I don't say he turned pauper
And slept upon the boards!
But instead of a man with millions
Heading straight for the House of Lords,
He dropped to a man with hundreds—just heading for nothing at all
But the prize that falls to the conscience which has answered a noble call.
He is living now in London,
Careless of blame or praise.
Working to help the People
In a hundred splendid ways.
Pledged to the cause of Temperance
To the ending of his days.
What he did may be forgotten, or labelled a mistake!
But the sacrifice of riches is a mighty one to make.
I'm proud of this little Island that gave John Donaldson birth
And I place him right in the forefront of the bravest men on earth!"
Since I am quoting a few verses in this chapter, I may perhaps give, as a final specimen, a few sternly vigorous lines which were handed to me by my friend the other day. They express, he told me, his whole sentiments upon the drink question in a nut-shell. They are not in the least my own, but that is not the point—their interest lies in the fact that they represent Frederick Charrington's unalterable convictions in a succinct form.
"LICENSED—TO DO WHAT?
Licensed to make the strong man weak;
Licensed to lay the wise man low;
Licensed a wife's fond heart to break,
And make her children's tears to flow.
Licensed to do thy neighbour harm;
Licensed to kindle hate and strife;
Licensed to nerve the robber's arm;
Licensed to whet the murderer's knife.
Licensed thy neighbour's purse to drain,
And rob him of his very last;
Licensed to heat his feverish brain,
Till madness crown thy work at last.
Licensed, like a spider for a fly,
To spread thy nets for man, thy prey;
To mock his struggles—suck him dry,
Then cast the worthless hulk away.
Licensed, where peace and quiet dwell,
To bring disease, and want, and woe;
Licensed to make this world a hell,
And fit man for a hell below."
. . . .
"Call up the dead from their cold, cold graves
And summon up memory's link,
And see if human tongue can tell,
The millions damned through drink."
To sum up and crystallise his great temperance efforts, Mr. Charrington has invented a concrete symbol of them. The initials B.R.O.T.A. stand for "The Blue Ring of Total Abstinence," which is entirely Mr. Charrington's idea, and serves as a badge that unites abstainers throughout the whole world.
This ring is made of metal and blue enamel, bearing the aforesaid initials. It can be had in cheap metal, while for richer people it is manufactured in gold set with diamonds. In itself it is a beautiful and decorative thing. As a symbol, as a cementing of the great brotherhood of abstainers formed by Mr. Charrington, it is unique. Mr. Charrington invariably wears one of these rings himself, and from the farthest parts of the world applications for them are daily received.
We now pass to the final chapter of this book, where we see Frederick Charrington in an entirely new setting.