Were my fine theories composed of mere fluid sentiment, or had they
some more consistent element in them which was capable of hardening
into invincible conviction? That was my problem. It was debated in
season and out of season. Gradually the two dominant factors in the
problem became evident; they were health and economics.

There could be no question about health. It was true that I had
suffered from no serious illness in my life, but London kept me in a
normal state of low vitality. I had constant headaches, fits of
depression, and minor physical derangements. I rarely knew what it was
to wake in the morning with that clear joyousness of spirit which marks
vigorous vitality. A London winter I dreaded, and I had good reason
for my dread. When the fog lay on the town an unbearable oppression
lay also on my spirits. Imagination had little to do with this
oppression; it was the physical result of lack of oxygen. It was the
same with my children; they grew pinched and bleached in face, and went
about their little tasks with the slowness of old men. It is stated, I
believe, that London is the healthiest city in the world; no doubt it
is true as regards the actual percentage of disease to the immense
population, but statistics take no account of lowered vitality.
Without being actually ill, vitality may be reduced to a point at which
existence becomes a kind of misery. Alcohol dissolves for a time the
cloud on the mind, the incubus upon the energies; and the relief is so
great that men do not think of the price they pay for it. No wonder
public-houses are the landmarks of London locomotion; they are the
Temples of Oblivion, where the devitalised multitudes seek to forget
themselves, that they may regain the courage to live at all.

For myself, I had sense to know that stimulants of this kind were a