Her answer, which came quickly enough, was that they did not regard the practice of smoking as in itself bad, but they knew that in some circumstances it was inexpedient; and in the case of her son they were troubled at the thought of what smoking would ultimately lead to.  People, she continued, did not care to smoke, any more than they did to eat and drink, in solitude.  It was a social habit, and it was inevitable that her boy should look for others to keep him company in smoking.  There would be no harm in that in the summer-time when young people like to keep out of doors until bedtime; but during the long winter evenings he would have to look for his companions in the parlour of the public-house.  And it would not be easy, scarcely possible, to sit long among the others without drinking a little beer.  It is really no more wrong to drink a little beer than to smoke, he would say; and it would be true.  One pipe would lead to another. and one glass of beer to another.  The habit would be formed and at last all his evenings and all his earnings would be spent in the public-house.

She was right, and I had nothing more to say except to wish her success in her efforts.

It is curious that the strongest protests against the evils of the village pubic, which one hears from village women, come from those who are not themselves sufferers.  Perhaps it is not curious.  Instinctively we hide our sores, bodily and mental, from the public gaze.

Not long ago I was in a small rustic village in Wiltshire, perhaps the most charming village I have seen in that country.  There was no inn or ale-house, and feeling very thirsty after my long walk I went to a cottage and asked the woman I saw there for a drink of milk.  She invited me in, and spreading a clean cloth on the table, placed a jug of new milk, a loaf, and butter before me.  For these good things she proudly refused to accept payment.  As she was a handsome young woman, with a clear, pleasant voice, I was glad to have her sit there and talk to me while I refreshed myself.  Besides, I was in search of information and got it from her during our talk.  My object in going to the village was to see a woman who, I had been told, was living there.  I now heard that her cottage was close by, but unfortunately, while anxious to see her, I had no excuse for calling.

“Do you think,” said I to my young hostess, “that it would do to tell her that I had heard something of her strange history and misfortunes, and wished to offer her a little help?  Is she very poor?”

“Oh, no,” she replied.  “Please do not offer her money, if you see her.  She would be offended.  There is no one in this village who would take a shilling as a gift from a stranger.  We all have enough; there is not a poor person among us.”

“What a happy village!” I exclaimed.  “Perhaps you are all total abstainers.”

She laughed, and said that they all brewed their own beer —­there was not a total abstainer among them.  Every cottager made from fifty to eighty gallons, or more, and they drank beer every day, but very moderately, while it lasted.  They were all very sober; their children would have to go to some neighbouring village to see a tipsy man.