Self-examination, honestly performed, will reveal this at once, for conscience, unless blunted by neglect, will speak infallibly.

For instance, when you find some indulgence of the flesh concerning which you say “I can’t help it,” there your body has vanquished you.  It is absorbing your personality, robbing you of your divine birthright, in which you say, “I will,” “I will not.”

And now to go a step further—­the disciplining of the body, care in regard to eating, drinking, amusements, and the like; strictness as to luxuries and things which, though lawful, may not be expedient, not only tend to bodily strength and mere physical well-being, but brace up the will power, because they entail the constant exercise of it.

Here is where the practical wisdom of the Church comes in as regards fasting.  One day in every week is set apart, beside other days and seasons, as a reminder of the fact that fasting is a duty of the Christian life, just as much as almsgiving and prayer—­a duty sanctified by the example enjoined by the precept of our Lord Himself.

True, no hard and fast rules are laid down, but a little sanctified common sense will dictate to us how to make fast-days a reality, by some simple acts of self-denial.

Our last thought is one of intense practical importance—­our attitude at the present moment towards strong drink.

Lord Kitchener and the Archbishop of Canterbury have both on several occasions called the attention of the nation to the terrible evils arising from the unhappy custom of treating soldiers to strong drink.

Punch, always on the side of morality and rightness, has dealt with it in the following trenchant fashion:—­

TO A FALSE PATRIOT

  He came obedient to the Call;
    He might have shirked, like half his mates
  Who, while their comrades fight and fall,
    Still go to swell the football gates.

  And you, a patriot in your prime,
    You waved a flag above his head,
  And hoped he’d have a high old time,
    And slapped him on the back, and said: 

  “You’ll show ’em what we British are! 
    Give us your hand, old pal, to shake”;
  And took him round from bar to bar
    And made him drunk—­for England’s sake.

  That’s how you helped him.  Yesterday
    Clear-eyed and earnest, keen and hard,
  He held himself the soldier’s way—­
    And now they’ve got him under guard.

  That doesn’t hurt you; you’re all right;
    Your easy conscience takes no blame;
  But he, poor boy, with morning’s light,
    He eats his heart out, sick with shame.

  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]