Study and Stimulants

Charles Darwin to P.G. Hamerton

PROFESSOR DARWIN.

I drink a glass of wine daily, and believe I should be better without any, though all doctors urge me to drink wine, as I suffer much from giddiness. I have taken snuff all my life, and regret that I ever acquired the habit, which I have often tried to leave off, and have succeeded for a time. I feel sure that it is a great stimulus and aid in my work. I also daily smoke two little paper cigarettes of Turkish tobacco. This is not a stimulus, but rests me after I have been compelled to talk, with tired memory, more than anything else. I am 73 years old.

CH. DARWIN.

February 9, 1882.

W. BOYD DAWKINS, M. A., F. R. S., F. G. S.

PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY, OWENS COLLEGE, MANCHESTER.

I have received your note asking about the effect of alcohol on my health and work. I cannot say that they influence either; I find, however, that I cannot drink beer when I am using my brain, and, therefore, do not take it when I have anything of importance to think about. I look upon tobacco and alcohol as merely luxuries, and there are no luxuries more dangerous if you take too much of them. I find quinine the best stimulant to thought.

W. BOYD DAWKINS.

February 16, 1882.

The Rev. ALEX. J. D. D’ORSEY, B. D.,

LECTURER ON PUBLIC READING AND SPEAKING AT KING’S COLLEGE, LONDON.

For my own part, I am decidedly averse to the use of tobacco and stimulants. I am myself a total abstainer (not pledged), and I have never smoked in my life. I always do my utmost to dissuade young and old alike to abstain from even the moderate use of tobacco and stimulants, as in the course of a long and laborious life, speaking much and preaching without notes, I have always felt able to grapple with my subject, with pleasure to myself and with profit, I trust, to my hearers.

A. J. D. D’ORSEY.

March 17, 1882.

MR. EDMUND O’DONOVAN,

SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE “DAILY NEWS.”

As far as my experience goes, the use of stimulants enables one at moments of severe bodily exhaustion to make mental efforts of which, but for them, he would be absolutely incapable. For instance, after a long day’s ride in the burning sun across the dry stony wastes of Northern Persia, I have arrived in some wretched, mud-built town, and laid down upon my carpet in the corner of some miserable hovel, utterly worn out by bodily fatigue, mental anxiety, and the worry inseparable from constant association with Eastern servants. It would be necessary to write a long letter to the newspapers before retiring to rest. A judicious use of stimulants has, under such circumstances, not only given me sufficient energy to unpack my writing materials, lie on my face, and propped on both elbows, write for hours by the light of a smoky lamp; but also produced the flow of ideas that previously refused to come out of their mental hiding places, or which presented themselves in a flat and uninteresting form. I consider, then, the use of alcoholic and other stimulation to be conducive to literary labors under circumstances of physical and mental exhaustion; and very often the latter is the normal condition of writers, especially those employed on the press. Perhaps, too, in examining into the nature of some metaphysical and psychological questions the use of alcohol, or some similar stimulant, aids the appreciation of nuances of thought which might otherwise escape the cooler and less excited brain. On the other hand, while traveling in the East during the past few years, and when, as a rule, circumstances precluded the possibility of obtaining stimulants, I found that a robust state of health consequent on an out-door life, made the consumption of alcohol in any shape quite unnecessary. In brief, then, my opinion is, that at a given moment of mental depression or exhaustion, the use of stimulants will restore the mind to a condition of activity and power fully equaling, and in some particular ways, surpassing its normal state. Subsequently to the dying out of the stimulation the brain is left in a still more collapsed situation than before, in other words, must pay the penalty, in the form of an adverse reaction, of having overdrawn its powers, for having, as it were, anticipated its work.

E. O’DONOVAN. Feb. 17, 1882.

PROFESSOR DOWDEN, LL. D.

I distinguish direct and immediate effect of alcohol on the brain from its indirect effect through the general health of the body. I can only speak for myself. I have no doubt that the direct effect of alcohol on me is intellectually injurious. This, however, is true in a certain degree, of everything I eat and drink (except tea). After the smallest meal I am for a while less active mentally. A single glass even of claret I believe injures my power of thinking; but accepting the necessity of regular meals, I do not find that a sparing allowance of light wine adds to the subsequent dullness of mind, and I am disposed to think it is of some slight use physically. From one to two and a half small wine glasses of claret or burgundy is the limit of what I can take—and that only at dinner—without conscious harm. One glass of sherry or port I find every way injurious. Whisky and brandy are to me simply poisons, destroying my power of enjoyment and of thought. Ale I can only drink when very much in the open air. As to tobacco, I have never smoked much, but I can either not smoke, as at present, or go to the limit of two small cigarettes in twenty-four hours. Any good effects of tobacco become with me uncertain in proportion to the frequency of smoking. The good effects are those commonly ascribed to it: it seems to soothe away small worries, and to restore little irritating incidents to their true proportions. On a few occasions I have thought it gave me a mental fillip, and enabled me to start with work I had been pausing over; and it nearly always has the power to produce a pleasant, and perhaps wholesome, retardation of thought—a half unthinking reverie, if one adapts surrounding circumstances to encourage this mood. The only sure brain stimulants with me are plenty of fresh air and tea; but each of these in large quantity produces a kind of intoxication: the intoxication of a great amount of air causing wakefulness, with a delightful confusion of spirits, without the capacity of steady thought; tea intoxication unsettles and enfeebles my will; but then a great dose of tea often does get good work out of me (though I may pay for it afterwards), while alcohol renders all mental work impossible. I have been accustomed to make the effects of tea and wine a mode of separating two types of constitution. I have an artist friend whose brain is livelier after a bottle of Carlowitz, which would stifle my mind, and to him my strong cup of tea would be poison. We are both, I think, of nervous organization, but how differentiated I cannot tell. My pulse goes always rather too quickly; a little emotional disturbance sets it going at an absurdly rapid rate for hours, and extreme physical fatigue follows. My conviction is that no one rule applies to all men, but for men like me alcohol is certainly not necessary, and at best of little use. I have a kindlier feeling towards tobacco, though I am only occasionally a smoker.

P.S.—Since writing the above, I have asked two friends (each an intellectual worker of extraordinary energy) how alcohol affects them. Both agreed that a large dose of alcohol stimulated them intellectually, but that the subsequent physical results were injurious.

E. DOWDEN.

March 3, 1882.

PROFESSOR EDISON.

I think chewing tobacco acts as a good stimulant upon anyone engaged in laborious brain work. Smoking, although pleasant, is too violent in its action; and the same remark applies to alcoholic liquors. I am inclined to think that it is better for intellectual workers to perform their labors at night, as after a very long experience of night work, I find my brain is in better condition at that time, especially for experimental work, and when so engaged I almost invariably chew tobacco as a stimulant.

THOS. A. EDISON, April 4, 1882.

MR. ALEX. J. ELLIS, F. R. S., F. S. A., PRESIDENT OF THE PHILOLOGICAL SOCIETY.

I am 67 ¾. I never took tobacco in any shape or form. For twenty-five years I have taken no sort of stimulant, not even tea or coffee. But for eight years in and amongst these twenty-five, but not part of them, I took a little wine. This is eight years ago. I did not find wine increased my power of work. I have led a working literary life, always occupied, except when obliged to rest from over work. The longest of these rests was three years, from 1849, while I was still drinking wine. It is possible that wine may whip one up a bit for a moment, but I don’t believe in it as a necessity. I am not a teetotaler or temperance man in any way, and my rejection of all stimulants (my strongest drink being milk and much water) is a mere matter of taste.

A. J. ELLIS.

February 22, 1882.

PROFESSOR EVERETT.

In reply to your letter, I have to say that I think all stimulants, whether in the form of alcoholic drinks, tea or coffee, or tobacco, should be very moderately used. For my own part, I have never smoked or snuffed, and my daily allowance of alcoholic drinks is a so-called pint bottle of beer or two glasses of wine. I have more frequently suffered from nervous excitability due to tea or coffee, than from any other kind of stimulant. I can compose best when my brain is coolest and my digestion easiest. I do not believe in artificial stimulus to literary effort.

J. D. EVERETT.

February 22, 1882.

PROFESSOR R. M. FAIRBAIRN,

CHAIRMAN OF THE CONGREGATIONAL UNION OF ENGLAND AND WALES.

I cannot say anything as to the effects of tobacco and alcohol upon the health. I never use either, and so can only say that in my case work has been done without their help. In the absence of data for comparison as to the effects of indulgence and abstinence, it would be foolish in me to express any comparative judgment; but it is only fair to say that so far as I am capable of forming any opinion on the matter, the abstinence has been altogether beneficial.

R. M. FAIRBAIRN.

February 16, 1882.

MR. R. E. FRANCILLON.

It so happens that your question belongs to a class of topics in which I have taken much theoretical interest. For my general views, I cannot do better than refer you to a paper of mine in the Gentleman’s Magazine of March, 1875, called “The Physiology of Authorship;” but I fully agree with you that the settlement of the question can only depend upon the collection of individual experience. I have consciously studied my own, and can state it shortly and plainly. I am a very hard, very regular, and not seldom an excessive worker; and I find that my consumption of tobacco, and my production of work are in ‘almost exact pro-portion, I cannot pretend to guess whether the work demands the tobacco or whether the tobacco stimulates the work; but in my case they are inextricably and, I believe, necessarily combined. When I take a holiday, especially if I spend it in the open air, I scarcely smoke at all; indeed, I find that bodily exercise requires no stimulant of any kind whatever. If I read, I smoke little; but if I produce, tobacco takes the form of a necessity, I believe—for I am indolent by nature, and tobacco seems to me to be the best machine for making work go with the grain that I can find. [Footnote:

The wisdom of occasionally using these various stimulants for intellectual purposes is proved by a single consideration. Each of us has a little cleverness and a great deal of sluggish stupidity. There are certain occasions when we absolutely need the little cleverness that we possess. The orator needs it when he speaks, the poet when he Versifies, but neither cares how stupid he may become when the oration is delivered and the lyric set down on paper. The stimulant serves to bring out the talent when it is wanted, like the wind in the pipes of an organ. “What will it matter if I am even a little duller afterwards?” says the genius; “I can afford to be dull when I have done.” But the truth still remains that there are stimulants and stimulants. Not the nectar of the gods themselves were worth the dash of a wave upon the beach, and the pure cool air of the morning.—

Philip G. Hamerton, in Intellectual Life, p. 21.] I have a very strong suspicion that if I did not smoke (which I find harmless) I should have to conquer really dangerous temptations. As things are, though I am a very moderate wine-drinker (spirits I never touch, and abhor), alcohol, practically speaking, bears no appreciable part in my life’s economy. I believe that to some people tobacco is downright poison; to some, life and health; to the vast majority, including myself, neither one thing nor the other, but simply a comfort or an instrument, or a mere nothing, according to idiosyncrasy.

My general theory is, that bodily labor and exercise need no stimulant at all, or at most very little; but that intellectual, and especially creative, work, when it draws upon the mind beyond a quickly reached point, requires being a non-natural condition non-natural means to keep it going. I cannot call to mind a single case, except that of Goethe, where great mental labor has been carried on without external support of some sort; which seems to imply an instinctive knowledge of how to get more out of the brain machine than is possible under normal conditions. Of course the means must differ more or less in each individual case; and sometimes the owner of a creative brain must decide whether he will let it lie fallow for health’s sake, or whether for work’s sake he will let life and health go. I always insist very strongly upon brain work-beyond an uncertain point-being non-natural, and, therefore, requiring non-natural conditions for its exercise. I can quite believe the feat of the Hungarian officer [Footnote: The surprising endurance of the Hungarian officer, who lately swam a lake in Hungary, a distance of eleven miles, is ascribed to his abstinence from alcohol and tobacco.—Thrift, for February, 1882.] would be impossible to a man who smoked or drank. But I cannot at all believe in that officer’s powers of writing, instead of swimming, with a mind at full stretch, for the half of eleven hours. As to economy, tobacco costs me a good deal; but I look upon it as the investment of so much capital, bearing better interest than any other investment could bear.

R. E. FRANCILLON.

April 4, 1882.

MR. EDWARD A. FREEMAN, D. C. L., LL. D.

I can tell you nothing of the effects of smoking tobacco, having had no experience. I tried once or twice when young, but, finding it nasty, I did not try again. Why people smoke, I have no notion. If I am tired of work, a short sleep sets me up again. I really have nothing to say about alcohol—I have never thought about it. I drink wine like other people, and I find brandy an excellent medicine on occasion. I used to drink beer, but some of the doctors say it is not good for me, and some have recommended whisky instead; but I really have no views on the subject. I have drunk wine and beer, as I have eaten beef and mutton, without any theories one way or another.

E.A. FREEMAN.

October 29, 1882.

MR. F. J. FURNIVALL, M. A.

Though I have no claim to be considered as one of the great thinkers and popular authors, I am a small thinker and a decidedly unpopular author, who has nevertheless done some work, I answer, that I have been a teetotaler since the summer of 1841, when I was 16, and I have never smoked except as a lark at school. I was a Vegetarian for about 25 years. I believe alcohol to be highly detrimental to head work. Tobacco has, I think, done good in only one case that has come under my notice during 40 years; it quieted an excitable man. My father, who was a medical man of wide practice, was very strong against much use of tobacco. He knew two cases of speedy death from the oil in the bowl of a tobacco-pipe being applied to aching teeth. He had several cases of much impaired digestion from smoking.

F. J FURNIVALL.

March 8, 1882.

MR. SAMUEL R. GARDINER, HON. LL. D.

PROFESSOR OF MODERN HISTORY IN KING’S COLLEGE.

In reply to your letter, I beg to say that I never smoked in my life, and don’t intend to begin. I take beer at luncheon and dinner, and occasionally a glass or two of wine, but very often I am four or five days without doing that.

SAMUEL R. GARDINER.

March 9, 1882.

RT. HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M. P.

In answer to your questions, I beg to say that Mr. Gladstone drinks one glass or two of claret at luncheon, the same at dinner, with the addition of a glass of light port. The use of wine to this extent is especially necessary to him at the time of greatest intellectual exertion. Smoking he detests, and he has always abstained from the use of very strong and fiery stimulants.

HERBERT J. GLADSTONE.

November 29, 1882.

MDLLE. H. GREVILLE.

Being a lady, though my nom de plume be a man’s, I have little experience of either alcohol or tobacco. I must fairly say that though claret agrees with my constitution when properly mixed with water, wine without water, and every kind of liqueurs, makes me very ill, especially when taken between my meals, which are only two in number— breakfast at twelve, and dinner at seven. I never use any stimulant. My sleep being scanty, I want sedatives rather than stimulants. I must add, nevertheless, that once or twice in a year, when I felt very tired, and had some work to conclude, especially at night, I happened to smoke one cigarette or Russian papyrus, which revived me promptly, and enabled me to finish my work. If you may be interested in my fashion of working, I may inform you that I work very fast, two hours at once, and then take a rest, or dinner. After resting two hours, I can write two hours again. I write without scratching, or blotting, about 100 lines of any French newspaper feuilleton, not the Temps, which is larger, but the Figuro, or any similar paper, in half-an-hour’s time. I don’t think that any-body could write more quickly; I seldom make any corrections, and never copy my work, which is sent to the printer as I write it. I use no stimulants of any kind, but sometimes eat an orange or two. After working towards midnight, I sometimes feel hungry, but I never eat for fear of spoiling my night’s rest. I lived many years in Russia, and my experience is, that people who smoke too much suffer from their throat. Emile Augrer has been very ill with his stomach, from smoking too many strong cigars. He ceased, and has been completely healed.

H. GREVILLE.

April 28, 1882.

COUNT GUBERNATIS.

In reply to your favor of the 28^th ult., I have the honor to inform you that I do not smoke, because nicotine acts upon my system as a most powerful poison. At the age of ten I had a Havana cigar given me to smoke; after smoking it I fainted and did not come to myself till after a deep sleep, which lasted twenty-four hours. When I was twenty, the third part of a cigar was given me to smoke as a remedy for the toothache. I could not finish it. A cold perspiration attended with vomiting and fainting ensued. I therefore judge from the effects of tobacco upon myself that it cannot be such a benefactor of mankind as people have tried to make it out. I am convinced that in any case, smoking lulls the mind to sleep, and when carried to excess tends to produce stupefaction or idiocy.

Perhaps you are aware that in Little Russia, the people call tobacco the Devil’s herb; and it is related that the devil planted it under the form of an idolater. For my part I am quite prepared to adopt the opinion of the Russian people. Before the time of Peter the Great, smoking was strictly prohibited in Russia.

The Poet Prati sang one day:

Fuma, passagia e medita
E diverrai poeta.

(Smoke, ramble alone and think, and thou will soon become a poet.)

That is what he himself does, but my belief is that owing to the abuse of cigars, he so frequently raves (dotes) and his poetry is often cloudy.

As for alcohol, I take it to be proved beyond all doubt, that when taken in very small quantities it may, in certain cases, do good, but that taken in large quantities it kills. After having burnt the stomach, it deprives it of its power of digestion. I have seen a great many persons begin to use alcoholic beverages in the hope of acquiring tone, and afterwards get so accustomed to their use, that the best Chianti wine passed into their stomach like water. In this case, as in so many other cases, it is a question of measure. Alcohol has a like injurious effect upon the brain as upon the stomach.

I am by no means an authority on the question which you have been good enough to address to me, and can therefore only give you briefly a statement of my own personal experience. Speaking of stimulants, I would mention, for instance, the strange effect produced upon my rather sensitive organism by a single cup of coffee. If I take a cup of coffee at six o’clock in the evening I cannot get to sleep before six in the morning. If I take it at noon I can get to sleep at midnight I know that many people take coffee to keep awake when working through the night. My own opinion is that you cannot work any better with these stimulants. There is a sort of irritation produced by drinking coffee which I do not consider helpful to serious and sustained work. It is possible, however, that works of genius may be produced sometimes in a state of nervous excitement, I suppose when the shattered nerves begin to relax. Manzoni wrote his master pieces when in a state of painful nervous distraction, but alcohol had nothing to do with it; perhaps he had recourse to other stimulants.

(1) When we read that literary producers of any power have gone on working up to the last, even in the near approach of death, we usually find the work done has been of a not unwelcome kind, and often that it has formed part of a long-cherished design. But when the disease of which the sufferer is dying is consumption, or some disease which between paroxysms of pain leaves spaces of ease and rest, it is nothing wonderful that work should be done. Some of the best of Paley’s works were produced under such conditions, and some of the best of Shelley’s. Nor, indeed, is there anything in mere pain which necessarily prevents literary work. The late Mr. T. T. Lynch produced some of his most beautiful writings amid spasms of angina pectoris. This required high moral courage in the writer.... It is a curious, though well-known fact, however, that times of illness, when the eyes swim and the hand shakes, are oftentimes rich in suggestion. If the mind is naturally fertile—if there is stuff in it—the hours of illness are by no means wasted. It is then that the “dreaming power” which counts for so much in literary work often asserts itself most usefully.--The Contemporary Review, vol. 29, p. 946.

(2) When the poet Wordsworth was engaged in composing the “White Doe of Rylstone,” he received a wound in his foot, and he observed that the continuation of his literary labors increased the irritation of the wound; whereas by suspending his work he could diminish it, and absolute mental rest produced perfect cure. In connection with this incident he remarked that poetic excitement, accompanied by protracted labor in composition, always brought on more or less of bodily derangement He preserved himself from permanently injurious consequences by his excellent habit of life.—Hamerton. The Intellectual Life.

I know that certain authors think they can write better when taking artificial stimulants. I do not, however, believe that an artificial irritation of the nerves can have any good effect upon our faculty of apprehension. I am even inclined to think that when we write best, it is not owing to nervous excitement, but rather because our nerves, after a period of extreme irritation, leave us a few moments respite, and it is during these moments the divine spark shines brightly. When creative genius has accomplished its task, the nerves once more relapse into their former irritability and cause us to suffer; but at the time of creation there is a truce of suffering.

I never use any stimulant to help me in my labors; yet when I have been writing works of fiction, for instance my Indian and Roman Plays, I have nearly always been subject to great nervous agitation. When I suffered most from spasms, I had short intervals of freedom from pain, during which I could write, and those around me asked in astonishment how I could, in the midst of such suffering, write scenes that were cheerful, glowing and impassioned.

I have occasionally in my time enjoyed these luminous intervals. I do not know whether those who use alcohol as a stimulant have experienced the same. No doubt they have succeeded in exciting their nervous sensibilities; but I assert that the real work of creative genius is accomplished in the intervals of this perturbation of the nerves which by some is deemed so essential to intellectual labor. When the nerves are excited to the highest pitch, they occasionally suffer, the transitory cessation from which is the divine moment of human creation. It seems to me, however, that this ought to be left to nature, and that every attempt to produce artificial excitement, for the purpose of producing creations of a higher class, is futile and beset with danger.

ANGELO DE GUBERNATIS.

March 4, 1882.

M. L. P. GUENIN,

REVISING STENOGRAPHER TO THE FRENCH SENATE.

I thank you for having asked my opinion upon the effects of tobacco and alcohol on the mind and the health of men who give themselves up to intellectual work; and hasten to comply with your request. I am not a very resolute adversary of tobacco, because I must admit that I smoke, and at home use wine also: but if their use appears useful or agreeable, I ought to add that whenever I have to undertake any long arduous work, and above all, the reproduction of stenographic law or parliamentary reports, of which the copy is required without delay, I then make use of nothing but pure water. I limit myself as to stimulant to the use of coffee, which enables me to pass whole days and nights without feeling any want of sleep and, so to say, without fatigue, notwithstanding the labor of the stenographic translations. As you see, I consider that tobacco and alcohol do not act as stimulants, but rather as narcotics. With me they induce after the first moment of excitement a sort of calm and somnolence altogether incompatible with severe work; and I prefer coffee, always on the condition that as soon as the effort to be accomplished is finished the use of it must cease. I will not invoke the precedents of the celebrated men who have been led to make great use of coffee without impairing their health. It is after many years’ experience that I have acted as I have indicated.

L. P. GUENIN.

March 11, 1582.

DR. WILLIAM GUY.

In answer to your enquiry, I may state the result of my personal experience and observation thus :-1. Alcoholic liquors, when taken in such quantity as to excite the circulation, are unfavorable to all inquiries requiring care and accuracy, but not unfavorable to efforts of the imagination. 2. Tobacco taken in small quantities is not unwholesome in its action on mind or body. When taken in excess it is not easy to define or describe its action, the chief fact relating to it being that it increases the number of the pulse, but lessens the force of the heart. 3. My personal experience of such quantities of wine as two or more glasses of port a day at my age (72) is that it produces no perceptible or measurable effect when taken for, say, three weeks or a month at a time, when compared with the like period of total abstinence. 4. It may be said in favor of temperance or even of extreme abstinence, that some of those men who have done most work in their day—John Howard, Wesley, and Cobbett, for example—have been either very moderate, or decidedly abstemious. But on the other hand, such men as Samuel Johnson, who was a free liver and glutton, and Thackeray, who drank to excess, have also got through a great amount of work.

WILLIAM A. GUY.

Feb. 25, 1882.

PROFESSOR ERNST HAECKEL, JENA.

I find strong coffee very useful in mental work. Of alcohol, I take very little, because I find it of no value as a stimulant. I have never smoked.

E. HAECKEL.

November 4, 1882.

MR. PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON.

I am quite willing to answer your question about tobacco. I used to smoke in moderation, but six years ago, some young friends were staying at my house, and they led me into smoking more in the evenings than I was accustomed to. This brought on disturbed nights and dull mornings; so I gave up smoking altogether—as an experiment—for six months. At the end of that time, I found my general health so much improved, that I determined to make abstinence a permanent rule, and have stuck to my determination ever since, with decided benefit. I shall certainly never resume smoking. I never use any stimulants whatever when writing, and believe the use of them to be most pernicious; indeed, I have seen terrible results from them. When a writer feels dull, the best stimulant is fresh air. Victor Hugo makes a good fire before writing, and then opens the window. I have often found temporary dullness removed by taking a turn out of doors, or simply by adopting Victor Hugo’s plan. I am not a teetotaler, though at various times I have abstained altogether from alcoholic stimulants for considerable periods, feeling better without them. I drink ale to lunch, and wine (Burgundy) to dinner; but never use either between meals, when at home and at work. At one time I did myself harm by drinking tea, but have quite given up both tea and coffee. My breakfast in the morning is a basin of soup, invariably, and nothing else. This is very unusual in England, but not uncommon in France. I find it excellent, as it supports me well through the morning, without any excitement. My notion of the perfect physical condition for intellectual work is that in which the body is well supported without any kind of stimulus to the nervous system. Thanks to the observance of a few simple rules, I enjoy very regular health, with great equality and regularity of working power, so that I get through a great deal without feeling it to be any burden upon me, which is the right state. I never do any brain work after dinner; I dine at seven, and read after, but only in languages that I can read without any trouble, and about subjects that I can read without any trouble, and about subjects that are familiar to me.

P.G. HAMERTON.

February 13, 1882.

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