The Dixons were not teetotalers. They regretted it deeply, and blamed the doctor, who “insisted on some stimulant.” However, there was some consolation in trying to convert the parish to total abstinence, or, as they curiously called it, temperance. Old women were warned of the sin of taking a glass of beer for supper; aged labourers were urged to try Cork-ho, the new temperance drink; an uncouth beverage, styled coffee, was dispensed at the reading-room. Mr. Dixon preached an eloquent “temperance” sermon, soon after the above conversation, taking as his text: _Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees_. In his discourse he showed that fermented liquor and leaven had much in common, that beer was at the present day “put away” during Passover by the strict Jews; and in a moving peroration he urged his dear brethren, “and more especially those amongst us who are poor in this world’s goods,” to beware indeed of that evil leaven which was sapping the manhood of our nation. Mrs. Dixon cried after church: “Oh, Merivale, what a beautiful sermon! How earnest you were. I hope it will do good.” Mr. Dixon swallowed his port with great decorum, but his wife fuddled herself every evening with cheap sherry. She was quite unaware of the fact, and sometimes wondered in a dim way why she always had to scold the children after dinner. And so strange things sometimes happened in the nursery, and now and then the children looked queerly at one another after a red-faced woman had gone out, panting. Lucian knew nothing of his accuser’s trials, but he was not long in hearing of his own intoxication. The next time he went down to Caermaen he was hailed by the doctor. “Been drinking again today?” “No,” said Lucian in a puzzled voice. “What do you mean?” “Oh, well, if you haven’t, that’s all right, as you’ll be able to take a drop with me. Come along in?” Over the whisky and pipes Lucian heard of the evil rumors affecting his character. “Mrs. Dixon assured me you were staggering from one side of the street to the other. You quite frightened her, she said. Then she asked me if I recommended her to take one or two ounces of spirit at bedtime for the palpitation; and of course I told her two would be better. I have my living to make here, you know. And upon my word, I think she wants it; she’s always gurgling inside like a waterworks. I wonder how old Dixon can stand it.” “I like ‘ounces of spirit,’” said Lucian. “That’s taking it medicinally, I suppose. I’ve often heard of ladies who have to ‘take it medicinally’; and that’s how it’s done?” “That’s it. ‘Dr Burrows won’t _listen_ to me’: ‘I tell him how I dislike the taste of spirits, but he says they are absolutely _necessary_ for my constitution’: ‘my medical man _insists_ on something at bedtime’; that’s the style.”