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MEDITATIONS ON DYSPEPSIA.

NO. II. THE CURE.

EDUCATION-education-education! That is the cuckoo-cry which for many a long year has been audible through the breadth and length of the land; and innumerable schoolmasters-noble and ignoble, at home and abroad-have lent the aid of their philanthropic voices to the increment of the general whoop. Honourable members, whose own literary performances would disgrace a drayman, have selected that topic for special elucidation from the hustings, and have rested their claim to the confidence of their countrymen and constituents upon their preternatural zeal for the intellectual enlightenment of the people. Peers, whose acquaintance with Priscian was the reverse of intimate, and whose private studies were rarely extended beyond the scope of the Racing Calendar, have attested from many platforms their ardent aspirations for the general distribution of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Sages and mountebanks, philosophers and impostors, have alike declaimed, harangued, and written upon the subject; probably with the more confidence because they were quite aware that no one would be rash enough to contradict them. And in furtherance of the good work, have we not annual meetings of a society for the promotion of social science, affording glorious opportunity for the ventilation and display of male and female empiricism?

Let it not be supposed that we are base enough to carp at those fine demonstrations of enthusiasm. We, too, are social reformers; but the reforms which we most strenuously advocate are not to be found in any catalogue of the ologies, though they are of the utmost importance as affecting the amenities and promoting the comforts of existence. With all respect for the

authority of the sapient sanhedrim who propose to teach everything to everybody, we opine that a man may pass creditably through this world of ours without any profound knowledge either of algebra or trigonometry; and we cannot reasonably associate political economy with hammering on the anvil, or speculative theology with a diligent plying of the spade. The aim of education is not to make philosophers of the million, but to teach them how they may best perform their duty in their allotted spheres, and to instruct them in the arts which, applied to daily use, ameliorate the condition even of the poorest, and minister materially to their welfare. When the promoters of mechanics' institutes and the like have become fully impressed with the truth of that axiom, and are resolved to shape their course accordingly, then, but not till then, shall we acknowledge the useful character of their labours. Three-fourths, at least, of the lectures announced for delivery at our country towns have reference to subjects utterly unsuited to the comprehension and attainments of the audience to whom they are addressed. They effect no permanent good, for they merely convey a smattering; and they are almost universally calculated to foster that spirit of self-conceit, bordering upon arrogance, of which our beloved countrymen are by nature endowed with a sufficient store. We say advisedly that there is ample room and urgent need for the exertions of lay teachers of a very different stamp and calibre from the peripatetic lecturers who now meander through the towns. Let the attention of the mechanics and artisans be directed to the regulation of their own homes, the improvement of their habits, and the increase of their domestic comforts-let them be exhorted, through

precept and example, to cultivate those humble arts which tend so much to beautify and adorn existence, but without a knowledge of which even comparative wealth can bring no additional happiness-let physical improvement, as is right and proper, precede intellectual culture; and so, in the process of time, shall we escape the reproach of being, with all our boasted education, a slatternly and neglectful people.

It is full time that the truth should be spoken. We in Scotland are, in so far as regards domestic arts, very far behind nations with fewer opportunities of instruction and less absolute means at their command. Not merely the working classes, but a large section of the middle orders, are lamentably deficient in civilisation. Buckle has missed the blot. That humorous rogue, with all the will in the world to be pungent, has gone in the wrong direction. Like the disguised prince in the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, he has expended his pepper upon the cream tarts, and therefore most righteously has he been bastinadoed. He has been pleased to be jocose upon fasts, without in the least degree comprehending the nature of those peculiar observances; but of feasts he has said nothing; wherefore we set him down either as a thorough ignoramus, or as an animal destitute of a palate. Indeed we are rather at a loss to comprehend, from his argument, what significance he attaches to the term civilisation. According to our ideas, the degree of civilisation to which a people has attained is not to be estimated by reference to their religious creed or ritual, or the peculiar form of the government under which they are contented to live. It depends upon their habits, their attainments, their social dispositions and order not upon their church-going propensities, or the method of their interpretation of the law which they acknowledge to be divine. Had Mr Buckle accused the Scots of being backward in civilisation on the

ground of their deficiency in the social arts-had he averred that the people were generally ignorant of the first principles of culinary science that they were slow to adopt those appliances which mainly tend to the preservation of health and comfort that they obstinately disregarded ventilation, and were as sparing in their use of water as if they had to draw it from wells in an arid wilderness,-he would have done good service to the State, and secured a reasonable amount of backing, even though sturdy patriots, who believe in Caledonian perfectability, might have abused him as a southern calumniator. But he has done nothing of the kind. He has elaborately constructed from his own fancy a picture of a gloomy, morose, ill-conditioned, and fanatical people, living in this world under perpetual terror of awful torments in the next, and walking in blind obedience to the dictates of a tyrannising priesthood, who have all the will, though not the power, to renew the horrors of the Inquisition. Such a caricature as this is simply provocative of laughter; and accordingly we requite Mr Buckle for his pains with the guerdon of a hearty guffaw.

But we shall not, through exorbitant fondness for the land that gave us birth, slur over the manifold deficiencies of the people. We are not now compiling a treatise upon the national character. Our subjectan ample one without indulging in digressions-is dyspepsia; but we do not wander from it when we point out what peculiar causes exist among us which engender and aggravate the disease. In a previous article we attempted to sketch the sort of banquet most commonly given, under the guise of hospitable entertainment, by persons of a certain station in society, possessed of comfortable incomes, though not actually endowed with wealth. It will be acknowledged by all who are conversant with domestic economy, that such dinners, whatever may be their quality, are expensive, and that, in point of fact, a much better repast

could have been furnished at a lesser cost. Such is almost invariably the case in households which are indifferently regulated, and where neither the master nor the mistress are competent to the arrangement of a scientific dinner. To those who can afford such a luxury, the services of a good housekeeper are invaluable; but by many families that is unattainable; and the task of selecting the dishes is too often devolved upon the cook, whose ideas in range are as limited as is the kitchen apparatus. But on that score we have nothing to add. Be the faults of such a banquet what they may, at least these cannot be traced to niggardliness, or any purely economical consideration.

Let it, however, be distinctly understood that our description so far is not intended to apply exclusively to Scotland. Our sketch was a general one of the staple British banquet, which all habitual diners-out may examine at leisure, and applaud or condemn as it tallies with or contradicts their experience. The faults of overcrowding, insufficient service, bad selection of viands, indifferent cookery, and the mixture of incongruous wines of inferior quality, are not peculiar to the north alone-nay, we are bound to say that dinners of this sort are, upon the whole, better regulated in Edinburgh than in London. We have noticed them, mainly because we are convinced that a decided improvement, as well as a considerable saving, might be effected, if less regard were paid to ostentation and more to comfort, which, after all, is the thing to be studied by the kindly and hospitable Amphytrion.

We might have said a great deal more on the subject, and extended the scope of our observations to the domestic practice of other classes of the community; but we refrain from doing so, because we feel that we are trenching upon perilous and private ground. All the world over a hearty welcome is held to be a sufficient excuse for any defi

ciencies in the cheer; and base it is to ridicule or criticise the commissariat of the man whose provender you gratuitously devour. But it is quite a different matter when we have to deal with persons whose profession it is to cater for the public entertainment. We need have no scruple whatever in exposing their errors, ignorance, and shortcomings; for they demand a price for all that they furnish, and we are entitled to institute a close reckoning into the value of that which is set before us. We do not deny that we approach this topic with something like a personal feeling, because in the course of the last six weeks we have been more than once treacherously and cruelly betrayed, and our digestive powers, which we had fondly hoped had been restored, by a blessed curative process, to their pristine energy, have been partially disordered by the vile preparations which we have encountered in various hostelries. Again we have felt, though in mitigated measure, the incipient clawings of dyspepsia; and we have shuddered to think how entirely the health and happiness of the lieges may be and often is left without control or responsibility in the hands of ignorant and unscrupulous victuallers. For that most crying evil no remedy can be found, save through the forcible expression of public opinion; and we earnestly entreat every man who knows the value of a sound and healthy stomach, to consider the present state of our inns and lodging-houses with a view to their immediate reformation. Let it be remembered that, in many instances, no choice is left to the traveller. In the remoter districts of the country-indeed everywhere out of the large towns-inns are few and far between, and so far from there being any kind of competition for custom, the wayfaring man is often glad to avail himself of the merest apology for a shelter. That is no doubt inconvenient; still it affords no reasonable ground for complaint. We can

not expect to find well-furnished and commodious hotels in places which are little frequented during the greater part of the year; and after all it is no great hardship to be lodged for a night or so in an attic, provided the bed is clean, the roof watertight, and the window-sash movable so as to admit the current of the air. But we have a right to expect that the food set before us shall be at least wholesome of its kind, and that the beverage which the host undertakes to supply, and for which he charges an unconscionable price, shall not be of the nature of poison. Luxuries we do not demand; neither do we expect that the bill of fare shall extend over the whole range of the animal and vegetable kingdom. We do, however, expect to see placed upon the board such viands as are attainable within the district, and that they shall be so dressed as neither to excite disgust nor to occasion subsequent ailment. It would be in vain to ransack the cellar for rare or curious vintages, but we are entitled to expect that the landlord, if he professes to keep any sort of wine, shall supply us with decent port and sherry, or otherwise that his ale shall be good and his whisky wholly unexceptionable. In a word, we look for Christian treatment at the hands of a man who charges hotel prices for admittedly inferior accommodation.

Vain, alas, in the great majority of cases, is that hope and expectation! Go to a country inn, either in the Lowlands or the Highlands, and the odds are that they set before you such a dinner as even Ugolino in the extremity of his famine would have hesitated to attack. Fish, by some singular dispensation of Providence, is never to be had, especially at the seaports, except during the salmon and herring season, when you can get nothing else, and your gorge rises at the repetition. If you are so far left to yourself as to order a beefsteak, be sure that it will prove as tough as the bullhide on the shield of Ajax. The mutton that

is served up to you at five, formed this morning part of the corporation of a highly respectable ram, who took his last nibble of the clover just as you were stepping into the boat after breakfast. It was not the early carol of the lark, but the death - skraigh of those wretched anatomies of chickens, that roused you from your morning slumbers. But we shall not continue the picture, charged as it is with horrors. Where the absolute means are wanting, no one would be so unreasonable as to cavil at scanty fare; but in a country where the supplies are abundant, such miserable preparation, or rather lack of it, is wholly inexcusable, and more than justifies the taunts which, even now, are launched against Scottish entertainment. Great as has been the national progress in many material respects during the last fifty or sixty years, we question if the condition of the country inns is one whit better now than it was when Samuel Johnson made his famous pilgrimage. Worse cookery, we venture to say, is to be found nowhere in Europe; and we speak after a tolerably long and wide cosmopolitan experience. There is not an auberge or gasthaus in the most sequestered districts of France or Germany in which you will not be far better served than in a Scottish inn of much loftier pretensionsnot because their supply is better, or indeed nearly so good, but because the foreign women know how to cook, and take a pride and pleasure in their vocation. English wayside cooking has, no doubt, its assailable points, but for comfort and cleanliness commend us to an English inn. The choice may not be great, but what is produced is almost always perfect of its kind. The bread, the butter, the home-brewed, the eggs, and the bacon, would of themselves constitute a banquet that might have pleased the palate of Apicius; and all are set down with a neatness and taste that absolutely gives a fillip to the appetite; whereas, with us, there is scarce a perceptible zone

between luxury and absolute sordidness. These are harsh words, but will any one venture to impugn them? Let us see. We are writing these lines in Edinburgh, a city of luxury, wherein, at a hundred houses of common resort, you may command the best entertainment. For culinary excellence and refinement, we are proud to say that it is not surpassed by any capital in Europe. But pass beyond its environs-go out some six or seven miles into the country, for a drive, or for the inspection of any of the scenes rendered classical by the muse or by the relics of the olden time-order dinner to be prepared at the inn where your horses must necessarily be baited-and, our life for yours, the result will be that you never will renew the experiment. There is not far from this city one of the most perfectly exquisite specimens of medieval art in the form of a chapel that anywhere exists. It is situated in the midst of scenery of surpassing beauty, and a long summer's day would scarce serve to weary the enthusiastic tourist. No stranger coming to Scotland, at any period of the year, departs without having visited it. A commodious hotel there might make the fortune of the proprietor; whereas, as matters are now arranged, you could hardly be more indifferently victualled at Leadburn or the Kirk of Shotts.

As already stated, we write feelingly, because we have recently endured some hours of excruciating agony in consequence of having incautiously accepted an invitation to assist at a Presbytery dinner. A more agreeable set of men than were assembled on that occasion you could hardly hope to meet with; but had the mistress of the inn been the mother of four unplaced probationers, she could not have exerted herself more strenuously to make vacancies throughout the bounds. Over the enormity of that woman's cookery we shall charitably throw a veil; nor do more than chronicle our disgust at finding the following notice

appended to a detailed report of the proceedings in a local newspaper: "The dinner was supplied by Mrs M'Pushion in her usual style of excellence, and appeared to give universal satisfaction." Universal satisfaction! Why, a South Sea Islander would have turned from the ghastly banquet with abhorrence; and the famous Celtic caddy who felt no inconvenience from swallowing a dram of aquafortis, would have sputtered like a wild-cat had he tasted the abominable fluids that were circulated in the dirty decanters.

Let no man, therefore, however sound may be his digestion, flatter himself that he can pass through life without occasionally experiencing symptoms akin to dyspepsia. The modes of poisoning are manifold; and twelve bad meals taken in succession may cut short your career as effectually as a dose of arsenic. Men are not at all times "masters of their fate." Eating is an absolute necessity; but you cannot always control the quality of the food.

We have been shut up for a whole week in a lodging-house, subsisting upon rations far less wholesome than those served out to the convicts in a jail, and the consequence has been an attack of acidity that has made us wretched for a month. It is easy to suggest that a man placed in such circumstances might prolong existence by confining himself to bread, butter, and cheese. The idea is plausible; but how if the bread is sour, the butter rancid, and the cheese like gutta percha? But, you will say, how is it that, if the diet be so bad, the natives do not suffer? Don't they? Inquire after their health, and you will find that four out of five are afflicted with stomachic torments. Go into the shop in a small town where drugs are vended along with stay-laces, Birmingham jewellery, and cheap railway novels, and you will find on the counter half-a-dozen different kinds of pills warranted to be specific for dyspepsia. Bushels of these are annually swallowed by people who ought to enjoy the very

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