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_ labour 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 labour 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