THE START—MOMBASA TO TAITA. 
53 
had passed my lips I was a poor, despondent creature 
of the earth, earthy, and tied to the base soil by 
physical fatigue and mental prostration; but no 
sooner had the sparkling wine entered my system 
than X was transfigured, transformed. My fever-dried 
skin broke out into grateful perspiration, the fitful 
pulse resumed a brisk and regular beat—no fainting 
now. X felt ready to march anywhere, and my 
blistered and ulcerated feet pained me no more. X 
ate my evening meal in a sort of tranquil ecstasy, and 
afterwards undressed dreamily, and steeped all my 
cares in the Lethe of sleep. And a cupful of cham¬ 
pagne on an empty stomach had sufficed to work this 
happy change! 
In case there are some of my readers whom this 
rhapsody (copied almost word for word from my 
diary) may offend, let them understand that I am 
singing the praises of champagne as a medicine , not 
as a customary drink. No one can inveigh more 
strenuously than X against the daily or even frequent 
use of alcoholic drinks in a hot climate. X believe that 
in Africa, as a general rule, and under ordinary cir¬ 
cumstances, a man may with benefit to himself abstain 
totally from the use of wine, beer, or spirits. But, 
for the very reason that he rarely indulges in strong 
drink, when he does find himself in a state of physical 
or mental prostration, especially ensuing from attacks 
of fever, there is no more certain tonic than a little 
good champagne. X have seen cases in Africa, Bast 
and West, where a cupful of champagne administered 
at an apparently hopeless juncture has snatched a 
man from a sinking condition, and brought him back 
to life. X only took a dozen of champagne—and no 
other wine—with me to Kilima-njaro, and of this 
