It is sufficient to say here that the whole demonstration turned out to be the greatest success ever accomplished in the temperance cause. So great were the numbers attending, that when, at the close of the meeting, people were passing out from the gates, the end of the procession was still coming in at the other end of the park. It is calculated that there were at least over two hundred thousand people assembled.
Mr. George Nokes, familiarly known as the Bishop of Whitechapel, has for long years been one of Mr. Charrington's most trusty lieutenants in conducting the total abstinence propaganda amongst the poor, with whom he is a great favourite.
The more I write of this biography—and my pleasant labours are now coming to a pleasant conclusion—the more I marvel at the unequal way in which honours are bestowed in this country.
We all know the famous joke made by "Punch" when that satirical journal coined the word "beerage" as a substitute for "peerage." Sir Wilfred Lawson, himself a great friend and earnest supporter of Mr. Charrington, commented upon this fact over and over again. In all his public speeches he drove it home, and in light verse, for which he had a pretty talent, he again pointed the moral. I have in my possession a book lent me by Mr. Charrington, consisting of cartoons by Sir Frank Carruthers Gould, of the Westminster Gazette, and Sir Wilfred Lawson, who supplied the accompanying verses. The book was published some years ago by Mr. Fisher Unwin, and was entitled Cartoons in Rhyme and Verse. Upon the title page there was a characteristic note "to the reader," by Sir Wilfred, who said,
"If any one thinks that these verses are 'rot,'
I'm the very last person to say they are not."
Despite Sir Wilfred's humbleness, I have no hesitation in saying that if the verses in question have no literary form, they nevertheless go straight to the point.
I will quote two of them.
"THE BREWER'S POWER.
Who to the heathen far away,
Send Christian men to preach and pray,
And bring them to a brighter day?
My Brewer.Who, when aloud the poor have cried,
And poverty is raging wide,
Has means of charity supplied?
My Brewer.Who fills his pocket with the sale
Of porter, beer, and generous ale,
Which crowd the workhouse and the gaol?
My Brewer.Who fills our slums with waifs and strays?
Who havoc with our nation plays,
And brings disgrace on all our ways?
My Brewer.Who is it bosses all the show,
As through this curious world we go,
And dominates both high and low?
My Brewer."And again,
"THE BISHOP AND THE BREWER Said the Bishop to the Brewer, 'Sir, I very greatly fear,
From all that I have heard, that you adulterate your beer.Said the Brewer to the Bishop, 'Nay, that really is not true;
Who told you such a story? I insist on knowing who.'But the Bishop he was silent as to what they put in beer,
He didn't seem to have, in fact, the very least idea.For in all his great researches, both in pamphlet and in 'vol.,'
It never really struck him that it must be alcohol.Sir William Gull has told us how the world by this is cursed,
That alcohol of all bad things is just the very worst.But the Bishop—dear, good man!—he still has got a strong idea,
That there's something very charming in the purity of beer.Oh! these Bishops and these Brewers, I really greatly fear,
They will never, never solve this point about what's in the beer.But the land is full of sorrow, and there's little hope of cure,
Unless these wise men hit upon a beer that's really 'pure.'Then let us set to work, boys, with heart, and hope, and cheer,
And help them all we can to get 'The Purity of Beer.''Tis beer which keeps in comfort—as by every one is known,
The Brewer in his mansion, and the Bishop on his throne.The British Constitution, and all we value here—
Church, Army, Navy, Parliament—it's corner-stone is beer."
The brewer, because he amasses a large fortune out of beer, is ennobled.
The ex-brewer—Frederick Charrington, for instance—who gives up an enormous sum for conscience' sake, and an enormous sum again made from beer, remains unhonoured, save by the love and adherence of his own people in the East End. If Frederick Charrington had mixed up an active political propaganda with his Christian work, by now he would have received a baronetcy or at least a knighthood. If he had been merely a paid secretary of some philanthropic organisation, he might yet have been knighted—as more than one recent ennoblement shows. But because he gave up everything, and worked for his Master, without pandering to this or that political party—though in politics he is a Liberal—the accolade has never come in his way. From his own point of view I know such an honour would count as nothing. It is for other, and unworldly honours, that he has lived his life. But, as a recognition of his self-sacrifice and devotion, surely some public acknowledgment from the throne would be a very proper thing?
The poor people are not snobbish. It matters nothing to Mr. Charrington's million or so of humble friends whether he is "Mr." or "Sir." But—and of this fact I am thoroughly persuaded—they would regard any honour which His Majesty might be pleased to confer upon him as not only well-merited, but in some sort a fitting recompense for a life of work and devotion almost unequalled in the annals of our time.