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Temperance in the Home

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 20, 1908

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 85, No. 8.

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Temperance in the Home

By Augusta C. Bainbridge

AUGUSTA C. BAINBRIDGE
“You’re late to-night, Joe,” said mama.
“Yes, and I wish I had been later, and then it would have been over, and I would not have seen it.”
“Why, what was it?” said Nellie, as she smoothed the table-cloth for Joe’s supper at the side-table. “You’re shaking now; what’s the matter?”
“Well, I never saw anybody die before, and it makes me feel queer. I can hardly talk about it.”
“Eat your supper, son,” said papa, “and we will talk about it afterward;” for mama had just brought in a bowl of steaming hot soup.
By the time the bowl was empty, Joe’s color returned to his cheeks, and his steady voice was complimenting the cook. And the cook? Well, she was as smiling as only mothers know how to smile on their big boys.
“This supper just fits,” he said, “and I was wishing for some tomatoes. I wonder how you happened to get them.”
“I remembered a certain young man last year who enjoyed them,” she replied.
“Now, I am ready, father, and I want to know some things, too,” said Joe, as the circle at the table sat waiting.
“It was Hans Schneider, the big man who drives the team of gray horses for the brewery. I missed my note-book, and waited after school to look for it, so I was a little late. They said he watered his horses there every afternoon, but I never saw him before. The bridle and check-rein were tangled, and he stepped on the edge of the trough to fix them, and then jumped to the side-walk. The sidewalk was wet and slippery, and he fell. I was coming down Baker Street, and he did not get up; so I went to help him. Some men came running to him. They tried to get him up, but he could not stand. His eyes were shut. He was trembling all over, and groaning. Then the men carried him into the store. It took four men. They laid him on the floor. In a few minutes a doctor came, but the man was dead. The doctor said it was heart failure. I was so frightened I wanted to run away; and yet I stood there. I am sure I can not see what that strong, healthy-looking man did that made his heart fail in a minute, and he lie dead so quickly,” said Joe, telling his story as connectedly as the exciting subject would allow.
“Hand me that brown book with gilt lettering; it is on the top shelf,” said papa.
“Now find chapter VII, ‘The Heart.’ Read that coarse print and answer my questions. How many times does the heart beat in one day?”
“‘It beats about one hundred thousand times.’”
“What happens if it is made to beat faster?”
“‘It is overworked, and wears out sooner than it should.’”
“That is good; now, turn over two leaves—there, in the center of the page. How does alcohol affect the heart?”
“‘It causes an increased activity, which is followed by depression.’”
“How great an increase has been noted?”
“‘Two ounces of alcohol will increase the heart-beats six thousand in a day.’ O, that must be a drunkard’s portion, indeed!” remarked Joe, after reading.
“No, a daily moderate drinker takes as much each day. How does alcohol quicken the heart’s action?”
“‘The increased heart action is an indirect, and not a direct result. The appearance of stimulation is caused by the depressant action of alcohol on the inhibitory nerve-centers.’ What does that mean, father?”
“Alcohol does not really move the heart itself; but being a narcotic, it affects the inhibitory nerves. These nerves are to the heart what the governor is to the steam-engine. You remember the two little red balls that swing and swing.”
“Indeed I do, and you told me that engines and motors have governors for regulating their speed, and when they are running too fast, these little balls fly apart and so reduce the speed. Whew! what it might mean to some of those big engines to have their governors go wrong!”
“Well, and what would it mean to your heart?”
“It would beat itself to death, I suppose, so it could not drive the blood through the arteries and veins. No wonder a drinking man has heart failure, and I don’t suppose any man could know just when his heart would fail. It would quit when it couldn’t go any more.”
“That is about it, my son. Now look over a few pages further, and read what it says about the continued use of alcohol.”
“‘The continued use of alcohol causes grave changes in the structure of the heart, such as a weakening of the valves, and the fatty degeneration of the muscles.’”
“Yes; now, Joe, you may explain your idea of that to me.”
“Weak valves could not open and close, to let the blood pass or to shut it out; so there would be one danger. And fat is not muscle, so a fat heart would lose its power.”
“That is clear to us all, is it not?” said mama.
“I hope I’ll never see such a sight again as I saw to-day, and I hope none of you ever will,” said Joe, earnestly, as he closed the book. “It makes me feel shivery every time I think of it.”
“Poor fellow! he was on the wrong road,” said mama.
San Francisco, Cal.