question as quite detached from our own sympathies on the special subject of fermented liquor.  It could be applied to any other pleasure or ornament of life; it will be applied to every other pleasure and ornament of life if the Capitalist campaign can succeed.  The argument we know; but it cannot be too often made clear.  An employer, let us say, pays a seamstress twopence a day, and she does not seem to thrive on it.  So little, perhaps, does she thrive on it that the employer has even some difficulty in thriving upon her.  There are only two things that he can do, and the distinction between them cuts the whole social and political world in two.  It is a touchstone by which we can—­not sometimes, but always—­distinguish economic equality from servile social reform.  He can give the girl some magnificent sum, such as sixpence a day, to do as she likes with, and trust that her improved health and temper will work for the benefit of his business.  Or he may keep her to the original sum of a shilling a week, but earmark each of the pennies to be used or not to be used for a particular purpose.  If she must not spend this penny on a bunch of violets, or that penny on a novelette, or the other penny on a toy for some baby, it is possible that she will concentrate her expenditure more upon physical necessities, and so become, from the employer’s point of view, a more efficient person.  Without the trouble of adding twopence to her wages, he has added twopenny-worth to her food.  In short, she has the holy satisfaction of being worth more without being paid more.

This Capitalist is an ingenious person, and has many polished characteristics; but I think the most singular thing about him is his staggering lack of shame.  Neither the hour of death nor the day of reckoning, neither the tent of exile nor the house of mourning, neither chivalry nor patriotism, neither womanhood nor widowhood, is safe at this supreme moment from his dirty little expedient of dieting the slave.  As similar bullies, when they collect the slum rents, put a foot in the open door, these are always ready to push in a muddy wedge wherever there is a slit in a sundered household or a crack in a broken heart.  To a man of any manhood nothing can be conceived more loathsome and sacrilegious than even so much as asking whether a woman who has given up all she loved to death and the fatherland has or has not shown some weakness in her seeking for self-comfort.  I know not in which of the two cases I should count myself the baser for inquiring—­a case where the charge was false or a case where it was true.  But the philanthropic employer of the sort I describe is not a man of any manhood; in a sense he is not a man at all.  He shows some consciousness of the fact when he calls his workers “men” as distinct from masters.  He cannot comprehend the gallantry of costermongers or the delicacy that is quite common among cabmen.  He finds this social reform by half-rations on the whole to his mercantile profit, and it will be hard to get him to think of anything else.