old clubs and societies, extending back above a
century, but I have not seen any of them, and I believe my readers will
think they have had quite enough.

The favourable reaction which has taken place in regard to the whole
system of intemperance may very fairly, in the first place, be referred
to an improved _moral_ feeling. But other causes have also assisted; and
it is curious to observe how the different changes in the modes of
society bear upon one another. The alteration in the convivial habits
which we are noticing in our own country may be partly due to alteration
of hours. The old plan of early dining favoured a system of suppers, and
after supper was a great time for convivial songs and sentiments. This
of course induced drinking to a late hour. Most drinking songs imply the
night as the season of conviviality--thus in a popular madrigal:--

"By the gaily circling glass
We can tell how minutes pass;
By the hollow cask we're told
How the waning _night_ grows old."

And Burns thus marks the time:--

"It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright, to wyle us hame,
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee."

The young people of the present day have no idea of the state of matters
in regard to the supper system when it was the normal condition of
society. The late dining hours may make the social circle more formal,
but they have been far less favourable to drinking propensities. After
such dinners as ours are now, suppers are clearly out of the question.
One is astonished to look back and recall the scenes to which were
attached associations of hilarity, conviviality, and enjoyment. Drinking
parties were protracted beyond the whole Sunday, having begun by a
dinner on Saturday; imbecility and prostrate helplessness were a common
result of these bright and jovial scenes; and by what perversion of
language, or by what obliquity of sentiment, the notions of pleasure
could be attached to scenes of such excess--to the nausea, the disgust
of sated appetite, and the racking headache--it is not easy to explain.
There were men of heads so hard, and of stomachs so insensible, that,
like my friend Saunders Paul, they could stand anything in the way of
drink. But to men in general, and to the more delicate constitutions,
such a life must have been a cause of great misery. To a certain extent,
and up to a certain point, wine may be a refresh