What's that to you? You understand
Nothing of all his bitter pain;
You have no regiment to brand;
You have no uniform to stain;
No vow of service to abuse;
No pledge to King and country due;
But he has something dear to lose,
And he has lost it—thanks to you.[1]
A man who had so distinguished himself at the front as to be mentioned in a despatch came home slightly wounded. In less than twenty-four hours he was in a cell at a police station, and the next day fined forty shillings. Oh! the pathetic pity of it. That man got into trouble through the exhibition of one of the purest and best features of our human nature, the desire to show kindness. In their well-intentioned ignorance this man's friends—yes, they were real friends—knew of only one way of displaying friendliness—they gave him liquor.
I am not going to blame them, nor him entirely; I am going to lay some of the fault upon ourselves.