side of us with the powers which our brains develop, and are happy or unhappy according as we feel our superiority or otherwise. Just how much does alcohol interfere in this balance of powers? It clearly can not lessen the power of outside influences which harm us; it can as clearly not increase our own powers in so far as they enter into this conflict with the outside world—it rather makes us less skillful and able. What can it do, then? It can deceive us. It dulls our appreciation of powers outside of us until they seem so much smaller that we are sure we can conquer them, and so we gain a feeling of satisfaction. Nine tenths of those who take strong drink seek this feeling in alcohol. This is their "refreshing" at eventide, their "rest from the day's cares," their forgetfulness of sorrows; but it rests upon a deceit, and at the least trial falls into ruin. He who to-day forgets is not any stronger to-morrow, and so is constantly tempted to a new appeal to his false friend until his senses are so dulled that every duty is forgotten. His holiest interests are but shadows and mist before his eyes, and he knows nothing more but thirst for the deceitful drink. Even the defenders of alcohol at last call a halt; but they have forgotten that the first steps are much more easily undone than the later ones, when the brain has in a measure lost its power to control. They do not forget through malice, but because they have not rightly understood the physiological effect of alcohol.
And the poor drinkers say: "There is so much misery in the world, and we must have now and then a care-free hour; therefore we drink. What will you give us in place of drink?" Is the argument true? Is the future of mankind really so hopeless, and does life offer nothing to the man who refuses alcohol instead of the forgetfulness which alcohol brings? I believe that in this respect the attitude of men toward this problem has very much changed. Has not the newly awakened appreciation of Nature in this century revealed a new source of joy which our forefathers did not know? Who ever could have known formerly that a glimpse of the Alps or the raging sea could give pleasure which really makes strong and furnishes recompense for trouble and trials? Our new insight into the secrets of Nature, the general dissemination of art so that even the masses may enjoy its works, these are worth more to alleviate care than anything known of old. But it comes so slowly, some say. It takes the masses so long to acquire the power to appreciate these things. But why? Because they spend their leisure hours in seeking the stupor and forgetfulness which alcohol brings, and so have no time to discover beauty anywhere; also because so many have dulled their senses until they have no power to appreciate, and because alcohol has really made the sum of misery larger. That this is true is conclusively proved in communities where alcohol is not used
