The Ethics of Drink and Other Social Questions; Or, Joints In Our Social ArmourRunciman, James
Philosophy
The Ethics of Drink and Other Social Questions; Or, Joints In Our Social Armour
Runciman, James
Alcoholism -- Great Britain; Social problems; Temperance
But the betting-man, the foul product of civilization's depravity, cast
his eye on the old-fashioned sport and invaded the field. He found the
process of walking up the game not much to his taste, for he cares only
to exercise his leathern lungs; moreover, the courses were few and far
between and the chances of making wagers were scanty. He set himself to
meditate, and it struck him that, if a good big collection of hares
could be got together, it would be possible to turn them out one by one,
so that betting might go on as fast and as merrily on the
coursing-ground as at the roulette-table. Thus arose a "sport" which is
educating many, many thousands in callousness and brutality. Here and
there over England are dotted great enclosed parks, and the visitor is
shown wide and mazy coverts where hares swarm. Plenty of food is strewn
over the grass, and in the wildest of winters pussy has nothing to
fear--until the date of her execution arrives. The animals are not
natives of those enclosures; they are netted in droves on the Wiltshire
plains or on the Lancashire moors, and packed off like poultry to the
coursing-ground. There their life is calm for a long time; no poachers
or lurchers or vermin molest them; stillness is maintained, and the
hares live in peace. But one day there comes a roaring crowd to the
park, and, though pussy does not know it, her good days are passed. Look
at the mob that surges and bellows on the stands and in the enclosures.
They are well dressed and comfortable, but a more unpleasant gang could
not be seen. Try to distinguish a single face that shows kindness or
goodness--you fail; this rank roaring crowd is made up of betting-men
and dupes, and it is hard to say which are the worse. There is no
horse-racing in the winter, and so these people have come out to see a
succession of innocent creatures die, and to bet on the event. The slow
coursing of the old style would not do for the fiery betting-man; but we
shall have fun fast and furious presently. The assembly seems frantic;
flashy men with eccentric coats and gaudy hats of various patterns stand
about and bellow their offers to bet; feverish dupes move hither and
thither, waiting for chances; the rustle of notes, the chink of money,
sound here and there, and the immense clamour swells and swells, till a
stunning roar dulls the senses, and to an imaginative gazer it seems as
though a horde of fiends had been let loose to make day hideous. A
broad smooth stretch of grass lies opposite to the stands, and at one
end of this half-mile stretch there runs a barrier, the bottom of which
is fringed with straw and furze. If you examined that barrier, you would
find that it really opens into a wide dense copse, and that a hare or
rabbit which whisks under it is safe on the far side. At the other side
of this field a long fenced lane opens, and seems to be closed at the
blind end by a wide door. To the right of the blind lane is a tiny hut
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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