A resort to extremes is always to be deprecated, and many sensible men hold the total abstainer in contempt, unless he abstain simply and solely because a moderate use of "beer and baccy" makes him ill; and this man is indeed a rarity. The teetotaller is either a creature with no will-power in his composition, a Pharisee, who thanks Providence that he is not as other men, or a lunatic. There can be no special virtue in "swearing off" good food and good liquor; whether for the sake of example, or for the sake of ascending a special pinnacle and posing to the world as the incarnation of perfection and holiness. In the parable, the Publican was "justified" rather than the Pharisee, because the former had the more common sense, and knew that if he set up as immaculate and without guile he was deceiving himself and nobody else. But here on earth, in the nineteenth century, the Publican stands a very poor chance with the Pharisee, whether the last-named assume the garb of "Social Purity," or "Vigilance," or the sombre raiment of the policeman. This is not right. This is altogether wrong. The total abstainer, the rabid jackass who denies himself--or claims that he does so--the juice of the grape, and drinks the horrible, flatulent, concoctions known as "temperance beverages," is just as great a sinner against common sense as that rabid jackass the habitual glutton, or drunkard, who, in abusing the good things of life--the gifts which are given us to enjoy--is putting together a rod of rattlesnakes for his own back. There is nothing picturesque about drunkenness; and there is still less of manliness therein. There is plenty of excuse for the careless, happy-go-lucky, casual over-estimater, who revels, on festive occasions, with his boon companions. 'Tis a poor heart that never rejoices; and wedding-feasts, celebrations of famous victories, birthday parties, and Christmas festivities have been, and will continue to be, held by high and low, from the earliest times. But there is no excuse, but only pity and disgust, for the sot who sits and soaks--or, worse still, stands and soaks--in the tavern day after day, and carries the brandy-bottle to bed with him. I have lived through two-thirds of the years allotted to man, and have never yet met the man who has done himself, or anybody else, any good by eating or drinking to excess. Nor is the man who has benefited himself, or society, through scorning and vilifying good cheer, a familiar sight in our midst. "Keep in the middle of the road," is the rule to be observed; and there is no earthly reason why the man who may have applied "hot and rebellious liquors" to his blood, as a youth, should not enjoy that "lusty winter" of old age, "frosty but kindly," provided those warm and warlike liquors have been applied in moderation.