The New Sunday Liquor Law Vindicated

by J. Ewing Ritchie

Now, I ask, is it not ridiculous, on the face of it, that an Act of Parliament should be set aside, because a bachelor finds, once upon a time, the door of his favourite hotel shut in his face; or because a Templar says he can’t dine till near the time for evening service,—though, for the life of me, I can’t see why he cannot; or because the father of a family finds his beer is flat: yet this is all the complaint I find, even in the Daily News. We are told the working men are robbed of their rights. I don’t find the working men complain,—why should they? They know better than that. The law, as it stands, allows the working man to get all the beer he wants; and if you turn to the evidence lately given before a Committee of the House of Commons, you will find that the working classes are in favour of the change, and that many of them, even the most drunken and dissipated, feel that it would be a good thing if the public-houses could be closed altogether on Sundays. Many of the most respectable publicans in the metropolis gave similar evidence before the same Committee. All the moral and decent people in the country are of a similar opinion. The Provost of Edinburgh shows that when Forbes Mackenzie’s Act came into operation in Edinburgh drunkenness and crime decreased; that when the magistrates allowed it to fall into abeyance, drunkenness and crime increased. Evidence was read before the Committee, by the Rev. Mr. Baylee, to show that some years since a great reformation had been effected by the partial closing of public-houses, and Mr. Balfour showed how the metropolis had improved in this respect within the last few years. The question is, Is this improvement to be continued? No one expects to make men moral by Act of Parliament; no one expects the policeman to take the parson’s place; but when we see a great good done,—when we see a fruitful source of crime and poverty and disease arrested, are we to pause because a Templar cannot dine till evening service, or because the father of a family complains that his beer is flat? I forgot the publicans: are they to stop the way? I trust not. It is nonsense to say the working-man is deprived of his beer; he is not. All the beer a man needs he can buy now. The public-houses are allowed to be open sufficiently for that purpose. It is clear what the publicans are fighting for; the welfare of the working-man is a mere pretence,—the rights of Englishmen is a mere pretence,—they want to sell more beer,—to sell the beer that shall intoxicate; all that the new Bill seeks to do is to prevent a man sitting all Sunday night in a public-house, spending his last shilling there, and thus robbing his wife and family of that which should feed and clothe and maintain them during the week. The publicans themselves confess the Sunday trade is an abominable one. More than one publican, examined before the Committee, confessed this to be the case. The evidence of Mr. Wayland, the Marylebone City missionary, and others, all went to show that it is the Sunday drinking that does so much harm, and that was the effect of the late hours at which public-houses were allowed to be kept open.

I have just seen forty-eight circulars returned from various employers of labour in different parts of the metropolis, addressed to them by the Committee of the London Temperance League. The questions proposed were as follows:—“Have you perceived any change with respect to the hour at which your workpeople commence their labours on Monday morning? Have you noticed any improvement, or otherwise, with respect to the aggregate amount of time your workpeople are at their employment during the entire week? What is your opinion as to the general effects of the recent Act or Parliament in relation to the management of public-houses, or upon the happiness and well-being of your workpeople? Is it your opinion that the hours during which spirituous and fermented drinks may be obtained on Sundays should be subject to further restrictions?” Of these replies thirty-two were favourable,—twelve decidedly the reverse, and four neutral. Thus we have employers in favour of the new Bill,—the poor in its favour,—many of the publicans, who feel the Sunday trade not to be respectable,—in short all classes in its favour except one, and that a section of the publicans who want to sell more beer, and, to do so, cant about the interests of the working classes and the liberty of Englishmen. Cant at all times is loathsome; the cant of the hypocrite is bad enough, but this is infinitely worse. I know nothing more nauseating, nothing more false. Men talk about the cant of the religious—and we have too much of that; but that does no harm: but this cant is intolerable, one’s stomach turns at it; this raising the fair banner of freedom to pander to the demoralization of the public,—this talk by the publican of the rights of the working-man, in order that he may be decoyed into the public-house and made drunk, and robbed of all he has, is cant as fearful and sickening as any ever uttered.

There may be defects in the Bill; I do not say there are not. Like most pieces of parliamentary legislation it is bungling enough, and the convenient latitude attached to the definition of the word “traveller” may rob it of almost all its beneficial effects. That it may also create occasional inconvenience I freely admit, but the case at present is all in its favour; the protest raised against it is the same. But the publicans oppose it. I could understand if the public-houses were altogether closed on Sundays they might say it robbed the public of reasonable refreshment; but they have no pretext of the kind, and their opposition is now, I take it, the strongest argument in favour of the Bill. It is clear, now, why they oppose it; it is not the benefit of the public they seek so much as their own. It is the drinking beyond what is reasonable,—the intoxication of the working classes on the Sunday night,—the repetition of the scenes which have already brought such disgrace on the land, and such misery on our homes, for which they fight. For these reasons they denounce the Bill. For these reasons every well-wisher to his country, every sober man and woman, should give the Bill their hearty support, taking it for good as far as it goes, and seeking, if any change be made, that the change be one which the publicans shall like even less. We are told there is to be a contest; we are told the publicans will not let well alone; we are told next session they will agitate for the removal of this “unjust and iniquitous law.” Let them do so; it will be the worst day’s work for them they ever did. Let them do so, and an agitation will be begun, and a public sentiment will be created, and an array of facts shall be turned against them, as shall shake their trade to its very base. Wisdom would counsel them silence. Wisdom would recommend them not to call public attention to their craft—as they will not follow her guidance,—as they find fault with the Committee and the Advertiser, which accepted the Bill rather than see one more stringent passed, the masses can await with confidence the result. The middle classes of this country know the horror of Sabbath drinking too well, the poor of this country know it too well; neither are to be cajoled by a pretence, on the part of the publicans, to advocate their interests or uphold their rights. It is a question of the public on one side and the publicans on the other. The agitation against the Bill is the most shameless, selfish, dishonest agitation ever begun in this country. I know not if it will be continued much longer; I know that if it is, it will have most disastrous results, so far as the publicans are concerned. If even Disraeli will refuse to make political capital out of them, notwithstanding their urgent request to the contrary, they must be in a doleful plight. Their cause must be bad indeed. Their battle must be lost almost before it be begun.

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