CHAPTER. III.--On Temperance.

"I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly; but I've a blessed mind to turn

her out!"

Armed with the authority and example of loyalty, for even that renowned

monarch--Old King Cole--was diurnally want to call for

"His pipe and his glass"

and induced by the poetical strains of many a bard, from the classic

Anacreon to those of more modern times, who have celebrated the virtue of

"Wine, mighty wine!"

it is not to be marvelled at, that men's minds have fallen victims to the

fascinations of the juice of the purple grape, or yielded to the alluring

temptations of the 'evil spirit.'

It is a lamentable truth, that notwithstanding the laudable and wholesome

exertions and admonitions of the Temperance and Tee-total Societies, that

the people of the United Kingdom are grievously addicted to an excessive

imbibation of spirituous liquors, cordials, and compounds.

Although six-bottle men are now regarded as monstrosities, and drinking

parties are nearly exploded, tippling and dram-drinking among the lower

orders are perhaps more indulged in than ever.

The gilded and gorgeous temples--devoted to the worship of the

reeling-goddess GENEVA--blaze forth in every quarter of the vast

metropolis.

Is it matter of wonder, then, that while men of superior intellect and

education are still weak enough to seek excitement in vinous potations,

that the vulgar, poor, and destitute, should endeavour to drown their

sorrows by swallowing the liquid fires displayed under various names, by

the wily priests of Silenus!

That such a deduction is illogical we are well aware, but great examples

are plausible excuses to little minds.

Both my parents were naturally inclined to sobriety; but, unfortunately,

and as it too frequently happens, in low and crowded neighbourhoods,

drunkenness is as contagious as the small-pox, or any other destructive

malady.

Now, it chanced that in the first-floor of the house in which we dwelt,

there also resided one Stubbs and his wife. They had neither chick nor

child. Stubbs was a tailor by trade, and being a first-rate workman,

earned weekly a considerable sum; but, like too many of his fraternity,

he was seldom sober from Saturday night until Wednesday morning. His

loving spouse 'rowed in the same boat'--and the 'little green-bottle' was

dispatched several times during the days of their Saturnalia, to be

replenished at the never-failing fountain of the 'Shepherd and Flock.'

Unhappily, in one of her maudlin fits, Mrs. Stubbs took a particular

fancy to my mother; and one day, in the absence of the 'ninth,' beckoned

my unsuspecting parent into her sittingroom,--and after gratuitously

imparting to her the hum-drum history of her domestic squabbles, invited

her to take a 'drop o' summat'--to keep up her I sperrits.'

Alas! this was the first step--and she went on, and on, and on, until

that which at first she loathed became no longer disagreeable, and by

degrees grew into a craving that was irresistible;--and, at last, she

regularly hob-and-nobb'd' with the disconsolate rib of Stubbs, and shared

alike in all her troubles and her liquor.

Fain would I draw a veil over this frailty of my unfortunate parent; but,

being conscious that veracity is the very soul and essence of history, I

feel myself imperatively called upon neither to disguise nor to cancel

the truth.

My father remonstrated in vain-the passion had already taken too deep a

hold; and one day he was suddenly summoned from his work with the

startling information, that 'Mother Mullins'--(so the kind neighbour

phrased it) was sitting on the step of a public house, in the suburbs,

completely 'tosticated.'

He rushed out, and found the tale too true. A bricklayer in the

neighbourhood proposed the loan of his barrow, for the poor senseless

creature could not walk a step. Placing her in the one-wheel-carriage,

he made the best of his way home, amid the jeers of the multitude.

Moorfields was then only partially covered with houses; and as he passed

a deep hollow, on the side of which was placed a notice, intimating that

"RUBBISH MAY BE SHOT HERE!"

his eyes caught the words, and in the bitterness of his heart he

exclaimed--

"I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly; but I've a blessed mind to turn

her out!"

Sketches by Seymour — Volume 05 · 第 3 / 16 章