IN

CHAPTER VII.

'N these chapters upon the agricultural labourer, very little more than a general allusion has been made to the personal means of self-improvement and advancement, which every single member of the labouring class possesses. Self-sacrifice and selfdenial have been urged and advised in every way and on every occasion as being absolutely indispensable, and as being able alone to bring about the "best possible condition" of a working life. But these men may say, "What is self-sacrifice? Our life is a long illustration of it. What more is wanted of us? Labour from morn until eve, and frequent short commons, are surely sharp and sufficient thorns in the flesh. What more can be required ?" It is well, then, to go into details. It is better to say plainly, without periphrases or figures of speech, that, as a rule, no man who drinks to excess habitually, or who indulges regularly in strong liquor beyond what is necessary to support his strength, has a chance of materially altering his position and of improving his condition in life. Nothing is of any avail to such a man.

Co-operation will not help him in any way. Migration will benefit him in no degree. He carries his enemy with him wherever he goes. Education will be nullified by alcohol. Gin and beer put out the lamp of knowledge. Emigration will not benefit him, for his soul-absorbing, life-absorbing evil spirit sticks fast to him, like the "Old Man of the Sea." Californian

gold will not abide with him; the luxurious corn crops of the virgin Canadian soil will wave in vain so long as the tempter influences, and his flocks and herds on the fair Queensland runs will increase to no purpose until the demon of drink is cast out. It is of no use giving a drunkard a comfortable cottage, as carelessness, squalor, and dirt will soon render it comfortless. The Lares and Penates proper fly away from such a home, to be succeeded by spirits more familiar to the usurping genius loci.

The drunkard may be known by his home: there is a dreary ghastliness about the place; if the threshold is crossed, the gaunt wife with her wan face seamed with care, and the ragged children with features sharpened by privation, show too plainly the rest of the life drama. However neat, however industrious, however hard she may battle to keep up, the wife of a drunkard invariably degenerates fearfully-she is dragged down to his degraded level. Watching, contumely, brutal usage, hunger, and anguish are too much for her, she cannot fight against starvation. Food for her children is the first consideration; the furniture, utensils, and the clothes disappear gradually to keep the wolf from the door. There are hundreds of homes of this kind in the rural parishes. This is no unreal picture nor a new. The scene is laid in every parish, in every town, everywhere. It has been depicted over and over again. It is feared that this poor painting of it will have but little effect upon the drunkards themselves. So many have been dashed in with more sombre colour by more masterly hands, and still men drink on. Birds soon become accustomed to scarecrows, and drink tends to drown visual as well as mental faculties. Hogarth, who lashed society with his stinging caricatures, was unable to make a lasting impression upon drunkards. His inimitable pictures of "Gin Street" and "Beer Lane," though they even exaggerated the horror, misery, and degradation of drunkenness, failed to "stem the torrent or to stay the tide." George Cruikshank employed

his graphic, pungent pencil for nearly half a century to delineate such sinners and their sins. He gibbeted them in all kinds of ways with consummate skill and with elaboration of torture without much result, for as Shakespeare wrote, "They have taken an enemy into their mouths to steal away their brains," they can realize neither sermons, nor warnings, nor advices, nor threatenings, whether they are preached or painted, written or engraved. Public opinion is probably the only effectual engine that can be used. Mr. Mill says "that no person ought to be punished simply for being drunk," and there is no law to punish such an offence unless he commit a breach of the peace or directly injure any one by his action. Mr. Mill adds with regard to drunkenness and kindred vices, "and as a supplement to the unavoidable imperfection of the law, ought not opinion at least to organize a powerful police against those vices, and visit rigidly with social penalties those who are known to practise them ?"* The outspoken deprecation and condemnation of society can alone reach such offenders, can alone put down their vices. So long as drunkenness is winked at, so long as it is tolerated, it will exist without diminution. All the while persons who get drunk habitually, or even occasionally, are thought good enough and fit to associate upon equal terms with sober and respectable persons, and are allowed to hold posts of trust and responsibility, drunkenness will hold its ground. The abolition of public houses, or any alteration in their advantage and opportunities, would have little or no effect. No preventive measures would be of avail; no closing of public houses either on Sundays or week days would decrease drunkenness. Such a step would be an arbitrary interference with the liberty of the subject, and be practically useless. Drink would be had somehow in spite of laws as stringent as the "Maine Liquor Law." The supply can hardly be cut off. There

*On Liberty, page 145.

is no reason why it should. Sober men are not to suffer and go without their beer, their spirits, or their wine, because there are fuddlers and tipplers. The decent members of society, who require stimulants, who treat them as useful servants, not allowing them to become their masters, are not to be punished on account of the weak-minded wretches who are serving a life-long apprenticeship to the despot of drink.

Doctors say, and experience teaches that some constitutions absolutely require wine, beer, and brandy in this moist, everchanging climate, especially in these latest generations. The Bible authorizes wine in moderation; Burton recommends it as a specific, in his wonderful Anatomy of Melancholy;* and it would be unjust to deprive all persons of a great luxury, or to put difficulties in the way of obtaining it. Prohibitive legislation did not cause the comparative reformation of the upper classes in this respect. Not more than fifty years ago it was the fashion for these classes to drink deeply. The custom was systematic and universal, and had prevailed in a greater or less degree for upwards of a century and a half.†

Noblemen were not the least ashamed to reel and stagger about the streets and clubs, and that they did this frequently and complacently is evidenced by the saying " drunk as a lord," a peculiarly halcyon phase of intoxication coveted by topers to this very day. Statesmen of all grades went down to the House unmistakeably "elevated." Fox was a notorious offender of this sort. · Pitt imbibed large doses of port before he appeared in the arena; and George Townshend's most famous speech was made while he was manifestly much worse than usual for copious libations of

* " 'Amongst this number of cordials and alteratives, I do not find a more present remedy than a cup of wine or strong drink, if it be soberly and opportunely used."-Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.

+ Macaulay has witten of the squires of the seventeenth century, that "the habit of drinking to excess was general."— History of England, vol. i. chap iii,

wine.* Great poets, writers, and even divines were addicted to getting drunk.

Swift, writing of the vices of his time, said, "For instance, any man will tell you he intends to be drunk this evening, or was so last night, with as little ceremony or scruple as he would tell you the time of day ;" and of clergymen "Whoever happens to see a scoundrel in a gown reeling home at midnight (a sight neither frequent nor miraculous), is apt to entertain an ill idea of the whole order, and at the same time to be extremely comforted in his own vice." *

The whole series of dramatic writings just after the Restoration, plainly shows that drunkenness pervaded the higher ranks of society. Congreve, Wycherly, Vanburgh, and Farquhar, have made it clear enough that the return of the "Merrie Monarch" inaugurated a period of licentiousness of all kinds, whose baneful influences poisoned the morality of many succeeding generations. Steele, Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne the inimitable, dissipated clergyman, have testified by their lives, comedies, and novels, that this vice was fiercely and openly rampant in the middle of the eighteenth century. The grave and profoundly learned Dr. Johnson, though it is true that he had many qualms of conscience after his carouses, and was accustomed as he said, "To slink home when he had drunk too much," + fairly and frequently forgot his matutinal resolutions in the congenial company of Goldsmith, Garrick, Boswell, Reynolds, Beauclerk, and Langton, at the "Rainbow." Porson, the great scholar-who knew Greek as it had never been known before by an Englishmandrank very deeply; and he had such a fierce, unquenchable thirst, that if no other more tempting liquid were at hand, he emptied his ink-bottle. Burns, the bard of Scotland, not only drank to

*Life of George Townshend, Orator, Wit, and Statesman, by Percy Fitzgerald, F.S.A.

+ Swift's Project for the Advancement of Religion.

Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. iii., p. 389.