You may ply bolts and bars;
you may stop the working of beer-engines and taps; but all will be
futile, for I repeat, that only by asserting power over hearts, souls,
imaginations, can you make any sort of definite resistance to the
awe-striking plague that envenoms the world. With every humility I am
obliged to say that many of the good people who aim at reform do not
know sufficiently well the central facts regarding drink and drinkers.
It is beautiful to watch some placid man who stands up and talks gently
to a gathering of sympathizers. The reposeful face, the reposeful voice,
the refinement, the assured faith of the speaker are comforting; but
when he explains that he has always been an abstainer, I am inclined to
wonder how he can possibly exchange ideas with an alcoholized man. How
_can_ he know where to aim his persuasions with most effect? Can he
really sympathize with the fallen? He has never lived with drunkards or
wastrels; he is apart, like a star, and I half think that he only has a
blurred vision of the things about which he talks so sweetly. He would
be more poignant, and more likely to draw people after him, if he had
living images burned into his consciousness. My own set of pictures all
stand out with ghastly plainness as if they were lit up by streaks of
fire from the Pit.
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