Would any mother like to
see her favourite among that hateful crowd? I do not think that mothers
rightly know the sort of places which their darlings enter; I do not
think they guess the kind of language which the youths hear when the
chimes sound at midnight; they do not know the intricacies of a society
which half encourages callow beings to drink, and then kicks them into
the gutter if the drink takes hold effectually. The kindly, seemly woman
remains at home in her drawing-room, papa slumbers if he is one of the
stay-at-home sort; but Gerald, and Sidney, and Alfred are out in the
drink-shop hearing talk fit to make Rabelais turn queasy, or they are in
the billiard-room learning to spell "ruin" with all convenient speed, or
perhaps they have "copped it"--that is the correct phrase--rather early,
and they are swaggering along, shadowed by some creature--half girl,
half tiger-cat--who will bring them up in good time. If the women knew
enough, I sometimes think they would make a combined, nightly raid on
the boozing-bars, and bring their lads out.
Some hard-headed fellows may think that there is something grandmotherly
in the regrets which I utter over the cesspool in which so many of our
middle-class seem able to wallow without suffering asphyxia; but I am
only mournful because I have seen the plight of so many and many after
their dip in the sinister depths of the pool.
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