scalded with tea, on which, however, he does not much insist.

Of these dreadful effects, some are, perhaps, imaginary, and some may
have another cause. That there is less beauty in the present race of
females, than in those who entered the world with us, all of us are
inclined to think, on whom beauty has ceased to smile; but our fathers
and grandfathers made the same complaint before us; and our posterity
will still find beauties irresistibly powerful.

That the diseases, commonly called nervous, tremours, fits, habitual
depression, and all the maladies which proceed from laxity and debility,
are more frequent than in any former time, is, I believe, true, however
deplorable. But this new race of evils will not be expelled by the
prohibition of tea. This general languor is the effect of general
luxury, of general idleness. If it be most to be found among
tea-drinkers, the reason is, that tea is one of the stated amusements of
the idle and luxurious. The whole mode of life is changed; every kind of
voluntary labour, every exercise that strengthened the nerves, and
hardened the muscles, is fallen into disuse. The inhabitants are crowded
together in populous cities, so that no occasion of life requires much
motion; every one is near to all that he wants; and the rich and
delicate seldom pass from one street to another, but in carriages of
pleasure. Yet we eat and drink, or strive to eat and drink, like the
hunters and huntresses, the farmers and the housewives, of the former
generation; and they that pass ten hours in bed, and eight at cards, and
the greater part of the other six at the table, are taught to impute to
tea all the diseases which a life, unnatural in all its parts, may
chance to bring upon them.

Tea, among the greater part of those who use it most, is drunk in no