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racy consists in taking into account the difference between individuals and regulating their relation to alcohol on the basis of that difference. Following this line of reasoning the Swedish state considers it undemocratic to tempt the poor man to spend a disproportionate part of his wages upon alcohol. So he is permitted to buy only one liter each month where the rich man may waste his substance upon four liters. Statistically everything speaks well for the Swedish control methods. Under the Bratt system the average individual consumption of snaps, Sweden's national drink, has declined 40 per cent. Cases of drunkenness have fallen off by nearly two thirds, while the number of habitual drunkards has declined by over two thirds. Statistical comparisons with Norway and Finland are favorable to Sweden. Taking the figures per thousand inhabitants last year, there were 5.3 convictions for drunkenness in Sweden as against 14 in Norway and 21.72 in Finland. The comparison with Finland is unfair, since being drunk is in itself an offense against the laws of that country, whereas in Sweden or Norway arrests are made only when the intoxicated individual creates a disturbance.

Compared with the general cost of living, the prices of intoxicants are far lower in Sweden than in most European countries. The shrewd Dr. Bratt realizes that this helps to popularize his control methods. Official liquor stores sell a quart of Swedish brandy for seventy cents. This price includes a 50 per cent tax which goes to the government. Good French red wine can be had for sixty cents a bottle and a high-grade

champagne for three dollars a quart. There is no internal revenue tax on wines after they have paid the regular customs dues. The Swedish people spend over $50,000,000 a year for intoxicants. That is why the state's liquor profits bring in one fifth of Sweden's total revenue, despite the low prices at which liquor is sold.

In some quarters there is vigorous objection to the Swedish system. Some private restaurant owners in Stockholm complain that Dr. Bratt's administrators discriminate against them in favor of hotels and restaurants which are owned by the system. Sweden's leading hotel, the Grand in Stockholm, and other liquor-selling establishments have been purchased by the system companies in the course of their operations. Proprietors of country hotels who used to pride themselves on their wine-cellars find that the best brands are now sold to the big establishments in Stockholm. They seem unable to get choice vintages from the government stores. The inspectors who enforce the strict restaurant regulations governing the hours when spirits may be sold and the quantity which may be sold to any individual are said to keep stricter watch on some restaurants than on others. When a violation has been proved-and it is safe to say that every restaurant violates the rules in some way-the system has the right to place its own representative in charge of all liquor sales and keep the profits for itself.

As control has become more rigid, bootlegging has increased. In Stockholm alone 2180 persons were arrested on bootlegging charges in 1925. Public sentiment in Sweden

condemns bootlegging, and the better classes of the population have nothing to do with the purchase or sale of illicit importations. It is largely a waterfront traffic among sailors. There is more drunkenness in the harbor districts of Gothenburg and Stockholm than anywhere else in Sweden.

One glance at the blank which must be filled out by those desiring a motbok would convince most Americans that Dr. Bratt's bureaucratic regulations would never do for the United States. He demands a complete social photograph from every person who seeks the right to purchase liquor. Where there is any doubt about the applicant, special investigators pay him a visit. Tax books, church authorities, municipal officials, and government records are consulted for information. The Stockholm City System has 400,000 individual information cards on file, and 200,000 of these are accompanied by special supplementary reports. In no other large city is there available such a mass of interesting material for social studies. If some American candidate for a doctor's degree in sociology is looking for an interesting thesis topic, he will find it in Dr. Bratt's card catalogue.

Dr.

The arbiters of the Swedish system have autocratic authority, but they exercise it with such discrimination that appeals are rare. Bratt declares that in twelve years he has not become aware of a single case where one of his agents yielded to corruption. He has been fortunate in surrounding himself with socially minded helpers who have

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What general conclusions can the impartial observer draw from these diverse attempts to eliminate the evils evils due to alcohol? One safe statement is that neither in autocracies nor in democracies can drinking be stopped by decree. While it is true that in the United States we moved toward national prohibition statewise for half a century, it is apparent now that for those sections of the country outside of the dry areas the period of preparation was not long enough.

Prohibition raises the interesting question to what extent it is possible to tyrannize over a substantial minority. In Europe attempts at such tyranny have not succeeded. There the prohibitionists have had to compromise. Here there is a determined effort to make them compromise. Perhaps it is significant that everywhere in Europe where absolute prohibition has not been tried the dry forces are in the ascendant, while no country that has tried prohibition has succeeded in enforcing it. Wherever the dry attack scored a complete legislative success a retreat has followed or is predicted.

But it is encouraging to see that, once eliminated, the saloon does not return. It remains to be demonstrated that in any region where drinking habits are general those habits can be overcome except by the slow process of changing tastes and social habits. Laws may accelerate this process. They cannot, in themselves, bring it about.

AS THE ANGELS WHICH ARE IN HEAVEN

S

They Neither Marry, Nor Are Given in Marriage

HUGH A. Studdert Kennedy

AID A great writer, some fifty years ago, "Marriage, once such a settled fact among us, is losing its sure foundation." Fifty years ago, such a statement was like the voice of one crying in the wilderness; to-day it is the commonplace of the street-corners.

What are we going to do about it? It is evident enough what we are doing about it-at any rate the vast majority of us: we are lifting up our voices and weeping over it. We are deploring the decadence of our day; we are eulogizing the high principles of our fathers, and sitting on the housetops looking for the advent of some great revivalist. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

The human mind is fearful of nothing so much as change. It does not object to variety; indeed, in most cases, it demands variety, but real fundamental change can only be brought about through much travail. The human mind will hail with all honor the man who invents a new flavor for a rice-pudding, but the man who has the temerity to advocate the abolition of rice-pudding will be ridden out of town.

On no other one subject, it may be ventured, does the human mind more cordially hate to face facts

than on the question of marriage, or more stubbornly refuse to envisage the possibility of radical change. The man who even so much as hints at such a suggestion is promptly written down, and written off, by the vast majority of Christian people at any rate, as a moral outlaw and an enemy of religion. No matter how much circumstances may proclaim to the contrary, marriage is still regarded as the "settled fact," and the terrible violence it suffers is always held to be the result of a depraved condition which must be redeemed, and never of a fuller and higher understanding of life which cannot be gainsaid. Human nature is ever seen as "going to the dogs," and never as ascending up into heaven. The world is forever looking back on its golden age. "When I was a boy" has been at once the pride and the reproach of each second generation since generations began.

"When I was a boy" marriages were real marriages, homes were real homes, children were real children, and parents were real parents. Divorce was a terrible, almost unthinkable, last resort; home was one grand fireside, one perfect elegy of comfort and joyful unquestioned duty; children were always obedient,

parents always loving, or, if ever stern, then cruel only to be kind. And then one day there set in the terrible change. A country doctor in the north of Ireland, in the cool of a summer evening, was watering his garden. From From one strategic point to another, he trailed his garden-hose, and, as he did so, he noticed how pliable it was, how resilient, how naturally it twined itself into rings and wheels. And then, suddenly, like a flash, it all came to him. Within a few days, he had fitted a portion of the garden-hose to his child's mail-cart, and the first rubber tires were on the road.

I do not know whether that was the beginning of it all, but from that day it has never stopped. The boneshaker was transformed overnight, and before the world knew where it was, every boy within hail of civilization was clamoring for a bicycle"with Dunlop tires," and every man too. Then small sisters in short skirts made contracts with small brothers to ride their machines, and elder sisters began to wish they were not so elder. And they wished and wished until at last they began to wonder why they should not ride anyway. So in due time there appeared the "ladies' machine," grudgingly and dubiously accepted; and then, without warning, came Mrs. Bloomer. From one end of Christendom to the other she was reprobated. The small boy hooted at her; the eminent divine straitly anathematized her; the plain man and woman, stricken to the depths of their orthodox souls, would have none of her. But, while the fight raged, the great world at large, men and women, boys and girls, was

mounting its wheel and riding away from home, gaining a wider sense of things, going to places it had never gone to before, enjoying experiences it had never dreamed of. From that day to this the world has never stopped riding away from home, away from the stated, the fixed, and the settled, into the realm where "all things are yours."

In the van of this great movement the woman and the girl have always held foremost place. "When I was a boy" the only profession open to women was the nursing profession; to-day no profession is closed against her. "When I was a boy" every nice girl was taught to blush if she inadvertently displayed an ankle; to-day ankles are like the foreshore at ebb-tide. "When I was a boy" the mysteries and intimacies of a woman's dress constituted a recognized palpitating subject for innuendo and gigglement; to-day there is nothing left either to poke our male friends in the ribs about or deliciously to giggle over with our lady acquaintances.

"Short skirts,
Bare knees,

Smoke where you like,
Go where you please."

And yet, though all the world is thus turned upside down, though accustomed standards all round us have changed past all recognition, though the sky-scrapers of the new earth are shouldering their way up to heaven, yet do we fearfully and tearfully seek to hold what we call the marriage covenant in the two-story brownstone of our fathers and their fathers before them.

Can it really be done?

I wonder. The answer, it seems to me, depends very largely on our fundamental attitude toward life. If we are willing to accept the debit and credit view of life, the rewards and punishments so dear to the heart of Samuel Butler; if we feel bound to accept the views that righteousness inheres alone in faithful observance of a certain fixed code and that any departure from that code is sin, that this world is simply one long arbitrary obedience test, satisfaction of which will admit us to heaven, while failure to satisfy it will precipitate us into hell; if this is our view, then are we justified in rising in Jonathan Edwards's wrath, and insisting that though the sky-scrapers of all other human activities and relationships push their heads above the clouds into heaven, the marriage relation be restrained within. its brownstone walls on the earth.

If, on the other hand, we see life— as it seems to me it must surely be seen as an infinite progression, out of the fantasies of a material consciousness, out of the absurd twicetwo-is-five of everyday life, into the great twice-two-is-four of being justly apprehended; if we thus see life, then must we see also that in this life there can be no mistakes, only experience. The advancing tide ebbs and flows, it swirls and eddies and throws itself hither and yon, but it steadily climbs the beach. We never doubt that it will ultimately reach its goal. Though the backwash skurries to meet the oncoming wave, and scatters it skyward in a thousand tufts of foam, though the eddy swirls around aimlessly and the waters meander drunkenly in all directions but the right one, we are

never for a moment in doubt that every movement represents progress, and that the tide is on the way. So, it has always seemed to me, must this thing we call life be regarded. And if this is so, then instead of viewing every change with distrust we must welcome it with favor. Instead of seeing in it merely men and women going to the dogs, we must see in it men and women mounting to heaven. If marriage, once such a settled fact among us, is losing its sure foundation, then instead of wailing and whimpering and scolding over it, had we not better bestir ourselves to a new faith, wait with our loins girt for the inevitable emergence of the new firmament, willing, meanwhile, to leave the old landmarks and be glad to see them disappear? The greatest enemy of real progress is the man who insists on patching the past.

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All through the ages, but more intensively than ever before during the past fifty years, the struggle of man has been toward individual liberty and individual completeness. He has sought it spiritually, and he has sought it materially, and every year that passes finds him more surely than ever before the man in possession. He speaks to the ends of the earth; he flies to the uttermost parts of the sea; he demands, and, in spite of all stiflement, demands again—and makes ever more good his claim-he demands the right to think as he pleases. And in spite of all evidence to the contrary, he claims to be master of his own soul and to look for his happiness, not through a material, but through a spiritual sense of things.

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