable sensations, and to haunt him either with direct terrors or with ludicrous images, mocking him into torment; hence his nerves govern him, and his human principles succumb so completely to the temptations of the pothouse, that he can rarely be cured without total abstinence, or by being shut up like a dangerous lunatic. That this term is not too strong we shall see, by observing the nature of that horrible malady which so often torments the habitual drunkard-delirium tremens. The following is a real case, and by no means of the worst character. A working jeweller was the subject; he resided in London, and, of course, his business required sedentary and intense attention. He found but little opportunity, and, in consequence of habitual fatigue, he felt but slight inclination, to take exercise in the air. If on the sabbath he followed the stream along the dusty road, that, after a long journey, brings one in sight of green fields, his heart failed him at some public-house within two miles of his home, and, in spite of his wife's entreaties, he would walk in for a rest, and with three or four little ones around them, there terminate the holy day amidst the debaucheries of the abandoned. Instead of refreshing his soul and body with rest becoming the sabbath, the poor man hurried into drunkenness, and staggered home conscious of his voluntary degradation. The next day would find him less fit for his work, yet he would fix himself manfully to it; but by and by he feels so disordered that he resolves to break away, and not to return to the shop for a few |