Revelry means remorse — And “Katzenjammer” — And other things — Why will ye do it? — The devil in solution — Alcoholism a disease — An accountant on wires — A jumpy journalist — A lot of jolly dogs — What is “Langdebeefe”? — To cure spleen or vapours — Directly opposite effects of alcohol — The best pick-me-up in the world — An anchovy toast — Baltimore egg nogg — Orange quinine — About brandy and soda-water — A Scorcher — Brazil relish — St. Mark’s pick-me-up — A champion bitters — A devilled biscuit — Restorative sandwiches — Fresh air and exercise best of all — Stick to your nerve!

This is a world of compensations. Therefore it is of no use shut-ting our eyes to the fact that for every minute of inju-di-cious, over-estimated revelry, of devotion to the rosy god, passed at night in the best of society, with boon com-pan-ions, we are liable to an hour’s dis-tur-bance, worry, agony of mind, head-ache, remorse of con-science, “jim-jams,” “Kat-zen-jam-mer” (the equiv-a-lent for “hot coppers”)—call it what you will, next day. Some suf-fer for over-indulgence more than others. There be so-called “seasoned casks” who claim that no amount of debauchery can affect them for the worse, as long as the {199} liquor be good, and not swal-lowed too quickly. But, although these may “come up smiling” next day, on making their first public appearance, the col-lapse, the down-fall is only post-poned. With-out being able to explain these things medically, it is certain that Alcohol—which is, as previously explained, the Devil in Solution—will destroy in the end, if you abuse her, although her methods of destruc-tion may dif-fer, according to the capacity, or con-sti-tu-tion, of her victims.

And let not the over-estimator expect any sympathy from the world, or any part of it, whilst he is experiencing the “remorse of conscience” stage. Katzenjammer patients are sternly and forcibly refused admission to any public hospitals, even if in extremis; for mercy, charity, and the medical faculty have refused hitherto to recognize the fact that alcoholism is a disease. And he who is “jumpy” and nervous of a morning has just as much chance of obtaining condolence from friends or relatives as has the casual sufferer from gout. Both disorders are, in fact, excellent provocatives of badinage and laughter.

I remember hearing of an accountant in Cape Town, a hardened and determined “night bird,” a frequenter of hostelries, a boon companion—in short, a sot. He was called as a witness in an intricate case in the High Court, one morning, whilst suffering terribly from nerves. It was heart-rending to watch his agony. His features twitched, his eyes rolled, and his hands shook as though afflicted with palsy on the higher scale. The ledgers which {200} were occasionally handed up to him by the usher, for reference, slipped from his grasp, and documentary testimony flew all over the counsels’ wigs. At length the notice of the judge was attracted to the state of things.

“What is the matter with that witness?” asked his lordship. “Is he trifling with the court?”

“M’lord,” said counsel for the plaintiff, “I am instructed that the witness is what may be called a free-liver, and that it is often necessary for him to swallow a dram in the morning, before proceeding to business. I am also instructed that the witness overslept himself this morning, and had no time to procure the necessary dose, before appearing as a witness before your lordship.”

“Tut, tut!” exclaimed the judge. “This is wasting the time of the court. Let him be removed at once to the waiting-room and dosed with old brandy.”

He was a practical judge; and in five minutes’ time that accountant had pulled himself together.

And an even more painful case than the above is within my memory. A certain newspaper-proprietor was in the habit of paying the weekly wages of his staff himself, each member having to sign a receipt for the reward of merit. The fashion-editor—a hardened libertine—turned up one Saturday, before his chief, absolutely incapable of signing his name, or any part of it. His gait was all right, as was his speech; but the pen slipped through his fingers as though it had been a well-oiled icicle. The {201} chief called the next case, the while some of us poured over-proof rum down the throat of the fashion-editor at an adjacent hostelry. He sub-se-quent-ly trousered his salary, and signed the receipt, sat-is-fac-tor-i-ly, after pleading that he was suffering that morning from “shock.”

The chief looked somewhat incredulous.

“Is he an inebriate?” he asked, as soon as the invalid had left the office.

“Oh! dear no, sir,” replied the acrostic-editor, “he’s almost a teetotaller.”

And the incident was finished.

But what is really the best thing to be done under such sad circumstances? Should the invalid resort to the old remedy, and take at once that “hair of the dog” who bit him overnight? Not invariably. For instance, should British port, or brandy of the desiccated-window-sill (vide a former chapter) have been the causa teterrima of the trouble, nobody, however shaky, would revert to such remedies, the first thing after waking. And frequently it is difficult for the waker to remember which dog it was that assaulted him. I once visited a young friend in his chambers, at the hour of noon, and found him with a sad countenance, seated in an easy-chair faced by a perfect army of assorted bottles. I was about to administer a mild reproof, but he stopped me.

“It’s all right, dear old chappie, I’ve been taking a hair of the dog—you know. But I met such a lot of dogs, jolly dogs too, last night, that I’m hanged if I can remember which of ’em bit me!” {202}

The ancients cooled their coppers, for the most part, with ale, either small or large. And I am led to the belief that cider, or some preparation of apples, was also used as a pick-me-up, if “mel-an-choly vapours”—a complaint for which Gervase Markham specially rec-om-mend-ed cider as a specific—meant the same thing as alcoholic remorse. Search as I may I can find no recipe, no prescription, in old books for “hot coppers.” Can it be that the ancients, who as previously pointed out, were not teetotallers, deceived themselves in protesting before men that they had no sin?

Here is an old recipe headed:
“Against Drunkennesse.

“If you would not be drunke, take the powder of Betany and Coleworts mix’t together; and eat it every morning fasting, as much as will lie on a sixpence, and it will preserve a man from drunkennesse.”

But this is an alleged preventive of the act, and not a chaser of sorrow from the brow of the unwise partaker.

“To quicken a man’s wits,” writes the same Mr. Markham, “spirit and memory, let him take Langdebeefe”—can this mean langue de b?uf?—“which is gathered in June or July, and beating it in a cleane mortar; Let him drinke the juyce thereof with warme water, and he shall finde the benefit.”

Probably the most useful part of this prescription was the warm water; still it can hardly be regarded as a restorative. {203}

Other recipes are before me, for “drawing out bones broken in the head,” and “for the falling of the mould of the head”; but these, apparently, have no concern with the question at issue. But to continue the search—eureka!
“To Cure Spleen or Vapours.

    Take an ounce of the filings of steel, two drachms of gentian sliced, half an ounce of carduns seeds bruised, half a handful of centaury tops; infuse all these in a quart of white wine four days, and drink four spoonfuls of the clear every morning, fasting two hours after it, and walking about.”

This I take to be a bona fide pick-me-up of two hundred years ago; and if “carduns” be the old spelling of “cardamom” ’tis very much the same mixture that the chemist will place in the trembling hand of the over-estimator, enquiring at the same time, “Would you like a lozenge after it, sir?” And the omission of sal volatile or chloric ether in the prescription leads to the belief that those drugs were joys unknown to the reveller of the seventeenth century.

The most aggravating part about the aftermath of revelry is that it takes, just as it likes, directly opposite forms. Two sinners may jump the same stiff course—by this sporting metaphor is meant imbibe the same amount and description of alcohol—after dinner, and, whilst A may wake with a double-breasted headache, a taste of sewage in the mouth, and a tongue as foul and furry as a stoat’s back, B will commence the day with a {204} dr............