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THE IRISH

Temperance League Journal.

VOL. I.]

NOVEMBER, 1863.

Bad Words in "Good Words.”

By Rev. I. N. HARKNESS.

In a late number of Dr. M'Leod's periodical, Good Words, some one signing himself "L. J.," writes on Cooking Depôts for the working classes, and after an admirable description of these establishments in Glasgow, gives utterance to these remarkable senti

ments :

"Having stated very frankly the various points of excellence about these new restaurants, we must point out just as frankly what would, we think, be improvements. It is well known that the great working-day luxury of large numbers of our operatives is a smoke after meals. Those who move constantly amongst them know how intently a 'blast of the pipe' is enjoyed in the interval between the close of the meal and the resumption of work. This almost universally felt want ought to be provided for ; a well-ventilated smoking-room to which smokers could adjourn and enjoy the fragrant weed, would be a real improvement, worthy the consideration of the proprietor, and most certainly worthy the attention of those who may contemplate starting such establishments elsewhere. Smoking may be a weakness, a great injury to health, and a great waste of money that might be better spent. The world, however, has decided otherwise. At present, tobacco smoking is a luxury as tyrannical almost as any natural want, and its comfortable enjoyment ought to be provided for, and the same may be said of a glass of wholesome beer. If Mr. Corbet could enable the working-man to wash down his dinner with an imperial half-pint of beer, for a penny, he would confer a real boon on his customers. In Scotland this is not so much required as in England, but in either country, if such a want could be satisfied in such a place, it would do away with all excuse for adjournment to the public. house, and in many ways would be a real benefit to the working people. The penny ration of beer, like the other penny rations, might be made the maximum supply, and if so, such places would never become the haunt of the drunken and improvident. On the contrary, the decent regularity of a clean, cheap, and comfortable dinner, accompanied by a half-pint of sound beer, might, in multitudes of cases, by making plain the use as distinguished from the abuse, beget temperate habits, and cause a wise discrimination which would be most beneficial to the working men of Great Britain."

Now, we have no hesitation in saying that these are bad words. Smoking is a bad habit; it is admittedly so. It is a great waste of money that might be better spent." Some seven or eight millions of pounds sterling are spent in this way, every year, in the British empire-six times as much as is given to all missionary purposes. It is, besides,

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a "great injury to the health." Tobacco contains a narcotic poison, and this cannot be continuously inhaled into the system without seriously affecting the stomach, brain, and nervous system. Smoking is also a jackal to the public-house. It incites thirst, and thirst of such a character as makes water distasteful and craves strong stimulants. It is also a "weakness" and a nuisance. It is banished from railway carriages and polite society, and philanthropists are desirous of employing every means to retard its progress. And yet this "L. J.," presenting no argument in its favour, defending it in no way, admitting that it is evil evil only and evil continually, soberly declares that it would be a "real improvement" to encourage, and pamper, and foster it, and to provide a place where its intolerable "tyranny" could be exercised in a solemn and " comfortable" manner! The only apology he makes for this most astounding method of moral reformation is, that "the world has decided otherwise." But this is not true; for there is a vast multitude in the world who don't smoke, and they have decided very emphatically on the subject that it is a nuisance; and even those who do, does not "L. J." know, as well as he is a living man, that they are loudest in their condemnation of it? We never have heard as bitter invectives against smoking as from smokers themselves; and we never yet knew a decent father who had learned the habit, who wished his son to follow his example. Smokers feel it to be an intolerable "tyranny" indeed, and would long to get rid of it if they could. Thus the verdict of "the world" is against it. But even suppose it were not, it does seem to us amazing that, in a religious periodical, a man should be found maintaining that we should follow the "course of this world;" that an evil, a thing that is "a waste of money," an "injury to the health," and a "weakness," should be fostered, merely because it is approved of by "the world." These are bad words-very bad, indeed. They cost little, but they arn't worth much.

Then, as to beer drinking, the same thing may be said. It is a fearful waste of money. Upwards of twenty millions of pounds sterling are spent annually this way. What good could be done with this enormous sum of money if it were rightly directed! Then it is a practice most injurious to the health. To talk of "wholesome" beer is mockery. It is notorious that the London draymen, whose bodies are saturated with this "wholesome" beverage, are by no means in a wholesome state. Then the immorality of beer drinking is notorious. Many years ago they started beer-houses in England, imagining that by this means men being drawn away from the use of the stronger liquors drunkenness would decrease. But it was a failure, and these beer-houses are now such abominable places that it would pollute your pages to describe them. All these things are undeniably true, and yet, with these facts before his eyes, here is a man in a religious and philanthropic journal, expressing his wonder that in these philanthropic establishmentscooking depôts-there are no opportunities afforded

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"real

for drinking beer, declaring that it would be a boon"--a "real benefit" to the working classes, and that it is just the thing that is wanted to empty the public-houses, and introduce a millenium of universal sobriety! True, he would limit the supply; or, rather, he would suggest that it might be limited, for he says that an imperial half-pint of beer at a penny "might be" made a maximum of supply; of course, if the proprietor saw it would pay it "might be" a little extended, and then this would do away with any chance of adjournment to the publichouse, and would beget temperate habits and introduce the above millenium, &c., &c., to the end of the chapter. And all this nonsense this man talks, knowing at the same time, as he must know, that the taste of drink to a drinker is like the taste of blood to a bloodhound-it only makes him mad to get more. The only way to keep him safe is to keep all drink from him. Give him ever so little-even the imperial halfpint of "wholesome beer"-and you raise the devil in him; and if he doesn't get more from you he'll just walk out of your cooking depôt into the public-house on the other side of the way. This "L. J." would reform the world in the way a doctor did an acquaintance of ours. The man was not of sober habits, but he became an abstainer, and continued that way for eighteen months, doing well in every way; but the doctor came one day to see him, and he said it was all folly this teetotal humbug, and that a glass of brandy occasionally-confining one's self to that-could do nobody any harm. So he induced the poor fellow to begin, and the result was, that in the course of a short time he drank himself mad, and he is now in a lunatic asylum.

All honour to the men that have established these cooking depôts, providing at a cheap rate good and substantial food for our hard-worked labouring man. They are true philanthropists these men, and deserve a nation's praise. But if ever they should be induced to turn them into smoking-saloons and tap-rooms, to minister not to the comforts and necessities, but to the tyrant vices of the population, the sun of their glory will set.

Stewartstown.

The End of II.

WHERE the shore of sunny Devon

Wanders down along the sea,
Smiling up to the blue heaven
Bending o'er it placidly,
Nestling in a bower of roses
Sleeps a cottage--there the vine
Tenderly its tendrils closes

Round the fragrant eglantine.

Honeysuckle wreathing lightly,
Pleasant arbours, ivy-crowned,
And the pale gum-sistas nightly
Raining sweetness on the ground;
Such the home, and so embowered,
Where 'mid woodlands green and wild,
Rich in love, with beauty dowered,

Dwelt a happy, careless child.

Maud, the child, the household fairy,
With the ringing voice and sweet,
Trilling blithely to the airy

Patter of her little feet;

Dancing gaily like the sunlight

All about the cottage door,
Slept a sleep enchanted one night,
And awoke a child no more.

Maud, the maid, the household idol,
With the wondrous starry eyes,
Stood upon her morn of bridal,

'Neath the breathless Summer skies She as beautiful and breathless,

Praying, in her happy love,

That this union, strange and deathless.
Might be sealed and blessed above.

He had coveted the one beam
Lighting up the cottage walls,
So he bore the little sunbeam
Home to grace his sately halls.
There two young years swiftly glided
Like the rapture of a dream;
Love, whatever ills betided,

Lighted with a golden gleam;
Two short Winters, but no longer,

Two bright Summers, and no more, For a spell was on him stronger

Than the happy love of yore. He had learned to linger nightly

Where the song and jest awoke,
Where the wine-cup sparkled brightly
Till the sad, gray morning broke.
From her cheek the warm flush faded,
And the light forsook her eye,
And she pined unseen, unaided,
Prayed for him, and longed to die.
It was but the oft-told story

Of a changed and blasted life,
Noontide shame for morning glory,
And a broken-hearted wife.
One midnight, in lonely sadness,
She awaited his return,

But he came in drunken madness,
And his words were wild and stern.

In her stately home or lowly,

She had never heard before Words so fearful and unholy,

;

She could hear such words no more.

He whom she had sworn to honour, He to love her until death, Heaping maledictions on her,

Cursing her with every breath; Little thought she in past hours

Stroke like this should ever fall, 'Mid her sunshine and her flowers This should be the end of all.

She with glittering eyes, and tearless,
Looking at him in her pain,
With an aspect fearful-fearless,
Never answered him again.

He with eyes like demon's glowing,

Stood before her in his shame; Maniac words from white lips flowing, Breathing doubts upon her name.

Flowing in a cruel torrent;

Face as dark as an eclipse, Till he saw a crimson current

Oozing, oozing from her lips; Till he saw the wild light languish From her eye, and then depart; Till he heard the cry of anguish Bursting from her breaking heart; Till he saw her sinking slowly,

ROUGH WATERS.

Crushed and blighted to the ground; While the cry of anguish wholly

In the crimson tide was drowned. Then too late was his awaking,

All too late he vowed and prayed, For the weary heart was taking

Leave of sorrow and of shade.

Oh! the heart's wild wailings for her! Oh! the thoughts of bygone years! Welling up from depths of horror,

Finding vent in scorching tears! But she murmured, "I believe thee," To the mourner at her side; Hoarsely whispered, "I forgive thee," Ere she closed her eyes and died.

MABEL DRAKE.

Rough Waters.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE DAY OF COMFORT DAWNS.

THE anxiety about her child was leaving visible traces on Mrs. Letstieg. She remained at Mr. Gilby's, while her husband went home for a few days to transact some business which required his presence. Adelaide Singleton spent the greater part of every day with her, and fed hopes which, if removed, would be succeeded by a state worse than death. That listless apathy which is dead to the things of the world is a terrible condition; better to struggle against evils and perish in the encounter, than let despair remove

"Fire from the mind, and vigour from the limb."

a

Mr. Gilby, who seemed well fitted to minister to " mind diseased," helped to cherish her hopes, while he set every engine in motion in search of one who had long been given up for dead. Richard Singleton pursued his search night after night with such intensity of purpose that Mr. Gilby remarked his pale face and sunken eye; not being aware of the cause, for it was kept a secret by his family even from Mrs. Letstieg, he said to him, "Richard, you should not give way to grief for the past, let it be forgotten," and he held his hand kindly out to him. Richard Singleton got a deeper insight into his master's character within the last few days than he ever had

165

before; he was no longer the selfish, unfeeling man he had thought him.

A week had passed by and they heard nothing of Mr. Catchwell, although he had promised to return in a day or two.

On a Sunday evening Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg, who had now taken up their abode at Mr. Gilby's, were waiting for the Singletons, whom Mr. Gilby had invited to come over and spend the evening at his house. They went after tea to hear Mr. Blackham preach. An inexperienced person, looking at the melancholy face of Mr. Blackham as he ascended to pulpit, would most certainly think that there would be more of the sad plaintive tone of the prophet Jeremiah in the discourse, than the bold and lofty flights of Ezekiel. Is it not your experience, reader, that young ministers, who have no practical knowledge of life, who are as ignorant of its cares and sorrows as they are of the domestic life of "the man in the moon," delight, in their public addresses, to draw such sad pictures that they would send you to your bed weeping; whereas they who have felt the iron enter their soul- whose tears have been their meat day and night, keep back their own sorrows, and, as a general rule, show you the happy paths of life; like kind friends they show you how and where true pleasures may be found, and affectionately warn against the steps which lead to misery? True champions these; and Mr. Blackham was one of them. His text was, "Comfort ye my people, saith your God." Every single word of that sermon fell like dew on the hearts of Mr. Gilby and Mrs. Letstieg; it won them from themselves, and they felt that God's love and kindness ordered all their ways. They waited until the congregation was gone, and Mr. Gilby went into the vestry, and having first said, "God bless you for the comfort you have given me," asked Mr. Blackham to come and have tea with them.

Mr. Gilby was never without visitors on Sunday evening; aunts, cousins, nieces, he had in abun dance, and the house was seldom without some of them; but of all his visitors Mrs. Letstieg was the most welcome. She was passionately fond of music, and the "melody of sweet sound" was to him like a comforting messenger from heaven. For the last week, ever since Mrs. Letstieg came, the piano was never silent in the evening. Mr. Gilby, whose knowledge of the human heart was learnt in the school of tribulation, strove thus to soothe the anxious heart of Mrs. Letstieg. The very moment they entered the drawing-room, "Louisa, you must play that favourite of mine for Mr. Blackham."

"Won't yon give me time to take off my cloak." "Take it off here; you know I let you off yesterday evening, under the pretext of getting some sewing to do, and you did not come back for hours. I have you now, and I'll keep you."

"Miss Singleton will play this evening, William." "Oh! certainly, when one is tired, I'll call upon the other."

"Mr. Gilby, I declare you are a regular tyrant," said Mr. Blackham.

That moment the servant knocked at the door to tell Mr. Letstieg that a gentleman wanted to see him.

Every knock at the door, every whisper, every letter, sent the blood from Mrs. Letstieg's face, and, notwithstanding every effort to control herself, her friends saw plainly enough the intensity of the struggle.

"You will oblige me very much, Louisa, if you let Mr. Blackham hear those beautiful lines which you set to music for me yesterday."

Placing her music book, and taking out a loose leaf, she sang the following lines :—

166

"I had a message to send her,

To her whom my soul loved best;
But I had my task to finish,

And she had gone home to rest-
"To rest in that far bright heaven,
Oh! so far away from here;
It was vain to speak to my darling,
For I knew she could not hear.

"I had a message to send her,

So tender, so true, and so sweet;
I longed for an angel to bear it,
And lay it down at her feet.
"I placed it one summer evening

On a little white cloud's breast;
But it faded in golden splendour,
And died in the crimson west.
"I gave it to the lark next morning,
And watched it soar and soar;
But its pinions grew faint and weary,
And it fluttered to earth once more.
"To the heart of a rose I told it,

And the perfume sweet and rare
Grandly faint on the blue bright ether,
Was lost in the balmy air.

"I laid it upon a censer,

And I saw the incense rise;
But its clouds of rolling silver
Could not reach the far blue skies.
"I cried in my passionate longing,

'Has the earth no angel friend
Who will carry my love the message
That my heart desires to send.'
"Then I heard a strain of music,
So mighty, so pure, so clear,
That my very sorrow was silent,
And my heart stood still to hear.

"And I felt in my soul's deep yearning
At last the sure answer stir,
The music will go up to heaven,
And carry my thoughts to her.'
"It rose in harmonious rushing

Of mingled voices and strings,
And I tenderly laid my message
On the music's outspread wings.
"I heard it float farther and farther

In sounds more perfect than speech;
Farther than sight can follow,-
Farther than soul can reach.

"And I knew, at last, that my message
Had passed through the golden gate;
So my heart is no longer restless,
And I'm content to wait."

She looked round, Mr. Gilby was gone.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ROUGH WATERS ARE SUBSIDING.

ROUGH WATERS.

Mr. Catchwell, better known in London as Detective Catchwell, asked Mr. Letstieg to call Mr. Gilby before he told his success or failure; so the latter gentleman, obedient to a silent motion of the finger placed upon the lips, stept out of the room while Mrs. Letstieg was singing.

The Singletons and Mr. Blackham saw him go, and, divining the cause, engaged her in conversation, needlessly, for she, too, guessed that some intelligence, either good or bad, about her lost child had been gained; leaving the piano, she went over to the sofa where Adelaide Singleton and her mother sat, repeating the last line, "I'm content to wait," with the trembling nervousness of one who struggles to be calm.

"Catchwell, tell me at once, have you been successful ?"

"Just stop a minute, sir, and I'll tell you all."

"For God's sake say yes or no; have you found my child?" and Mr. Letstieg held the lamp to his face, if possible to read the answer in that impenetrable countenance, even before his tongue could utter it.

"I have."

"Thank God!" and Mr. Letstieg turned aside to hide his emotion.

"Where is he?"

"Safe."

"Is he with you ?"

"No; but dear me, sir, just let me tell you all, for I have a good deal to tell that interests Mr. Gilby." "Nothing," said Mr. Gilby, "that can interest me more than the recovery of that child."

"Except that I have unearthed an old fox." "Ho! what of Wriggles ?"

"Just pull up a bit, sir, and let me begin where every story begins-at the beginning."

"We must give you your own way, Catchwell, else we'll never make anything of you; but I can't help saying you are giving my friend here needless torture."

"It was two days before I got on the scent of that young pickpocket-beg pardon, gentlemen, Master Letstieg. At last I got the greatest thief in all London to help me, by promising to let him hoff with a small misdemeanour I had hagainst him. The next night he told me his whereabouts. It would let you into too much of our ways to tell you how he found him; but he told me that a pal of his was employed by old Wriggle to find out this chap too, and perticularly to let him know where was the old woman who had care of him. I kept in the back ground, and told my Mercury to be on the watch, and let Wriggle go on with his schemes. So last night I saw him go hinto the house where Gipsy Moll died. I saw him searching a hole in the corner in which some old papers and rags were stuck, and then I pounced upon him. Ha! ha! gentlemen, if you saw how he looked; he pretended he was sister to the deceased, as he called her, and came to claim ber heffects. I playfully remarked he had rags enough, pointing to the old coat in which he was disguised, without claiming any more; and I took the bundle out of his hand. I knew at once, from the look of astonishment on his face, that the bundle contained some document of himportance. He then offered me five pounds to give it back; then ten; then twenty; and I quietly let him go up to a hundred before he stopt. Perhaps,' said I, 'Mr. Letstieg or Mr. Gilby might give me more for this bundle.' 'Stay, I'll give you two hundred.' 'Two hundred,' I exclaimed; why, that is a great sum of money for a poor man like you to have.' 'Oh, there is a secret contained in them which compromises a respectable person.' The look of agony on his face was awful; still I loved to play on a little longer. 'Perhaps you could tell me something about a child which the old woman, your sister (and I winked), bad under her pious care. It was taken from its parents ten years ago; and if you were in the country then you may remember a great trial in which a highly-respectable solicitor, Mr. Wriggle, was accused of complicity in the haffair.' 'I knew nothing of the child.' 'Well, may be so, but you have been searching very diligently for him this week past.' 'Yes, there's a great reward offered.' 'Come, Mr. Wriggle, the child is at your house since yesterday morning.' It was has good as a play. 'I'll give you one thousand pounds, and say nothing about this.' I took off the wig and a few other embellishments I had, and, looking into his face, 'You can't bribe Detective Catchwell.' I then harrested him, though he declared I had no power, that it was illegal."

"And is my child at his house now? Hasten, for God sake, and let us go to him. That man would murder my child."

"No fear of that, Mr. Letstieg; he, the old cove, is committed for trial, and the clerk that Wriggles employed on Friday last is one of our shrewdest hands,

WEEP NOT, BUT WORK.-HEALTH.

and as he is living in the house, the young chap is

safe."

"You shall be rewarded for this; the reward will be doubled. God bless you; but, oh! come at once; I'll go up and tell Louisa. But are you sure he's there ?"

"Aye, quite sartain, sir; no mistake about it." While Mr. Letstieg was absent, Catchwell took a paper out of his breast-pocket-a greasy, smoked bit of paper which he could not hold together, so worn was it in the folds. Spreading it out on the table, he asked Mr. Gilby to look at it, running his finger along the lines as he read with much the same sensation as Mr. Layard or Colonel Rawlinson would examine any Nineveh inscriptions.

"He won't escape this time, I'm thinking, sir."

"A striking comment on the text I heard this morning. 'Be sure your sins will find you out,'" said Mr. Gilby, adding, "To morrow we can see about this; now let us go for the child. I do not wish to see Mrs. Letstieg until she has her child to look upon. I hear Letstieg coming down; I don't envy them their happiness. God alone knows all they have suffered; but, somehow, at times, I cannot expel the feeling of melancholy which steals over me."

This was said in a low voice, as if speaking to himself; however, Catchwell thought it his duty to make a reply. "Damp season, sir; the fog's coming on. Take a run to France, or South of Italy. Go very hoften myself on a professional tour."

To those who combat sin and wrong-
Nor ask how much, nor count how long

They with the foe have striven!

Dash down the wine-cup, shun delight,
Speak out the truth, act out the right—
Loath, hate "expediency."

Be firm, be strong-improve the time,
Pity the sinner-but for crime,
Show it no leniency.

Strive on, strive on-nor ever deem
Thy work complete. Care not to seem
But BE a Christian true.
Think, speak, and act 'gainst mean device,
And war with those who sacrifice

The many to the few.

Forget thyself, but bear in mind
The claims of suffering human kind:
So shall the welcome night,
Unseen, o'ertake thee; and thy soul,
Sinking in slumber at the goal,
Wake in eternal light.

167

R. A. P.

"Let you and Catchwell go for the child, there's Health: How to Secure and Retain it.

no occasion for me to go; I'll remain here in the office until you come back."

While they are absent, and while Mr. Gilby is sitting in the dark in his office, with his head leant upon his hand, thinking of the past-thinking of those early dreams of happiness which had fled in one brief hour, let us look in on the company in the drawing

room.

Richard Singleton promised to call for his mother and sister at eleven o'clock. As it was near that time now, Mrs. Letstieg said, “Adelaide, dear, don't go when Richard comes; stay with me."

The reply was a loving arm put round her neck, and a tear of sympathy which, lying like a pearl on her eyelashes, told plainly enough how deeply Adelaide Singleton felt the sorrows of her kind, good friend. Truly

"There is a bond of sorrow, as of blood,

And those that mourn are everywhere akin." Mr. Blackham did not indulge in those platitudes of consolation which so many would unwisely give at such a time. He turned over the leaves of a scrap-book, reading aloud now and then, whatever he thought might soothe the heart of that anxious mother, whose pale, lovely face, overcast with sorrow, would touch even a heart of stone.

(To be continued.)

Weep not, but Work.

WEEP not, but work! Be bold, be brave! Let not a coward spirit crave

Escape from tasks allotted! Thankful for toil and danger be, Duty's high call will make thee flee

The vicious-the besotted!

Think not thy share of strife too greatSpeed to thy post, erect, elate

Strength from above is given

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By S. B. LOUDON, Liverpool.

SECTION 3.-DRINK.

Drink

DIETETIC and Social Reformers have much more to contend with in their efforts to promote health and morals than the power of a false appetite. The habits of society step in and say-" Hitherto shalt thou come, and no further." It is questionable whether it is wise to spend one's strength in attempting the hopeless task of sweeping away the cherished customs of society, with the view of abolishing the sins of which they are more or less the cause. It would appear to me to be at once a more rational and a more hopeful course to make use of these very customs for helping on the reform which is so much needed. I have heard many good and earnest men cry out with a vehemence almost unparalleled against drinking healths," offering cake and wine to visitors," and other customs to which the majority of the British people have become attached. ing a friend's health certainly does seem a little absurd on the face of it; but then everybody understands that it is only an expression of kindness and good-will. Well, then, why not, instead of "beating the air" by endeavouring to overthrow this custom, provide the people with some pure, simple, and yet delicious beverage to use instead of that "liquid fire" which inflicts untold injuries on both the mental and physical powers? And rather than attempt a crusade against hospitality by declaiming against offering "cake and wine to visitors," I should rather seek to put into the hands of mistresses such a beverage as would revive the spirit, and refresh the body, and be vastly more agreeable to the stomach than any alcoholic stimulant. One of the most estimable ladies I have ever known, and whose friendship I value more than I care to express, was among the first to add her name to my temperance roll; but she did so on the express understanding that signing the pledge should not prevent her from offering wine to her guests. Many sincere well-wishers to the Temperance move

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