It was in the coquettish town of Torquay, in the month of March, 1884. I was present at an immense _tea-and-bread-and-butter-meeting_, held under the auspices of the Temperance Society, and presided over by a venerable archdeacon. As I looked around me at the long Lenten-looking faces, silent and damned, to use the energetic expression of the poet Shelley, swallowing their tea in little sips, and nibbling their bread and butter with their eyes lifted heavenward, I thought to myself: Yes, I have said and will maintain it: nothing is more beautiful, nothing is more edifying, than to contemplate John as he imbibes this angelical beverage. I had duly partaken of a slice of bread and butter, and swallowed my two cups of tea, as stoically as any of the members of this edifying congregation, when an old maid, sitting next me, who, since the proceedings began had not opened her mouth, except to yawn at regular intervals like a machine, ventured to break the solemn silence: "Oh! sir," she said, addressing me, "what a grand meeting this is! Ours is a glorious cause!" ----"I do not doubt it, madam," I replied. "When this interesting tea party is over, there is to be an address, I believe?" ----"Yes; Archdeacon ... will say a few words." ----"What is the object of this meeting? The closing of public-houses on Sundays, I presume?" ----"Oh, dear no! we want to do something better than that. The public-house is not the greatest evil we have to fight against. We want to send a petition to Parliament to get the law repealed that allows grocers and pastrycooks to sell wine, beer, and spirits." ----"Really!" I exclaimed. ----"Yes, the public-house is only frequented by the lower classes; their sphere of action is, therefore, limited; but drunkenness among the women of the middle classes is greatly on the increase. Under pretence of buying a cake at the confectioner's, they enter the shop with the intention of drinking wine; under the pretext of sending their servants to buy groceries, they send for brandy, and get tipsy at home. So we have said to ourselves: The confectioner and the grocer are the enemies we have to fight." ----"I am afraid you calumniate your countrywomen," I suggested. ----"It is the sad truth; you will hear the Archdeacon presently: he has terrible tales to tell. Yes, sir, the grocers do more harm to our cause than the publicans. It was Mr. Gladstone that granted the grocers their licences, because it is well known that most grocers are Liberals." ----"I see," I said to my neighbour. "And as the publicans are Conservatives, you would like them to enjoy the monopoly of the sale of alcoholic poisons. It is a little electoral manoeuvre. Excuse me if I do not quite appreciate your philanthropical sentiments. But I see that the company is rising to go to the meeting; I will do myself the pleasure of going to hear what the Archdeacon has to say." The proceedings began with prayer and the singing of the hymn, "Rescue the perishing."