We strain at a gnat and swallow a camel; and, in this instance, the publichouses are kept open to furnish our luxury, while we deny ourselves other necessaries of life, out of a scruple of conscience. For example; in extreme hot weather, when meat will not keep from Saturday to Sunday, we throw, or cause to be thrown away, vast quantities of tainted meat, and have generally stinking dinners, because the butchers dare not sell a joint of meat on a Sunday morning. Now, though I would not have the Sabbath so far violated as to have it a market-day, yet, rather than abuse God's mercies by throwing away creatures given for our use, nay, for our own healths and cleanliness sake, I would have the same indulgence in extreme hot weather, as there is for milk and mackerel; that is to say, that meat might be killed in the cool of the morning, viz., one or two of the clock, and sold till nine, and no longer; nor should villanous informers have power to molest them in this innocent and reasonable amendment of a ridiculous vulgar error.
I cannot forbear taking notice of the extravagant use, or rather abuse, of that nauseous liquor called Geneva, among our lower sort. Those who deny that an inferior class of people are most necessary in a body politic, contradict reason and experience itself, since they are most useful when industrious, and as pernicious when lazy. By their industry our manufactures, trade, and commerce are carried on; the merchant in his counting-house, and the captain in his cabin, would find but little employment were it not that many hands carried on the different branches of the concern they superintended.
But now, so far are our common people infatuated with Geneva, that half the work is not done now as formerly. It debilitates and enervates them, and they are not near so strong and healthy as formerly. This accursed liquor is in itself so diuretic, it overstrains the parts of generation, and makes our common people incapable of getting such lusty children as they used to do. Add to this, that the women, by drinking it, spoil their milk, and by giving it to young children, as they foolishly do, spoil the stomach, and hinder digestion; so that in less than an age, we may expect a fine spindle-shanked generation.
There is not in nature so unhealthy a liquor as Geneva, especially as commonly sold; it curdles the blood, it stupefies the senses, it weakens the nerves, it spoils the eyesight, and entirely ruins the stomach; nay, some stomachs have been rendered so cold by the use of Geneva, that lamp spirits have not been a dram warm enough for them. Surely they will come to drink aquafortis at last!
On the contrary, our own malt liquors, especially common draught beer, is most wholesome and nourishing, and has
brought up better generations than the present: it is strengthening, cooling, and balsamic; it helps digestion, and carries nourishment with it; and, in spite of the whims of some physicians, is most pertinent to a human, especially a good wholesome English, constitution. Nay, the honest part of the faculty deny not the use of small beer, well brewed, even in fevers. I, myself, have found great benefit by it; and if it be good in its kind, it is the finest jalap upon earth.
If this abuse of Geneva be not stopped, we may go whoop for husbandmen, labourers, &c. Trade must consequently stand still, and the credit of the nation sink; nor is the abatement of the excise, though very considerable, and most worthy notice, any ways comparable to the corruption of manners, the destruction of health, and all the train of evils we are threatened with from pernicious Geneva.
Nay, so little terror do our watchmen carry with them, that hardy thieves make a mere jest of them, and sometimes oblige even the very watchman who should apprehend them to light them in their roguery. And what can a poor creature do, in terror of his life, surrounded by a pack of ruffians, and no assistance near?
Add to this, that our rogues are grown more wicked than ever, and vice in all kinds is so much winked at, that robbery is accounted a petty crime. We take pains to puff them up in their villany, and thieves are set out in so amiable a light in the Beggar's Opera, that it has taught them to value themselves on their profession rather than be ashamed of it.
There was some cessation of street robberies, from the time of Bunworth and Blewitt's execution, until the introduction of this pious opera. Now we find the Cartouchian villanies revived, and London, that used to be the most safe and peaceful city in the universe, is now a scene of rapine and danger. If some of Cartouch's gang be not come over to instruct our thieves, and propagate their schemes, we have, doubtless, a Cartouch of our own, and a gang which, if not suppressed, may be full as pernicious as ever Cartouch's was, and London will be as dangerous as Paris, if due care be not taken.
We ought to begin our endeavours to suppress these villanies, first by heavenly, and then by earthly means.