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has been well borne. In Ireland five principal towns are exempted, and the representatives of the working classes have strongly protested against the proposed inclusion of these towns. In Scotland the people are very strong Sabbatarians, and previous to 1828 they were accustomed to Sunday closing under the common law; yet the measure gave great trouble in Glasgow for many years. In Wales, also far more Sabbatarian than England, it has given much trouble in Cardiff and is still strongly resented by a section of the people. A sanguine mind may overlook these facts in contemplating the general success of Sunday closing, but they have a serious significance for the chances of its acceptance in England, with her great industrial districts and vast urban populations, whose views, habits, and temper differentiate them strongly from the Celtic sections of the kingdom. The English are drinkers of draught beer and they like to have it fresh. They have been accustomed to have it so for centuries, and the privilege is dear to them, especially on Sundays. The Scotsman and the Irishman can have a bottle of whisky to tide them over the day, and the Welshman has his own way of spending Sunday; but the Englishman wants the pot of beer that his soul loves. Now he is law-abiding so long as he has what he considers his rights, but touch them and he becomes the most rebellious, stubborn, and intractable creature in existence. He has freedom in his bones, as no other man has. The Celt is different; he is more used to submit

and comparatively docile, outwardly at least in the presence of force; he will stand compulsion in personal matters, and so will other races; but the Englishman will not. It merely arouses an infinite determination to resist. If you can persuade him that he is better without his Sunday beer, he will give it up; but so long as he sees no harm in it, the attempt to take it from him against his will would be a most hazardous experiment. I do not know how those who advocate it have arrived at the opinion that the step would be acceptable. They may be right, but that was not the opinion of several witnesses before the Royal Commission who were familiar with the habits of the people, and my own observation coincides with theirs. rate it will be generally conceded that total Sunday closing would be a more violent and risky interference with long-established habits than earlier closing at night in the week, and less effective in preventing drunkenness.

At any

The foregoing suggestions do not pretend to exhaust the subject; there are other details which might be dealt with on the same lines. Nor are they put forward as a comprehensive programme, but rather to illustrate the spirit in which practical and effective legislation should be approached. The main thing is to aim at a definite and attainable object-pick out a bird within range and eschew speculative shots in the hope of hitting something. The only thing they hit is a beater.

CHAPTER IX

THE ENGLISH PUBLIC-HOUSE

THE publican's is not a nice trade, and the average public-house is not a nice place; at the worst it is horrible. But to do the publican justice, the fault is less often on his than on the other side of the bar. It is the customers that make the place so detestable; they would make any place detestable. I am sure that many publicans would never have gone into the business if they had known what they would have to contend with. I have been in publichouses in bad parts of London, and have seen the landlord in a state of obvious terror, vainly endeavouring with all his might to keep order among his customers, who were not drunk, merely brutal. I know other large public-houses, enormously frequented, where perfect order is maintained, but only by sheer force, instantly and ruthlessly applied. Such large houses can afford to keep a strong force on hand. The customers know it and very rarely give occasion for its exercise; but though quiet and orderly, the place is repellent by reason of the demeanour of the people, who do not show to advantage when enjoying themselves together.

Taken alone I have not the slightest doubt that each individual would appear very different; all sorts of good qualities-qualities that make one ashamed of oneself-are often hidden under the most degraded exterior-extraordinary kindness and self-sacrifice, for instance; but company has the singular effect of making many persons put their worst foot forward, so to speak. The weakness is not confined to any class, but since the lowest and the roughest take their pleasure at the public-house, it is there that everything most brutal in our populace is concentrated and made prominent.

I am not concerned to make a hero or a martyr of the publican, who is very much like other tradesmen. His object is to make money. Sometimes he takes a pride in the respectable conduct of his trade and in the good name of his house; but sometimes it is only fear of the law that keeps him straight, and when he gets a chance of transgressing with impunity he grasps it. The combination of the vile landlord with vile customers produces an abominable result. Some brewers, who own public-houses, undoubtedly connive at it. They treat the publican who gets caught without mercy, but they practically force him to run the risk, just as some shipowners force their captains to overload. It is idle to deny that these things are done. Every one who is behind the scenes at all knows that they are. But my own observation leads me to agree with the police, who testify generally that the great majority of the licensed houses are conducted with care.

That is, perhaps, more often recognised than it used to be quite a few years ago. There seems to be, at any rate, less violent denunciation of the trade as a whole; but I do not think the conditions under which the traffic is carried on are fully realised. There is still a great tendency to place all the responsibility on the shoulders of those who supply a commodity demanded by the mass of our people and to exonerate those whose demand creates and maintains the traffic. The publican is charged, in effect, with creating the demand as well as the supply, and, more explicitly, with promoting the excesses of those who exceed. I am sure that this is less true of the publican than of other tradesmen. None makes so little effort to beguile customers into buying what they do not want. He treats them, indeed, with a curious indifference which would ruin any other business. In drink-shops frequented by the common people I have repeatedly been struck by the singular relation between buyer and seller, which is the reverse of that seen in other shops. It is all cold business, without the semblance of friendly interest. The customer receives no invitation or welcome, but is regarded with an air of suppressed and watchful hostility as a potential enemy who may give trouble by creating a disturbance or cheating the landlord.

Let us go down into a working-class district in the East of London. The population includes general labourers, dockers, lightermen, stevedores, sail and block makers, iron workers, cabinet makers, carmen, tramway hands, and others-in short, a large

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