[Footnote 1:  O.S. in Punch, November 4th, 1914.  By kind permission of the Proprietors.]

A man who had so distinguished himself at the front as to be mentioned in a despatch came home slightly wounded.  In less than twenty-four hours he was in a cell at a police station, and the next day fined forty shillings.  Oh! the pathetic pity of it.  That man got into trouble through the exhibition of one of the purest and best features of our human nature, the desire to show kindness.  In their well-intentioned ignorance this man’s friends—­yes, they were real friends—­knew of only one way of displaying friendliness—­they gave him liquor.

I am not going to blame them, nor him entirely; I am going to lay some of the fault upon ourselves.

Since the beginning of the last century the habits of the upper classes, to use a generic though unpleasant term, have improved immeasurably.  Then excess was more or less the rule among men of good position, was to a certain extent expected and provided for; witness The School for Scandal, or the leading novels of the period.  Now, the man who disgraces himself at a dinner-table is never invited again.

And even as we go down in the social scale much improvement is apparent.  Those who remember Bank Holidays on their first introduction will recollect that the excess of the working classes was quite open and shameless; but to-day some effort is generally made by the victims, or their friends, to hide the disgrace, because Public Opinion is improving.  That is where we come in.

Many causes of intemperance in strong drink are matters for legislative or municipal action; for example, overcrowding, insanitary dwellings or surroundings, sweating, excessive hours of labour, adulteration of liquors.  But there are two factors upon which we can exercise direct influence, because they are connected with that great corporate entity called Public Opinion.

First let us take the one upon which we have already touched—­the notion that friendliness and good fellowship are essentially connected with strong drink.  This is at the bottom of those terrible scenes when troops are leaving our great London railway stations.  Scenes so inexpressibly sad to all thinking people.

Everyone who abstains entirely, or who takes the khaki button—­a pledge not to treat nor be treated to strong drink during the continuance of the war—­is helping to knock a nail into the coffin of one of the silliest and most fatal delusions that has ever wrought havoc to body, soul, and spirit.

And then there is that other weird notion that you cannot be really strong and healthy without stimulant.  For you the glass of beer or wine may be a mere harmless luxury, in the way in which you take it.  I purposely exclude spirits, which I am fanatic enough to think should only be used medicinally.  But every individual total abstainer helps to swell the testimony not only to the non-necessity of alcohol, but to the fact that, according to the view of a large part of the medical profession, the human frame is better without it.