virtuous man can survive.' We know the end of that and of every fight our fathers fought for liberty. It was the moorsmen and cottars of Scotland, who defied three kingdoms, and fought on with the Bible in one hand and the sword in the other, that saved the liberties of nations. But what liberty was it they fought for? The liberty to get drunk! The liberty to establish at every street corner a centre for the spreading of disease, misery, and pauperism! Those who make such appeals surely underrate the intelligence of a generation who have not yet quite forgotten the exploits and the sacrifices of their sires. The freedom they achieved was the freedom to worship God as their consciences directed, and to develop that national character of uprightness and understanding that has been so fraught with blessing to the world. And that freedom it is left to us to carry to fruition—by developing a State that shall be free from ignorance, from degradation, from vice, from self-indulgence—in one word, from drunkenness in every form. 'He who will not give up a little temporary liberty for essential safety, deserves neither liberty nor safety,' declared Benjamin Franklin. We shall awake and establish public safety on the ruins of a false and a degrading liberty. When we shall have achieved that—then we shall be free indeed.

IV

Nothing appeals to my own heart so much as the anxiety shown by those publicists regarding my taxation. They feel so much for me, and are afraid that I shall require to pay more of an income-tax if I do not vote No Change. This care for my personal interests touches me profoundly; and the desire that the nation should drink itself into financial prosperity must affect every patriot's heart. But, again, Scotsmen can think. And no sooner do we exercise our minds than we see how fallacious all this is—and how ungrounded our fears. The greatest loss the nation siistains is the revenue from alcohol. What are the losses that are entailed by that revenue? Against it must be put the pauperism that the State has to support, and which is mainly caused by alcohol; the cost of "police and judges and prisons that are mainly required because of alcohol; the loss to the State of the lives wasted and ruined by alcohol. Strike a balance—and there is no gain to the State from the revenues of alcohol. The greatest loss the State sustains is the revenue it derives from the misery and degradation of its citizens. No State can grow rich by exploiting the misery and the vice of its own people. Were the money now wasted in this non-productive trade devoted to industry, the resultant product would pay the State over and over again for any loss from the sacrifice of alcohol. Already this is being proved in the United States. In the State of Massachusetts an increase in the taxation of theatres, soft drinks, candy, and transport not only made up for the loss from the taxes on alcohol, but realised an increase of over 500,000 dollars in the first dry year! There in America the breweries and distilleries are being converted into jam factories, boot factories, and where formerly 250 men were employed they now employ 1500 men! One such factory bears the placard:—

'Once we made booze,
Now we make shoes.'

The revenue that comes from prosperity enriches a nation; the revenue that comes from its degradation impoverishes. When we are freed from the waste and ruin wrought by alcohol—then our national revenue will nourish as never before. In a prosperous land the revenue will look after itself. Those who are so anxious lest we be overtaxed are trying to inspire us with groundless fears.

V

The most sacred thing on earth is the mother and the child. It is they who suffer and perish because of conditions that are indefensible. The little spark of grey matter behind the eyes of a little child may become a Newton, a Knox, or a Walter Scott. 'There is no wealth but life,' declared Ruskin. Every motive of patriotism and religion moves us to do everything in our power to save childhood and motherhood. There never in any land was any propaganda so cynical, so unblushing as the propaganda that for weary weeks has now screamed in our ears—'No Change.' The blood of four dread years, and then—'No Change!' The agony of the world's most awful Gethsemane, and at its end—'No Change!' ... Nothing more need be said. Only the blind could have made such appeals.

CHAPTER IV

THE GREATEST OF TYRANNIES

The deadliest foe of humanity is the deadening power of custom. What we have seen from our earliest days has no power to stir our conscience or kindle the fire of indignation. It may be the case that when Lot went down to Sodom he was at first 'vexed with the filthy conversation of the wicked.' But he did not continue vexed very long. He got to like it. At last he sat at the gates of that city with great enjoyment. As he sank into the mire he became unconscious of the slough. Otherwise he would never have returned to it. When the great war of the five kings against four reached its consummation, and Lot was a prisoner going north with a halter round his neck, he often groaned, 'If I ever get out of this I'll never look near that filthy Sodom again.' Like a bolt from the blue came deliverance and victory and spoils—and back he went to Sodom and its filthy conversations as before. It is such a wonderfully modern story. In every age men get so accustomed to the filth that it no longer seems filth. The mud of their daily habit becomes their gold.

I

When we look back on the long road by which humanity has travelled and read of the things men once did in cold blood, we wonder how they could ever have had the heart to do them. The answer is—custom. To us it is incredible that men should once have trafficked in human flesh and blood. And yet to our forefathers of even recent years it seemed the most natural thing. Were there not slaves from the beginning, and naturally there would be unto the end! The captains of the slave ships would assemble their crews in their cabins for prayer meetings while the holds of their ships were filled with men and women dying in these gehennas! So far from experiencing any twinges of conscience, these slave captains regarded themselves as benefactors of humanity. Sir John Hawkins was not alone in priding himself on the fact that he brought so many of the heathen of Africa into Christian lands, where they might hear the Gospel. It is not so long ago when children of six years worked in factories from five in the morning to nine at night. We who play with our babes and build our brick castles in Spain while they shout for joy—think of it! What hearts they must have had—these fathers of ours—who took the babes by their thousands and harnessed them to the car of their juggernaut! And yet they were not any different from us. They were only blinded by custom.... Whoever has wandered over the hills of his native land will remember the leap of the heart when he has suddenly seen some fair valley open up before his amazed eyes. He can hear the song of the river that waters it, he sees the clouds playing on the slopes, his awestruck lips murmur with the great artist as he looked on Glen Feshie, 'Lord God Almighty!' But no human dwelling is there, only heaps of stones where the homesteads once stood; only the bleating of sheep where children once shouted at play. What became of the people? They were driven out. The will of one man or one woman drove the population of a parish into the Cowcaddens of Glasgow or exiled them beyond the seas. And the Church of Christ looked on silent. And the men who made the countryside waste prided themselves on the fact that they set the people, whom they drove forth, on the way of fortune! How could men do deeds like these? How could the Church be silent in the face