effect upon the body, and the influence upon the brain and nerves, which have been the irresistible attractions of alcohol for men, women, and children in all ages. The Aryans could not conceive of Indra’s performing any great action unless he was inebriated, because alcohol inspired them (his worshippers) with artificial valour. “Wine banishes fear,” said the ancient Rabbins. Homer makes his hero speak of “——twelve large vessels of unmingled wine, Mellifluous, undecaying, and divine,”[374] which Maron had kept “some ages” in his cellar. Pliny, the foe of intemperance, says of wine, that “it causes a feeling of warmth” in the body, and he extols its moderate use. “Brandy,” said a Red Indian, “is made of tongues and hearts, for when I have drunk of it, I fear nothing, and I talk like an angel.” And that is precisely the sensation which is experienced by a modern pothouse orator whilst he is spouting to a small circle of admirers in the bar-parlour, or by the more ambitious politician who flourishes in the face of a bewildered continent a sanguinary manifesto under the exhilarating influences of a civic feast. Even the savages of civilised life do not love the drink for its taste alone. “Please God! I’ll be like him in an hour,” says the still sober navvy as he sees his intoxicated comrade reel past, whilst he is waiting at the contractor’s gate for the payment of his week’s wages. When, in addition to its physiological and mental effects, the liquor itself is sweet and aromatic, as in certain wines, or when the process of fermentation has been checked and a sparkling effervescence is superadded, making it pleasant also to the taste and smell, it is no wonder that its influence should be so irresistible, and that it should entice so many from the path of duty. It “drives dull care away,” the anxious man will tell us, and if it be only for the time, he is content to seek refuge in his cup from the cares of life. It “warms the heart of man,” and makes that one generous and open-hearted who is otherwise niggard and reserved. He may be meaner afterwards for having forgotten himself in a moment of exhilaration, but that only renders his fits of inebriate generosity the more conspicuous. If not itself a food, it often takes its place where suitable nourishment is wanting, and it would be rank hypocrisy to deny that a bottle of port-wine has brought health and comfort to many a poor man’s home. And finally, it has been a bond of union in all ages between those who have been misnamed “good fellows,” amongst whom— “Wit’s electric flame Ne’er so swiftly passes, As when through the frame It shoots from brimming glasses.”[375]