The Chancellors of the Exchequer gaily repeat the significant
figures which give the revenue from alcohol; the optimist says that
times are mending; the comfortable gentry who mount the pulpits do not
generally care to ruffle the fine dames by talking about unpleasant
things--and all the while the curse is gaining, and the betting,
scoffing, degraded crew of drinkers are sliding merrily to destruction.
Some are able to keep on the slide longer than others, but I have seen
scores--hundreds--stop miserably, and the very faces of the condemned
men, with the last embruted look on them, are before me. My subject has
so many thousands of facets that I am compelled to select a few of the
most striking. Take one scene through which I sat not very long ago, and
then you may understand how far the coming regenerator will have to go.
A great room was filled by about 350 men and lads, all of the middle
class; a concert was going on, and I was a little curious to know the
kind of entertainment which the well-dressed company liked. Of course
there was drink in plenty, and the staff of waiters had a busy time; a
loud crash of talk went on between the songs, and, as the drink gathered
power on excited brains, this crash grew more and more discordant.
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