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Title: Select Temperance Tracts

Author: American Tract Society

Release Date: November 4, 2008 [EBook #27146]

Language: English

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SELECT TEMPERANCE TRACTS.


[Illustration: Scene in a bar-room]


 PUBLISHED BY THE
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY,
 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK.


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CONTENTS.


                                                        Pages

 EFFECTS OF ARDENT SPIRITS. By Dr. Rush                     8 [A]

 TRAFFIC IN ARDENT SPIRITS. By Rev. Dr. Edwards            32 [B]

 REWARDS OF DRUNKENNESS                                     4 [C]

 THE WELL-CONDUCTED FARM                                   12 [D]

 KITTREDGE'S ADDRESS ON EFFECTS OF ARDENT SPIRITS          24 [E]

 DICKINSON'S APPEAL TO YOUTH                                8 [F]

 ALARM TO DISTILLERS AND THEIR ALLIES                       8 [G]

 PUTNAM AND THE WOLF                                       24 [H]

 HITCHCOCK ON THE MANUFACTURE OF ARDENT SPIRITS            28 [I]

 M'ILVAINE'S ADDRESS TO YOUNG MEN                          24 [J]

 WHO SLEW ALL THESE?                                        4 [K]

 SEWALL ON INTEMPERANCE                                    24 [L]

 BIBLE ARGUMENT FOR TEMPERANCE                             12 [M]

 FOUR REASONS AGAINST THE USE OF ALCOHOLIC LIQUORS         12 [N]

 DEBATES OF CONSCIENCE ON ARDENT SPIRITS                   16 [O]

 BARNES ON TRAFFIC IN ARDENT SPIRITS                       24 [P]

 THE FOOLS' PENCE                                           8 [Q]

 THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE REPAIRED                             12 [R]

 JAMIE; OR A WORD FROM IRELAND FOR TEMPERANCE              16 [S]

 THE WONDERFUL ESCAPE                                       4 [T]

 THE EVENTFUL TWELVE HOURS                                 16 [U]

 THE LOST MECHANIC RESTORED                                 4 [V]

 REFORMATION OF DRUNKARDS                                   4 [W]

 TOM STARBOARD AND JACK HALYARD                            24 [X]

 THE OX SERMON                                              8 [Y]


       *       *       *       *       *




THE EFFECTS OF ARDENT SPIRITS
UPON THE HUMAN BODY AND MIND.

BY BENJAMIN RUSH, M. D.


By ardent spirits, I mean those liquors only which are obtained by
distillation from fermented substances of any kind. To their effects
upon the bodies and minds of men, the following inquiry shall be
exclusively confined.

The effects of ardent spirits divide themselves into such as are of a
prompt, and such as are of a chronic nature. The former discover
themselves in drunkenness; and the latter in a numerous train of
diseases and vices of the body and mind.

I. I shall begin by briefly describing their prompt or immediate effects
in a fit of drunkenness.

This odious disease--for by that name it should be called--appears with
more or less of the following symptoms, and most commonly in the order
in which I shall enumerate them.

1. Unusual garrulity.

2. Unusual silence.

3. Captiousness, and a disposition to quarrel.

4. Uncommon good-humor, and an insipid simpering, or laugh.

5. Profane swearing and cursing.

6. A disclosure of their own or other people's secrets.

7. A rude disposition to tell those persons in company whom they know,
their faults.

8. Certain immodest actions. I am sorry to say this sign of the first
stage of drunkenness sometimes appears in women, who, when sober, are
uniformly remarkable for chaste and decent manners.

9. A clipping of words.

10. Fighting; a black eye, or a swelled nose, often mark this grade of
drunkenness.

11. Certain extravagant acts which indicate a temporary fit of madness.
Those are singing, hallooing, roaring, imitating the noises of brute
animals, jumping, tearing off clothes, dancing naked, breaking glasses
and china, and dashing other articles of household furniture upon the
ground or floor. After a while the paroxysm of drunkenness is completely
formed. The face now becomes flushed, the eyes project, and are somewhat
watery, winking is less frequent than is natural; the under lip is
protruded--the head inclines a little to one shoulder--the jaw
falls--belchings and hiccough take place--the limbs totter--the whole
body staggers. The unfortunate subject of this history next falls on his
seat--he looks around him with a vacant countenance, and mutters
inarticulate sounds to himself--he attempts to rise and walk: in this
attempt he falls upon his side, from which he gradually turns upon his
back: he now closes his eyes and falls into a profound sleep, frequently
attended with snoring, and profuse sweats, and sometimes with such a
relaxation of the muscles which confine the bladder and the lower
bowels, as to produce a symptom which delicacy forbids me to mention. In
this condition he often lies from ten, twelve, and twenty-four hours, to
two, three, four, and five days, an object of pity and disgust to his
family and friends. His recovery from this fit of intoxication is marked
with several peculiar appearances. He opens his eyes and closes them
again--he gapes and stretches his limbs--he then coughs and pukes--his
voice is hoarse--he rises with difficulty, and staggers to a chair--his
eyes resemble balls of fire--his hands tremble--he loathes the sight of
food--he calls for a glass of spirits to compose his stomach--now and
then he emits a deep-fetched sigh, or groan, from a transient twinge of
conscience; but he more frequently scolds, and curses every thing around
him. In this stage of languor and stupidity he remains for two or three
days, before he is able to resume his former habits of business and
conversation.

Pythagoras, we are told, maintained that the souls of men after death
expiated the crimes committed by them in this world, by animating
certain brute animals; and that the souls of those animals, in their
turns, entered into men, and carried with them all their peculiar
qualities and vices. This doctrine of one of the wisest and best of the
Greek philosophers, was probably intended only to convey a lively idea
of the changes which are induced in the body and mind of man by a fit of
drunkenness. In folly, it causes him to resemble a calf--in stupidity,
an ass--in roaring, a mad bull--in quarrelling and fighting, a dog--in
cruelty, a tiger--in fetor, a skunk--in filthiness, a hog--and in
obscenity, a he-goat.

It belongs to the history of drunkenness to remark, that its paroxysms
occur, like the paroxysms of many diseases, at certain periods, and
after longer or shorter intervals. They often begin with annual, and
gradually increase in their frequency, until they appear in quarterly,
monthly, weekly, and quotidian or daily periods. Finally, they afford
scarcely any marks of remission, either during the day or the night.
There was a citizen of Philadelphia, many years ago, in whom drunkenness
appeared in this protracted form. In speaking of him to one of his
neighbors, I said, "Does he not _sometimes_ get drunk?" "You mean," said
his neighbor, "is he not _sometimes_ sober?"

It is further remarkable, that drunkenness resembles certain hereditary,
family, and contagious diseases. I have once known it to descend from a
father to four out of five of his children. I have seen three, and once
four brothers, who were born of sober ancestors, affected by it; and I
have heard of its spreading through a whole family composed of members
not originally related to each other. These facts are important, and
should not be overlooked by parents, in deciding upon the matrimonial
connections of their children.

II. Let us next attend to the chronic effects of ardent spirits upon the
body and mind. In the body they dispose to every form of acute disease;
they moreover _excite_ fevers in persons predisposed to them from other
causes. This has been remarked in all the yellow-fevers which have
visited the cities of the United States. Hard-drinkers seldom escape,
and rarely recover from them. The following diseases are the usual
consequences of the habitual use of ardent spirits:

1. A decay of appetite, sickness at stomach, and a puking of bile, or a
discharge of a frothy and viscid phlegm, by hawking, in the morning.

2. Obstructions of the liver. The fable of Prometheus, on whose liver a
vulture was said to prey constantly, as a punishment for his stealing
fire from heaven, was intended to illustrate the painful effects of
ardent spirits upon that organ of the body.

3. Jaundice, and dropsy of the belly and limbs, and finally of every
cavity in the body. A swelling in the feet and legs is so characteristic
a mark of habits of intemperance, that the merchants in Charleston, I
have been told, cease to trust the planters of South Carolina as soon as
they perceive it. They very naturally conclude industry and virtue to be
extinct in that man, in whom that symptom of disease has been produced
by the intemperate use of distilled spirits.

4. Hoarseness, and a husky cough, which often terminate in consumption,
and sometimes in an acute and fatal disease of the lungs.

5. Diabetes, that is, a frequent and weakening discharge of pale or
sweetish urine.

6. Redness, and eruptions on different parts of the body. They generally
begin on the nose, and after gradually extending all over the face,
sometimes descend to the limbs in the form of leprosy. They have been
called "rum-buds," when they appear in the face. In persons who have
occasionally survived these effects of ardent spirits on the skin, the
face after a while becomes bloated, and its redness is succeeded by a
death-like paleness. Thus, the same fire which produces a red color in
iron, when urged to a more intense degree, produces what has been called
a white-heat.

7. A fetid breath, composed of every thing that is offensive in putrid
animal matter.

8. Frequent and disgusting belchings. Dr. Haller relates the case of a
notorious drunkard having been suddenly destroyed, in consequence of the
vapor discharged from his stomach by belching, accidentally taking fire
by coming in contact with the flame of a candle.

9. Epilepsy.

10. Gout, in all its various forms of swelled limbs, colic, palsy, and
apoplexy.

11. Lastly, madness. The late Dr. Waters, while he acted as house-pupil
and apothecary of the Pennsylvania hospital, assured me, that in
one-third of the patients confined by this terrible disease, it had been
induced by ardent spirits.

Most of the diseases which have been enumerated are of a mortal nature.
They are more certainly induced, and terminate more speedily in death,
when spirits are taken in such quantities, and at such times, as to
produce frequent intoxication; but it may serve to remove an error with
which some intemperate people console themselves, to remark, that ardent
spirits often bring on fatal diseases without producing drunkenness. I
have known many persons destroyed by them who were never completely
intoxicated during the whole course of their lives. The solitary
instances of longevity which are now and then met with in hard-drinkers,
no more disprove the deadly effects of ardent spirits, than the solitary
instances of recoveries from apparent death by drowning, prove that
there is no danger to life from a human body lying an hour or two under
water.

The body, after its death from the use of distilled spirits, exhibits,
by dissection, certain appearances which are of a peculiar nature. The
fibres of the stomach and bowels are contracted--abscesses, gangrene,
and schirri are found in the viscera. The bronchial vessels are
contracted--the bloodvessels and tendons in many parts of the body are
more or less ossified, and even the hair of the head possesses a
crispness which renders it less valuable to wig-makers than the hair of
sober people.

Not less destructive are the effects of ardent spirits upon the human
mind. They impair the memory, debilitate the understanding, and pervert
the moral faculties. It was probably from observing these effects of
intemperance in drinking upon the mind, that a law was formerly passed
in Spain which excluded drunkards from being witnesses in a court of
justice. But the demoralizing effects of distilled spirits do not stop
here. They produce not only falsehood, but fraud, theft, uncleanliness,
and murder. Like the demoniac mentioned in the New Testament, their name
is "Legion," for they convey into the soul a host of vices and crimes.

A more affecting spectacle cannot be exhibited than a person into whom
this infernal spirit, generated by habits of intemperance, has entered:
it is more or less affecting, according to the station the person fills
in a family, or in society, who is possessed by it. Is he a husband? How
deep the anguish which rends the bosom of his wife! Is she a wife? Who
can measure the shame and aversion which she excites in her husband? Is
he the father, or is she the mother of a family of children? See their
averted looks from their parent, and their blushing looks at each other.
Is he a magistrate? or has he been chosen to fill a high and respectable
station in the councils of his country? What humiliating fears of
corruption in the administration of the laws, and of the subversion of
public order and happiness, appear in the countenances of all who see
him. Is he a minister of the gospel? Here language fails me. If angels
weep, it is at such a sight.

In pointing out the evils produced by ardent spirits, let us not pass by
their effects upon the estates of the persons who are addicted to them.
Are they inhabitants of cities? Behold their houses stripped gradually
of their furniture, and pawned, or sold by a constable, to pay tavern
debts. See their names upon record in the dockets of every court, and
whole pages of newspapers filled with advertisements of their estates
for public sale. Are they inhabitants of country places? Behold their
houses with shattered windows--their barns with leaky roofs--their
gardens overrun with weeds--their fields with broken fences--their hogs
without yokes--their sheep without wool--their cattle and horses without
fat--and their children, filthy and half-clad, without manners,
principles, and morals. This picture of agricultural wretchedness is
seldom of long duration. The farms and property thus neglected and
depreciated, are seized and sold for the benefit of a group of
creditors. The children that were born with the prospect of inheriting
them, are bound out to service in the neighborhood; while their parents,
the unworthy authors of their misfortunes, ramble into new and distant
settlements, alternately fed on their way by the hand of charity, or a
little casual labor.

Thus we see poverty and misery, crimes and infamy, diseases and death,
are all the natural and usual consequences of the intemperate use of
ardent spirits.

I have classed death among the consequences of hard drinking. But it is
not death from the immediate hand of the Deity, nor from any of the
instruments of it which were created by him: it is death from _suicide_.
Yes, thou poor degraded creature who art daily lifting the poisoned bowl
to thy lips, cease to avoid the unhallowed ground in which the
self-murderer is interred, and wonder no longer that the sun should
shine, and the rain fall, and the grass look green upon his grave.
_Thou_ art perpetrating gradually, by the use of ardent spirits, what he
has effected suddenly by opium or a halter. Considering how many
circumstances from surprise, or derangement, may palliate his guilt, or
that, unlike yours, it was not preceded and accompanied by any other
crime, it is probable his condemnation will be less than yours at the
day of judgment.

I shall now take notice of the occasions and circumstances which are
supposed to render the use of ardent spirits necessary, and endeavor to
show that the arguments in favor of their use in such cases are founded
in error, and that in each of them ardent spirits, instead of affording
strength to the body, increase the evils they are intended to relieve.

1. They are said to be necessary in very cold weather. This is far from
being true, for the temporary warmth they produce is always succeeded by
a greater disposition in the body to be affected by cold. Warm dresses,
a plentiful meal just before exposure to the cold, and eating
occasionally a little gingerbread, or any other cordial food, is a much
more durable method of preserving the heat of the body in cold weather.

2. They are said to be necessary in very warm weather. Experience proves
that they increase, instead of lessening the effects of heat upon the
body, and thereby dispose to diseases of all kinds. Even in the warm
climate of the West Indies, Dr. Bell asserts this to be true. "Rum,"
says this author, "whether used habitually, moderately, or in excessive
quantities, in the West Indies, always diminishes the strength of the
body, and renders men more susceptible of disease, and unfit for any
service in which vigor or activity is required."[A] As well might we
throw oil into a house, the roof of which was on fire, in order to
prevent the flames from extending to its inside, as pour ardent spirits
into the stomach to lessen the effects of a hot sun upon the skin.

3. Nor do ardent spirits lessen the effects of hard labor upon the body.
Look at the horse, with every muscle of his body swelled from morning
till night in the plough, or a team; does he make signs for a draught of
toddy, or a glass of spirits, to enable him to cleave the ground, or to
climb a hill? No; he requires nothing but cool water and substantial
food. There is no nourishment in ardent spirits. The strength they
produce in labor is of a transient nature, and is always followed by a
sense of weakness and fatigue.


DANGER FROM ARDENT SPIRITS.

Every man is in danger of becoming a drunkard who is in the habit of
drinking ardent spirits--1. When he is warm. 2. When he is cold. 3. When
he is wet. 4. When he is dry. 5. When he is dull. 6. When he is lively.
7. When he travels. 8. When he is at home. 9. When he is in company. 10.
When he is alone. 11. When he is at work. 12. When he is idle. 13.
Before meals. 14. After meals. 15. When he gets up. 16. When he goes to
bed. 17. On holidays. 18. On public occasions. 19. On any day; or, 20.
On any occasion.

   [Footnote A: See his "Inquiry into the Causes which Produce,
   and the Means of Preventing Diseases among British Officers,
   Soldiers, and others, in the West Indies."]




ON THE
TRAFFIC IN ARDENT SPIRIT.


Ardent spirit is composed of alcohol and water, in nearly equal
proportions. Alcohol is composed of hydrogen, carbon, and oxygen, in the
proportion of about fourteen, fifty-two, and thirty-four parts to the
hundred. It is, in its nature, as manifested by its effects, a _poison_.
When taken in any quantity it disturbs healthy action in the human
system, and in large doses suddenly destroys life. It resembles opium in
its nature, and arsenic in its effects. And though when mixed with
water, as in ardent spirit, its evils are somewhat modified, they are by
no means prevented. Ardent spirit is an enemy to the human constitution,
and cannot be used as a drink without injury. Its ultimate tendency
invariably is, to produce weakness, not strength; sickness, not health;
death, not life.

Consequently, to use it is an immorality. It is a violation of the will
of God, and a sin in magnitude equal to all the evils, temporal and
eternal, which flow from it. Nor can the furnishing of ardent spirit for
the use of others be accounted a less sin, inasmuch as this tends to
produce evils greater than for an individual merely to drink it. And if
a man knows, or has the opportunity of knowing, the nature and effects
of the traffic in this article, and yet continues to be engaged in it,
he may justly be regarded as an immoral man; and for the following
reasons, viz.

Ardent spirit, as a drink, is _not needful_. All men lived without it,
and all the business of the world was conducted without it, for
thousands of years. It is not three hundred years since it began to be
generally used as a drink in Great Britain, nor one hundred years since
it became common in America. Of course it is not needful.

It is _not useful_. Those who do not use it are, other things being
equal, in all respects better than those who do. Nor does the fact that
persons have used it with more or less frequency, in a greater or
smaller quantity, for a longer or shorter time, render it either
needful, or useful, or harmless, or right for them to continue to use
it. More than a million of persons in this country, and multitudes in
other countries, who once did use it, and thought it needful, have,
within five years, ceased to use it, and they have found that they are
in all respects better without it. And this number is so great, of all
ages, and conditions, and employments, as to render it certain, should
the experiment be fairly made, that this would be the case with all. Of
course, ardent spirit, as a drink, is not useful.

It is _hurtful_. Its whole influence is injurious to the body and the
mind for this world and the world to come.

1. It forms an _unnecessary, artificial, and very dangerous appetite_;
which, by gratification, like the desire for sinning, in the man who
sins, tends continually to increase. No man can form this appetite
without increasing his danger of dying a drunkard, and exerting an
influence which tends to perpetuate drunkenness, and all its
abominations, to the end of the world. Its very formation, therefore, is
a violation of the will of God. It is, in its nature, an immorality, and
springs from an inordinate desire of a kind or degree of bodily
enjoyment--animal gratification, which God has shown to be inconsistent
with his glory, and the highest good of man. It shows that the person
who forms it is not satisfied with the proper gratification of those
appetites and passions which God has given him, or with that kind and
degree of bodily enjoyment which infinite wisdom and goodness have
prescribed as the utmost that can be possessed consistently with a
person's highest happiness and usefulness, the glory of his Maker, and
the good of the universe. That person covets more animal enjoyment; to
obtain it he forms a new appetite, and in doing this he rebels against
God.

That desire for increased animal enjoyment from which rebellion springs
is sin, and all the evils which follow in its train are only so many
voices by which Jehovah declares "the way of transgressors is hard." The
person who has formed an appetite for ardent spirit, and feels uneasy if
he does not gratify it, has violated the divine arrangement, disregarded
the divine will, and if he understands the nature of what he has done,
and approves of it, and continues in it, it will ruin him. He will show
that there is one thing in which he will not have God to reign over him.
And should he keep the whole law, and yet continue knowingly,
habitually, wilfully, and perseveringly to offend in that one point, he
will perish. Then, and then only, according to the Bible, can any man be
saved, when he has respect to all the known will of God, and is disposed
to be governed by it. He must carry out into practice, with regard to
the body and the soul, "Not my will, but thine be done." His grand
object must be, to know the will of God, and when he knows it, to be
governed by it, and with regard to all things. This, the man who is not
contented with that portion of animal enjoyment which the proper
gratification of the appetites and passions which God has given him will
afford, but forms an appetite for ardent spirit, or continues to gratify
it after it is formed, does not do. In this respect, if he understands
the nature and effects of his actions, he prefers his own will to the
known will of God, and is ripening to hear, from the lips of his Judge,
"Those mine enemies, that would not that I should _reign_ over them,
bring them hither and slay them before me." And the men who traffic in
this article, or furnish it as a drink for others, are tempting them to
sin, and thus uniting their influence with that of the devil for ever to
ruin them. This is an aggravated immorality, and the men who continue to
do it are immoral men.

2. The use of ardent spirit, to which the traffic is accessory, causes a
great and wicked _waste of property_. All that the users pay for this
article is to them lost, and worse than lost. Should the whole which
they use sink into the earth, or mingle with the ocean, it would be
better for them, and better for the community, than for them to drink
it. All which it takes to support the paupers, and prosecute the crimes
which ardent spirit occasions, is, to those who pay the money, utterly
lost. All the diminution of profitable labor which it occasions, through
improvidence, idleness, dissipation, intemperance, sickness, insanity,
and premature deaths, is to the community so much utterly lost. And
these items, as has often been shown, amount in the United States to
more than $100,000,000 a year. To this enormous and wicked waste of
property, those who traffic in the article are knowingly accessory.

A portion of what is thus lost by others, they obtain themselves; but
without rendering to others any valuable equivalent. This renders their
business palpably unjust; as really so as if they should obtain that
money by gambling; and it is as really immoral. It is also unjust in
another respect: it burdens the community with taxes both for the
support of pauperism, and for the prosecution of crimes, and without
rendering to that community any adequate compensation. These taxes, as
shown by facts, are four times as great as they would be if there were
no sellers of ardent spirit. All the profits, with the exception perhaps
of a mere pittance which he pays for license, the seller puts into his
own pocket, while the burdens are thrown upon the community. This is
palpably unjust, and utterly immoral. Of 1,969 paupers in different
almshouses in the United States, 1,790, according to the testimony of
the overseers of the poor, were made such by spirituous liquor. And of
1,764 criminals in different prisons, more than 1,300 were either
intemperate men, or were under the power of intoxicating liquor when the
crimes for which they were imprisoned were committed. And of 44 murders,
according to the testimony of those who prosecuted or conducted the
defence of the murderers, or witnessed their trials, 43 were committed
by intemperate men, or upon intemperate men, or those who at the time of
the murder were under the power of strong drink.

The Hon. Felix Grundy, United States senator from Tennessee, after
thirty years' extensive practice as a lawyer, gives it as his opinion
that four-fifths of all the crimes committed in the United States can be
traced to intemperance. A similar proportion is stated, from the highest
authority, to result from the same cause in Great Britain. And when it
is considered that more than 200 murders are committed, and more than
100,000 crimes are prosecuted in the United States in a year, and that
such a vast proportion of them are occasioned by ardent spirit, can a
doubt remain on the mind of any sober man, that the men who know these
facts, and yet continue to traffic in this article, are among the chief
causes of crime, and ought to be viewed and treated as immoral men? It
is as really immoral for a man, by doing wrong, to excite others to
commit crimes, as to commit them himself; and as really unjust
wrongfully to take another's property with his consent, as without it.
And though it might not be desirable to have such a law, yet no law in
the statute-book is more righteous than one which should require that
those who make paupers should support them, and those who excite others
to commit crimes, should pay the cost of their prosecution, and should,
with those who commit them, bear all the evils. And so long as this is
not the case they will be guilty, according to the divine law, of
defrauding, as well as tempting and corrupting their fellow-men. And
though such crimes cannot be prosecuted, and justice be awarded in human
courts, their perpetrators will be held to answer, and will meet with
full and awful retribution at the divine tribunal. And when judgment is
laid to the line, and righteousness to the plummet, they will appear as
they really are, criminals, and will be viewed and treated as such for
ever.

There is another view in which the traffic in ardent spirit is
manifestly highly immoral. It exposes the children of those who use it,
in an eminent degree, to dissipation and crime. Of 690 children
prosecuted and imprisoned for crimes, more than 400 were from
intemperate families. Thus the venders of this liquor exert an influence
which tends strongly to ruin not only those who use it, but their
children; to render them far more liable to idleness, profligacy, and
ruin, than the children of those who do not use it; and through them to
extend these evils to others, and to perpetuate them to future
generations. This is a sin of which all who traffic in ardent spirit are
guilty. Often the deepest pang which a dying parent feels for his
children, is lest, through the instrumentality of such men, they should
be ruined. And is it not horrible wickedness for them, by exposing for
sale one of the chief causes of this ruin, to tempt them in the way to
death? If he who takes money from others without an equivalent, or
wickedly destroys property, is an immoral man, what is he who destroys
character, who corrupts children and youth, and exerts an influence to
extend and perpetuate immorality and crime through future generations?
This every vender of ardent spirit does; and if he continues in this
business with a knowledge of the subject, it marks him as an habitual
and persevering violater of the will of God.

3. Ardent spirit _impairs_, and often _destroys reason_. Of 781 maniacs
in different insane hospitals, 392, according to the testimony of their
own friends, were rendered maniacs by strong drink. And the physicians
who had the care of them gave it as their opinion, that this was the
case with many of the others. Those who have had extensive experience,
and the best opportunities for observation with regard to this malady,
have stated, that probably from one-half to three-fourths of the cases
of insanity, in many places, are occasioned in the same way. Ardent
spirit is a poison so diffusive and subtile that it is found, by actual
experiment, to penetrate even the brain.

Dr. Kirk, of Scotland, dissected a man a few hours after death who died
in a fit of intoxication; and from the lateral ventricles of the brain
he took a fluid distinctly visible to the smell as whiskey; and when he
applied a candle to it in a spoon, it took fire and burnt blue; "the
lambent blue flame," he says, "characteristic of the poison, playing on
the surface of the spoon for some seconds."

It produces also, in the children of those who use it freely, a
predisposition to intemperance, insanity, and various diseases of both
body and mind, which, if the cause is continued, becomes hereditary, and
is transmitted from generation to generation; occasioning a diminution
of size, strength, and energy, a feebleness of vision, a feebleness and
imbecility of purpose, an obtuseness of intellect, a depravation of
moral taste, a premature old age, and a general deterioration of the
whole character. This is the case in every country, and in every age.

Instances are known where the first children of a family, who were born
when their parents were temperate, have been healthy, intelligent, and
active; while the last children, who were born after the parents had
become intemperate, were dwarfish and idiotic. A medical gentleman
writes, "I have no doubt that a disposition to nervous diseases of a
peculiar character is transmitted by drunken parents." Another gentleman
states that, in two families within his knowledge, the different stages
of intemperance in the parents seemed to be marked by a corresponding
deterioration in the bodies and minds of the children. In one case, the
eldest of the family is respectable, industrious, and accumulates
property; the next is inferior, disposed to be industrious, but spends
all he can earn in strong drink. The third is dwarfish in body and mind,
and, to use his own language, "a poor, miserable remnant of a man."

In another family of daughters, the first is a smart, active girl, with
an intelligent, well-balanced mind; the others are afflicted with
different degrees of mental weakness and imbecility, and the youngest is
an idiot. Another medical gentleman states, that the first child of a
family, who was born when the habits of the mother were good, was
healthy and promising; while the four last children, who were born after
the mother had become addicted to the habit of using opium, appeared to
be stupid; and all, at about the same age, sickened and died of a
disease apparently occasioned by the habits of the mother.

Another gentleman mentions a case more common, and more appalling still.
A respectable and influential man early in life adopted the habit of
using a little ardent spirit daily, because, as he thought, it did him
good. He and his six children, three sons and three daughters, are now
in the drunkard's grave, and the only surviving child is rapidly
following in the same way, to the same dismal end.

The best authorities attribute one-half the madness, three-fourths of
the pauperism, end four-fifths of the crimes and wretchedness in Great
Britain to the use of strong drink.

4. Ardent spirit increases the number, frequency, and violence of
_diseases_, and tends to bring those who use it to a premature grave. In
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, of about 7,500 people, twenty-one persons
were killed by it in a year. In Salem, Massachusetts, of 181 deaths,
twenty were occasioned in the same way. Of ninety-one adults who died in
New Haven, Connecticut, in one year, thirty-two, according to the
testimony of the Medical Association, were occasioned, directly or
indirectly, by strong drink, and a similar proportion had been
occasioned by it in previous years. In New Brunswick, New Jersey, of
sixty-seven adult deaths in one year, more than one-third were caused by
intoxicating liquor. In Philadelphia, of 4,292 deaths, 700 were, in the
opinion of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, caused in the same
way. The physicians of Annapolis, Maryland, state that, of thirty-two
persons, male and female, who died in 1828, above eighteen years of age,
ten, or nearly one-third, died of diseases occasioned by intemperance;
that eighteen were males, and that of these, nine, or one-half, died of
intemperance. They also say, "When we recollect that even the temperate
use, as it is called, of ardent spirits, lays the foundation of a
numerous train of incurable maladies, we feel justified in expressing
the belief, that were the use of distilled liquors entirely
discontinued, the number of deaths among the male adults would be
diminished at least one-half."

Says an eminent physician, "Since our people generally have given up the
use of spirit, they have not had more than half as much sickness as they
had before; and I have no doubt, should all the people of the United
States cease to use it, that nearly half the sickness of the country
would cease." Says another, after forty years' extensive practice, "Half
the men every year who die of fevers might recover, had they not been in
the habit of using ardent spirit. Many a man, down for weeks with a
fever, had he not used ardent spirit, would not have been confined to
his house a day. He might have felt a slight headache, but a little
fasting would have removed the difficulty, and the man been well. And
many a man who was never intoxicated, when visited with a fever, might
be raised up as well as not, were it not for that state of the system
which daily moderate drinking occasions, who now, in spite of all that
can be done, sinks down and dies."

Nor are we to admit for a moment the popular reasoning, as applicable
here, "that the abuse of a thing is no argument against its use;" for,
in the language of the late Secretary of the College of Physicians and
Surgeons of Philadelphia, Samuel Emlen, M. D., "All use of ardent
spirits," _i. e._ as a drink, "is an abuse. They are mischievous under
all circumstances." Their tendency, says Dr. Frank, when used even
moderately, is to induce disease, premature old age, and death. And Dr.
Trotter states, that no cause of disease has so wide a range, or so
large a share, as the use of spirituous liquors.

Dr. Harris states, that the _moderate_ use of spirituous liquors has
destroyed many who were never drunk; and Dr. Kirk gives it as his
opinion, that men who were never considered intemperate, by daily
drinking have often shortened life more than twenty years; and that the
respectable use of this poison kills more men than even drunkenness. Dr.
Wilson gives it as his opinion, that the use of spirit in large cities
causes more diseases than confined air, unwholesome exhalations, and the
combined influence of all other evils.

Dr. Cheyne, of Dublin, Ireland, after thirty years' practice and
observation, gives it as his opinion, that should ten young men begin at
twenty-one years of age to use but one glass of two ounces a day, and
never increase the quantity, nine out of ten would shorten life more
than ten years. But should moderate drinkers shorten life only five
years, and drunkards only ten, and should there be but four moderate
drinkers to one drunkard, it would in thirty years cut off in the United
States 32,400,000 years of human life. An aged physician in Maryland
states, that when the fever breaks out there, the men who do not use
ardent spirit are not half as likely as other men to have it; and that
if they do have it, they are ten times as likely to recover. In the
island of Key West, on the coast of Florida, after a great mortality, it
was found that every person who had died had been in the habit of using
ardent spirit. The quantity used was afterwards diminished more than
nine-tenths, and the inhabitants became remarkably healthy.

A gentleman of great respectability from the south, states, that those
who fall victims to southern climes, are almost invariably addicted to
the free use of ardent spirit. Dr. Mosely, after a long residence in the
West Indies, declares, "that persons who drink nothing but cold water,
or make it their principal drink, are but little affected by tropical
climates; that they undergo the greatest fatigue without inconvenience,
and are not so subject as others to dangerous diseases;" and Dr. Bell,
"that rum, when used even moderately, always diminishes the strength,
and renders men more susceptible of disease; and that we might as well
throw oil into a house, the roof of which is on fire, in order to
prevent the flames from extending to the inside, as to pour ardent
spirits into the stomach to prevent the effect of a hot sun upon the
skin."

Of seventy-seven persons found dead in different regions of country,
sixty-seven, according to the coroners' inquests, were occasioned by
strong drink. Nine-tenths of those who die suddenly after the drinking
of cold water, have been habitually addicted to the free use of ardent
spirit; and that draught of cold water, that effort, or fatigue, or
exposure to the sun, or disease, which a man who uses no ardent spirit
will bear without inconvenience or danger, will often kill those who use
it. Their liability to sickness and to death is often increased tenfold.
And to all these evils, those who continue to traffic in it, after all
the light which God in his providence has thrown upon the subject, are
knowingly accessory. Whether they deal in it by whole sale or retail, by
the cargo or the glass, they are, in their influence, drunkard-makers.
So are also those who furnish the materials; those who advertise the
liquors, and thus promote their circulation; those who lease their
tenements to be employed as dram-shops, or stores for the sale of ardent
spirit; and those also who purchase their groceries of spirit dealers
rather than of others, for the purpose of saving to the amount which the
sale of ardent spirit enables such men, without loss, to undersell their
neighbors. These are all accessory to the making of drunkards, and as
such will be held to answer at the divine tribunal. So are those men who
employ their shipping in transporting the liquors, or are in any way
knowingly aiding and abetting in perpetuating their use as a drink in
the community.

It is estimated that four-fifths of those who were swept away by the
late direful visitation of CHOLERA, were such as had been addicted to
the use of intoxicating drink. Dr. Bronson, of Albany, who spent some
time in Canada, and whose professional character and standing give great
weight to his opinions, says, "Intemperance of any species, but
particularly intemperance in the use of _distilled liquors_, has been a
more productive cause of cholera than any other, and indeed than all
others." And can men, for the sake of money, make it a business
knowingly and perseveringly to furnish the most productive cause of
cholera, and not be guilty of _blood_--not manifest a recklessness of
character which will brand the mark of vice and infamy on their
foreheads? "Drunkards and tipplers," he adds, "have been searched out
with such unerring certainty as to show that the arrows of death have
not been dealt out with indiscrimination. An indescribable terror has
spread through the ranks of this class of beings. They see the bolts of
destruction aimed at their heads, and every one calls himself a victim.
There seems to be a natural affinity between cholera and ardent
spirit." What, then, in days of exposure to this malady, is so great a
nuisance as the places which furnish this poison? Says Dr. Rhinelander,
who, with Dr. De Kay, was deputed from New York to visit Canada, "We may
be asked who are the victims of this disease? I answer, the intemperate
it invariably cuts off." In Montreal, after 1,200 had been attacked, a
Montreal paper states, that "not a drunkard who has been attacked has
recovered of the disease, and almost all the victims have been at least
_moderate_ drinkers." In Paris, the 30,000 victims were, with few
exceptions, those who freely used intoxicating liquors. Nine-tenths of
those who died of the cholera in Poland were of the same class.

In St. Petersburgh and Moscow, the average number of deaths in the bills
of mortality, during the prevalence of the cholera, when the people
ceased to drink brandy, was no greater than when they used it during the
usual months of health--showing that brandy, and attendant dissipation,
killed as many people in the same time as even the cholera itself, that
pestilence which has spread sackcloth over the nations. And shall the
men who know this, and yet continue to furnish it for all who can be
induced to buy, escape the execration of being the destroyers of their
race? Of more than 1,000 deaths in Montreal, it is stated that only two
were members of Temperance societies. It was also stated, that as far as
was known no members of Temperance societies in Ireland, Scotland, or
England, had yet fallen victims to that dreadful disease.

From Montreal, Dr. Bronson writes, "Cholera has stood up here, as it has
done everywhere, the advocate of Temperance. It has pleaded most
eloquently, and with tremendous effect. The disease has searched out the
haunt of the drunkard, and has seldom left it without bearing away its
victim. Even _moderate_ drinkers have been but little better off. Ardent
spirits, in any shape, and in all quantities, have been _highly_
detrimental. Some temperate men resorted to them during the prevalence
of the malady as a preventive, or to remove the feeling of uneasiness
about the stomach, or for the purpose of drowning their apprehensions,
but they did it at their peril."

Says the London Morning Herald, after stating that the cholera fastens
its deadly grasp upon this class of men, "The same preference for the
intemperate and uncleanly has characterized the cholera _everywhere_.
Intemperance is a qualification which it never overlooks. Often has it
passed harmless over a wide population of temperate country people, and
poured down, as an overflowing scourge, upon the drunkards of some
distant town." Says another English publication, "All experience, both
in Great Britain and elsewhere, has proved that those who have been
addicted to drinking spirituous liquors, and indulging in irregular
habits, have been the greatest sufferers from cholera. In some towns the
drunkards are all dead." Rammohun Fingee, the famous Indian doctor,
says, with regard to India, that people who do not take opium, or
spirits, do not take this disorder even when they are with those who
have it. Monsieur Huber, who saw 2,160 persons perish in twenty-five
days in one town in Russia, says, "It is a most remarkable circumstance,
that persons given to drinking have been swept away like flies. In
Tiflis, containing 20,000 inhabitants, every drunkard has fallen--all
are dead, not one remains."

Dr. Sewall, of Washington city, in a letter from New York, states, that
of 204 cases of cholera in the Park hospital, there were only six
temperate persons, and that those had recovered; while 122 of the
others, when he wrote, had died; and that the facts were similar in all
the other hospitals.

In Albany, a careful examination was made by respectable gentlemen into
the cases of those who died of the cholera in that city in 1832, over
sixteen years of age. The result was examined in detail by nine
physicians, members of the medical staff attached to the board of health
in that city--all who belong to it, except two, who were at that time
absent--and published at their request under the signature of the
Chancellor of the State, and the five distinguished gentlemen who
compose the Executive Committee of the New York State Temperance
Society, and is as follows: number of deaths, 366; viz. intemperate,
140; free drinkers, 55; moderate drinkers, mostly habitual, 131;
strictly temperate, who drank no ardent spirits, 5; members of
Temperance societies, 2; and when it is recollected that of more than
5,000 members of Temperance societies in the city of Albany, only two,
not one in 2,500, fell by this disease, while it cut off more than one
in fifty of the inhabitants of that city, we cannot but feel that men
who furnish ardent spirit as a drink for their fellow-men, are
manifestly inviting the ravages, and preparing the victims of this fatal
malady, and of numerous other mortal diseases; and when inquisition is
made for blood, and the effects of their employment are examined for the
purpose of rendering to them according to their work, they will be
found, should they continue, to be guilty of knowingly destroying their
fellow-men.

What right have men, by selling ardent spirit, to increase the danger,
extend the ravages, and augment and perpetuate the malignancy of the
cholera, and multiply upon the community numerous other mortal diseases?
Who cannot see that it is a foul, deep, and fatal injury inflicted on
society? that it is in a high degree cruel and unjust? that it scatters
the population of our cities, renders our business stagnant, and exposes
our sons and our daughters to premature and sudden death? So manifestly
is this the case, that the board of health of the city of Washington, on
the approach of the cholera, declared the vending of ardent spirit, _in
any quantity_, to be a _nuisance_; and, as such, ordered that it be
discontinued for the space of ninety days. This was done in
self-defence, to save the community from the sickness and death which
the vending of spirit is adapted to occasion. Nor is this tendency to
occasion disease and death confined to the time when the cholera is
raging.

By the statement of the physicians in Annapolis, Maryland, it appears
that the average number of deaths by intemperance for several years, has
been one to every 329 inhabitants; which would make in the United States
40,000 in a year. And it is the opinion of physicians, that as many more
die of diseases which are induced, or aggravated, and rendered mortal by
the use of ardent spirit. And to those results, all who make it, sell
it, or use it, are accessory.

It is a principle in law, that the perpetrator of crime, and the
accessory to it, are both guilty, and deserving of punishment. Men have
been brought to the gallows on this principle. It applies to the law of
God. And as the drunkard cannot go to heaven, can drunkard-makers? Are
they not, when tried by the principles of the Bible, in view of the
developments of Providence, manifestly immoral men? men who, for the
sake of money, will knowingly be instrumental in corrupting the
character, increasing the diseases, and destroying the lives of their
fellow-men?

"But," says one, "I never sell to drunkards; I sell only to sober men."
And is that any better? Is it a less evil to the community to make
drunkards of sober men than it is to kill drunkards? Ask that widowed
mother who did her the greatest evil: the man who only killed her
drunken husband, or the man who made a drunkard of her only son? Ask
those orphan children who did them the greatest injury: the man who made
their once sober, kind, and affectionate father a drunkard, and thus
blasted all their hopes, and turned their home, sweet home, into the
emblem of hell; or the man who, after they had suffered for years the
anguish, the indescribable anguish of the drunkard's children, and seen
their heart-broken mother in danger of an untimely grave, only killed
their drunken father, and thus caused in their habitation a great calm?
Which of these two men brought upon them the greatest evil? Can you
doubt? You, then, do nothing but make drunkards of sober men, or expose
them to become such. Suppose that all the evils which you may be
instrumental in bringing upon other children, were to come upon your
own, and that _you_ were to bear all the anguish which you may occasion;
would you have any doubt that the man who would knowingly continue to be
accessory to the bringing of these evils upon you, must be a notoriously
wicked man?

5. Ardent spirit destroys the _soul_.

Facts in great numbers are now before the public, which show
conclusively that the use of ardent spirit tends strongly to hinder the
moral and spiritual illumination and purification of men; and thus to
prevent their salvation, and bring upon them the horrors of the second
death.

A disease more dreadful than the cholera, or any other that kills the
body merely, is raging, and is universal, threatening the endless death
of the soul. A remedy is provided all-sufficient, and infinitely
efficacious; but the use of ardent spirit aggravates the disease, and
with millions and millions prevents the application of the remedy and
its effect.

It appears from the fifth report of the American Temperance Society,
that more than four times as many, in proportion to the number, over
wide regions of country, during the preceding year, have apparently
embraced the gospel, and experienced its saving power, from among those
who had renounced the use of ardent spirit, as from those who continued
to use it.

The committee of the New York State Temperance Society, in view of the
peculiar and unprecedented attention to religion which followed the
adoption of the plan of abstinence from the use of strong drink, remark,
that when this course is taken, the greatest enemy to the work of the
Holy Spirit on the minds and hearts of men, appears to be more than half
conquered.

In three hundred towns, six-tenths of those who two years ago belonged
to Temperance societies, but were not hopefully pious, have since become
so; and eight-tenths of those who have within that time become hopefully
pious, who did not belong to Temperance societies, have since joined
them. In numerous places, where only a minority of the people abstained
from the use of ardent spirit, nine-tenths of those who have of late
professed the religion of Christ, have been from that minority. This is
occasioned in various ways. The use of ardent spirit keeps many away
from the house of God, and thus prevents them from coming under the
sound of the gospel. And many who do come, it causes to continue stupid,
worldly-minded, and unholy. A single glass a day is enough to keep
multitudes of men, under the full blaze of the gospel, from ever
experiencing its illuminating and purifying power. Even if they come to
the light, and it shines upon them, it shines upon darkness, and the
darkness does not comprehend it; while multitudes who thus do evil will
not come to the light, lest their deeds should be reproved. There is a
total contrariety between the effect produced by the Holy Spirit, and
the effect of spirituous liquor upon the minds and hearts of men. The
latter tends directly and powerfully to counteract the former. It tends
to make men feel in a manner which Jesus Christ hates, rich spiritually,
increased in goods, and in need of nothing; while it tends for ever to
prevent them from feeling, as sinners must feel, to buy of him gold
tried in the fire, that they may be rich. Those who use it, therefore,
are taking the direct course to destroy their own souls; and those who
furnish it, are taking the course to destroy the souls of their
fellow-men.

In one town, more than twenty times as many, in proportion to the
number, professed the religion of Christ during the past year, of those
who did not use ardent spirit, as of those who did; and in another town
more than thirty times as many. In other towns, in which from one-third
to two-thirds of the people did not use it, and from twenty to forty
made a profession of religion, they were all from the same class. What,
then, are those men doing who furnish it, but taking the course which is
adapted to keep men stupid in sin till they sink into the agonies of the
second death? And is not this an immorality of a high and aggravated
description? and one which ought to mark every man who understands its
nature and effects, and yet continues to live in it, as a notoriously
immoral man? What though he does not live in other immoralities--is not
this enough? Suppose he should manufacture poisonous miasma, and cause
the cholera in our dwellings; sell, knowingly, the cause of disease, and
increase more than one-fifth over wide regions of country the number of
adult deaths, would he not be a murderer? "I know," says the learned
Judge Crunch, "that the cup" which contains ardent spirit "is poisoned;
I know that it may cause death, that it may cause more than death, that
it may lead to crime, to sin, to the tortures of everlasting remorse. Am
I not, then, a murderer? worse than a murderer? as much worse as the
soul is better than the body? If ardent spirits were nothing worse than
a deadly poison--if they did not excite and inflame all the evil
passions--if they did not dim that heavenly light which the Almighty has
implanted in our bosoms to guide us through the obscure passages of our
pilgrimage--if they did not quench the Holy Spirit in our hearts, they
would be comparatively harmless. It is their moral effect--it is the
ruin of the _soul_ which they produce, that renders them so dreadful.
The difference between death by simple poison, and death by habitual
intoxication, may extend to the whole difference between everlasting
happiness and eternal death."

And, say the New York State Society, at the head of which is the
Chancellor of the State, "Disguise that business as they will, it is
still, in its true character, the business of destroying the bodies and
souls of men. The vender and the maker of spirits, in the whole range of
them, from the pettiest grocer to the most extensive distiller, are
fairly chargeable, not only with _supplying_ the appetite for spirits,
but with _creating_ that unnatural appetite; not only with supplying the
drunkard with the fuel of his vices, but with _making_ the drunkard.

"In reference to the taxes with which the making and vending of spirits
loads the community, how unfair towards others is the occupation of the
maker and vender of them! A town, for instance, contains one hundred
drunkards. The profit of making these drunkards is enjoyed by some half
a dozen persons; but the burden of these drunkards rests upon the whole
town. We do not suggest that there should be such a law, but we ask
whether there would be one law in the whole statute-book more
_righteous_ than that which should require those who have the profit of
making our drunkards to be burdened with the support of them."

Multitudes who once cherished the fond anticipation of happiness in this
life and that to come, there is reason to believe, are now wailing
beyond the reach of hope, through the influence of ardent spirit; and
multitudes more, if men continue to furnish it as a drink, especially
sober men, will go down to weep and wail with them to endless ages.

       *       *       *       *       *

"But," says one, "the traffic in ardent spirit is a lawful business; it
is approbated by law, and is therefore right." But the keeping of
gambling houses is, in some cases, approbated by human law. Is that
therefore right? The keeping of brothels is, in some cases, approbated
by law. Is that therefore right? Is it human law that is the standard of
morality and religion? May not a man be a notoriously wicked man, and
yet not violate human law? The question is, Is it right? Does it accord
with the divine law? Does it tend in its effects to bring glory to God
in the highest, and to promote the best good of mankind? If not, the
word of God forbids it; and if a man who has the means of understanding
its nature and effects continues to follow it, he does it at the peril
of his soul.

"But," says another, "if I should not sell it, I could not sell so many
other things." If you could not, then you are forbidden by the word of
God to sell so many other things. And if you continue to make money by
that which tends to destroy your fellow-men, you incur the displeasure
of Jehovah. "But if I should not sell it, I must change my business."
Then you are required by the Lord to change your business. A voice from
the throne of his excellent glory cries, "Turn ye, turn ye from this
evil way; for why will ye die?"

"If I should turn from it, I could not support my family." This is not
true; at least, no one has a right to say that it is true till he has
tried it, and done his whole duty by ceasing to do evil and learning to
do well, trusting in God, and has found that his family is not
supported. Jehovah declares, that such as seek the Lord, and are
governed by his will, shall not want any good thing. And till men have
made the experiment of obeying him in all things, and found that they
cannot support their families, they have no right to say that it is
necessary for them to sell ardent spirit. And if they do say this, it is
a libel on the divine character and government. There is no truth in it.
He who feeds the sparrow and clothes the lily, will, if they do right,
provide for them and their families; and there is no shadow of
necessity, in order to obtain support, for them to carry on a business
which destroys their fellow-men.

"But others will do it, if I do not." Others will send out their
vessels, steal the black man, and sell him and his children into
perpetual bondage, if you do not. Others will steal, rob, and commit
murder, if you do not; and why may not you do it, and have a portion of
the profit, as well as they? Because, if you do, you will be a thief, a
robber, and a murderer, like them. You will here be partaker of their
guilt, and hereafter of their plagues. Every friend, therefore, to you,
to your Maker, or the eternal interests of men, will, if acquainted with
this subject, say to you, As you value the favor of God, and would
escape his righteous and eternal indignation, renounce this work of
death; for he that soweth death, shall also reap death.

"But our fathers imported, manufactured, and sold ardent spirit, and
were they not good men? Have not they gone to heaven?" Men who professed
to be good once had a multiplicity of wives, and have not some of them
too gone to heaven? Men who professed to be good once were engaged in
the slave-trade, and have not some of them gone to heaven? But can men
who understand the will of God with regard to these subjects, continue
to do such things now, and yet go to heaven? The principle which applies
in this case, and which makes the difference between those who did such
things once, and those who continue to do them now, is that to which
Jesus Christ referred when he said, "If I had not come and spoken to
them, they had not had sin; but now they have no cloak for their sin."
The days of that darkness and ignorance which God may have winked at
have gone by, and he now commandeth all men to whom his will is made
known to repent. Your fathers, when they were engaged in selling ardent
spirit, did not know that all men, under all circumstances, would be
better without it. They did not know that it caused three-quarters of
the pauperism and crime in the land--that it deprived many of
reason--greatly increased the number and severity of diseases, and
brought down such multitudes to an untimely grave. The facts had not
then been collected and published. They did not know that it tended so
fatally to obstruct the progress of the Gospel, and ruin, for eternity,
the souls of men. You do know it, or have the means of knowing it. You
cannot sin with as little guilt as did your fathers. The facts, which
are the voice of God in his providence, and manifest his will, are now
before the world. By them he has come and spoken to you. And if you
continue, under these circumstances, to violate his will, you will have
no cloak, no covering, no excuse for your sin. And though sentence
against this evil work is not executed at once, judgment, if you
continue, will not linger, nor will damnation slumber.

The accessory and the principal, in the commission of crime, are both
guilty. Both by human laws are condemned. The principle applies to the
law of God; and not only drunkards, but drunkard-makers--not only
murderers, but those who excite others to commit murder, and furnish
them with the known cause of their evil deeds, will, if they understand
what they do, and continue thus to rebel against God, be shut out of
heaven.

Among the Jews, if a man had a beast that went out and killed a man, the
beast, said Jehovah, shall be slain, and his flesh shall not be eaten.
The owner must lose the whole of him as a testimony to the sacredness of
human life, and a warning to all not to do any thing, or connive at any
thing that tended to destroy it. But the owner, if he did not know that
the beast was dangerous, and liable to kill, was not otherwise to be
punished. But if he did know, if it had been testified to the owner that
the beast was dangerous, and liable to kill, and he did not keep him in,
but let him go out, and he killed a man, then, by the direction of
Jehovah, the beast and the owner were both to be put to death. The
owner, under these circumstances, was held responsible, and justly too,
for the injury which his beast might do. Though men are not required or
permitted now to execute this law, as they were when God was the
Magistrate, yet the reason of the law remains. It is founded in
justice, and is eternal. To the pauperism, crime, sickness, insanity,
and death temporal and eternal, which ardent spirit occasions, those who
knowingly furnish the materials, those who manufacture, and those who
sell it, are all accessory, and as such will be held responsible at the
divine tribunal. There was a time when the owners did not know the
dangerous and destructive qualities of this article--when the facts had
not been developed and published, nor the minds of men turned to the
subject; when they did not know that it caused such a vast portion of
the vice and wretchedness of the community, and such wide-spreading
desolation to the temporal and eternal interests of men; and although it
then destroyed thousands, for both worlds, the guilt of the men who sold
it was comparatively small. But now they sin against light, pouring down
upon them with unutterable brightness; and if they know what they do,
and in full view of its consequences continue that work of death--not
only let the poison go out, but furnish it, and send it out to all who
are disposed to purchase--it had been better for them, and better for
many others, if they had never been born. For, briefly to sum up what we
have said,

1. It is the selling of that, without the use of which nearly all the
business of this world was conducted, till within less than three
hundred years, and which of course is not _needful_.

2. It is the selling of that which was not generally used by the people
of this country for more than a hundred years after the country was
settled, and which by hundreds of thousands, and some in all kinds of
lawful business, is not used now. Once they did use it, and thought it
needful or useful. But by experiment, the best evidence in the world,
they have found that they were mistaken, and that they are in all
respects better without it. And the cases are so numerous as to make it
_certain_, that should the experiment be fairly made, this would be the
case with all. Of course it is not _useful_.

3. It is the selling of that which is a real, a subtile and very
destructive _poison_--a poison which, by men in health, cannot be taken
without deranging healthy action, and inducing more or less disease,
both of body and mind; which is, when taken in any quantity, positively
_hurtful_; and which is of course forbidden by the word of God.

4. It is the selling of that which tends to form an unnatural, and a
very dangerous and destructive appetite; which, by gratification, like
the desire of sinning in the man who sins, tends continually to
increase, and which thus exposes all who form it to come to a _premature
grave_.

5. It is the selling of that which causes a great portion of all the
pauperism in our land; and thus, for the benefit of a few--those who
sell--brings an enormous tax on the whole community. Is this fair? Is it
just? Is it not exposing our children and youth to become drunkards? And
is it not inflicting great evils on society?

6. It is the selling of that which excites to a great portion of all the
crimes that are committed, and which is thus shown to be in its effects
hostile to the moral government of God, and to the social, civil, and
religious interests of men; at war with their highest good, both for
this life and the life to come.

7. It is the selling of that, the sale and use of which, if continued,
will form intemperate appetites, which, if formed, will be gratified,
and thus will perpetuate intemperance and all its abominations to the
end of the world.

8. It is the selling of that which makes wives widows, and children
orphans; which leads husbands often to murder their wives, and wives to
murder their husbands; parents to murder their children, and children to
murder their parents; and which prepares multitudes for the prison, for
the gallows, and for hell.

9. It is the selling of that which greatly increases the amount and
severity of sickness; which in many cases destroys reason; which causes
a great portion of all the sudden deaths, and brings down multitudes who
were never intoxicated, and never condemned to suffer the penalty of the
civil law, to an untimely grave.

10. It is the selling of that which tends to lessen the health, the
reason, and the usefulness, to diminish the comfort, and shorten the
lives of all who habitually use it.

11. It is the selling of that which darkens the understanding, sears the
conscience, pollutes the affections, and debases all the powers of man.

12. It is the selling of that which weakens the power of motives to do
right, and increases the power of motives to do wrong, and is thus shown
to be in its effects hostile to the moral government of God, as well as
to the temporal and eternal interests of men; which excites men to rebel
against him, and to injure and destroy one another. And no man can sell
it without exerting an influence which tends to hinder the reign of the
Lord Jesus Christ over the minds and hearts of men, and to lead them to
persevere in iniquity, till, notwithstanding all the kindness of
Jehovah, their case shall become hopeless.

       *       *       *       *       *

Suppose a man, when about to commence the traffic in ardent spirit,
should write in great capitals on his sign-board, to be seen and read of
all men, what he will do, viz., that so many of the inhabitants of this
town or city, he will, for the sake of getting their money, make
paupers, and send them to the almshouse, and thus oblige the whole
community to support them and their families; that so many others he
will excite to the commission of crimes, and thus increase the expenses,
and endanger the peace and welfare of the community; that so many he
will send to the jail, and so many more to the state prison, and so many
to the gallows; that so many he will visit with sore and distressing
diseases; and in so many cases diseases which would have been
comparatively harmless, he will by his poison render fatal; that in so
many cases he will deprive persons of reason, and in so many cases will
cause sudden death; that so many wives he will make widows, and so many
children he will make orphans, and that in so many cases he will cause
the children to grow up in ignorance, vice, and crime, and after being
nuisances on earth, will bring them to a premature grave; that in so
many cases he will prevent the efficacy of the Gospel, grieve away the
Holy Ghost, and ruin for eternity the souls of men. And suppose he
could, and should give some faint conception of what it is to lose the
soul, and of the overwhelming guilt and coming wretchedness of him who
is knowingly instrumental in producing this ruin; and suppose he should
put at the bottom of the sign this question, viz., What, you may ask,
can be my object in acting so much like a devil incarnate, and bringing
such accumulated wretchedness upon a comparatively happy people? and
under it should put the true answer, MONEY; and go on to say, I have a
family to support; I want money, and must have it; this is my business,
I was brought up to it; and if I should not follow it I must change my
business, or I could not support my family. And as all faces begin to
gather blackness at the approaching ruin, and all hearts to boil with
indignation at its author, suppose he should add for their consolation,
"If I do not bring this destruction upon you, somebody else will." What
would they think of him? what would all the world think of him? what
_ought_ they to think of him? And is it any worse for a man to tell the
people beforehand honestly what he will do, if they buy and use his
poison, than it is to go on and do it? And what if they are not aware of
the mischief which he is doing them, and he can accomplish it through
their own perverted and voluntary agency? Is it not equally abominable,
if _he knows_ it, and does not cease from producing it?

And if there are churches whose members are doing such things, and those
churches are not blessed with the presence and favor of the Holy Ghost,
they need not be at any loss for the reason. And if they should _never_
again, while they continue in this state, be blessed with the reviving
influence of God's Spirit, they need not be at any loss for the reason.
Their own members are exerting a strong and fatal influence against it;
and that too after Divine Providence has shown them what they are doing.
And in many such cases there is awful guilt with regard to this thing
resting upon the whole church. Though they have known for years what
these men were doing; have seen the misery, heard the oaths, witnessed
the crimes, and known the wretchedness and deaths which they have
occasioned, and perhaps have spoken of it, and deplored it among one
another; many of them have never spoken on this subject to the persons
themselves. They have seen them scattering firebrands, arrows, and death
temporal and eternal, and yet have never so much as warned them on the
subject, and never besought them to give up their work of death.

An individual lately conversed with one of his professed Christian
brethren who was engaged in this traffic, and told him not only that he
was ruining for both worlds many of his fellow-men, but that his
Christian brethren viewed his business as inconsistent with his
profession, and tending to counteract all efforts for the salvation of
men; and the man, after frankly acknowledging that it was wrong, said
that this was the first time that any of them had conversed with him on
the subject. This may be the case with other churches; and while it is,
the whole church is conniving at the evil, and the whole church is
guilty. Every brother, in such a case, is bound, on his own account, to
converse with him who is thus aiding the powers of darkness, and
opposing the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and try to persuade him to cease
from this destructive business.

The whole church is bound to make efforts, and use all proper means to
accomplish this result. And before half the individual members have done
their duty on this subject, they may expect, if the offending brother
has, and manifests the spirit of Christ, that he will cease to be an
offence to his brethren, and a stumbling-block to the world, over which
such multitudes fall to the pit of woe. And till the church, the whole
church, do their duty on this subject, they cannot be freed from the
guilt of conniving at the evil. And no wonder if the Lord leaves them to
be as the mountains of Gilboa, on which there was neither rain or dew.
And should the church receive from the world those who make it a
business to carry on this notoriously immoral traffic, they will greatly
increase their guilt, and ripen for the awful displeasure of God. And
unless members of the church shall cease to teach, by their business,
the fatal error that it is right for men to buy and use ardent spirit as
a drink, the evil will never be eradicated, intemperance will never
cease, and the day of millennial glory never come.

Each individual who names the name of Christ is called upon, by the
providence of God, to act on this subject openly and decidedly for him,
and in such a manner as is adapted to banish intemperance and all its
abominations from the earth, and to cause temperance and all its
attendant benefits universally to prevail. And if ministers of the
Gospel and members of Christian churches do not connive at the sin of
furnishing this poison as a drink for their fellow-men; and men who, in
opposition to truth and duty, continue to be engaged in this destructive
employment, are viewed and treated as wicked men; the work which the
Lord hath commenced and carried forward with a rapidity, and to an
extent hitherto unexampled in the history of the world, will continue to
move onward till not a name, nor a trace, nor a shadow of a drunkard,
or a drunkard-maker, shall be found on the globe.

PROFESSED CHRISTIAN--In the manufacture or sale of ardent spirit as a
drink, you do not, and you cannot honor God; but you do, and, so long as
you continue it, you will greatly dishonor Him. You exert an influence
which tends directly and strongly to ruin, for both worlds, your
fellow-men. Should you take a quantity of that poisonous liquid into
your closet, present it before the Lord, confess to him its nature and
effects, spread out before him what it has done and what it will do, and
attempt to ask him to bless you in extending its influence; it would,
unless your conscience is already seared as with a hot iron, appear to
you like blasphemy. You could no more do it than you could take the
instruments of gambling and attempt to ask God to bless you in extending
them through the community. And why not, if it is a lawful business? Why
not ask God to increase it, and make you an instrument in extending it
over the country, and perpetuating it to all future generations? Even
the worldly and profane man, when he hears about professing Christians
offering prayer to God that he would bless them in the manufacture or
sale of ardent spirit, involuntarily shrinks back and says, "That is too
bad." He can see that it is an abomination. And if it is too bad for a
professed Christian to pray about it, is it not too bad for him to
practise it? If you continue, under all the light which God in his
providence has furnished with regard to its hurtful nature and
destructive effects, to furnish ardent spirit as a drink for your
fellow-men, you will run the fearful hazard of losing your soul, and you
will exert an influence which powerfully tends to destroy the souls of
your fellow-men. Every time you furnish it you are rendering it less
likely that they will be illuminated, sanctified, and saved, and more
likely that they will continue in sin and go down to the chambers of
death.

It is always worse for a church-member to do an immoral act, and teach
an immoral sentiment, than for an immoral man, because it does greater
mischief. And this is understood, and often adverted to by the immoral
themselves. Even drunkards are now stating it to their fellow-drunkards,
that church-members are not better than they. And to prove it, are
quoting the fact, that although they are not drunkards, and perhaps do
not get drunk, they, for the sake of money, carry on the business of
making drunkards. And are not the men and their business of the same
character? "The deacon," says a drunkard, "will not use ardent spirit
himself: he says, 'It is poison!' But for six cents he will sell it to
me. And though he will not furnish it to his own children, for he says,
'It will ruin them!' yet he will furnish it to mine. And there is my
neighbor, who was once as sober as the deacon himself, but he had a
pretty farm, which the deacon wanted, and for the sake of getting it he
has made him a drunkard. And his wife, as good a woman as ever lived,
has died of a broken heart, because her children would follow their
father." No, you cannot convince even a drunkard, that the man who is
selling him that which he knows is killing him, is any better than the
drunkard himself. Nor can you convince a sober man, that he who, for the
sake of money, will, with his eyes open, make drunkards of sober men, is
any less guilty than the drunkards he makes.

Is this writing upon their employment "Holiness unto the Lord," without
which no one, from the Bible, can expect to be prepared for the holy
joys of heaven? As ardent spirit is a poison which, when used even
moderately, tends to harden the heart, to sear the conscience, to blind
the understanding, to pollute the affections, to weaken and derange and
debase the whole man, and to lessen the prospect of his eternal life, it
is the indispensable duty of each person to renounce it. And he cannot
refuse to do this without becoming, if acquainted with this subject,
knowingly accessory to the temporal and eternal ruin of his fellow-men.
And what will it profit him to gain even the whole world by that which
ruins the soul?

My friend, you are soon to die, and in eternity to witness the
influence, the whole influence, which you exert while on earth, and you
are to witness its consequence in joy or sorrow to endless being.
Imagine yourself now, where you soon will be, _on your death-bed_. And
imagine that you have a full view of the property which you have caused
to be wasted, or which you have gained without furnishing any valuable
equivalent; of the health which you have destroyed, and the characters
which you have demoralized; of the wives that you have made widows, and
the children that you have made orphans; of all the lives that you have
shortened, and all the souls that you have destroyed. O! imagine that
these are the only "rod and staff" which you have to comfort you as you
go down the valley of the shadow of death, and that they will all meet
you in full array at the judgment and testify against you. What will it
profit you, though you have gained more money than you otherwise would,
when you have left it all far behind in that world which is destined to
fire, and the day of perdition of ungodly men? What will it profit, when
you are enveloped in the influence which you have exerted, and are
experiencing its consequences to endless ages; finding for ever that as
a man soweth so must he reap, and that if he has sowed death he must
reap _death_? Do not any longer assist in destroying men, nor expose
yourself and your children to be destroyed. Do good, and good only, to
all as you have opportunity, and good shall come unto you.




THE REWARDS OF DRUNKENNESS.

[Illustration: Drunk, with remonstrating wife, and small child]


If you wish to be always thirsty, be a Drunkard; for the oftener and
more you drink, the oftener and more thirsty you will be.

If you seek to prevent your friends raising you in the world, be a
Drunkard; for that will defeat all their efforts.

If you would effectually counteract your own attempts to do well, be a
Drunkard; and you will not be disappointed.

If you wish to repel the endeavors of the whole human race to raise you
to character, credit, and prosperity, be a Drunkard; and you will most
assuredly triumph.

If you are determined to be poor, be a Drunkard; and you will soon be
ragged and pennyless.

If you would wish to starve your family, be a Drunkard; for that will
consume the means of their support.

If you would be imposed on by knaves, be a Drunkard; for that will make
their task easy.

If you would wish to be robbed, be a Drunkard; which will enable the
thief to do it with more safety.

If you would wish to blunt your senses, be a Drunkard; and you will soon
be more stupid than an ass.

If you would become a fool, be a Drunkard; and you will soon lose your
understanding.

If you wish to unfit yourself for rational intercourse, be a Drunkard;
for that will accomplish your purpose.

If you are resolved to kill yourself, be a Drunkard; that being a sure
mode of destruction.

If you would expose both your folly and secrets, be a Drunkard; and they
will soon be made known.

If you think you are too strong, be a Drunkard; and you will soon be
subdued by so powerful an enemy.

If you would get rid of your money without knowing how, be a Drunkard;
and it will vanish insensibly.

If you would have no resource when past labor but a workhouse, be a
Drunkard; and you will be unable to provide any.

If you are determined to expel all comfort from your house, be a
Drunkard; and you will soon do it effectually.

If you would be always under strong suspicion, be a Drunkard; for little
as you think it, all agree that those who steal from themselves and
families will rob others.

If you would be reduced to the necessity of shunning your creditors, be
a Drunkard; and you will soon have reason to prefer the by-paths to the
public streets.

If you would be a dead weight on the community, and "cumber the ground,"
be a Drunkard; for that will render you useless, helpless, burdensome,
and expensive.

If you would be a nuisance, be a Drunkard; for the approach of a
Drunkard is like that of a dunghill.

If you would be hated by your family and friends, be a Drunkard; and you
will soon be more than disagreeable.

If you would be a pest to society, be a Drunkard; and you will be
avoided as infectious.

If you do not wish to have your faults reformed, continue to be a
Drunkard, and you will not care for good advice.

If you would smash windows, break the peace, get your bones broken,
tumble under carts and horses, and be locked up in watch-houses, be a
Drunkard; and it will be strange if you do not succeed.

If you wish all your prospects in life to be clouded, be a Drunkard; and
they will soon be dark enough.

If you would destroy your body, be a Drunkard; as drunkenness is the
mother of disease.

If you mean to ruin your soul, be a Drunkard; that you may be excluded
from heaven.

Finally, if you are determined to be utterly destroyed, in estate, body,
and soul, be a Drunkard; and you will soon know that it is impossible to
adopt a more effectual means to accomplish your--END.

"All the crimes on earth," says Lord Bacon, "do not destroy so many of
the _human race_, nor alienate so much _property_, as _drunkenness_."

_Drunkenness_ expels reason--drowns the memory--defaces
beauty--diminishes strength--inflames the blood--causes internal,
external, and incurable wounds--is a witch to the senses, a devil to the
soul, a thief to the purse--the beggar's companion, the wife's woe, and
children's sorrow--makes a strong man weak, and a wise man a fool. He is
worse than a beast, and is a self-murderer, who drinks to others' good
health, and robs himself of his own. He is worse than a beast, for no
animal will designedly intoxicate itself; but a drunkard swallows his
liquor, well knowing the condition to which it will reduce him, and that
these draughts will deprive him of the use of his reason, and render him
worse than a beast. By the effects of liquor his evil passions and
tempers are freed from restraint; and, while in a state of intoxication,
he commits actions, which, when sober, he would have shuddered to have
thought of. Many an evil deed has been done, many a MURDER has been
committed, when those who did these things were intoxicated.

Tremble, then, if ever you taste the intoxicating draught. Reflect,
before you put the cup to your lips. Remember that you are forming a
habit which will lead on to the commission of every crime to which the
propensities of your nature, rendered violent by indulgence, can urge
you. Before you are aware, you may find yourself awaking from a fit of
intoxication, guilty of offences against the laws of your country which
will draw down just vengeance upon your head; abhorring yourself, and an
abhorrence in the sight of heaven.

_Drunkenness_, persisted in, will assuredly _destroy your soul_, and
consign you to everlasting misery. Hear what the _word_ of _God_
declares.

"Awake, ye drunkards, and weep." Joel 1:5.

"Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contention? who hath wounds
without cause? They that tarry long at the wine, they that go to seek
mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine; at the last it biteth like a
serpent, and stingeth like an adder." Prov. 23:29-32.

"Woe unto them that rise up in the morning, that they may follow strong
drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame them." Isa. 5:11.

"Woe unto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to
mingle strong drink." Isa. 5:22.

"The works of the flesh are manifest, which are these: uncleanness,
murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like; of the which I tell
you, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of
God." Gal. 5:19, 21.

These are awful declarations, and they will certainly be fulfilled upon
him who continues to delight in drunkenness; he cannot enjoy the love of
God, he will not be received into heaven.

Separate yourself, then, utterly front this ensnaring sin. "Touch not;
taste not; handle not." In ENTIRE ABSTINENCE is your only safety. This
persevered in, you shall never fall. Wherever and however the temptation
is presented, "avoid it--turn from it, and pass away." Turn also from
every sin. "Commit your way unto the Lord," and he will "direct your
paths." A glorious provision is made for your salvation, through the
atoning blood of Christ. "God so loved the world, that he gave his
only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish,
but have everlasting life." John 3:16. Commit your soul and your all to
him. He will guide you through life, enable you to vanquish every foe,
and crown you with victory in heaven.

PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




THE WELL-CONDUCTED FARM.

  [Illustration: Farmer dismissing drunk workman]


Mr. B----, a respectable farmer in Massachusetts, came, a number of
years ago, into the possession of a farm of about six hundred acres. On
this farm he employed eight or ten men. These men were in the habit, and
had been for years, of taking each a portion of ardent spirit, when they
labored, every day. They had grown up in the practice of taking it, and
the idea was fixed in their minds that they _could_ not do without. It
was the common opinion in the place, that, for laboring men, who had to
work hard, some ardent spirit was _necessary_. Mr. B---- for a time
followed the common practice, and furnished his men with a portion of
spirit _daily_. But after much attentive observation and mature
reflection, he became deeply impressed with the conviction that the
practice was not only useless, but hurtful. He became convinced that it
tends to lead men to intemperance; to undermine their constitutions;
and to sow the seeds of death, temporal and eternal. And he felt that he
could not be justified in continuing to cultivate his farm by means of a
practice which was ruining the bodies and souls of his fellow-men. He
therefore called his men together, and told them, in a kind and faithful
manner, what were his convictions. He told them that he was perfectly
satisfied that the practice of taking ardent spirits was not only
needless, but hurtful--that it tended to weaken and destroy both the
body and mind; and that he could not, consistently with his duty, be
instrumental in continuing a practice which he had no doubt tended to
destroy them both for this world and the world to come. He therefore,
from that time, should furnish them with no ardent spirits.

One of them said that he could not work without it; and if he did not
furnish them with it, he would not stay with him. "Very well," said Mr.
B----; "hand me your bill, and be off." The man replied, that he
presumed all the others would leave him. "Very well," said Mr. B----;
"tell them, any of them who choose to leave--all of them, if they choose
to go--to hand in their bills, and they shall have their money to-night.
If they stay, however, they shall have nourishing food and drink, at any
time, and in any abundance which they wish; and at the close of the year
each one shall have twelve dollars, that is, one dollar a month, in
addition to his wages. But I shall furnish no spirits of any kind,
neither shall I have it taken by men in my employment. I had rather my
farm would grow up to weeds, than be cultivated by means of so
pernicious a practice as that of taking ardent spirits." However, none
of the men left, except that one. And when he saw that all the others
concluded to stay, he came back, and said, that as the others had
concluded to stay, and do without rum, he believed that he could, and he
should be glad to stay, too, if Mr. B---- had no objection. But he told
him, No, he did not wish him to stay; he would make of him an example,
and he must go. So he departed. The rest went to work, and he furnished
them with no spirits from that time through the season. Yet his work, he
said, was done "with less trouble, in a better manner, and in better
season, than ever before." Some of his men, however, he found, when they
went abroad, did take ardent spirits. They sometimes procured it at the
tavern, or a store; and in some instances took it secretly, while on his
farm. The evil, therefore, although greatly lessened, was not entirely
done away.

When he came to hire men again, he let it be known that he did not wish
to hire any man who was not willing to abstain entirely, and at all
times, from the use of ardent spirits. His neighbors told him that he
could not hire men on those conditions; that men could not be found who
would do without rum, especially in haying and harvesting. Well, he
said, then he would not hire them at all. His farm should grow up to
weeds. As to cultivating it by the help of rum, he would not. By
allowing men in his employment, and for whose conduct he was in a
measure responsible, to take ardent spirits, he should be lending his
influence to continue a practice, or he should at least be conniving at
a practice, which was destroying more lives, making more mothers widows,
and children orphans, than famine, pestilence, and sword: a practice
which was destroying by thousands, and tens of thousands, not only the
bodies, but the _souls_ of men, rendering them, and their children after
them, wretched for this world, and the world to come. "No," said he, "I
will clear my hands of this enormous guilt. I will not by practice
encourage, or by silence, or having men in my employment who take ardent
spirits, connive at this deadly evil." However, he found no difficulty
in hiring men, and of the best kind. And when his neighbors saw, that by
giving one dollar a month more than others, he could hire as many men as
he pleased, they gave up that objection. But they said, it was bad
policy; for the men would not do so much work, and he would, in the
end, be a loser. But he told them that, although they might not at first
do quite so much, he presumed that they would in the end do more. But if
they should not, only let them do, said he, what they easily can, and I
shall be satisfied. My Maker does not require of me any more than I can
do without rum, (for he used no ardent spirits himself) and I shall
require no more of them. His men went to work. And his business
prospered exceedingly. His men were remarkably uniform in their temper
and deportment; still, and peaceable.

He found them every day alike, and he could always safely trust them.
What he expected to have done, he found _was_ done, in good season, and
in the best manner. His men never made so few mistakes, had so few
disputes among themselves; they never injured and destroyed so few
tools, found so little fault with their manner of living, or were, on
the whole, so pleasant to one another, and to their employer. The men
appeared, more than ever before, like brethren of the same family,
satisfied with their business, contented, and happy.

At the close of the year, one of them came to Mr. B----, and, with tears
in his eyes, said, "Sir, I thought that you were very hard, in keeping
us from drinking rum. I had always been accustomed to it, and I thought
that I could not do without it. And for the first three months," said
he, "it was hard, very hard. I had such a _caving in_ here"--putting his
hands up to his side--"I had such a _desperate caving in_ here, that I
thought I should die. But, as you gave us good wages, and good pay, and
the rest resolved to stand it without rum, I thought I would.

"And now," said he, "I am well and happy. I work with ease, sleep
sweetly, and when I get up in the morning, instead of having, as I used
to, my mouth and throat"--to use his own words--"so _full of cobwebs_,
as to be _spitting cotton wool_ all the time, my mouth and throat are
clear as a whistle. I feel active, have a good appetite, and can eat any
thing.

"Formerly, when I worked hard, I was at night tired, and could not
sleep. When I got up in the morning I was so sore and stiff, so filled
up in my throat, and my appetite was so gone, that I could do nothing
till I had taken a glass of rum and molasses. I then stood it till
breakfast. But my breakfast did not relish, and what I took did not seem
to nourish me. Soon after I got to work I was _so hollow and so tired_,
that I felt _desperate ugly_ till 11 o'clock. Then I took a _new
vamper_. And by the strength of that I got on till dinner. Then I must
have a little more to give me an appetite. At three o'clock in the
afternoon I must have recourse"--these were his words--"_to the hair of
the same dog_, to keep up my sinking spirits. And thus I got along till
night. Then I must have a little to sharpen appetite for supper. And
after supper I could not sleep, till I had taken _another nightcap_.

"Thus I continued," said he, "year after year, undermining a
constitution which was naturally very robust; and growing worse and
worse, until I came under your wise and excellent regulations. And now,"
said he, "I am cured. I _am cured_. I can now do more labor than when I
took spirits, without _half_ the fatigue, and take nothing stronger than
pure cold water. If a man would give me the same wages that you do, and
a dollar a day in addition, to return to the practice of drinking rum, I
would laugh at him." All this was the free, spontaneous effusion of his
own mind, in view of the great change wrought in his feelings by leaving
off _entirely_ the use of ardent spirits.

Another of the workmen came to Mr. B---- and said, that he had found it
very hard to do without rum at first; but he could now freely say, that
he never enjoyed so good health, or felt so well, as he did then. He
said that in cold weather in the winter, and after chopping all day in
the woods, especially if exposed to rains, or if his feet were wet, he
had for a long time been accustomed to a very bad rheumatism, and at
night to a dreadful headache. He took spirits temperately, and he
supposed it was necessary to guard him against these evils. Still he
suffered them; and he found nothing that would prevent them. But since
he had left off entirely the use of spirits, he had had no rheumatism,
and been entirely free from the headache.

Another of the workmen said he thought at first that he could do very
well without spirits three quarters of the year; but that, in haying and
harvesting, he should want a little. But he had found that a dish of
bread and milk, or some other nourishing food, at 11 o'clock, answered
his purpose at all times just as well as grog, and he thought a little
better. And as he was now entirely free from the habit of taking
spirits, he would not on any account be placed in a situation where he
should be tempted to renew it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Such were the feelings of men who had always been accustomed to the
practice of taking spirits, till they came into Mr. B----'s employment,
and who afterwards had not taken a drop. They had tried both sides, and
had found, by experience, that the practice of taking ardent spirits is
utterly useless; nay, that it is positively hurtful. It was their united
testimony, that they enjoyed better health, were more happy, could do
more work, and with less fatigue, than when they took spirits.

They said, to be sure, that they found it hard to do without it at
first. And so would a man who had been in the habit of taking laudanum,
or any poison, that was not fatal, but was stimulating and pleasant to
the taste, however destructive it might be in the end to his
constitution. But after they had freed themselves from the habit of
taking spirits, they found no inconvenience; but were in all respects
better than they were before. And they acknowledged that they were
exceedingly indebted to him, who, by his wise regulations, had been the
means of improving their condition. The following were some of the
advantages to _them_.

1. They had a better appetite, partook of their food with a keener
relish, and it was more nourishing to them than before.

2. They possessed much greater vigor and activity, both of body and
mind.

3. They performed the same labor with much greater ease; and were in a
great measure free from that lassitude and fatigue to which they were
before accustomed.

4. They had greater wages, and they laid up a much greater portion of
what they had. Before, numbers used to spend a great portion of their
wages in scenes of amusement and dissipation. Now, they have no
inclination to frequent such scenes. The consequence is, they lay up
more money. They are, also, more serious in their deportment, spend more
of their leisure time in useful reading, much oftener peruse the
Scriptures, and attend public worship; and they are more attentive to
all the means of grace. In a word, they are more likely to become useful
and happy in this life, and to be prepared for lasting blessedness in
the life to come.

5. Their example will be more likely to be useful to those around them;
and that for both worlds.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following are some of the advantages to _their employer_.

1. The men, he says, in the course of the year, do more work, in a
better manner, and at a much less expense of tools.

2. He can now with much greater ease have a place for every thing, and
every thing in its place.

3. When a stone has fallen from the wall it is now laid up, as the men
are passing by, without his mentioning it. The gates are locked, and the
bars put up; so that the cattle do not, as before, get in and destroy
the crops.

4. His summer work is done in such season, that earth, loam, etc., is
carted into the yard in the fall, instead of being carted in in the
spring, as before. The consequence is, when carried out it is richer,
and renders the farm more productive.

5. His barns, in winter, are kept clean, and less fodder is wasted. The
cattle and horses are daily curried, and appear in better order.

6. When his men go into the forests, instead, as before, of cutting down
the nearest, thriftiest, and largest trees, they cut those that are
decayed, crooked, and not likely to grow any better; pick up those that
are blown down, and thus leave the forests in a better state.

7. The men are more uniform, still, and peaceable; are less trouble in
the house, and more contented with their manner of living.

8. At morning and evening prayer, they are more ready than before to
attend, and in season; appearing to esteem it not only a duty, but a
privilege and a pleasure to be present, and unite with the family in the
daily worship of God.

9. On the Sabbath, instead of wishing, as before, to stay at home, or to
spend the day in roving about the fields, rivers, and forests, they
choose statedly and punctually to attend public worship. In a word,
their whole deportment, both at home and abroad, is improved, and to a
greater extent than any, without witnessing it, can well imagine.

All these and many more advantages resulted from their abstaining
_entirely, and at all times_, from the use of ardent spirits.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nor were the benefits confined to them and their employer. Some of his
_neighbors_, witnessing the complete success of his system, have
themselves adopted it. When Mr. B---- went into that part of the
country, many of the farmers in his neighborhood were in debt. Their
farms were mortgaged, some for $300, some for $500, and some for $1000,
or more. They complained much of _hard times_, especially for farmers.

Mr. B---- told them that so long as they continued to drink rum, they
must expect hard times; for it was no profit, but a great expense, and
in more ways than they imagined. They came to him to borrow money to
save their farms from attachment. But he told them, No. It will do men
who continue to drink rum no good to have money. Nay, it will be to them
an evil. The sooner their property is gone, and they have nothing with
which to buy rum, the better. For then they will do less mischief than
if they have money, and continue to drink rum. But, said he, if you will
leave off the use of spirits, and not take a drop for three months, I
will lend you money, and you may keep it, by paying the interest, as
long as you continue to take no ardent spirits. But when I learn that
you begin to take it, I shall call for the money. Some went away in
disgust. Others said, As Mr. B---- can do without rum, why cannot we?
and if we can, it will be a great saving of expense. They made the
experiment, and found that they could, without the least inconvenience,
do without it. After a few months, they made known to Mr. B---- the
result; and he helped them to as much money as they needed. They
continued to do without spirits, and they had none used by men in their
employment. Their business began to prosper, and their prospects to
brighten. Their debts are now paid, and their farms free from all
incumbrance. The times with them have altered, and they are now
thriving, respectable, and useful members of the community.

Others, who a few years ago were in no worse a condition than they, but
who continued the practice of drinking spirits, have lost their farms;
lost their reputation; lost their health, and eventually their lives;
and there is reason to fear, their souls. By the temperate but habitual
use of spirits, they formed an _intemperate appetite_. This at first was
occasionally, and then habitually indulged; and they were ruined for
both worlds. The evil may extend to their children, and children's
children.

But those who have entirely relinquished the use of spirits, until the
desire for it is removed, have experienced a wonderful transformation in
their feelings, their conduct, and their prospects. And the change is
visible not only in them, but their families, and all their concerns.
Their windows are not broken out as before; nor their gates and
garden-fences falling down. The kitchen does not smoke as it used to do,
because they keep it more _clean_, have drier and better wood, and lay
it on the fire in a better manner. The wife does not scold as she once
did, because she is well provided for, is treated kindly, and has
encouragement to labor. The children are not now in rags, but are
comfortably and decently clad; they are obedient, respectful, and
mannerly; and appear to be growing up in the nurture and admonition of
the Lord. In short, they appear almost like a new race of beings. And if
they should never again adopt the practice of taking ardent spirits,
there is vastly more reason than before, to hope that they will be led
by the word and Spirit of God to such a course of conduct as will
greatly increase their happiness and usefulness on earth, and be the
means of preparing them, through grace, for the everlasting joys of
heaven.

Should each individual in our country adopt the same course, the
following are some of the advantages which would result from it.

1. They would enjoy better health, be able to perform more labor, and
would live to a greater age.

2. The evils of intemperance would soon be done away: for all who are
now intemperate, and continue so, will soon be dead, and no others will
be found to succeed them.

3. There will be a saving every year of more than _thirty millions of
dollars_, which are now expended for ardent spirits. There will be a
saving of more than two-thirds of all the expense of supporting the
poor, which, in Massachusetts alone, would amount to more than $600,000
annually. And there would be a saving of all that idleness and
dissipation which intemperance occasions, and of the expense of more
than two-thirds of all the criminal prosecutions in the land. In one of
our large cities, in which there were one thousand prosecutions for
crimes, more than eight hundred of them were found to have sprung from
the use of ardent spirits.

4. There would be a saving of a vast portion of sickness; and of the
lives probably of thirty thousand persons every year.

Let these four considerations be added together, and traced in their
various bearings and consequences upon the temporal and eternal welfare
of men; and then let each individual say, whether, in view of all the
evils connected with the practice of taking ardent spirits, he can, in
the sight of God, be justified in continuing the practice. That it is
_not necessary_, has been fully proved. No one thinks it to be
necessary, except those who use it. And _they_ would not think so, if
they were not in the habit of using it. Let any man _leave off entirely_
the use of ardent spirits for only one year, and he will find by his own
experience that it is not necessary or useful. The fathers of New
England did not use it, nor did their children. They were never, as a
body, in the practice of taking it. And yet they enjoyed better health,
attained to a larger stature, and, with fewer comforts of life,
performed more labor, endured more fatigue, and lived, upon an average,
to a greater age than any generation of their descendants who have been
in the practice of taking spirits. As it was not necessary for the
fathers of New England, it is certain that it is not necessary for their
descendants, or for any portion of our inhabitants. Hundreds of healthy,
active, respectable, and useful men, who _now_ do not use it, can
testify that it is not necessary. And this will be the testimony of
every one who will only relinquish entirely the use of it.

It is by the temperate and habitual use of ardent spirits, that
_intemperate appetites_ are formed. And the temperate use of it cannot
be continued, without, in many cases, forming intemperate appetites; and
after they are formed, multitudes will be destroyed by their
gratification.

_Natural appetites_, such as are implanted in our constitution by the
Author of nature, _do not by their gratification increase in their
demands_. What satisfied them years ago, will satisfy them now. But
_artificial appetites_, which are formed by the wicked practices of
men, are _constantly increasing in their demands_. What satisfied them
once, will _not_ satisfy them now. And what satisfies them now, will not
satisfy them in future. They are constantly crying, "_Give, give._" And
there is not a man, who is in the habitual use of ardent spirits, who is
not in danger of dying a drunkard. Before he is aware, an intemperate
appetite may be formed, the gratification of which may prove his
temporal and eternal ruin. And if the practice should not come to this
result with regard to himself, it may with regard to his children, and
children's children. It may with regard to his neighbors, and their
children. It may extend its baleful influences far and wide; and
transmit them, with all their innumerable evils, from generation to
generation.

Can, then, _temperate, sober men be clear from guilt_, in continuing a
practice which is costing annually more than $30,000,000; increasing
more than threefold the poor-rates, and the crimes of the country;
undermining the health and constitution of its inhabitants; and cutting
of annually thirty thousand lives!

There is tremendous guilt somewhere. And it is a truth which ought to
press with overwhelming force upon the mind of every sober man, that a
portion of this guilt rests upon _every one_ who, with a knowledge of
facts, continues the _totally unnecessary and awfully pernicious
practice of taking ardent spirits_. Each individual ought, without
delay, in view of eternity, to clear himself, and neither by precept nor
example, ever again encourage or even connive at this deadly evil.




ADDRESS ON THE EFFECTS OF ARDENT SPIRITS.

BY JONATHAN KITTREDGE, ESQ.

[Illustration: Drunk man arriving home to impoverished family]


FELLOW-CITIZENS--That intemperance, in our country, is a great and
growing evil, all are ready to admit. When we look abroad, and examine
into the state of society, we find the number of those who are in the
constant and habitual practice of an excessive use of ardent spirits to
be alarming. We see the effects that they produce among our friends and
our neighbors, but the evil is so common, and it is so fashionable to
drink, and I had almost said, to drink to excess, that the sight of it
has lost half its terror, and we look upon an intemperate man without
those feelings of disgust and abhorrence which his real situation and
character are calculated to produce. This is the natural result of
things. The mind becomes familiar with the contemplation, the eye
accustomed to the sight; we pay but little attention to the object--he
passes on--we laugh at the exhibition, and grow callous and indifferent
to the guilt. Our pity is not excited, our hearts do not ache at the
scenes of intoxication that are almost daily exhibited around us. But if
for a moment we seriously reflect upon the real situation of the
habitually intemperate; if we call to mind what they have been--what
they now are; if we cast our eye to the future, and realize what, in a
few years, they will be; if we go further, and examine into the state of
their families, of their wives and their children, we shall discover a
scene of misery and wretchedness that will not long suffer us to remain
cold, and indifferent, and unfeeling.

This examination we can all make for ourselves. We can all call to mind
the case of some individual, whom we have known for years, perhaps from
his infancy, who is now a poor, miserable drunkard. In early life his
hopes and prospects were as fair as ours. His family was respectable,
and he received all those advantages which are necessary, and which were
calculated to make him a useful and respectable member of society.
Perhaps he was our school-fellow, and our boyhood may have been passed
in his company. We witnessed the first buddings of his mental powers,
and know that he possessed an active, enterprising mind. He grew up into
life with every prospect of usefulness. He entered into business, and,
for a while, did well. His parents looked to him for support in old age,
and he was capable of affording it. He accumulated property, and, in a
few years, with ordinary prudence and industry, would have been
independent. He married, and became the head of a family, and the father
of children, and all was prosperous and happy around him. Had he
continued as he began, he would now have been a comfort to his friends,
and an honor to the community. But the scene quickly changed. He grew
fond of ardent spirits. He was seen at the store and the tavern. By
degrees he became intemperate. He neglected his business, and his
affairs went to gradual decay. He is now a drunkard, his property is
wasted, his parents have died of broken hearts, his wife is pale and
emaciated, his children ragged, and squalid, and ignorant. He is the
tenant of some little cabin that poverty has erected to house him from
the storm and the tempest. He is useless, and worse than useless: he is
a pest to all around him. All the feelings of his nature are blunted; he
has lost all shame; he procures his accustomed supply of the poison that
consumes him; he staggers through mud and through filth to his hut; he
meets a weeping wife and starving children; he abuses them, he tumbles
into his straw, and he rolls and foams like a mad brute, till he is able
to go again. He calls for more rum--he repeats the scene from time to
time, and from day to day, till soon his nature faints, and he becomes
sober in death.

Let us reflect, that this guilty, wretched creature had an immortal
mind--he was like us, of the same flesh and blood--he was our brother,
destined to the same eternity, created by, and accountable to, the same
God; and will, at last, stand at the same judgment-bar; and who, amid
such reflections, will not weep at his fate--whose eye can remain dry,
and whose heart unmoved?

This is no picture of the imagination. It is a common and sober reality.
It is what we see almost every day of our lives; and we live in the
midst of such scenes and such events. With the addition or subtraction
of a few circumstances, it is the case of every one of the common
drunkards around us. They have not completed the drama--they are
alive--but they are going to death with rapid strides, as their
predecessors have already gone. Another company of immortal minds are
coming on to fill their places, as they have filled others. The number
is kept good, and increasing. Shops, as nurseries, are established in
every town and neighborhood, and drunkards are raised up by the score.
They are made--they are formed--for no man was ever born a
drunkard--and, I may say, no man was ever born with a taste for ardent
spirits. They are not the food which nature has provided. The infant may
cry for its mother's milk, and for nourishing food, but none was ever
heard to cry for ardent spirits. The taste is created, and in some
instances may be created so young, that, perhaps, many cannot remember
the time when they were not fond of them.

And here permit me to make a few remarks upon the _formation, or
creation of this taste_. I will begin with the infant, and I may say
that he is born into rum. At his birth, according to custom, a quantity
of ardent spirits is provided; they are thought to be as necessary as
any thing else. They are considered as indispensable as if the child
could not be born without them. The father treats his friends and his
household, and the mother partakes with the rest. The infant is fed with
them, as if he could not know the good things he is heir to without a
taste of ardent spirits. They are kept on hand, and often given to him
as medicine, especially where the parents are fond of them themselves.
By this practice, even in the cradle, his disrelish for ardent spirits
is done away. He grows up, and during the first months or years of his
existence, his taste and his appetite are formed. As he runs about, and
begins to take notice of passing events, he sees his father and friends
drink; he partakes, and grows fond of them. In most families, ardent
spirits are introduced and used on every extraordinary occasion. Without
mentioning many, that the knowledge and experience of every man can
supply, I will instance only the case of visitors.

A gentleman's friends and acquaintance call on him. He is glad to see
them, and fashion and custom make it necessary for him to invite them to
the sideboard. This is all done in his best style, in his most easy and
affable manner. The best set of drinking-vessels are brought forward,
and make quite a display. The children of the family notice this; they
are delighted with the sight and the exhibition; they are pleased with
the manners, and gratified with the conversation of the visitors on the
occasion. As soon as they go abroad, they associate the idea of drinking
with all that is manly and genteel. They fall into the custom, and
imitate the example that is set them. Circumstances and situations
expose one to more temptations than the rest. Perhaps his resolution, or
his moral principle, is not so strong; and in this way, one out of
twenty-five of those who live to thirty years of age becomes
intemperate. He becomes so, perhaps not from any uncommon predisposition
to the vice, but is at first led on by fashion, and custom, and
favorable circumstances, till at last he plunges headlong into the
vortex of dissipation and ruin. Our natural disrelish for ardent spirits
is first done away--a relish for them is then created. They next become
occasional, next habitual drinks. The habit gains strength, till, at
last, the daily drinker is swept away by the first adverse gale.

It is on this principle, and let the fact operate as a caution to those
who need it, that many men of fair unblemished characters, who have made
a temperate, but habitual use of ardent spirits in days of prosperity,
have, on a change of fortune, become notorious drunkards; while those
who have refrained in prosperity, have encountered all the storms of
adversity unhurt. We frequently hear a man's intemperance attributed to
a particular cause, as loss of friends, loss of property, disappointed
love, or ambition; when, if the truth were known, it would be seen that
such men had previously been addicted to the use of ardent spirits,
perhaps not immoderately, and fly to them on such events as their solace
and support. Intemperance requires an apprenticeship, as much as law or
physic; and a man can no more become intemperate in a month, than he can
become a lawyer or a physician in a month. Many wonder that certain
intemperate men, of fine talents, noble hearts, and manly feelings, do
not reform; but it is a greater wonder that any ever do. The evil genius
of intemperance gradually preys upon the strength of both body and mind,
till the victim, when he is caught, finds, that although he was a giant
once, he is now a child. Its influence is seductive and insinuating, and
men are often irretrievably lost before they are aware of it. Let them
beware how they take the first step. It is by degrees that men become
intemperate. No man ever became so all at once--it is an impossibility
in the nature of things. It requires time to harden the heart, to do
away shame, to blunt the moral principle, to deaden the intellectual
faculties, and temper the body. The intemperance of the day is the
natural and legitimate consequence of the customs of society--of genteel
and respectable society. It is the common and ordinary use of ardent
spirits, as practised in our towns and villages, that has already
peopled them with drunkards, and which, unless checked, will fill them
with drunkards. The degree of intemperance that prevails, and the
quantity of ardent spirits used, in our most respectable towns, is
almost incredible. Perhaps some facts on this subject will be
interesting.

As it regards _the degree of intemperance that prevails_, it may be
safely said, that one out of a hundred of the inhabitants of this part
of the country is a common drunkard. By a common drunkard is meant one
who is habitually intemperate, who is often intoxicated, and who is
restrained from intoxication neither by principle nor shame. Of such
there are from ten to twenty, and upward, in every inhabited township.
There is another class who are intemperate, and many of them are
occasional drunkards. This class is more numerous than the former, and
one out of about forty of the inhabitants belongs to one or the other
class. Is not this a horrid state of society? But any one can satisfy
himself of the truth of the statement, by making the examination
himself.

The quantity of ardent spirits yearly consumed in our towns, varies from
six to ten thousand gallons. It will answer the argument I intend to
draw from it, to state the annual quantity in this town to be six
thousand gallons, although short of the truth. This would be three
gallons to every inhabitant, or twenty-one gallons to every legal voter.
The cost of this liquid, at the low price of fifty cents per gallon,
will be three thousand dollars, which will pay all your town, county,
and state taxes three years, and is as much as it costs you to support
and maintain all your privileges, civil, religious, and literary. In one
hundred years you would drink up all the town in ardent spirits; or it
would cost just such a town as this, with all your farms, stock, and
personal property, to furnish the inhabitants with ardent spirits, at
the present rate of drinking, only one hundred years. But should the
town continue to drink as they now do for fifty years, and in the mean
time suffer the cost of the spirits to accumulate by simple interest
only, the whole town, at the end of the term, could not pay their rum
bills. It can be no consolation that all other towns would be alike
insolvent.

But this is not all. Add to this sum the loss of time and the waste of
property occasioned by it, independent of its cost, and it swells the
amount to a monstrous size. Here you have an account of the cost of
ardent spirits, calculated within bounds. At present there is a great
complaint about the pressure of the times, and the complaint is
doubtless well-founded. "Hard times" is in every body's mouth; but if
you had for the last year only abstained from the use of ardent spirits,
you would now have been independent and easy in your circumstances.
Three thousand dollars, which you have paid for them, divided among you,
would pay all the debts you are called upon to pay. I do not mean that
no one wants more than his proportion of this sum, but there are some
who want none of it, and who would circulate it, by loan or otherwise,
among those who do want it, and it would relieve the whole town from the
distress they are now in.

If this town had an income that would pay all its taxes, you would
consider it a matter of great joy and congratulation. But if it had an
income that would discharge all its taxes, and each man, instead of
paying, should receive the amount he now pays, you would consider your
situation highly prosperous and enviable. Discontinue the use of ardent
spirits, and you have it. Use none, and your situation, as a town, will
be as good, yea, far better than if you had an income of three thousand
dollars yearly, to be divided among its inhabitants.

If we carry this calculation farther, we shall find, on the principle
adopted, that there are in the state of New Hampshire 2,441 common
drunkards, and 3,663 intemperate, or occasional drunkards--in the whole,
6,104; and that the state consumes 732,483 gallons of ardent spirits
annually, which cost, at 50 cents a gallon, $366,241. In the United
States, there would be 96,379 common, and 240,949 common and occasional
drunkards; and the country would consume annually 28,913,887 gallons of
ardent spirits, which cost, at 50 cents per gallon, $14,456,943--as much
as it costs to support the whole system of our national government, with
all that is laid out in improvements, roads, canals, pensions, etc.,
etc., and is more than one-half of the whole revenue of the Union for
the last year. It must be remembered that this calculation embraces only
the quantity and cost of the spirits, and is on the supposition that
this town consumes only 6,000 gallons, at 50 cents per gallon, and is a
fair criterion for the state and nation. As it regards this state, it
would be safe nearly to double the quantity, and to treble the cost of
the spirits; and as it regards the nation, it would be safe to double
all my calculations. In the United States, the quantity of ardent
spirits yearly consumed, may be fairly estimated at 60,000,000 gallons,
the cost at $30,000,000, and the number of drunkards, of both kinds, at
480,000.

But we all know, and it is common to remark, that the cost of the
article is comparatively nothing; that it hardly makes an item in the
calculation of pernicious consequences resulting from the consumption of
ardent spirits. Were we to embrace the usual concomitants, and estimate
the value of time lost, the amount of property wasted, of disease
produced, and of crime committed, where ardent spirits are the only
cause, it would transcend our conceptions, and the imagination would be
lost in the contemplation. The number of drunkards in the United States
would make an army as large as that with which Bonaparte marched into
Russia; and would be sufficient to defend the United States from the
combined force of all Europe. Convert our drunkards into good soldiers,
and one-tenth of them would redeem Greece from the Turks. Convert them
into apostles, and they would Christianize the world. And what are they
now? Strike them from existence, and who would feel the loss? Yes,
strike them from existence, and the United States would be benefited by
the blow.

But this is not half. I cannot tell you half the effects of ardent
spirits. And yet ardent spirits are said to be useful and necessary. It
is false! It is nothing but the apology that love of them renders for
their use. There are only two cases in which, Dr. Rush says, they can be
administered without injury, and those are cases of persons like to
perish, and where substitutes may be applied of equal effect. What
rational man would use them, for the sake of these two possible cases?
As well might he introduce rattlesnakes among his children, because
their oil is good in diseases with which they may possibly be afflicted.

The number of persons in the United States who are mentally deranged, I
do not know; probably there are several thousands; and it is
ascertained, that one-third of those confined in the insane hospitals of
Philadelphia and New York, are rendered insane by the use of ardent
spirits. Yes, one-third of the poor, miserable maniacs of our land, are
made such by the use of that which, in the opinion of some, is a very
useful and necessary article, and which they cannot do without. This
article has deprived one-third of the crazy wretches of our land of
their reason--of that which makes them men--of the very image of their
God.

Out of the number of the intemperate in the United States, ten thousand
die annually from the effects of ardent spirits. And what a death! To
live a drunkard is enough; but to die so, and to be ushered into the
presence of your angry Judge, only to hear the sentence, "Depart, thou
drunkard!" Ah! language fails, and I leave it to your imagination to
fill up the horrid picture.

This death happens in various ways. Some are killed instantly; some die
a lingering, gradual death; some commit suicide in fits of intoxication;
and some are actually burnt up.

I read of an intemperate man, a few years since, whose breath caught
fire by coming in contact with a lighted candle, and he was consumed. At
the time, I disbelieved the story, but my reading has since furnished
me with well authenticated cases of a combustion of the human body from
the use of ardent spirits. Trotter mentions ten such cases, and relates
them at length. They are attended with all the proof we require to
believe any event. They are attested by living witnesses, examined by
learned men, and published in the journals of the day without
contradiction. It would be unnecessary to relate the whole, but I will
state one of them, and from this an idea can be formed of the rest. It
is the case "of a woman eighty years of age, exceedingly meagre, who had
drunk nothing but ardent spirits for several years. She was sitting in
her elbow-chair, while her waiting-maid went out of the room for a few
moments. On her return, seeing her mistress on fire, she immediately
gave an alarm; and some people coming to her assistance, one of them
endeavored to extinguish the flames with his hands, _but they adhered to
them as if they had been dipped in brandy or oil on fire_. Water was
brought and thrown on the body in abundance, _yet the fire appeared more
violent, and was not extinguished till the whole body had been
consumed_. The lady was in the same place in which she sat every day,
there was no extraordinary fire, and she had not fallen."[B]

   [Footnote B: Trotter on Drunkenness, pp. 78, 79.]

This, with nine other cases, related by the same author, was a
consumption of the body produced by the use of ardent spirits. The
horror of a drunkard's death beggars description. Need I point to yonder
grave, just closed over the remains of one who went from the cup of
excess to almost instant death? You all know it.

But this is not all. One half the poor you support by taxes and
individual charity, are made poor by the use of ardent spirits. This has
been demonstrated by actual inquiry and examination. In the city of New
York, where there are more poor, and where more is done for them than
in any other city of the United States, a committee appointed for the
purpose, ascertained by facts, that more than one half of the city poor
were reduced to poverty by intemperance. This is also the case
throughout the Union. And here permit me to state a case, with which I
am acquainted. I do it with a double object. I do it to show that the
use of ardent spirits produces poverty and distress, and the disuse of
them restores to wealth and comfort.

A gentleman in the city of New York, who carried on ship-building on an
extensive scale, and employed a great number of hands daily, and paid
them all in the same manner, and nearly to the same amount, was struck
with the difference in their situations. A few, and only a few, were
able, from their wages, to support their families; but these were out of
debt, and independent in their circumstances. They always had money on
hand, and frequently suffered their wages to lie in the hands of their
employer. The rest were poor and harassed, the former easy and
comfortable in their circumstances, and he resolved, if possible, to
ascertain the cause of the difference. On inquiry and examination, he
found that those of them who were above-board used no ardent spirits,
while the others were in the constant and daily use of them. He
satisfied himself that this use of ardent spirits was the only cause of
the difference in their condition. He determined, if he could, to
prevail upon them all to abstain altogether from their use. On a
thorough and parental representation of the case to them, he succeeded,
and they all agreed to make use of none for a year. At the end of the
year they were all, to a man, out of debt, had supported their families
in better condition, had done more work, destroyed fewer tools, and were
hearty and robust, and enjoyed better health.

This fact speaks volumes, and needs no comment. Adopt the same practice
in this town, and the result will be the same. "What, drink none?" Yes,
I say, drink none--one gallon for this town is just four quarts too
much. In addition to the miseries of debt and poverty which they entail
upon a community, they are the parent of one half the diseases that
prevail, and one half the crimes that are committed. It is ardent
spirits that fill our poor-houses and our jails; it is ardent spirits
that fill our penitentiaries, our mad-houses, and our state prisons; and
it is ardent spirits that furnish victims for the gallows. They are the
greatest curse that God ever inflicted on the world, and may well be
called the seven vials of his wrath. They are more destructive in their
consequences than war, plague, pestilence, or famine; yea, than all
combined. They are slow in their march, but sure in their grasp. They
seize not only the natural, but the moral man. They consign the body to
the tomb, and the soul to hell.

While on earth, the victim of intemperance is as stupid as an ass, as
ferocious as a tiger, as savage as a bear, as poisonous as the asp, as
filthy as the swine, as fetid as a goat, and as malignant as a fiend. No
matter what may be the original materials of the man; his figure may
possess every grace of the sculptor; his mind may be imbued with every
art and science; he may be fit to command at the head of armies, to sway
a Roman senate, to wield the destinies of nations; his heart may be the
seat of every virtue; but ardent spirits will strip him of the whole,
and convert him into a demon. Need I tell how? Need I point out the
change that ebriety produces in the moral and social affections? Need I
present the sword red with a brother's blood? It was in a drunken revel
that the infuriate Alexander slew his best friend and most beloved
companion Clytus. And it was in a drunken revel that he proclaimed
himself a god, and died.

"But have not ardent spirits one good quality, one redeeming virtue?"
None. I say, none. There is nothing, not even the shadow of a virtue, to
rescue them from universal and everlasting execration.

"But they are good as a medicine." No, not as a medicine. There is no
physician, that does not love them, that needs them in his practice.
There is no disease that they cure or relieve, that cannot be cured or
relieved without them. They add to no man's health; they save no man's
life.[C]

   [Footnote C: The writer is aware that spirits or alcohol are
   necessary in some preparations of the chemist and apothecary.
   But it is the use of them as drinks which he is combating, and
   which, he is assured by respectable physicians, are not only
   unnecessary, but hurtful, in sickness and in health. Were they
   to exist only in the apothecary's shop in the state of
   alcohol, it would be all that the world needs of them. Some
   physicians, nevertheless, may think them useful in two or
   three cases or conditions of the body; but it is apprehended,
   that if they should discontinue the use of them altogether,
   except in certain tinctures, etc., they would be as successful
   as they now are. They are often used where they would not be,
   if they were not the most common thing that could be found.]

It is impossible to name a single good thing that they do. Give them to
the divine; do they add to his piety, to his zeal, to his faithfulness,
to his love of God or man? No; they destroy them all. Give them to the
physician; do they increase his skill, his power to discriminate amid
the symptoms of disease, his judgment to apply the appropriate remedies,
his kind and affectionate solicitude? Nay, verily, they destroy them
all. Give them to the legal advocate; do they increase his knowledge,
his perception to discover the points of his case, his readiness to
apply the evidence, his ability to persuade a court and jury? No; they
destroy them all. Give them to the mechanic; do they assist his
ingenuity, his judgment, or his taste? No; they destroy them all. Give
them to the laborer; do they add to his strength? Do they enable him to
bear fatigue, to endure heat and cold? Can he do more work, or do it
better? No; they are the ruin of the whole. They reduce his strength,
weaken his frame, make him more susceptible to heat and cold,
disorganize his whole system, and unfit him for labor.

"But there are some men," say you, "who use ardent spirits, and who get
along very well." Admitted. They endure it. So there are some men who
get along very well with poor health and feeble constitutions. Are poor
health and feeble constitutions, therefore, no evils? Is the prosperity
of such to be attributed to them? As much as is that of the former to
the use of ardent spirits. Was ever a man made rich by the use of ardent
spirits? Never; but millions have been made beggars by it.

Yet some say, they _feel better_ by drinking ardent spirits. Let us
examine this excuse. It is nothing but an excuse, and he who loves rum
and is ashamed to own it, says he feels better to drink it. Let us
inquire how. Are they conducive to health? On this subject let the
physician decide. One, as great as this country has produced, Dr. Rush,
says that the habitual use of ardent spirits usually produces the
following diseases: A loss of appetite, sickness at the stomach,
obstruction of the liver, jaundice and dropsy, hoarseness and a husky
cough, which often ends in consumption, diabetes, redness and eruptions
of the skin, a fetid breath, frequent and disgusting belchings,
epilepsy, gout, and madness. This is the train of diseases produced by
the use of ardent spirits, and the usual, natural, and legitimate
consequences of their use. And now, I ask, can that which, of its own
nature, produces these diseases, make a man feel better? Reason might
answer; and were she on her throne, uninfluenced and unbiassed by the
love of ardent spirits, she would unequivocally answer, No. And we find
that those who say they feel better to drink ardent spirits, are those
who are in health, but love rum, and it gratifies their appetite, and
this is what they mean by feeling better.

I will examine for a moment the effect, the immediate effect of ardent
spirits upon the man. I will take a man in health, and give him a glass
of ardent spirits. The effect is, to produce mental derangement and
false notions and conceptions. But one glass will not have much effect.
I will give him another, and, if he loves rum, he feels better; another,
and he feels better; another, better yet. By this time he has got to
feel pretty well; quite happy. He has no fear or shame. He can curse,
and swear, and break things. "He is fit for treason, stratagems, and
spoils." He fears no consequences, and can accomplish impossibilities.
If he is a cripple, he fancies he can dance like a satyr; if he is slow
and unwieldy, he can run like a hart; if he is weak and feeble in
strength, he can lift like Samson, and fight like Hercules; if he is
poor and pennyless, he is rich as Croesus on his throne, and has money
to lend. This is all a correct representation. It is what happens
universally with the drunkard. I know one man who is intemperate, who is
poor, and never known to have five dollars at a time, who, when he is
intoxicated, has often, and does usually, offer to lend me a thousand
dollars. Poor, miserable, and deluded man! But he feels well; he is one
of those who feel better to drink. He is mentally deranged; his
imagination is disordered. He fancies bliss, and felicity, and plenty,
and abundance, which do not exist; and he awakes to misery, and poverty,
and shame, and contempt. Yet this is the exact feeling of all those who
feel better to drink spirits. He who drinks but a glass, has not the
same degree, but precisely the same kind of feeling with the one I have
described.

And this is all--this is all that rum does to make a man feel better. If
his wife and children are starving, he feels it not. He feels better. If
his affairs are going to ruin, or are already plunged into ruin, he is
not sensible to his condition. If his house is on fire, he sings the
maniac's song, and regards it not. He feels better.

Let him who likes this better feeling enjoy it. Enjoy it, did I say? No.
Reclaim him, if possible. Convince him that he labors under a delusion.
Restore him to truth, and to reason; banish the cup from his mouth, and
change the brute into the man.

And now, need any more be said to persuade mankind to abandon the use of
ardent spirits? the appalling facts, in relation to them, are known to
all. Experience and observation teach us that they are the source of
ruin, and misery, and squalid wretchedness, in a thousand shapes. They
are the three-headed monster; they are the Gorgons with their thousand
snakes; their name is Legion. And shall I yet find advocates for their
use? Will this enlightened community yet say, they are useful and
necessary? All those who have used them, and discontinued the use of
them, say they are totally unnecessary and useless. We see that those
who live without them enjoy more happiness and better health than those
who use them--that they live longer lives. But oh, the folly, the
stupidity, and the delusion of rum-drinkers!

But perhaps it may be said, that the effects and consequences that I
have mentioned, result from the abuse, and not from the proper and
moderate use of ardent spirits; and that on many occasions, in small
quantities, they are useful. Let us examine the circumstances and
occasions when they are said to be necessary; and perhaps I cannot do it
better than in the words of another.

"They are said to be necessary in very _cold weather_. This is far from
being true; for the temporary heat they produce is always succeeded by a
greater disposition in the body to be affected by cold. Warm dresses, a
plentiful meal just before exposure to the cold, and eating occasionally
a cracker or any other food, is a much more durable method of preserving
the heat of the body in cold weather." In confirmation of this, the case
of the vessel wrecked off the harbor of Newburyport, a few years since,
may be adduced. On an intensely cold night, when all the men of that
vessel were in danger of freezing to death, the master advised them to
drink no ardent spirits. He told them, if they did, they must surely
freeze. Some took his advice, while others, notwithstanding his most
earnest entreaties, disregarded it. The result was, that of those who
used the spirits, some lost their hands, some their feet, and some
perished; while the rest survived unhurt.

"They are said to be necessary in very _warm weather_. Experience proves
that they increase, instead of lessening the effects of heat upon the
body, and thereby expose it to diseases of all kinds. Even in the warm
climate of the West Indies, Dr. Bell asserts this to be true. Rum, says
this author, whether used habitually, moderately, or in excessive
quantities, always diminishes the strength of the body, and renders man
more susceptible to disease, and unfit for any service in which vigor or
activity is required. As well might we throw oil into a house, the roof
of which was on fire, in order to prevent the flames from extending to
its inside, as pour ardent spirits into the stomach, to lessen the
effects of a hot sun upon the skin." And here permit me to add, that
they are said to be necessary in cold weather to warm, and in warm
weather to cool. The bare statement of the argument on these two points
confounds itself.

"Nor do ardent spirits lessen the effects of _hard labor_ upon the body.
Look at the horse, with every muscle of his body swelled from morning
till night, in a plough or a team. Does he make signs for a glass of
spirits, to enable him to cleave the ground or climb a hill? No; he
requires nothing but cold water and substantial food. There is no
nourishment in ardent spirits. The strength they produce in labor is of
a transient nature, and is always followed by a sense of weakness and
fatigue."[D]

   [Footnote D: Dr. Rush.]

Some people, nevertheless, pretend that ardent spirits add to their
strength, and increase their muscular powers; but this is all a
delusion. They think they are strong when they are weak. Rum makes them
boast, and that is all. The truth is, it weakens them in body, but
strengthens them in imagination. Was not one reason why Samson was
forbidden by the angel of God to drink either wine or strong drink, that
he might thus increase and preserve his strength? When you hear a man
telling how strong rum makes him, you may be sure he is weak, both in
body and mind.

There is one other occasion for using ardent spirits, which it will be
proper to examine. They are said to be necessary to keep off the
_contagion_ of disease, and are recommended to attendants upon the sick.
But the united testimony of all physicians proves, that the intemperate
are first attacked by epidemic disorders. This is almost universally the
case in the southern states, and in the West Indies. Experience also
proves that those attendants upon the sick, who refrain from the use of
ardent spirits, escape, while those who use them are swept away. If
facts could convince, the use of ardent spirits would be abolished. But
the love of rum is stronger on the human mind than the truth of Heaven.

If, then, ardent spirits are not necessary in sickness; if they do not
prevent the effects of heat and cold; if they do not add to our
strengths, and enable us to perform more labor; when are they
necessary? Why, people in health say, they want to drink them now and
then--they do them good. What good? If they are well, why do they need
them? For nothing but to gratify the taste, and to produce a feeling of
intoxication and derangement, slight in its degree when moderately used,
as they are by such people, but the character of the feeling is no less
certain. It is the same feeling that induces the drunkard to drink. One
man takes a glass to do him good, to make him feel better; another wants
two; another three; another six; and by this time he is intoxicated, and
he never feels well till he is so. He has the same feeling with the man
who drinks a single glass, but more of it; and that man who, in health,
drinks one glass to make him feel better, is just so much of a drunkard;
one-sixth, if it takes six glasses to intoxicate him. He has one-sixth
of the materials of a drunkard in his constitution.

But it is this _moderate use_ of ardent spirits that produces all the
excess. It is this which paves the way to downright and brutal
intoxication. Abolish the ordinary and temperate use of ardent spirits,
and there would not be a drunkard in the country. He who advises men not
to drink to excess, may lop off the branches; he who advises them to
drink only on certain occasions, may fell the trunk; but he who tells
them not to drink at all, strikes and digs deep for the root of the
hideous vice of intemperance; and this is the only course to pursue. It
is this temperate use of ardent spirits that must be discontinued. They
must be no longer necessary when friends call, when we go to the store
to trade, to the tavern to transact business, when we travel the road on
public days--in fact, they must cease to be fashionable and customary
drinks. Do away the fashion and custom that attend their use, and change
the tone of public feeling, so that it will be thought disgraceful to
use them as they are now used by the most temperate and respectable
men, and an end is for ever put to the prevalence of the beastly disease
of intoxication. Let those who cannot be reclaimed from intemperance go
to ruin, and the quicker the better, if you regard only the public good;
but save the rest of our population; save yourselves; save your
children! Raise not up an army of drunkards to supply their places.
Purify your houses. They contain the plague of death; the poison that,
in a few years, will render some of your little ones what the miserable
wretches that you see staggering the streets are now. And who, I ask,
would not do it? What father, who knew that one of his sons that he
loves was, in a few years, to be what hundreds you can name are now,
would hesitate, that he might save him, to banish intoxicating drinks
from his premises for ever?

But if all will do it, he is saved; and he who contributes but a mite in
this work of God, deserves the everlasting gratitude of the republic. If
the names of a Brainerd, of a Swartz, of a Buchanan, have been rendered
immortal by their efforts to convert the heathen to Christianity, the
names of those men who shall succeed in converting Christians to
temperance and sobriety, should be written in letters of ever-during
gold, and appended by angels in the temple of the living God. The sum of
their benevolence would be exceeded only by His, who came down from
heaven for man's redemption. Then banish it; this is the only way to
save your children. As long as you keep ardent spirits in your houses,
as long as you drink it yourselves, as long as it is polite and genteel
to sip the intoxicating bowl, so long society will remain just what it
is now, and so long drunkards will spring from your loins, and so long
drunkards will wear your names to future generations. And there is no
other way given under heaven, whereby man can be saved from the vice of
intemperance, but that of _total abstinence_.

And, if ardent spirits are the parent of all the poverty, and disease,
and crime, and madness, that I have named, and if they produce no good,
what rational man will use them? If he loves himself, he will not; if he
loves his children, he will not; and as Hamilcar brought Hannibal to the
altar, at eight years of age, and made him swear eternal hatred to the
Romans, so every parent should bring his children to the altar, and make
them swear, if I may so speak, eternal hatred to ardent spirits. He
should teach them by precept and example. He should instil into his
children a hatred of ardent spirits, as much as he does of falsehood and
of theft. He should no more suffer his children to drink a little, than
he does to lie a little, and to steal a little.

And what other security have you for your children, or for yourselves?
Yes, for yourselves. I knew a man who, a few years ago, was as temperate
as any of you; was as respectable as any of you, as learned as any of
you, and as useful in life as any of you; I have heard him from the
sacred desk again and again; but by the same use of ardent spirits that
most men justify and advocate, under the mistaken notion that they were
beneficial to him, he has at last fallen the victim of intemperance. And
this is not a solitary example. I had almost said, it is a common
example. I could easily add to the number.

And now, what security have you for yourselves? You have none but in the
course I have recommended. If it is necessary for the intemperate man to
write on every vessel containing ardent spirits, "Taste not, touch not,
handle not," and to brand them as full of the very wrath of God, it is
also necessary for the temperate man to do so, to save himself from
intemperance.

But the difficulty on this subject is to convince men of their
individual danger; that intemperance stands at their own doors, and is
knocking for an entrance into their own houses; that they and their
children are the victims that he seeks.

But if the places of the present generation of drunkards are to be
supplied, whence will the victims come but from your own children? And
who knows but that the infant the mother is now dandling upon her knee,
and pressing to her bosom, however lovely he may appear, however
respectable and elevated she is, will be selected to be one of that
degraded, and squalid, and filthy class that, in her old age, will walk
the streets as houseless, hopeless, and abandoned drunkards? You have no
security, no assurance.

But we are apt to think that the wretches whom we see and have described
were always so; that they were out of miserable and degraded families;
and that they are walking in the road in which they were born. But this
is not so. Among the number may be found a large proportion who were as
lovely in their infancy, as promising in their youth, and as useful in
early life, as your own children, and have become drunkards--I repeat
it, and never let it be forgotten--_have become drunkards by the
temperate, moderate, and habitual use of ardent spirits, just as you use
them now_. Were it not for this use of ardent spirits, we should not now
hear of drunken senators and drunken magistrates; of drunken lawyers and
drunken doctors; churches would not now be mourning over drunken
ministers and drunken members; parents would not be weeping over drunken
children, wives over drunken husbands, husbands over drunken wives, and
angels over a drunken world.

Then cease. No longer use that which is the source of infinite mischief,
without one redeeming benefit; which has entailed upon you, upon your
children, and upon society, woes unnumbered and unutterable. Banish it
from your houses: it can be done. You have only to will, and it is
effected. Use it not at home. Let it never be found to pollute your
dwellings. Give it not to your friends or to your workmen. Touch it not
yourselves, and suffer not your children to touch it; and let it be a
part of your morning and evening prayer, that you and your children may
be saved from intemperance, as much as from famine, from sickness, and
from death.

       *       *       *       *       *

Reader, have you perused this pamphlet; and are you still willing to
drink, use, or sell this soul-destroying poison? If so--if you are
willing to risk your own soul, disgrace your friends, and ruin your
children by this fell destroyer, then go on; but remember, that to the
drunkard is allotted the "blackness of darkness and despair for ever."
But if not--if you feel the magnitude of the evil; if you are willing to
do something to correct it, sit not down in hopeless silence, but arouse
to action; "resist the devil, and he will flee from you;" not only
banish it from your houses, but from your stores, your shops, your
farms; give it not to your workmen; refuse to employ those who use it;
invite, entreat, conjure your friends and neighbors to refrain wholly
from the use of it; never forgetting that the day of final account is at
hand; that what we do for Christ, and for the good of our fellow-men,
must be done soon; and that those who sacrifice interest for the sake of
conscience, and who are instrumental in turning men from their errors,
shall not lose their reward.

       *       *       *       *       *

This address was originally delivered before a large public meeting in
Lyme, New Hampshire, Jan. 8, 1827.




APPEAL TO YOUTH.

A TRACT FOR THE TIMES.

BY REV. AUSTIN DICKINSON.


To arrest a great moral evil, and elevate the general standard of
character in a community, the influence of the young is all-important.
_They_ can, if they please, put an end to the most demoralizing scourge
that has ever invaded our country, and introduce a state of society far
more pure and elevated than the world has yet seen.

Consider then, beloved youth, some of the numerous motives for
abstaining from intoxicating liquor and other hurtful indulgences, and
employing your time and faculties with a view to the highest improvement
and usefulness.

The use of such liquor, as a beverage, _will do you no good_. It will
not increase your property or credit: no merchant would deem a relish
for it any recommendation for a clerk or partner in business. It will
not invigorate your body or mind; for chemistry shows, that alcohol
contains no more nutriment than fire or lightning. It will not increase
the number of your respectable friends: no one, in his right mind,
would esteem a brother or neighbor the more, or think his prospects the
better, on account of his occasional use of intoxicating liquor. Nor
will it in the least purify or elevate your affections, or help to fit
you for the endearments of domestic life, or social intercourse; but on
the contrary, Scripture and observation alike testify, that wine and its
kindred indulgences "_take away the heart_." Why, then, should a
rational being, capable of the purest happiness, and capable of blessing
others by an example of temperance, indulge in a beverage in no respect
useful to those in health, but the occasion of countless miseries!

But strict temperance has a direct influence on _the health and vigor of
both mind and body_. The most eminent physicians bear uniform testimony
to its propitious effect. And the Spirit of inspiration has recorded,
_He that striveth for the mastery, is temperate in all things_. Many
striking examples might be adduced. The mother of Samson, that prodigy
of human strength, was instructed by an angel of God to preserve him
from the slightest touch of "wine, or strong drink, or any unclean
thing." And Luther, who burst the chains of half Europe, was as
remarkable for temperance, as for great bodily and intellectual vigor.
Sir Isaac Newton, also, while composing his Treatise on Light, a work
requiring the greatest clearness of intellect, it is said, very
scrupulously abstained from all stimulants. The immortal Edwards, too,
repeatedly records his conviction and experience of the happy effect of
strict temperance, both on mind and body. And recent reformations from
moderate drinking have revealed numerous examples of renovated health
and spirits in consequence of the change.

But not to multiply instances, let any youth, oppressed with heaviness
of brain or dulness of intellect, judiciously try the experiment of
_temperance in all things_, united with habitual activity, and he will
be surprised at the happy effect.

Consider, again, that _in the purest state of morals, and the most
elevated and refined circles, the use of intoxicating drink is now
discountenanced, and regarded as unseemly_. Inspiration has declared,
"It is not for kings to drink wine, nor for princes strong drink." And
who would not regard any of the truly noble, as lowering themselves by
disparaging this sentiment? What clerical association, or what
convention of philanthropists, would now be found "mingling strong
drink?" What select band of students, hoping soon to officiate honorably
at the altar of God, before the bench of justice, or in the chamber of
affliction, would now call for brandy or wine? What circle of refined
females would not feel themselves about as much degraded by familiarity
with such indulgences, as by smoking, or profane language? Or what
parent, inquiring for an eligible boarding-school, would think of
asking, whether his son or daughter might there have the aid of such
stimulus, or the example of its use? If, then, intoxicating liquor is
thus disparaged in the most moral and intelligent circles, why should it
not be universally abjured by individuals? Why should not the young,
especially, of both sexes, keep themselves unspotted, and worthy of the
most elevated society?

Consider, moreover, that if the habit of drinking be indulged, _it may
be difficult, if not impossible, should you live, to break off in more
advanced life_. Thus, even in this day of reform, there are individuals,
calling themselves respectable, so accustomed to drink, or traffic in
the poison, that all the remonstrances of philanthropists and friends,
the wailings of the lost, the authority of Heaven, and the anathema of
public sentiment combined, cannot now restrain them. Let the youth,
then, who turns with shame from such examples of inconsistency, beware
of a habit so hardening to the conscience, so deadening to the soul.

But, to increase your contempt for the habit of drinking, think how it
especially prevails _among the most degraded portions of the community_.
Inquire through the city, or village, for those who are so polluted as
to be shut out from all decent society--so inured to vice that they
cannot be looked upon but with utter disgust; learn their history, and
you invariably find that the insidious glass has been their companion,
their solace, and their counsellor. And should not dark suspicion and
decided reprobation be stamped upon that which is thus associated with
the lowest debasement and crime?

Such drink, in its very nature, has a perverting and debasing
tendency--leading to foul speeches, foolish contracts, and every sensual
indulgence. Those under its influence will say and do, what, in other
circumstances, they would abhor: they will slander, reveal secrets,
throw away property, offend modesty, profane sacred things, indulge the
vilest passions, and cover themselves and friends with infamy. Hence the
solemn caution, "Look not thou on the wine, when it giveth its color in
the cup: at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an
adder: thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thy heart utter
perverse things." Those who, by gaming or intrigue, rob others of their
property, and those who allure "the simple" to ruin, it is said, fully
understand its perverting influence. "Is it not a little one?" say they;
and so the unwise are "caused to fall, by little and little."

    "She urged him still to _fill another cup_;
    * * * and in the dark, still night,
    When God's unsleeping eye alone can see,
    He went to her adulterous bed. At morn
    I looked, and saw him not among the youths;
    I heard his father mourn, his mother weep;
    For none returned that went with her. The dead
    Were in her house; her guests in depths of hell:
    She wove the winding-sheet of souls, and laid
    Them in the urn of everlasting death."

Such is ever the tendency of the insidious cup. For the unerring word
declares, "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging; and whosoever is
deceived thereby _is not wise_." "They are out of the way through strong
drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment."

Indeed, _the whole spirit of the Bible_, as well as uncorrupted taste,
is in direct hostility to this indulgence. Its language in regard to all
such stimulants to evil is, _Touch not, taste not, handle not_. And to
such as glory in being above danger, it says, with emphasis, "We, then,
that are strong, ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and _not to
please ourselves_."

He who hath declared, _Drunkards shall not inherit the kingdom of God_,
cannot, surely, be expected to adopt, as heirs of his glory, any who,
under all the light that has been shed on this subject, perseveringly
resolve to sip the exhilarating glass for mere selfish pleasure, when
they know that their example may probably lead others to endless ruin.
Common sense, as well as humanity, revolts at the thought.

On the other hand, strict temperance is pleasing to the Most High.
Hence, it is said of him who was honored to announce the Saviour's
advent, "He shall be great in the sight of the Lord, and shall drink
neither wine nor strong drink."

Moreover, the habit of strict temperance, being allied to other virtues,
will secure for you the _respect and confidence of the best portions of
the community_, as well as the approbation of God, and thus lead to your
more extensive usefulness. The youth who promptly comes up to the pledge
and practice of total abstinence, and persuades others to do so, gives
evidence of decision and moral courage--gives evidence of an intellect
predominating over selfish indulgence, and superior to the laugh of
fools; and such is the man whom an intelligent community will delight to
honor.

But you are to live, not merely for self-advancement, or happiness:
consider, then, that _true patriotism and philanthropy rightfully
demand_ your cordial support of the Temperance cause. A thick, fiery
vapor, coming up from the pit, has been overspreading our whole land and
blighting half its glory. Thousands, through the noxious influence of
this vapor, have yearly sunk to that pit, to weep and lament for ever.
Thousands more are groping their miserable way thither, who, but for
this pestilence, might be among our happiest citizens. Still greater
numbers, of near connections, are in consequence, covered with shame.
Ah, who can say, he has had no relative infected by this plague? But
Providence, in great mercy, has revealed the only effectual course for
exterminating the plague--_total abstinence from all that can
intoxicate_. And the adoption of this course, instead of involving any
real sacrifice, might be an annual saving to the nation of _many
millions of dollars_. What youth, then, who loves his country, will not
cheerfully cooperate with the most respected of every profession in
encouraging this course? Who does not see its certain efficacy, and the
grandeur of the result?

Were a foreign despot, with his armies, now invading our country, every
youthful bosom would swell with indignation. And will you not combine to
arrest the more cruel despot, Intemperance, whose vessels are daily
entering our ports, whose magazines of death are planted at the corners
of our streets, and whose manufactories are like "the worm that dieth
not, and the fire that is not quenched?"

Were all who have, in the compass of a year, been found drunk in the
land, assembled in one place, they would make a greater army than ever
Bonaparte commanded. And yet, unless patriot hearts and hands interpose,
myriads more, from generation to generation, coming on in the same
track, will go down like these to the drunkard's grave.

Were all the thousands that annually descend to the drunkard's grave,
cast out at once into an open field, their loathsome carcases would
cover many acres of ground. And yet the _source_ of all this pollution
and death is moderate drinking.

Were the thousands of distilleries and breweries, still at work day and
night in the land, placed in one city or county, they would blacken all
the surrounding heavens with their smoke. And could all the oaths,
obscenities, and blasphemies they occasion every hour, be uttered in one
voice, it would be more terrific than "seven thunders."

And are those armies of drunkards, that liquid fire, those carcases of
the slain, those ever-burning manufactories, and those blasphemies in
the ear of Heaven, less appalling, less stirring to patriotism, because
scattered throughout the land? Shall there be no burst of indignation
against this monster of despotism and wickedness, because he has
_insidiously_ entered the country, instead of coming in by bold
invasion? Shall he still deceive the nation, and pursue his ravages? Or
shall he not, at once, be arrested, when it can be done without cost,
and with infinite gain?

It must not be forgotten, that, in this country, every drunkard has
equal power in the elective franchise with the most virtuous citizen.
Nor must it be forgotten, that should the reform now cease, and
intemperance again increase for the fifty years to come, in only the
same ratio that it did for twenty years previous to the commencement of
general reform in 1826, about one-third of our voters would be
drunkards. What, then, would be the character of our beloved republic?

But should intemperance increase in that ratio for _eighty_ years, a
_majority_ of our voters would be drunkards, and our population amount
to several hundred millions. Who then could turn back the burning tide;
or who could govern the maddening multitudes?

It is not a vain thing, then, that patriots have waked up to this
subject. Their trumpet should now thrill through the land, and urge all
the young to enlist, at once, on the side of virtue. These can, if they
will, cause the river of abominations to be dried up.

But the subject of temperance has still another aspect, far more
serious. It must be a solemn consideration to such as realize, in any
measure, the worth of the soul and the necessity of its regeneration,
that indulgence in the use of intoxicating drink, in this day of light,
_may grieve the Holy Spirit_, whose presence alone can insure salvation.
Indeed, to say nothing of the deadening influence of such liquor on the
conscience, unless heaven and hell can mingle together, we cannot,
surely, expect God to send _his_ Spirit to cooperate _with that_ which
is peculiarly offensive to the most devoted and self-denying of his
friends, and which Satan employs, more than any other agent, in fitting
men for his service. For, "what communion hath light with
darkness?"--"what concord hath Christ with Belial?" Beware, then, of the
arch-deceiver, in this matter. "It is not a vain thing for you, because
it is your life."

It is obvious that if such stimulants were wholly done away, _the Gospel
would have far mightier sway_, and human nature generally assume a
higher character. Pure moral stimulus would take the place of what is
low, sensual, and selfish. Better health, better temper, higher
intellect, and more generous benevolence would everywhere appear.

It is obvious, likewise, that Providence has great designs to be
accomplished by the younger portions of this generation. Unto us are
committed those oracles which declare, "Instead of thy fathers shall be
thy children, whom thou mayest make princes in all the earth." And
already do I see, in the silent kindling of unnumbered minds, in our
Sabbath-schools and other institutions, the presage of unexampled good
to the nations. Who, then, of the rising race, is so dead to generous
feeling, so deaf to the voice of Providence, so blind to the beauty of
moral excellence, that he will not now aspire to some course of worthy
action? Let this motto, then, stand out like the sun in the firmament:
HE THAT STRIVETH FOR THE MASTERY, IS TEMPERATE IN ALL THINGS.

One word in reference to making and observing a _pledge_ for abstinence.
As it respects yourself, it will show a resolute, independent mind, and
be deciding the question once for all, and thus supersede the necessity
of deciding it a thousand times, when the temptation is offered. It
will, moreover, supersede the inconvenience of perpetual warfare with
appetite and temptation. And as it respects others, of feebler minds, or
stronger appetites, your _example_ may be immeasurably important.
Multitudes may thus be secured to a life of sobriety, who, but for this
pledge, would never have had the requisite firmness. Your influence may
thus extend on the right hand and on the left, and down to future ages;
and by such united pledges and efforts, countless multitudes may be
saved from a life of wretchedness, a death of infamy, and an eternity of
woe.

But does any one still say, "I will unite in no pledge, because in no
danger?" Suppose _you are safe_; have you then no _benevolence_? Are you
utterly _selfish_? Think of the bosom now wrung with agony and shame,
over a drunken husband, or father, or brother. And have you no _pity_?
Think of the millions of hopes, for both worlds, suspended on the
success of the temperance cause. And will you do nothing to speed its
triumph?

Do you say, your influence is of no account? It was one "poor man" that
saved a "little city," when a "great king besieged it." Another saved a
"great city," when the anger of Jehovah was provoked against it. Small
as your influence may be, you are accountable to God and your country;
and your finger may touch some string that shall vibrate through the
nation.

But are you conscious of possessing talent? Then rally the circle of
your acquaintance, and enlist them in the sacred cause. And do you save
a little by abstinence? Then _give_ a little to extend the benign
influence. What youth cannot, at least, circulate a few Tracts, and
perhaps enlist as many individuals? And who can estimate the endless
influence of those individuals, or their capacity for rising with you in
celestial splendor?

But have you wealth, or power with the pen? Then speak by ten thousand
tongues: send winged messengers through the city, the country, the town,
the village, the harbor; and thus may you enjoy _now_ the highest of all
luxuries--the luxury of _doing good_. And, at the same time, trusting in
HIM who came from the abodes of light, "to seek and save the lost," you
may secure _durable riches_ in that world, where, saith the Scripture,
neither _covetous_, nor _drunkards_, nor extortioners, nor revilers, nor
the _slothful_, nor mere _lovers of pleasure_, nor _any thing that
defileth_, shall ever enter; but where THEY THAT BE WISE shall shine
forth as the brightness of the firmament for ever and ever.

When these opposite characters and their changeless destinies are
_seriously_ weighed, none, surely, can hesitate which to prefer. But,
"what thou doest, do quickly."

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE.--A premium of fifty dollars, offered by a friend, was awarded to
the author of this Tract.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




ALARM TO DISTILLERS.

BY REV. BAXTER DICKINSON, D. D.


The art of turning the products of the earth into a fiery spirit was
discovered by an _Arab_, about nine hundred years ago. The effects of
this abuse of nature's gifts were soon viewed with alarm. Efforts were
made, even by a heathen people, to arrest the evil; and it shows the
mighty agency and cunning of Satan, that Christian nations should ever
have been induced to adopt and encourage this deadliest of man's
inventions. In the guilt of encouraging the destructive art, our own
free country has largely participated. In the year 1815, as appears from
well-authenticated statistics, our number of distilleries had risen to
nearly _forty thousand_; and, until within a few years past, the
progress of intemperance threatened all that was fair and glorious in
our prospects. The reformation recently commenced is one of the grandest
movements of our world; and to secure its speedy triumph, the
concurrence of distillers is obviously indispensable. They must cease to
provide the destroying element. This they are urged to do by the
following considerations:

1. The business of distilling _confers no benefits on your fellow-men_.
Ardent spirit is not needed as an article of living. In the first ages
of the world, when human life was protracted to hundreds of years, it
was unknown. By the first settlers of this country it was not used. It
was scarcely used for a whole century. And those temperate generations
were remarkably robust, cheerful, and enterprising. To this we may add,
that several hundred thousand persons, accustomed to use it, have given
it up entirely within a few years past; and their united testimony is,
that they have made no sacrifice either of health, or strength, or any
real comfort. Indeed few, if any, except such as have the intemperate
appetite, will now seriously contend that distilled liquor is necessary
or useful. The little that may perhaps be desirable as medicine, might
be made by the apothecary, or the physician.

The talents God has given you _might_ be applied to advance the welfare
of your fellow-men. It is your duty--your highest _honor_--thus to apply
them. And on the bed of death, in near prospect of the judgment, it will
surely be a melancholy reflection that, as regards the happiness of
mankind, your life has been an utter _blank_.

2. The business of distilling is not only useless, but _is the occasion
of many and great evils_. Recent examination has developed a number of
appalling facts, which few, if any, pretend to question. It is admitted
that the use of ardent spirit has been a tax on the population of our
country, of from _fifty to a hundred millions of dollars_ annually. It
is admitted that three-fourths of all the _crimes_ of the land result
from the use of intoxicating liquor. It is admitted that at least
three-fourths of all the sufferings of _poverty_ arise from the same
source. It is admitted that upwards of _thirty thousand_ of our citizens
have annually descended to the _drunkard's grave_. It is admitted, by
those who believe the Bible, that _drunkards shall not inherit eternal
life_, but must _have their part in the lake that burneth with fire and
brimstone_. In a word, it is admitted that health, fortune, social
happiness, intellect, conscience, heaven, are all swept away by the tide
of intemperance.

And now, what you are specially bound to ponder is, that this burning
tide, with all its desolations, flows from those very fountains _you_
have opened--the boiling flood can be perpetuated only by those fires
which _your_ hands kindle, and which it is your daily task to tend.

The position you occupy, then, is one of most fearful responsibility.
You are directly and peculiarly accessary to a degree of guilt and
misery which none but the infinite mind can comprehend. I hear for you a
loud remonstrance from every court of justice, from every prison of
collected crime, from every chamber of debasement, and from every
graveyard, as well as from the dark world of despair. I hear the cries
of unnumbered mothers, and widows, and orphans, all with one voice
imploring you to extinguish those fires, to dry up those fountains, and
to abandon an occupation pregnant with infamy, and death, and perdition.

3. The business of distilling _destroys, to a great extent, the bounties
of Providence_. Many of the substances converted into ardent spirit are
indispensable to the comfort of man--some of them the very staff of
life. But the work of distillation not only destroys them as articles of
food, but actually converts them to poison. An incalculable amount of
grain, and tens of thousands of hogsheads of sugar and molasses, besides
enormous quantities of other useful articles, are every year thus
wickedly perverted in this Christian land. Who does not know the odious
fact that, in many places, the _distillery_ has regulated the price of
bread? Who does not know that this engine of iniquity has at times so
consumed the products of industry as to make it difficult for the poorer
classes to get a supply? "The poor we have always with us;" and cries of
the suffering are often heard from other lands. Such facts, it would
seem, might reach the conscience of all who are wantonly destroying
Heaven's gifts. Can you, for a little selfish gain, persist in
converting the bread of multitudes into pestilential fire? How utterly
unlike the example of Him who, while feeding thousands by miracle, could
still say, "Gather up the fragments which remain, that nothing be lost."

4. By continuing this destructive business, _you greatly offend the
virtuous and respectable part of the community_. The temperance
reformation has been commenced and prosecuted by enlightened men. It is
not the enterprise of any political party or religious sect. It has the
general support of ministers and Christians of different denominations,
of statesmen, judges, lawyers, physicians, and hundreds of thousands in
the walks of private life. They regard the enterprise as one, on the
success of which hang the liberties of our republic and the happiness of
future millions.

You cannot be surprised, then, that they look with pain on operations
directly adapted to defeat their plans, and perpetuate the dread evil
they deplore. You cannot suppose that their eye will light on the
_fountains_ of this mighty evil but with inexpressible grief, disgust,
and indignation. And if you have the common magnanimity of our nature,
you will surely cease to outrage the feelings of the virtuous throughout
the nation.

5. You pursue a pernicious calling, _in opposition to great light_. The
time was when good men extensively engaged in the distilling business,
and when few seemed to be aware of its fearfully mischievous tendency.
The matter had not been a subject of solemn and extensive discussion.
The sin was one of comparative ignorance. But circumstances have
changed. Inquiry has thrown upon the community a flood of light. The
evil of intemperance has been exhibited in its complicated horrors.
Ardent spirit has been found to be not only useless, but fearfully
destructive; so that the guilt of manufacturing it is now enormously
aggravated.

Good men were once engaged in importing slaves. They suspected not the
iniquity of the business; and an apology can be offered for them, on the
ground of ignorance. But their trade has now come to be regarded by the
civilized world in the same odious light as piracy and murder. The man
who engages in it is stamped with everlasting infamy. And the reason is,
that, like the distiller, he now sins amid that fulness of light which
an age of philanthropy has poured around him.

6. Perseverance in the business of distilling _must necessarily be at
the expense of your own reputation and that of your posterity_. You are
creating and sending out the materials of discord, crime, poverty,
disease, and intellectual and moral degradation. You are contributing to
perpetuate one of the sorest scourges of our world. And the scourge can
never be removed till those deadly fires you have kindled are all put
out. That public sentiment which is worthy of respect calls upon you to
extinguish them. And the note of remonstrance will wax louder and
louder till every smoking distillery in the land is demolished. A free
and enlightened people cannot quietly look on while an enemy is working
his engines and forging the instruments of national bondage and death.

Without a prophet's vision, I foresee the day when the manufacture of
intoxicating liquor, for common distribution, will be classed with the
arts of counterfeiting and forgery, and the maintenance of houses for
midnight revelry and corruption. Like these, the business will become a
work only of darkness, and be prosecuted only by the outlaw.

Weigh well, then, the bearing of your destructive employment on personal
and family _character_. The employment may secure for you a little gain,
and perhaps wealth. But, in a day of increasing light and purity, you
can never rid treasures, thus acquired, of a _stigma_, which will render
him miserably poor who holds them. Upon the dwelling you occupy, upon
the fields you enclose, upon the spot that entombs your ashes, there
will be fixed an indescribable gloom and odiousness, to offend the eye
and sicken the heart of a virtuous community, till your memory shall
perish. Quit, then, this vile business, and spare your name, spare your
family, spare your children's children such insupportable shame and
reproach.

7. By prosecuting this business _in a day of light and reform, you
peculiarly offend God, and jeopard your immortal interests_. In "times
of ignorance," God, in a sense, "winked at" error. But let the error be
persisted in under a full blaze of light, and it must be the occasion of
a dread retribution from his throne.

The circumstances of the distiller are now entirely changed. His sin was
once a sin of ignorance, but is such no longer. He _knows_ he is taking
bread from the hungry, and perverting the bounties of Providence. He
_knows_ he is undermining the very pillars of our republic. He _knows_
that, by distilling, he confers no benefits upon mankind. He _knows_ he
is directly accessory to the temporal wretchedness and the endless
wailing of multitudes. And knowing these things, and keeping on his
way, he accumulates guilt which the Holy One cannot overlook. If endless
exclusion from heaven be the drunkard's doom, can _he_ be held guiltless
who deliberately prepared for him, and perhaps placed in his hand, the
cup of death and damnation? This is not the decision either of Scripture
or of common sense. Wilfully persevering to furnish the sure means of
death, you carry to the judgment the murderer's character as clearly as
the midnight assassin.

And now, what is the APOLOGY for prosecuting a business so manifestly
offensive to God, and ruinous to yourself, as well as others? Do you
say, _It is necessary as a means of support_? But whence have you
derived authority to procure a living at the sacrifice of conscience,
character, and the dearest interests of others? And is the maintenance
of a _public nuisance_ really necessary to your support? In a country
like this, the plea of necessity for crime is glaringly impious. Many
and varied departments of honest and honorable industry are before you,
all promising a generous reward; and, neglecting them for a wicked and
mischievous occupation, you must bear the odium of a most sordid
avarice, or implacable malignity.

You virtually, too, impeach the character of God. You proclaim that he
has made your comfort, and even subsistence, to depend upon the practice
of iniquity. It is an imputation he must repel with abhorrence and
wrath. Nor is it sustained by the conscience, reason, or experience of
any man.

But possibly you urge, in self-justification, _Others will manufacture
spirit, if I do not_. But remember, the guilt of one is no excuse for
another. "Every one of us shall give account of _himself_ to God." If
others pursue a business at the sacrifice of character and of heaven, it
becomes you to avoid their crime, that you may escape their doom.

It is not certain, however, that others will prosecute the destructive
business, if you abandon it. Men of fore-thought will not now embark
their silver and gold on a pestilential stream, soon to be dried up
under that blaze of light and heat which a merciful God has enkindled.
They will not deem it either wise or safe to kindle unholy and deadly
fires where the pure river of the water of life is so soon to overflow.
In the eye of thousands, the distillery on your premises adds nothing to
their value. Indeed, should they purchase those premises, the filthy
establishment would be demolished as the first effort of improvement.
And every month and hour is detracting from its value, and blackening
the curse that rests upon it.

Let the thousands now concerned in distilling at once put out their
fires, and the act would cause one general burst of joy through the
nation; and any effort to rekindle them would excite an equally general
burst of indignation and abhorrence. None but a monster of depravity
would ever make the attempt.

But again, perhaps you say, _No one is obliged to use the spirit that is
made_. But remember, that you make it only to be used. You make it with
the desire, with the hope, with the expectation that it will be used.
You know it has been used by thousands--by millions--and has strewed the
land with desolation, and peopled hell with its victims; and you cannot
but acknowledge that you would at once cease to make the liquor, did you
not _hope it would continue to be used_. Indeed, you must see that _just
in proportion to your success_ will be the amount of mischief done to
your fellow-men.

It seems hardly needful to say that the foregoing considerations are all
strictly applicable to SUCH AS FURNISH THE MATERIALS for the distiller.
Were these withheld, his degrading occupation would of course cease. By
suffering, then, the fruits of your industry to pass into his hands, you
perpetuate his work of death. You share all his guilt, and shame, and
curse. And remember, too, that the bushel of grain, the barrel of cider,
the hogshead of molasses, for which you thus gain a pittance, may be
returned from the fiery process only to hasten the infamy and endless
ruin of a beloved son, or brother, or friend.

Nor is the crime of the RETAILER of ardent spirit essentially
different. He takes the poison from the distiller, and insidiously deals
it out to his fellow-men. It is truly stirring to one's indignation to
notice his variety of artifice for rendering it enticing. His occupation
is one which the civil authorities have, in some places, with a noble
consistency, ceased to tolerate; and one which must soon be put down by
the loud voice of public sentiment.

Indeed, the _retailer_, the _distiller_, and he who _furnishes the
materials_, must be looked upon as forming a TRIPLE LEAGUE, dangerous
alike to private and social happiness, and to the very liberties of the
nation. And an awakened people cannot rest till the deadly compact is
sundered. Why not, then, anticipate a little the verdict and the
vengeance of a rising tone of public sentiment, and at once proclaim the
_unholy alliance_ dissolved? Why not anticipate the verdict of an
infinitely higher tribunal--why not believe God's threatening, and
escape the eternal tempest that lowers for _him who putteth the cup to
his neighbor's lips_? Why not cooperate promptly in a public reform that
is regarded with intense interest in heaven, on earth, and in hell?

O review, as men of reason, and conscience, and immortality, this whole
business. And if you have no ambition to _benefit your fellow-men_--if
you can consent _to ruin many for both worlds_--if you can persist in
_wasting and perverting the bounties of a kind Providence_--if you can
outrage the feelings of the most _enlightened and virtuous_--if you can
pursue a work of darkness _amid noonday light_--if you can sacrifice a
_good name_, and entail _odium on all you leave_--and if you can
deliberately _offend God_, and jeopard _your immortal interests_ for
paltry gain, then go on--go on a little longer; but, "O MY SOUL, COME
NOT THOU INTO THEIR SECRET; UNTO THEIR ASSEMBLY, MINE HONOR, BE NOT THOU
UNITED."

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE.--A premium, offered by a friend of temperance, was awarded to the
author of this Tract.


PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




PUTNAM AND THE WOLF;

OR,

THE MONSTER DESTROYED.

AN ADDRESS ORIGINALLY DELIVERED AT POMFRET, CONN.,

BY REV. JOHN MARSH.

[Illustration: Weeping drunk with wife and child]


I remember, when a boy, reading a story which chilled my blood in my
veins; but which taught me never to sit down and try to bear an evil
which might, by bold and persevering effort, be remedied. The story was
this. A certain district of country was infested by a wild beast. The
nuisance was intolerable. The inhabitants rallied, and hunted it day and
night, until they drove it into a deep den. There, with dogs, guns,
straw, fire, and sulpher, they attacked the common enemy; but all in
vain. The hounds came back badly wounded, and refused to return. The
smoke of blazing straw had no effect; nor had the fumes of burnt
brimstone. The ferocious animal would not quit its retirement. And now
the shadows of evening gathered around them. The clock struck nine, and
ten. And should they lose their prey? They must, unless some one should
be so daring as to descend into this den of monsters and destroy the
enemy. One man offered to go; but his neighbors remonstrated against the
perilous enterprise. Perilous indeed it was; but live so they could not,
and stripping off his coat and waistcoat and having a long rope fastened
round his legs, by which he might be pulled back, he entered with a
flaming torch in his hand, head foremost. The most terrifying darkness
appeared in front of the dim circle afforded by his light. It was still
as the house of death. But proceeding onwards with unparalleled courage,
he discovered the glaring eyeballs of the ferocious beast, who was
sitting at the extremity of the cavern. For a moment he retreated; but
again descended with his musket. The beast howled, rolled its eyes,
snapped its teeth, and threatened him with instant death, when he
levelled, fired, and brought it forth dead, to the view of his trembling
and exulting neighbors.

Little did I then think that I should one day see the country rallied on
the same spot, to hunt a more terrible monster, whose destruction will
require Putnam courage.

The old enemy, gentlemen, which your fathers hunted about these hills
and dales, was visible to the eye, and could be reached with powder and
ball; but the enemy whom you assault is, like the foe of human bliss
which entered the garden of Eden, invisible, and therefore not to be
described, and not to be destroyed by force of arms. That enemy did,
indeed, to effect his purpose, assume the form of a serpent; and ours
has been said, as belonging to the same family, to have occasionally the
same aspect. A gentleman in Missouri has recently described a dreadful
worm which, he says, infests that country. "It is of a dead lead color,
and generally lives near a spring, and bites the unfortunate people who
are in the habit of going there to drink. The symptoms of its bite are
terrible. The eyes of the patient become red and fiery; the tongue
swells to an immoderate size and obstructs utterance, and delirium of
the most horrid character ensues. The name of this reptile is, 'THE WORM
OF THE STILL.'" I suspect it is one of the same family which is
infesting the peaceful villages of New England, and whose ravages have
alarmed the country, and caused you this day to leave your homes and
seek its destruction. I would not here inquire minutely into its
history. It is said to have originated in Arabia, the country of the
false prophet. The aborigines of our forests never knew it. They could
proudly tread on the rattlesnake and copperhead, but never fell before
the worm of the still. O woful day when it found its way to our coasts;
when here it first generated its offspring.

Yet there are men who think we belie it; who say that we are needlessly
alarmed; that we are hunting a friend; that we are driving one from our
country without whose aid we can never check the ravages of disease, or
perform our labor, or have any hilarity. It is not, say they, a
poisonous foe. It is a pleasant cordial; a cheerful restorative; the
first friend of the infant; the support of the enfeebled mother; a sweet
luxury, given by the parent to the child; the universal token of
kindness, friendship, and hospitality. It adorns the sideboards and
tables of the rich, and enlivens the social circles of the poor; goes
with the laborer as his most cheering companion; accompanies the mariner
in his long and dreary voyage; enlivens the carpenter, the mason, the
blacksmith, the joiner, as they ply their trade; follows the merchant to
his counter, the physician to his infected rooms, the lawyer to his
office, and the divine to his study, cheering all and comforting all. It
is the life of our trainings, and town-meetings, and elections, and
bees, and raisings, and harvests, and sleighing-parties. It is the best
domestic medicine, good for a cold and a cough, for pain in the
stomach, and weakness in the limbs, loss of appetite and rheumatism,
and is a great support in old age. It makes a market for our rye and
apples; sustains 100,000 families who are distilling and vending, and
pours annually millions of dollars into our national treasury. Had the
wolf possessed the cunning of the fox, she would have told Putnam as
smooth a story as this. But it would have made no difference. The old
man's cornfields were fattened by the blood of his sheep, and he would
give no quarter. And the blood of our countrymen has been poured out at
the shrine of the demon Intemperance, and we must give none. Talk we of
alcohol as a friend! As well may a mother praise the crocodile which has
devoured her offspring.

Look, my countrymen, at the ravages of intemperance. Fix your eye on its
waste of property.

At the lowest calculation, it has annually despoiled us of a hundred
millions of dollars--of thirty millions for an article which is nothing
worth, and seventy or eighty millions more to compensate for the
mischiefs that article has done--money enough to accomplish all that the
warmest patriot could wish for his country, and to fill, in a short
period, the world with Bibles and a preached Gospel. What farmer would
not be roused, should a wild beast come once a year into his borders and
destroy the best cow in his farmyard? But 6-1/4 cents a day for ardent
spirit wastes $22 81 cents a year, and in 40 years nearly $1,000, which
is a thousand times as much as scores of drunkards are worth at their
burial.

See the pauperism it has produced. We have sung of our goodly heritage,
and foreign nations have disgorged their exuberant population that they
might freely subsist in this land of plenty. But in this granary of the
world are everywhere seen houses without windows, fields without
tillage, barns without roofs, children without clothing, and
penitentiaries and almshouses filled to overflowing; and a traveller
might write--BEGGARS MADE HERE. We are groaning under our pauperism, and
talking of taxes, and hard times, and no trade; but intemperance has
stalked through our land and devoured our substance. It has entered the
houses of our unsuspecting inhabitants as a friend, and taken the food
from their tables, and the clothing from their beds, and the fuel from
their fire, and turned their lands over to others, and drove them from
their dwellings to subsist on beggary and crime, or drag out a miserable
existence in penitentiaries and almshouses. Two-thirds, or 150,000 of
the wretched tenants of these abodes of poverty in the United States,
were reduced by intemperance. So themselves confess. It was rum, brandy,
and whiskey, that did it. And the Prison Discipline report tells of
50,000 cases of imprisonment for debt annually in the United States, in
consequence of the use of ardent spirits. O, its sweeps of property can
never be known.

Look at the crime it has occasioned.

It is said that there is a spring in China which makes every man that
drinks it a villain. Eastern tales are founded on some plain matter of
fact. This spring may be some distillery or dram-shop; for this is the
natural effect of alcohol. It breaks down the conscience, quickens the
circulation, increases the courage, makes man flout at law and right,
and hurries him to the perpetration of every abomination and crime.
Excite a man by this fluid, and he is bad enough for any thing. He can
lie, and steal, and fight, and swear, and plunge the dagger into the
bosom of his nearest friend. No vice is too filthy, no crime too
tragical for the drunkard. The records of our courts tell of acts
committed under the influence of rum, which curdle the blood in our
veins. Husbands butcher their wives; children slaughter their parents.
Far the greater part of the atrocities committed in our land, proceed
from its maddening power. "I declare in this public manner, and with the
most solemn regard to truth," said Judge Rush, some years ago in a
charge to a grand jury, "that I do not recollect an instance since my
being concerned in the administration of justice, of a single person
being put on his trial for manslaughter which did not originate in
drunkenness; and but few instances of trial for murder where the crime
did not spring from the same unhappy cause." Of 895 complaints presented
to the police court in Boston in one year, 400 were under the statute
against common drunkards. Of 1,061 cases of criminal prosecution in a
court in North Carolina, more than 800 proceeded from intemperance. Five
thousand complaints are made yearly in New York to the city police of
outrages committed by intoxicated persons; and the late city attorney
reports, that of twenty-two cases of murder which it had been his duty
to examine, every one of them had been committed in consequence of
intemperate drinking. "Nine-tenths of all the prisoners under my care,"
says Captain Pillsbury, warden of our own state prison, "are decidedly
intemperate men, and were brought to their present condition, directly
or indirectly, through intoxicating liquor. Many have confessed to me
with tears, that they never felt tempted to the commission of crime,
thus punishable, but when under the influence of strong drink." And the
Prison Discipline report states, "that of 125,000 criminals committed to
our prisons in a single year, 93,750 were excited to their commission of
crime by spirituous liquors."

Look at its destruction of intellect.

It reduces man to a beast, to a fool, to a devil. The excessive drinker
first becomes stupid, then idiotic, then a maniac. Men of the finest
geniuses, most acute minds, and profound learning, have dwindled under
the touch of this withering demon to the merest insignificance, and been
hooted by boys for their silly speeches and silly actions, or chained in
a madhouse as unsafe in society. Of eighty-seven admitted into the New
York hospital in one year, the insanity of twenty-seven was occasioned
by ardent spirit; and the physicians of the Pennsylvania hospital
report, that one-third of the insane of that institution were ruined by
intemperance. What if one-sixth of our maniacs were deprived of their
reason by the bite of the dogs, the friendly inmates of our houses, or
by some vegetable common on our table; who would harbor the dangerous
animal, or taste the poisonous vegetable? But, one-third of our maniacs
are deranged by alcohol. Indeed, every drunkard is in a temporary
delirium; and no man who takes even a little into his system, possesses
that sound judgment, or is capable of that patient investigation or
intellectual effort, which would be his without it. Just in proportion
as man comes under its influence, he approximates to idiotism or
madness.

Look at its waste of health and life.

The worm of the still, says the Missouri gentleman, never touches the
brute creation, but as if the most venomous of all beings, it seizes the
noblest prey. It bites man. And where it once leaves its subtle poison,
farewell to health--farewell to long life. The door is open, and in rush
dyspepsia, jaundice, dropsy, gout, obstructions of the liver,
epilepsy--the deadliest plagues let loose on fallen man--all terminating
in delirium tremens or mania a potu, a prelude to the eternal buffetings
of foul spirits in the world of despair. One out of every forty, or
three hundred thousand of our population, have taken up their abode in
the lazar-house of drunkenness, and thirty thousand die annually the
death of the drunkard. These sweeps of death mock all the ravages of
war, famine, pestilence, and shipwreck. The yellow-fever in
Philadelphia, in 1793, felt to be one of the greatest curses of heaven,
destroyed but four thousand. In our last war the sword devoured but five
hundred a year: intemperance destroys two hundred a week. Shipwrecks
destroy suddenly, and the country groans when forty or fifty human
beings are suddenly engulfed in the ocean; but more than half of all the
sudden deaths occur in fits of intoxication. It needed not a fable to
award the prize of greatest ingenuity in malice and murder to the demon
who invented brandy, over the demon who invented war.

Look at its murder of souls.

Not satisfied with filling jails, and hospitals, and graveyards, it must
people hell. Every moral and religious principle is dissipated before
it. The heart becomes, under its influence, harder than the nether
mill-stone. It has gone into the pulpit and made a Judas of the minister
of Christ. It has insinuated itself into the church, and bred
putrefaction and death among the holy. It has entered the anxious room
in seasons of revival, and quenched conviction in the breast of the
distressed sinner, or sent him, exhilarated with a false hope, to
profess religion, and be a curse to the church. It has accompanied men,
Sabbath after Sabbath, to the house of God, and made them insensible as
blocks of marble to all the thunders of Sinai and sweet strains of Zion.
It has led to lying, profane swearing, Sabbath-breaking, tale-bearing,
contention; and raised up an army, I may almost say, in every village,
who wish for no Sabbath, and no Bible, and no Saviour, and who cry out
with stammering tongues, "Away with him, crucify him." It has, without
doubt, been the most potent of all the emissaries of Satan, to
obliterate the fear of the Lord, turn men away from the Sabbath and the
sanctuary, steel them against the word, the providence, and grace of
God, stupefy the conscience, bring into action every dark and vile
passion, and fill up with immortal souls the dark caverns of eternal
night. Let a man, day by day, hover around a dram-shop, and sip and sip
at his bottle, and the devil is sure of him. No ministers, no Sabbaths,
no prayers, no tears from broken-hearted and bleeding relatives, can
avail to save him. He holds that man by a chain which nothing but
Omnipotence can break.

And look, too, at its waste of human happiness.

Yes, look--look for yourselves. The woes of drunkenness mock all
description. Some tell of the happiness of drinking. O, if there is a
wretched being on earth, it is the drunkard. His property wasted, his
character gone, his body loathsome, his passions wild, his appetite
craving the poison that kills him, his hopes of immortality blasted for
ever; it is all

                       "Me miserable,
    Which way I fly is hell, myself am hell."

And his family. I can never look at it but with feelings of deepest
anguish.


   "Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
    Of paradise that hast escaped the fall,"

thou art shipwrecked here. Sorrow, woe, wounds, poverty, babblings, and
contention, have entered in and dwell here. Yet we have 300,000 such
families in the land; and if each family consists of four individuals,
more than a million persons are here made wretched by this curse of
curses.

And his death. O, to die in our houses, amid our friends, and with the
consolations of religion, strips not death of its character as the king
of terrors. But to die as the drunkard dies, an outcast from society, in
some hovel or almshouse, on a bed of straw, or in some ditch, or pond,
or frozen in a storm; to die of the _brain-fever_, conscience
upbraiding, hell opening, and foul spirits passing quick before his
vision to seize him before his time--this, this is woe; this is the
triumph of sin and Satan. Yet, in the last ten years, 300,000 have died
in our land the death of the drunkard; rushing, where?--"Drunkards shall
not inherit the kingdom of God"--rushing into hell, where their worm
dieth not, and their fire can never be quenched. And if the demon is
suffered to continue his ravages, 300,000 more of our existing
population will, in the same way, rush into eternal burnings.

And his funeral. Have you ever been at a drunkard's funeral? I do not
ask, did you look at his corpse? It was cadaverous before he died. But
did you look at his father as he bent over the grave and exclaimed in
agony, "O, my son, my son, would to God I had died for thee, my son."
Did you look at his widow, pale with grief, and at his ragged,
hunger-bitten children at her side, and see them turn away to share the
world's cold pity, or, perhaps, rejected and forlorn, follow the same
path to death and hell?

Such are the ravages of the demon we hunt. Its footsteps are marked with
blood. We glory in our liberties, and every fourth of July our bells
ring a merry peal, as if we were the happiest people on earth. But O,
our country, our country! She has a worm at her vitals, making fast a
wreck of her physical energies, her intellect, and her moral principle;
augmenting her pauperism and her crime; nullifying her elections--for a
drunkard is not fit for an elector--and preparing her for subjection to
the most merciless tyranny that ever scourged any nation under heaven.
We talk of our religion, and weep over the delusions of the false
prophet and the horrors of Juggernaut; but a more deceitful prophet is
in our churches than Mahomet, and a more bloody idol than Juggernaut
rolls through our land, crushing beneath its wheels our sons and our
daughters. Woe, woe, woe to Zion. Satan is in Eden. And if no check is
put to the ravages of the demon, our benevolent institutions must die,
our sanctuaries be forsaken, our beautiful fields be wastes, and the
church will read the history of her offspring in the third of Romans:
_Their throat is an open sepulchre; their mouth is full of cursing and
bitterness; their feet are swift to shed blood_--all, blasting our
bright hope of the speedy approach of millennial glory.

There is cause, then, for the general alarm that has been excited in our
country; reason for this extensive and powerful combination to hunt and
destroy the monster. Much, by divine help, has been done. He has been
routed and brought to the light of day; the mischief he has done has
been exposed; his apologists have been confronted; he is driven into his
den, and now how can he be destroyed? That he must be destroyed there
can be no question. The man who does not wish for the suppression of
intemperance must have the heart of a fiend; especially, if he wishes to
grow rich on the miseries of his fellow-men. And he must be destroyed
now. It is now or never. Men may say enough has been done, and talk
about his being held where he is. He cannot be held there. He has the
cunning of a serpent, and he will escape through some fissure in the
rock. He is now in our power. The temperance movement, which has on it
the impress of the finger of God, has brought him within our grasp; and
if we let him escape, the curse of curses will be entailed upon our
children. How then can he be destroyed? I answer, and thousands answer,
by starvation. No weapon can reach him so long as you feed him. But who
has a heart so traitorous to humanity as to feed this monster? Every man
who now, in the face of the light that is shed upon this subject,
distils, or vends, or uses intoxicating liquor; every distillery, and
every dram-shop in the land, nourishes this foe to human peace; every
man who takes the alcoholic poison into his system, or imparts it to
others, except as he takes and imparts other poisons to check disease,
gives life to the beast. I need not stop to prove it. It is manifest to
the child. Let every distillery in the land cease, and every dram-shop
be closed, and total abstinence become the principle of every
individual, and the demon will be dead; yes, take away from him his
wine, his brandy, and his whiskey, and he will perish for ever. But here
is the very brunt of the battle. We have hunted the monster through the
land, and driven him into his den; and now we must stand at the very
mouth of the cavern, and contend with our fellow-men and
fellow-sufferers--yes, and fellow-Christians too--who are either afraid
to attack the monster, or are determined he shall live.

And first, we are met by a body of men who tell us that alcohol is
useful. And what if it is? What if every benefit that the moderate and
immoderate drinker can think of, flows from it? What will this do to
compensate for its giant evils which are desolating our land? Is man so
bent on self-gratification that he will have every sweet, though it be
mingled with poison? Will he exercise no reason; make no discrimination
between unmixed good and good followed by desolating woes? Tea was good.
But, said our fathers, if with it we must have all the horrors of
British tyranny, away with it from our dwellings. My countrymen, "the
voice of your fathers' blood cries to you from the ground, 'My sons,
scorn to be slaves!'" Away with the shameful plea that you cannot do
without an article which subjects you to an evil ten thousand times
worse than all the horrors of British tyranny. You kindle the fires of
liberty by pointing to the woes of the prison-ship, and the bones of
your countrymen whitening on the shores of New Jersey. O, crouch not to
a tyrant who binds a million in his chains, and demands thirty thousand
annually for his victims. I blush for the imbecility of the man who must
have an article on his farm which eats up his substance and his vitals,
and may turn his son into an idiot and a brute. Better have no farm.
Better go at once, with his family, into the poor-house, and be
supported by public charity.

Next comes canting Hypocrisy, with his Bible in his hand, telling us
that "every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be
received with thanksgiving." What does he mean; that ardent spirit is
the gift of God? Pray, in what stream of his bounty, from what mountain
and hill does it flow down to man? O, it is in the rye, and the apple,
and the sugar, and the Mussulman has taught us Christians how to distil
it. And so the poet tells us Satan taught his legions how to make
gunpowder. "There are," said he,

   "Deep under ground, materials dark and crude,
    Of spirituous and fiery spume.
    These, in their dark nativity, the deep
    Shall yield us, pregnant with internal flame;
    Which, into hollow engines, long and round,
    Thick ramm'd, at th' other bore with touch of fire
    Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth
    From far, with thundering noise, among our foes
    Such implements of mischief as shall dash
    To pieces and o'erwhelm whatever stands
    Adverse.
    Th' invention all admired; up they turn'd
    Wide the celestial soil; sulphurous and nitrous foam
    They found, they mingled; and, with subtle art
    Concocted and adjusted, they reduced
    To blackest grain."

And now, to carry out the argument, gunpowder, and guns, and swords, are
the gift of God, and men must needs use them, and kill one another as
fast as possible.

But nothing, it is plead, was made in vain. Spirit is good for
something, and to banish it from use, and promise that we will "touch
not, taste not, handle not," is contempt of the works of God. I should
like to have seen what the Pomfret hero would have done with a man who
should have stood before him, and said, Don't you destroy that wolf; God
made it, and it may be good for something.

Next, we are checked in our principle of starvation by a set of
thoughtless youth and presumptuous men, who say there is no danger from
the demon if we keep him low. All his ravages have been occasioned by
his being full fed. Let him sip but little, feed him _prudently_, and he
will do no harm.

"Good," says the demon, growling in his den; "that is all I want. The
doctrine of prudent use is the basis of my kingdom. Temperate drinking
has made all the drunkards in the land, and keep it up in all your towns
and villages, and I shall be satisfied."

O the delusion! Prudent use! What is the testimony of every chemist and
physician in the land? Alcohol is a _poison_.

"Not a bloodvessel," says Dr. Mussey, "however minute, not a thread of
nerve in the whole animal machine escapes its influence. It disturbs the
functions of life; it increases for a time the action of the living
organs, but lessens the power of that action; hence the deep depression
and collapse which follow preternatural excitement. By habitual use it
renders the living fibre less and less susceptible to the healthy
operation of unstimulating food and drink, its exciting influences soon
become incorporated with all the living actions of the body, and the
diurnal sensations of hunger, thirst, and exhaustion, are strongly
associated with the recollection of its exhilarating effects, and thus
bring along with them the resistless desire for its repetition." More
than fifty per cent. of common spirits are alcohol, this deadly
substance, holding rank with henbane, hemlock, prussic acid, foxglove,
poison sumach. Nausea, vertigo, vomiting, exhilaration of spirits for a
time, and subsequent stupor, and even total insensibility and death, are
their accompaniments. Broussais remarks, "A single portion of ardent
spirit taken into the stomach produces a temporary phlogosis." Now, I
submit it to every considerate man, whether there can be any prudent use
of a poison, a single portion of which produces the same disease of
which the drunkard dies, and a disease which brings along with it a
resistless desire for a repetition of the draught.

Thoughtless, self-sufficient men say, they can control this desire, can
govern their appetite, can enjoy the exhilaration of strong drink, and
yet be temperate. Let them look at the poor inebriate wallowing in his
pollution. He once stood just where they stand; boasted just as they
boast; had as fair character, and as kind friends, and as precious a
soul and bright hopes of heaven as they have. Let them tell why he does
not control his appetite. Perhaps they say, he is a fool. Ah, what made
him a fool? Or, his reason is gone. And what took away his reason? Or,
he has lost his character. And what took away his character? Or, his
sense of shame is departed. And what took away his sense of shame? Ah,
here is the dreadful secret, which it may be well for all, boasting of
their power of self-control, to know. At the very moment when the man
thinks he stands firm, and reason can control appetite, his moral sense
departs, his shame is gone, and he turns, through the power of his
morning bitters and oft-repeated drams, into the brute and the maniac.
With the moral sensibilities laid waste, reason here has only the power
of the helmsman before the whirlwind. "Twenty years ago," says Nott, "a
respectable householder came in the morning with a glass of bitters in
his hand, and offered it to his guest, saying, 'Take it; it will do you
good. I have taken it for some years, and I think it does me good; and I
never want any more.' Time passed on, and presently the bottle of
bitters in the closet was exchanged for the barrel of whiskey in the
cellar; and the poor man was often at the tap for just as much as would
do him good, and he never wanted any more. Time passed on, and a
hogshead was needful; and its contents were exhausted with the same
intent, and the same self-deceivings. At length the home of his family
was relinquished to his creditors; his polluted body was lodged in a
jail, from which he presently issued a drunken vagabond, and wandered a
wretched being, until he found a drunkard's grave." It is but the
history of thousands. No laws of nature act with more uniformity than
the laws of intemperance. No inoculation sends with more certainty
disease into the system than drinking strong drink. Hundreds have made
an agonizing struggle to escape from perdition. They have seen their sin
and danger; they have walked the streets in agony; they have gone to
their homes and looked at their wives and children, and into the pit of
despair. But their feverish stomach has cried, Give, give! and they have
drank often and often, with the solemn promise that it should be the
last time; until they have exclaimed, with a once interesting youth, "I
know I am a ruined man, but I cannot stop."

Some, indeed, through much care and strength of constitution, may
escape; but the plague, if it appear not in their skin and their bone,
may break out in their children. "I will drink some," said an aged
deacon of a church of Christ; "for it does me good." God was merciful,
though he tempted Heaven, and it is said that he died with his character
untarnished; but six loathsome sons drank up his substance, with the
leprosy in their foreheads. What a meeting must there be between that
deacon and his sons on the judgment-day! The doctrine of prudent use
must be abandoned. It can have no standard. Every man thinks he drinks
prudently, whether he takes one glass a day or five, and is just as much
excited and just as liable to drunkenness as all drunkards were when
they stood where he now stands. He only that entirely abstains can
properly be called a temperate man. And he only is clear from the guilt
of spreading intemperance through the land. Moderate drinkers are the
life of this bloody system which is wringing with agony the hearts of
thousands. Did all at once drink to excess, alcohol would be viewed with
dread, as is laudanum and arsenic. Better that all who tasted it were
at once made drunkards; then, drunkards would be as scarce as suicides.
But men now sip moderately and are reputable; they think themselves
safe, but one in every forty sinks to drunkenness; and thus, among
twelve millions of people, drinking moderately, the demon has
perpetually 300,000 victims. And for these, while all are thus paying
homage to the bottle, what is the hope? The lost wretch may wake from
his brutality and crime, and resolve that he will reform, and his
broken-hearted wife may hope that the storms of life are over, and his
babes may smile at his strange kindness and care; but the universal
presence of the intoxicating fluid, and the example of the wise and the
good around him, will thwart all his resolutions, and he will go back,
like the dog to his vomit. All the drunkenness, then, that shall pollute
our land, must be traced to moderate drinkers. They feed the monster.
They keep in countenance the distillery and the dram-shop, and every
drunkard that reels in the streets. Moderate use is to this kingdom of
blood what the thousand rivulets and streams are to the mighty river. O
how have we been deceived. We long searched for the poison that was
destroying our life. The drop said, It is not in me--I am but a drop,
and can do no harm. The little stream said, It is not me. Am I not a
little one, and can do no harm? And the demon Intemperance, as she
prowled around us, said, Let my drops and my rivulets alone; they can do
no harm. Go stop, if you can, the mighty river. We believed her. But the
river baffled our efforts. Its torrents rolled on, and we contented
ourselves with snatching here and there a youth from destruction. But we
now see that the poison is in the drops and the rivulets; and that
without these, that river of death, which is sweeping the young and the
old into the ocean of despair, would cease for ever. And we call upon
these self-styled prudent, temperate drinkers, to pause and look at the
tremendous responsibility and guilt of entailing drunkenness upon their
country for ever.

But we are met with more serious opposers to the plan of starvation.
They are, they say, the bone and muscle of the country. They come from
the farms, the shipyards, and workshops, and say, If you starve out this
monster, _we_ shall be starved out, for we cannot do our work and get a
living without rum or whiskey; though, according to their own
confession, they have found it hard living with. Their rum and their
whiskey have cost them double and treble their other taxes--their sons
have become vile, their workmen turbulent, their tools have been broken,
and many of themselves are already sinking under its enfeebling
influence.

With such it is hard to reason. They have tried but one side, and are
incapable of judging the case. We can only tell them there is no danger.
Not a particle of nourishment does spirit afford them. The hard drinker
totters as he walks. The poor inebriate can neither stand nor go. We can
point them to hundreds and thousands of their own profession, honest
men, who solemnly testify that they are healthier and stronger, can
perform more labor, and endure the frosts of winter and heat of summer
better without it than with it. We can ask them whether they fully
believe that the God of heaven, a God of love, has put them under the
dire necessity of using daily an article which, with such awful
certainty, makes drunkards; and whether, when he has said, Woe to him
that giveth his neighbor drink, he has said, too, you must all drink it;
it is necessary for you. But such never can be taught and convinced but
by experience; and to such we would say, Try it for yourselves.

Our next opposition, gentlemen, is from a band clothed in
white--professors of our holy religion--enlisted soldiers of Christ,
engaged to every work of benevolence: they come--O tell it not in
Gath!--to intercede for the monster, and oppose our enterprise. Is not
this, you ask, a libel? Alas, too often, reports of temperance societies
tell of opposition from professors of religion.

What can be the meaning of this? Has not intemperance been the greatest
curse to the church? Has it not caused her to bleed at every pore? And
have not her members cried to heaven that the destroyer might perish?
And now, when God has put into their hands a weapon by which it may at
once be exterminated, will they hesitate? Will they hang back? Will they
say, we cannot make the sacrifice? O where lies this astonishing
witchery? What has put the church to sleep? What has made her angry at
the call to come out from the embrace of her deadliest foe? O what has
he, who drinks the cup of the Lord, to do with the cup of devils? Does
he need it to make him serious or prayerful, or to enable him better to
understand the word of God, or bear reproach for Christ, or discharge
his Christian duties, or open his heart in charity? Does it not palsy
the heart, quench the spirit of prayer, seal up every holy and
benevolent feeling, and turn many from Christ, that they walk no more
with him? What can a professor mean who refuses to enlist under the
temperance banner? Does he really want the monster to live? Does he pray
that he may? Will he stand aloof from this conflict? Is he determined to
deny himself in nothing? To care not if others perish? To risk shipwreck
of character and conscience, and to keep in countenance every drunkard
and dram-shop around him? Is it nothing to him that intemperance shall
spread like a _malaria_, to every city, and village, and neighborhood,
until the land shall send up nothing but the vapors of a moral
putrefaction, and none shall here pray, or preach, or seek God; but
ignorance, and crime, and suffering, withering comfort and hope, shall
go hand in hand, until we can be purified only by a rain of fire and
brimstone from heaven? O for shame, for shame! Let the Christian,
pleading for a little intoxicating liquor, be alarmed; let him escape
as for his life from the kingdom of darkness. "Come out of her, my
people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of
her plagues."

Next to diseased appetite, the love of money is the most potent
principle in the breast of depraved man. Thirty-six thousand distillers,
and eighty-five thousand venders of ardent spirits in our land, form a
tremendous host in opposition to our enterprise. They live everywhere.

   "Pass where we may, through city or through town,
    Village or hamlet, of this merry land,
    * * * * every twentieth pace
    Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff
    Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the sties
    That law has licensed, as makes Temperance REEL."

They live wherever the demon has his haunts. Or rather, he lives where
they live; for they feed him. And while he fattens on the article they
make and vend, they receive in return the silver and gold of his deluded
victims. Now, how can this formidable host, who cry out, Our craft is in
danger, by this demon we have our wealth--how can they be met? Can they
be met at all? Yes, they can--for they are men; generally reputable men;
in cases not a few, pious men; and all have consciences, and may be made
to feel their accountableness to God. Now let them be told that they
keep this monster alive; that to their distilleries and shops may be
traced all the poverty, and contention, and tears, and blood, which
drunkenness produces; that their occupation is to poison the young and
the old; and by dealing out gallons, and quarts, and pints, and gills,
they fill up, with drunkards, the highway to hell; that they do all this
to get the money of the wretched victims; that the tears of
broken-hearted widows and orphan children are entering into the ears of
the Lord of Sabaoth, and that neither God nor their consciences will
hold them guiltless in this thing, and sure I am that they will be
filled with horror at their own doings, and quit their business.

If there are some so hardened and dead to all the best interests of men
as to persist, against the light of the age, in the business of making
drunkards, let public indignation burn against them till they can no
longer stand before its fires. Let a distillery be viewed as a man would
view the inquisition, where the racks, the tortures, and the fires,
consume the innocent. Let the dram-shop be ranked, as Judge Dagget says
it should be, with the haunts of counterfeiters, the depositories of
stolen goods, and the retreats of thieves; and over its door let it be
written, "The way to hell, leading down to the chambers of death." The
time has been when a vender could deal out, day by day, the liquid
poison to the tottering drunkard, attend his funeral, help lay him in
the grave; then go home, post up his books, turn the widow and her babes
into the streets to perish with hunger or be supported by charity, and
yet sustain a good reputation. But in future, whenever the community
shall stand around the grave of a drunkard, let the eyes of all be fixed
on the inhuman vender; let him be called to take one solemn look into
the grave of the slain and the pit of the damned; and if he will return
to the ruin of his fellow-men, let the voice of his brother's blood cry
to him from the ground, and his punishment be greater than he can bear.

Perhaps some reputable vender is offended at the freedom of these
remarks. I would ask him if he has never been offended at the smell of
that filthy drunkard who has hung around him? I would ask him if his
conscience has never stung him as ragged children have come to him in
bleak November to have him fill their father's bottle? I would ask him
if his soul has never shook within him as he passed, in the darkness of
night, the graveyard where three, four, or five of his neighbors lie
without even a tombstone, who found their death at his counter? His
traffic may be profitable, but let him beware lest while he feeds the
monster it turns and devours him and his offspring. At least, let him
solemnly inquire, before God, whether he can be a virtuous man and
knowingly promote vice; or an honest man, and rob his neighbor by
selling an article which promotes sorrow, disease, and death.

I congratulate you, gentlemen, on the stand which you have taken against
the monster Intemperance, and on the success with which your efforts
have been crowned. You are doing a work for this country for which
future generations will call you blessed. Let your watchword be onward,
extermination, death; and victory will be yours. Our weapons are simple,
but mighty. O what a discovery is this principle of entire abstinence!
Let the name of its author be embalmed with that of Luther, and Howard,
and Raikes, and Wilberforce. What has it not already done for our
suffering country! What a change meets the eye as it wanders from
Georgia to Maine--from the Atlantic to our western borders. Here we see
farms tilled; there buildings raised; here churches built; there vessels
reared, launched, and navigated too; manufactories conducted; fisheries
carried on; prisons governed; commercial business transacted; journeys
performed; physicians visiting their patients; legislators enacting
laws; lawyers pleading for justice; judges deciding the fate of men, and
ministers preaching the everlasting Gospel--without intoxicating liquor.
Here we see importers unwilling to risk the importation of spirituous
liquor into the land; there distillers abandoning their distilleries as
curses to themselves and the community; and merchants, not a few,
expelling the poison from their stores, and some pouring it upon the
ground, choosing that the earth should swallow it rather than man. And
all this in the short space of three years. What has done it? Entire
abstinence. What then will not be done, when, instead of 50,000 who now
avow it, 500,000 shall give their pledge that they will abandon a
kingdom founded in blood. And can they not be found in this land of
humane men, and patriots, and Christians? Yes, they can. Onward then,
gentlemen. Listen not to those who say you are carrying matters too far.
So said the wolf. She loved life, and she loved blood. But did she ever
regard the cry of the sheep? The monster Intemperance has been glutted
with blood; and never spared, and had no pity. He still howls for blood;
and many plead that he may have some. But depend upon it, their pleas
are only those of debased appetite and avarice. Rally the community
against them. Enlighten the public mind. Collect facts. Let your towns
and villages be searched with candles. Go into the dens. Bring the
monster and his suffering victims to light, and the public indignation
will no longer slumber.

Of one thing I will remind you. The demon will daunt the timid. It is
noisy and fiery. Attack it, and it will roll its eyes, and snap its
teeth, and threaten vengeance. Attempt to starve it, and it will rave
like the famished tiger. Thousands have fed it against their
consciences, rather than meet its fury. But fear not. The use of ardent
spirit meets no support in the Bible or the conscience, and the traffic
meets none. Be firm. Be decided. Be courageous. Connect your cause with
heaven. It is the cause of God; the cause for which Immanuel died. O, as
men and patriots, banish intemperance, with all its sources, from your
country and the land. As ministers and Christians, banish it for ever
from the churches of the living God. Let the demon no longer hide in the
sanctuary. Let ENTIRE ABSTINENCE be written in capitals over the door of
every church. Expel for ever the accursed enemy, that the Spirit of the
Lord may descend and bless us with life and peace.

To those not connected with the Temperance Association, I would say,
Look at this enterprise. It injures no man, wrongs no man, defrauds no
man, has no sectarian or political object in view; it would only
relieve our infant nation of a burden and a curse which is fast placing
it side by side with buried Sodom. As wise men, judge ye of its
importance and merits. As men hastening to judgment, act in relation to
it. A solemn responsibility rests upon you. Shall the land now be rid of
intemperance? You reply, Yes--and talk of wholesome laws, and high
licenses, and prudent use. Three green withes on Samson! _Entire
abstinence_ is the only weapon which will destroy the monster. "But we
can practise that without giving our pledge." True. But until you give
it, he will count you his friend and haunt your dwelling. In this cause
there is no neutrality. Have you supported this cruel kingdom of
darkness and death? Will you do it longer? Shall conscience be riven by
the act? Shall the land that bears you be cursed; the young around you
be sporting with hell; the awakened sinner be drowning conviction at his
bottle; the once fair communicant be disgraced; the once happy
congregation be rent; its ministry be driven from the altar, and its
sanctuary crumble to ruin? Shall our benevolent institutions fail, and
our liberties be sacrificed? Shall God be grieved? Shall wailings from
the bottomless pit hereafter reproach and agonize you as the cause of
the ruin, perhaps of your children and children's children? Methinks one
common pulsation beats in your hearts, and you answer, No--no. Methinks
I see you rising in the majesty of freemen and Christians, in behalf of
an injured country and church, and destroying at once the demon among
you.




ARGUMENT AGAINST THE MANUFACTURE OF
ARDENT SPIRITS:

ADDRESSED TO
THE DISTILLER AND THE FURNISHER OF THE MATERIALS.

BY REV. EDWARD HITCHCOCK, D. D.


A sense of duty impels me to address this portion of my fellow-citizens,
in the hope that I may persuade them to abandon the employment by which
they furnish ardent spirits to the community. I am not about to charge
them as the intentional authors of all the evils our country suffers
from intemperance, nor wholly to clear myself from the guilt; for some
of these men are my neighbors and personal friends, and I know them to
be convinced that the excessive use of ardent spirits is a frightful
evil among us, and that they would cheerfully join in some measures for
its suppression, though not yet satisfied that those now in train are
judicious or necessary. Not long ago, I was in essentially the same
state of mind, and encouraged these men in the manufacture of spirits,
by the purchase and use of them. Now I would fain believe that the minds
of all these individuals are open to conviction, and that the same
arguments which satisfied me that I was wrong, will satisfy them.

In the first place, therefore, I would reason with these men _as a
chemical philosopher_. The distiller is a practical chemist; and
although he may never have studied chemistry in the schools, he cannot
but have often thought of the theory of his operations. And the farmer
who receives at the distillery, in return for his rye, cider, or
molasses, a liquid powerful substance, obtained from them, will very
naturally inquire by what strange transformation these articles have
been made to yield something apparently so very different from their
nature. Probably, some of them may have concluded that the spirits exist
naturally in the grain, and apples, and sugar-cane, just as flour, and
cider, and molasses do. And hence they have inferred, first, that God
intended the spirits for the use of man, as much as the flour, the
apples, or the molasses; and that it is just as proper to separate the
spirits by distillation, as it is to obtain the flour by grinding and
bolting. Secondly, that there can be nothing injurious or poisonous in
the spirits, any more than in the apples, the grain, or the molasses;
the only injury, in either case, resulting from using too much. Thirdly,
that spirits must be nourishing to the body, constituting, as they seem
to do, the very essence of the fruit, grain, and molasses, which are
confessedly nutritious.

Now, these inferences are all rendered null and void by the fact that
ardent spirits, or alcohol, which is their essence, do not exist
naturally in apples, grain, or sugar-cane. No one ever perceived the
odor or the taste of alcohol in apples, or the cider obtained from them,
while it was new and sweet; but after it had fermented for a time, by a
due degree of warmth, the sweetness in a measure disappeared, and
alcohol was found to be present. And just so in obtaining spirits from
rye, or any other substance; a sweet liquor is at first obtained, which,
by fermentation, is found to be partly converted into alcohol. This
sweetness results from the sugar which the substances naturally contain,
or which is formed by the process. This sugar is next destroyed, or
decomposed, by the fermentation, and its parts go to make up a new
substance, then first brought into existence, called alcohol. If the
fermentation be carried on still farther, another new substance is
produced, viz., vinegar. Carried still farther, putrid, unhealthy
exhalations are the result, such as we find rising from swamps and other
places where vegetable matter is decaying. If, then, we may conclude,
because alcohol is obtained from grain and other nutritious substances,
that therefore God intended it for the use of man, the same reason will
show that he intended man should breathe these poisonous exhalations. If
alcohol cannot be poisonous or injurious, because derived from harmless
and salutary substances, neither can these exhalations be so; nor,
indeed, those more putrid and deadly ones arising from the putrefaction
of sweet animal food. And if alcohol must be nutritious, because apples,
grain, and molasses are so, it follows that these exhalations are
nutritious.

Having thus explained the chemistry of this subject, I would, secondly,
address these men as a _physician_. I mean merely, that I wish to
present before them the views of the most distinguished and impartial
physicians concerning ardent spirits. It is important, then, to remark,
that physicians have decided that alcohol is a powerful _poison_. And
how do they prove this? Simply by comparing its effects with those of
other poisons--particularly the poisons derived, as alcohol is, from
vegetables--such as henbane, poison hemlock, prussic acid, thorn-apples,
deadly nightshade, foxglove, poison sumach, oil of tobacco, and the
essence of opium. These poisons, taken in different quantities,
according to their strength, produce nausea, dizziness, exhilaration of
spirits with subsequent debility, and even total insensibility; in other
cases, delirium and death; and alcohol does the same. These poisons
weaken the stomach, impair the memory and all the powers of the mind,
and sometimes bring on palsy, apoplexy, and other violent disorders; and
so does alcohol. Do you say that ardent spirits, as they are commonly
drank, do not produce these effects except in a very slight degree?
Neither do these substances, when much weakened by mixture with other
things. Even rum and brandy, of the first proof, contain only about
fifty parts of alcohol in the hundred; and even the _high wines_, as
they are called, are by no means pure alcohol; yet less than an ounce of
proof spirits, given to a rabbit, killed it in less than an hour. Three
quarters of an ounce of alcohol, introduced into the stomach of a large
and robust dog, killed him in three and a half hours. In larger
quantities, as almost every one knows, this same substance has proved
immediately fatal to men. Do you say that many drink spirits for years,
and are not destroyed; and do you hence inquire how they can be
poisonous? So I reply, not a few take small quantities of other poisons
every day for years, and continue alive. A horse, indeed, may take the
eighth part of an ounce of arsenic every day, and yet be thriving. But
how many are there, do you suppose, who habitually drink ardent spirits,
and yet suffer no bad effects from it? Have they no stomach complaints,
no nervous maladies, no headaches? Do they live to a great age? Not one
out of a hundred of those who daily drink ardent spirits, escapes
uninjured; though their sickness and premature decay, resulting from
this cause, are generally imputed to other causes; and as many as this
would escape if arsenic were used, in moderate quantities, instead of
spirits.

Farmers and distillers, whom I address, pause, I beseech you, and
meditate upon this fact. It is poison into which you convert your rye
and apples; it is poison which, under the name of whiskey and
cider-brandy, you put into your cellars; it is poison which you draw out
from the brandy and whiskey casks for drink, and which you offer your
children and friends for drink; it is poison which you sell to your
neighbors; it is producing the same effects as other poisons upon you
and upon them; that is, it is undermining your constitutions, and
shortening your lives and happiness. You would not dare thus to
manufacture and distribute among the community calomel or arsenic, if
these were in use, leaving it to every man to determine how large doses
he should take. Yet it would not be half as dangerous for men of all
descriptions to deal out and administer these substances to themselves
and others, for there would be none of that bewitching temptation to
excess, in the case of calomel and arsenic, which attends ardent
spirits. But if by carelessly distributing calomel or arsenic in
society, you had destroyed only one life, your conscience would be
exceedingly burdened with the guilt. And who is to bear the guilt of
destroying the thirty or forty thousand who are cut off annually in this
country by intemperance? Suppose the distilleries were all to stop, how
many would then die from hard drinking?

But if alcohol is poisonous in a degree, yet it is often necessary, you
say. Physicians say not, except in a very few cases as a medicine; and
even in these cases it is doubtful whether they have not other remedies
as good, or better. Spirits are necessary, you say, to enable a man to
endure great extremes of heat, cold, fatigue, and in exposure to wet,
and attendance upon the sick. If this be correct, farmers will sometimes
need them. But many of the most hard-working and thorough farmers in the
land have, within a few years past, tried the experiment of laboring
without spirits; and their unanimous testimony is, that they are
stronger, healthier, and better able to bear all extremes and severe
fatigue without them. Have you ever tried the same experiment? Be
persuaded to make the trial, at least for one year, before you reject so
much substantial testimony.

If spirits are necessary for any class, we should suppose it would be
the West Indian slave. But "on three contiguous estates," says Dr.
Abbot, "of more than four hundred slaves, has been made, with fine
success, the experiment of a strict exclusion of ardent spirits at all
seasons of the year. The success has very far exceeded the proprietor's
most sanguine hopes. Peace, and quietness, and contentment, reign among
the negroes; creoles are reared in much greater numbers than formerly;
the estates are in the neatest and highest state of cultivation; and
order and discipline are maintained with very little correction, and the
mildest means."

Sailors are another class who must sometimes need spirits, if they are
needed in case of great exposure to cold and wet. But several crews have
attempted to winter in high northern latitudes, and those furnished with
spirits have nearly all perished, while those not furnished with them
have nearly all survived. When exposed to cold and wet, and partially
immersed in the sea for hours, those who have not used spirits have
commonly outlived those who drank them.

Soldiers are exposed to even more and severer extremes and vicissitudes
than sailors. But Dr. Jackson, a most distinguished physician in the
British army, asserts that spirits are decidedly injurious to soldiers
on duty, rendering them less able to endure labor and hardship. And a
general officer in the same army thus testifies: "But, above all, let
every one who values his health, avoid drinking spirits when heated;
that is adding fuel to the fire, and is apt to produce the most
dangerous inflammatory complaints." "Not a more dangerous error exists,
than the notion that the habitual use of spirituous liquors prevents the
effects of cold. On the contrary, the truth is, that those who drink
most frequently of them are soonest affected by severe weather. The
daily use of these liquors tends greatly to emaciate and waste the
strength of the body," etc.

The Roman soldiers marched with a weight of armor upon them which a
modern soldier can hardly stand under; and they conquered the world. Yet
they drank nothing stronger than vinegar and water.

"I have worn out two armies in two wars," says the Dr. Jackson mentioned
above, "by the aids of temperance and hard work, and probably could
wear out another before my period of old age arrives. I eat no animal
food, drink no wine or malt liquor, or spirits of any kind; I wear no
flannel, and neither regard wind nor rain, heat nor cold, when business
is in the way."

Those men in Europe who are trained for boxing-matches would require
spirits if they were necessary for giving bodily strength and health,
since the object of this training is to produce the most perfect health,
and the greatest possible strength. But ardent spirits are not used by
them at all; and even wine is scarcely allowed.

In protracted watching by the bed of sickness, food and intervals of
rest are the only real securities against disease and weakness. Spirits
peculiarly expose a man to receive the disease, if it be contagious, and
if not, they wear out the strength sooner than it would otherwise fail.

The most exposed and trying situations in life, then, need not the aid
of ardent spirits; nay, they are in such cases decidedly injurious. They
are not, therefore, necessary, but injurious for men in all other
situations. The distiller must, therefore, give up the necessity of
using them in the community as a reason for continuing their
manufacture.

But spirits, it may be said, do certainly inspire a man with much
additional strength. Yes; and physicians tell us how. It is by exciting
the nervous system, and thus calling into more vigorous action the
strength that God has given the constitution to enable it to resist
heat, cold, and disease. If this strength do not previously exist in the
system, spirits can never bestow it; for they do not afford the least
nourishment, as food does. They merely call into action the stock of
strength which food has already implanted is the body. Hence the
debility and weakness which always succeed their use when the excitement
has passed by. Hence, too, it follows, that spirits can never give any
additional permanent strength to the body.

But this is not all; for physicians infer from this statement, that the
use of spirits, even in moderate quantities, tends prematurely to
exhaust and wear out the system. It urges on the powers of life faster
than health requires, and thus wears them out sooner, by a useless waste
of strength and spirits. True, a moderate drinker may not notice any
striking bad effects upon his health, from this cause, for many years;
nay, the excitement it produces may remove, for the time being, many
uncomfortable feelings which he experiences, and which are the early
warnings that nature gives him that she is oppressed, for the secret
poison is at work within; and if such a man is attacked by a fever, or
other acute disease, physicians know that he is by no means as likely to
recover as the water-drinker, because the spirits have partially
exhausted the secret strength of his constitution, all of which is now
wanted to resist the disease. Let every man who indulges in the use of
spirits ponder well the declaration of a committee of one of the most
_enlightened medical societies_ in our land: "Beyond comparison greater
is the risk of life, undergone in nearly all diseases, of whatever
description, when they occur in those unfortunate men who have been
previously disordered by these poisons." Such men, too, it may be added,
are much more liable to the attacks of disease than those who totally
abstain from alcohol. In both these ways, therefore, the use of spirits,
even in the greatest moderation, tends to shorten life.

Distillers of ardent spirits, I entreat you, think seriously of these
things, as you tend the fires under your boilers. Farmers, as you drive
your load of cider or rye to the distillery, meditate upon them, I
beseech you. You have here the opinions and advice of the most able and
impartial physicians in this country and in Europe. True, you may find
here and there one, of little or no reputation and learning, who, either
because he thinks it for his interest, or is attached to ardent spirits
himself, will oppose such views of the subject. But no physician of
distinction and good moral character would dare, at this day, to come
out publicly in opposition to the principles above advanced, sanctioned
as they are by the united testimony of science and experience. O, shut
not your ears against this powerful voice.

In the third place, I would expostulate with these men _as a friend to
my country_. Can it be that they are acquainted with the extent of the
mischiefs which our country already suffers from intemperance? Do they
know that fifty-six millions of gallons of ardent spirits are annually
consumed in the United States, or more than four and an half gallons to
each inhabitant; and that about forty-four millions of this quantity are
prepared in the distilleries of our own country; that ten millions of
gallons are distilled from molasses, and more than nine million bushels
of rye are used for this purpose? Do they know that these forty-four
millions of gallons, as retailed, must cost the community not less than
$22,000,000; that they render from two hundred to three hundred thousand
of our citizens intemperate; that in consequence of this intemperance
the country sustains an annual loss, in the productive labor of these
drunkards, of not far from $30,000,000; and a loss of more than
twenty-five thousand lives, from her middle-aged citizens, who are thus
cut off prematurely? That two-thirds of the pauperism in the country,
costing from $6,000,000 to $8,000,000, and two-thirds of the crime among
us, perpetrated by an army of eighty or ninety thousand wretches, result
from the same cause; and that from forty to fifty thousand of the cases
of imprisonment for debt, annually, are imputed to the same cause? That
the pecuniary losses proceeding from the carelessness and rashness of
intemperate sailors, servants, and agents, are immense; and that the
degradation of mind, the bodily and mental sufferings of drunkards and
their families, and the corruption of morals and manners, are
altogether beyond the reach of calculation to estimate, and of words to
express?[E]

    [Footnote E: In order to obtain the result in this paragraph,
    the well-established estimates that have often been made,
    concerning the cost and evils of ardent spirits in our
    country, have been reduced about one fourth or fifth part, to
    make allowance for the amount imported from abroad.]

Can it be that these men have ever soberly looked forward to see what
must be the ultimate effects, upon our free and beloved country, of this
hydra-headed evil, unless it be arrested? Can they be aware that,
judging by the past proportion of deaths from intemperance in the most
regular and moral parts of the land, one third of the six million adults
now living will die from the same cause? Do they know how the
intemperate entail hereditary diseases and a thirst for ardent spirits
upon their descendants, and how rapidly, therefore, the bodily vigor of
our citizens is giving way before their deadly influence? And can they
doubt that vigor of mind will decay in the same proportion? Corruption
of manners and morals too, how rapidly it will spread under the
operation of this poison! Nor can religious principle stand long before
the overwhelming inundation; and just in the degree in which alcoholic
liquors are used, will the Sabbath, and the institutions of religion,
and the Bible be neglected and trodden under foot. And when the
morality, and religion, and the conscience of the majority of our nation
are gone, what but a miracle can save our liberties from ruin? Corrupt
the majority, and what security is there in popular elections? Corrupt
the majority, and you have collected together the explosive materials
that need only the touch of some demagogue's torch to scatter the fair
temple of our independence upon the winds of heaven.

But admitting that this picture is not overdrawn, yet the distiller and
the furnisher of materials may perhaps say, that all this does not
particularly concern them. They are not intemperate, they force no man
to drink, or even to buy their spirits: nay, they generally refuse to
sell to the intemperate. The intemperate are the persons to whom these
expostulations should be addressed. As for the distiller and the farmer,
who manufacture the poison, they are following a lawful calling, and
have a right to the honest proceeds of their business.

The principle, then, which I understand you to advocate, is this: that
provided your employment be not contrary to the laws of the state, you
are under no obligation to inquire particularly as to its influence upon
the public happiness after the products of your labor get out of your
own hands. If this be a correct principle for your guidance, it is
certainly a correct one for others. Let us apply it to the intemperate
man.

I expostulate with him on the destructive influence of his habits upon
his country. "But have I not a right," says he, "to use my own property
in such a way as I choose, provided I do not violate the laws of the
land? If I may not employ a portion of my money in purchasing spirits,
neither have you a right to lay out yours for a carriage, or for
painting your house, or for any thing else which some of your neighbors
may regard as unnecessary. I buy no more spirits than my health and
comfort require; and I have as good a right to judge of the quantity, as
you have in respect to the needless articles of dress and furniture
which you procure."

I urge the man who keeps a licensed gambling-house to abandon a pursuit
that is ruining his country. "But I am not violating the laws," he
replies, "nor compelling any man to gamble and drink to excess in my
house. The whole responsibility, therefore, rests upon those who do it.
Expostulate with them. I have a right to my earnings."

You see where this principle leads. Is it one that a true patriot ought
to adopt? No: he alone is a true patriot who is ready to abandon every
pursuit that is injuring his country, however profitable it may be to
himself, and however tolerated by the civil law. Nor I would not attempt
to extenuate the guilt of the intemperate man, nor of the merchant who
sells him spirits; but I do say, that if those who distil, and those who
furnish the materials, were to abandon the business altogether, it would
almost put an end to intemperance in the land. For only a small
proportion of the spirits used is imported; and its price must always
continue so high that but few could afford to be drunkards were the
domestic manufacture to cease. You have it in your power, then, to put a
stop to this most dreadful national evil, and thus to save our liberties
and all that is dear to us from ruin. Your fathers poured out their
blood like water to purchase our independence, and to build up a bulwark
around our rights. But the ten thousand distilleries which you ply are
so many fiery batteries, pouring forth their forty-four million
discharges every year, to level that bulwark in the dust. All Europe
combined against us in war could not do us half as much injury as your
distilleries are doing every year. Oh, abandon them--tear them
down--melt your boilers in the furnace--give your grain and molasses to
the poor, or to the fowls of heaven--make fuel of your fruit-trees,
rather than destroy your country.

Some may say, that if they cease to manufacture spirits, others will
take up the business and carry it on as extensively as they do. And
since, therefore, the country will gain nothing by their discontinuance
of distillation, they may as well have the profit of it as others. But
what course of wickedness will not such reasoning justify? A highwayman
robs you, or an assassin invades your dwelling at midnight and
slaughters your wife and children. Now, would you think them justified,
should they plead that they knew of others about to commit the same
outrages, and therefore they thought their commission of these deeds was
not wrong, since they needed the avails of the robbery and murder as
much as any body? A man could pursue the slave-trade year after year on
this principle, with no upbraidings of conscience, if he only suspected
that the business would be carried on were he to stop. And a traitor
might sell his country for gold, could he only ascertain that some one
else was about to do it, and yet be exonerated from blame, if this
principle be proper to act upon. Oh, how can any decent man plead a
moment for a principle that leads to such monstrous results!

Some will say, however, that they sell the spirits which they
manufacture only to those whom they know to be temperate, and therefore
they are not accessory to the intemperance in the land; for they are not
accountable for the sins of those who sell spirits to improper persons.

You supply them only to the temperate! The greater the blame and the
guilt; for you are thus training up a new set of drunkards to take the
place of those whom death will soon remove out of the way. Were you to
sell only to the intemperate, you would do comparatively little injury
to the community. For you would only hasten those out of the way who are
a nuisance, and prevent the education of others to fill their places.
But let not any man think that no blame attaches to himself because the
poison goes into other hands before it is administered. _A man is to
blame for any evil to his fellow-men which he could prevent._ Now, by
stopping all the distilleries in the land, you could prevent men from
becoming drunkards. The very head and front of the offending, therefore,
lies with you. It is as idle for you to attempt to cast all the guilt
upon others, in this way, as it was for Pilate, when he endeavored to
fix the blood of Christ upon the people by washing his hands before them
and declaring himself innocent, and then going back to his judgment-seat
and passing sentence of death upon him. Good man! He did not touch a
hair of the Saviour's head. It was the cruel soldiers who executed his
orders, that, according to this plea, were alone guilty!

Some distillers will probably say that they cannot support themselves
and families if they abandon this business; and some farmers will say,
if we cannot sell our cider and rye to the distillers, the products of
our orchards must all be lost, and rye is the only article which we can
raise upon our farms with any profit. And if I were not to purchase
these articles, says the distiller, their price must be so low that no
farmer could afford to raise them. Thus to reduce a large class of the
yeomanry of our country--its very sinews--to poverty, would be a greater
evil than even the intemperance that is so common.

Is it indeed true, that in this free and happy country an industrious,
temperate, and economical man, cannot find any employment by which he
can support himself and family in a comfortable manner without
manufacturing poison and selling it to his countrymen? In other words,
cannot he live without destroying them? Is land so scarce, or so eaten
up with tithes and taxes, that he cannot thence derive subsistence
unless he converts its products into money at the expense of others'
comfort, reputation, and life? Is every honest calling so crowded, or so
unproductive, that every avenue is closed? Have the men who make this
plea tried, even for a single year, to live without the manufacture of
spirits? It may be, indeed, that for a time they will find other
pursuits less productive than this. And is not this, after all, the true
reason why they shrink from the sacrifice? But if superior profits be a
sufficient reason for continuing distillation, it is a reason that will
justify the robber, the thief, and every other depredator upon the
rights of others.

But how does it appear that the stoppage of all the distilleries in the
land will reduce the price of cider and rye? Their operation has
produced a great demand for these articles, and that demand has thrown
into the market an immense supply: the consequence is, that the prices
are reduced as low as the articles can be afforded, at a very moderate
profit, and the great complaint now among farmers is, that they are so
low. Let the distilleries cease to exist, and the special demand for
these articles will cease; and consequently the market will not be
glutted with them, because no extra efforts will be made to raise them:
the result will probably be, that in a very short time their price will
be very nearly or quite as high as it now is.

But even if we suppose the worst, that the distiller and some farmers
should be reduced to absolute beggary by the cessation of this
manufacture; no reasonable, or patriotic, or Christian man can for a
moment regard this as a reason why he should continue in any business
that is productive of immense mischief to his country. Is it not better
that he and his family should come to want, than that hundreds of
thousands should be ruined, soul and body, for time and eternity? If he
has a right to derive his subsistence from the ruin of others, then
others, as the thief, the swindler, and the robber, have a right to
obtain their subsistence from his ruin.

In the fourth place, I appeal to these men _as a neighbor and a parent,
and in behalf of the drunkard's wife and children_. When Providence cast
our lot in the same neighborhood, I considered, and doubtless you
thought the same, that a regard to our mutual welfare bound us to do
every thing in our power to make the community in which we lived
intelligent, virtuous, and happy; and to avoid every thing that would
mar its peace, degrade its character, or stain its purity. My complaint
is, that by the manufacture of ardent spirits you have violated these
obligations. The facilities for obtaining spirits, and the temptations
to their use and abuse, have been thus so multiplied, and brought so
near, that very many who were once kind neighbors and valuable members
of society are ruined, or in different stages of the path to ruin. One
has got as far as an occasional visit to the grog-shop and the bar-room:
another is rarely seen there; but the wretched condition of his house,
barn, and farm, his impatience of confinement at home, and his many
foolish bargains, tell me, in language not to be mistaken, that the worm
which is preying upon the root of his prosperity is the worm of the
still. The frequent visits of the sheriff to the house of another
neighbor, whose family is healthy and industrious; his bitter complaints
of the hardness of the times; his constant efforts to borrow money to
prevent executions from being levied; the mortgaging of his farm to the
bank; his pimpled face, and bloated body, and dry hacking cough, are
painful testimonies of his familiarity with the products of the
distillery. It is distressing to look around upon our once happy
neighborhood--did you ever do it?--and to see what havoc your
manufactory of spirits has made upon the peace, property, reputation,
intelligence, morality, and good order of the community. No wasting
sickness, no foreign or domestic war, no premature frost; no drought,
blasting, or mildew; nor any other visitation of God; no, not all of
them combined have been the tenth part as fatal to our prosperity and
happiness, as this one self-inflicted curse. And this curse we should
never have felt, had not some of you put into operation your
distilleries, and others fed them with the products of your farms: I
mean, such would have been the happy effect, had the manufacture of
spirits ceased in our land before these evils had followed: and I am now
supposing that some one in every town and neighborhood throughout the
land, where there is a distillery, is addressing the same language to
those who conduct it as I am addressing to you. We make a united and
earnest appeal to you, in view of the ruin that rises around us, that
you would stop the work of destruction and strengthen the things that
remain, which are ready to die. You stand at the fountain-head of that
fiery stream which is spreading volcanic desolation over the land. Oh,
shut up the sluices before every verdant spot is buried beneath the
inundation.

But to come again into our own neighborhood: I have a family of beloved
children growing up in the vicinity of your distillery; and when I
recollect that every fortieth individual among us is a drunkard, and
that about every third person above the age of twenty dies prematurely
through intemperance, I cannot but feel a deep anxiety lest my boys
should be found at length among the number. True, one of the earliest
lessons I teach them is total abstinence, and I try to excite in their
minds a disgust towards every species of alcoholic mixture. But they go
to one of my neighbors and hear him telling of the whiskey and
cider-brandy that have been produced upon his farm, and they see him
mixing and circulating the bowl among his laborers, his visitors, and
even his own children; and it is offered also to mine, accompanied with
some jeer against cold water societies. They see the huge accumulations
of cider and rye at the distillery, and mark the glee of the men who
conduct its operations, and of those who come to fill their barrel or
keg with spirits. They go also to the store in the vicinity, and see one
after another filling their jugs with the same article. Now, these
neighbors who thus distil, and vend, and drink whiskey and brandy, my
children are taught to respect; and how is it possible that they should
not feel that their father is too rigid in his requirements, and hence
be tempted to taste; and tasting, to love; and loving, to be destroyed
by the poison? Oh, is there no guilt in thus spreading a snare for my
children? Should they fall, will none of their blood be upon your heads?
Shall not the entreaties of a parent be felt by those who are themselves
parents, and whose days may yet be rendered intolerable by the cruelty
of drunken children?

I would invite the manufacturer of spirits, and the farmer who supplies
the materials, to go around with me among the people in the vicinity of
the distillery, that they may have some nearer views of the miseries
produced by their employment. Let us stop for a moment at this tavern.

MYSELF. You seem, landlord, to be quite full of business to-day. What is
the occasion?

LANDLORD. Neighbors X and Y have their case tried here, to-day, before
Esquire Z, and you know that these matters cannot go on well with dry
throats.

MYSELF. What is the point in dispute between your neighbors?

LANDLORD. Something about swapping a horse, I believe; but it is my
opinion that both of them hardly knew what they were about, when they
made the exchange. It was last town-meeting day, and I recollect that
both of them called quite frequently at my bar that day. They are none
of your cold water folks, I assure you.

MYSELF. Are these court days generally profitable to you, landlord?

LANDLORD. Better, even, than a town meeting; for those who come on such
occasions have no qualms of conscience about drinking, if they have
occasion, I assure you. But on town-meeting days, some of the pale-faced
temperance men are always about, to frighten away honest people.

MYSELF. Do not these court occasions often lay the foundation for other
courts?

LANDLORD. Oh, very frequently: but so much the better, you know, for my
business; and so I must not complain.

Let us next call at Mr. A's, who has so fine a farm and orchard, and
every means, one would think, of independence and happiness. But hark;
there is a family dialogue going on between farmer A, his wife, and son.

SON. What; boozy so early, mother? and father too, and quarrelling, as
usual, I perceive. O, I wish our orchard were all burnt down, and the
distillery too, rather than live in such a bedlam.

MOTHER. But do you not like a little yourself, son, when eleven o'clock
comes?

FATHER. Aye, and at four, and some bitters in the morning. We are old,
you must remember, son, and require more to warm us and support nature
than you do.

SON. If you would drink only moderately, as I do, I would not complain.
For I am not one of your cold water scarecrows, I assure you. But to
have you drink half the time, is what vexes me.

What a fine picture is here, my neighbors, for the men to look at who
expect to reform the world by _moderate drinking_, without adopting the
principle of _total abstinence_.

But look at the sheriff yonder, pointing about neighbor B's house, from
which he seems to be excluded.

SHERIFF. You are too late, gentlemen; all the property is attached for
twice its value. Rum, bad bargains, and negligence, have done the
business with poor B. But I pity his wife and children most, for they
have struggled hard to prevent it.

DISTILLER. Is every thing gone? The fellow owed me two hundred dollars.

MYSELF. For whiskey, I suppose.

DISTILLER. He was formerly a partner in my still, you recollect.

Yonder comes from the store the mechanic, neighbor D. Well, neighbor D,
how do the times go with you now?

D. Was there ever such a scarcity of money? When the rich are failing
all around, how can a poor mechanic stand it?

MYSELF. What have you, friend D, bound up so carefully in your
handkerchief?

D. Aye, you belong to the cold water society, I believe. But I do know
that a _little_ now and then does me good.

MYSELF. I should suppose that, shut up as you are in your shop most of
the time, you could not be much exposed to heat or cold, or great
fatigue, and therefore would hardly need spirits.

D. Well, but I have a weak and cold stomach, and often feel so faint and
sick that I must either take an emetic or a glass of spirits. But the
latter cures all my bad feelings.

MYSELF. Ah, friend D, I fear the times will prove too hard for you. But
why do you try to conceal your jug when you go to the store for whiskey?

D. Why--why--it is more convenient to carry it tied up in this way.

Let us stop next at this skeleton of a house, which you know used to
look so tidy before its owner became intemperate. Oh, was misery ever
more perfectly personified than in his wife and children, whom you see
through the doors and window-frames! And there lies the wretch himself,
dead-drunk.

MYSELF. Pray, madam, do these children attend school?

WIFE. Ah, sir, I am ashamed to say it, they have not decent clothes. But
it was not always as you see it to-day. When we were first married our
prospects were good; and by industry and economy our little farm
supported us, and we made some headway. But (turning towards the farmer)
yet I would not hurt any one's feelings.

FARMER. Tell your story, madam.

WIFE. Well, sir, you recollect that five years ago your orchard produced
abundantly, and you proposed to my husband to assist you in making the
cider, and getting it to the distillery, and to take his pay in brandy.
He did so, and soon a barrel of the poison, which he could not sell, was
deposited in our cellar. Oh, what a winter followed! I have known no
peace or comfort since, nor shall I, till I find them in the grave. Were
it not for these poor naked children, I could wish to rest there soon.
But O, what will become of them? Oh, sir, can you think it strange if
all these things should come into my mind every time you and I sit down
together at the same communion-table?

We must not return home without calling at the next miserable hovel,
where the widow of a drunkard, with half a dozen ragged, squalid
children, is dragging out a miserable existence. Hark, she is reading
the Bible. Did you hear that stifled groan, as she read in that holy
book, _Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor
drunkards, shall inherit the kingdom of God_.

MYSELF. I believe I have not seen you, madam, since the death of your
husband. I hope you find support.

WIDOW. Oh, sir, resignation is easy if we feel a confidence, or even a
feeble hope, that our friends who are taken away will escape the agonies
of a second death. But how can we hope against the express declarations
of the word of God?

DISTILLER. And yet, madam, your husband had many excellent qualities.

WIDOW. And he would still have lived to bless me and the world by their
exhibition, had it not been for your distillery.

DISTILLER. I have no idea of sitting in judgment upon our departed
friends, and sending them to hell because they had a few failings.

WIDOW. Ah, sir, if my husband has gone there, it was your distillery
that sent him. Before that was built no man was more kind, temperate,
and happy. But you persuaded him to labor there, and paid him in
whiskey, and it ruined him, and ruined us all. Look at me--look at these
children, without food, without raiment, without fire, without friends,
except their Friend in heaven. I do not ask you to bestow upon us any
articles for the supply of our temporal necessities; but look at us, and
be entreated to tear down your distillery, so that you may not multiply
upon you the execrations of the widow and the orphan, wrung from them by
the extremity of their sufferings.

Gentlemen, let me exhort you to take such a tour of observation as this
once a month. Oh, I entreat every one in the land, who has any concern
in the manufacture of ardent spirits, to do the same; and ere long, I am
persuaded, you would either abandon every claim to humanity, or abandon
for ever your pernicious employment.

In the fifth place, I advise and forewarn these men _as their personal
friend_. If you distil ardent spirits, or furnish the materials, you
must use them yourselves and allow of their use in your families;
otherwise your inconsistency, not to say dishonesty, would subject you
to universal contempt. Now, to have your children familiar with the
sling, the toddy, and the flip, as they grow up! Is here no danger that
the temptation will prove too strong for them? _Can a man take fire in
his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? Can one go upon hot coals, and
his feet not be burned?_ And what compensation for the intemperance of a
wife, or a child, would be the highest profits of an orchard, a field of
rye, or a distillery? Oh, to be a drunkard is to destroy the soul as
well as the body: and _what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?_
And are you yourselves in no danger of intemperance, plied as you are by
so many allurements? Look around you and see how many strong men, how
many of the wise, the moral, the amiable, and the apparently pious, have
fallen before the fascinations of this prince of serpents. And are you
safe who stand even within the reach of his forky tongue, and lay the
bait for his victims, and lure them into his jaws by tasting of it
yourselves? Oh, the history of distillers and temperate drinkers, in
their last days, furnishes an awful warning for you.

But there is another danger before you, of which, as a faithful friend,
I wish to forewarn you. I see a dark storm gathering over your heads.
You cannot be ignorant of the mighty movement that is making in our land
on the subject of temperance. You must have felt the heavy concussion,
and heard the rolling thunder. The religious, the moral, the patriotic,
the learned, and the wise, as intemperance has been developing its huge
and hateful features more and more, have been aroused to effort; they
have closed together in a firm phalanx; and as they move on with the
standard of _total abstinence_ waving before them, the great, and the
good, and the valiant of every name, are swelling their ranks. The cry
is waxing louder and louder, "Where are the strong holds of the monster;
point out to us the fountains that supply his insatiable thirst, and who
it is that feeds them; and who it is that opens the enormous floodgates?
and thither we will march, and against such men will we point our
heaviest artillery." And to this cry there is an answer more and more
distinctly breaking out: "To the distilleries--to the distilleries." My
friends, wait not till this storm of public indignation bursts upon you,
nor fancy that you can face it. Oh, no; it will be a steady, fiery
blast, that will bear you down; and you will find that none but the
dregs of the community will be left with you to sustain you. You will be
left with the drunkards, to be distinguished from them only as their
abettors and supporters; and from you will every virtuous and patriotic
man turn away in disgust, as enemies to himself, his children, and his
country. Think not that all this is imagination: look up, and you will
see the cloud blackening, and the lightning beginning to play, and hear
the thunder roaring. But it is not yet too late to escape from the fury
of the storm.

Finally, I would entreat these men _as a Christian_. Some of them
profess a personal and experimental knowledge of vital Christianity, and
are members of the visible church. What, can it be that a real Christian
should, at this day, be concerned in the manufacture of ardent spirits
for general use? When I think of the light that now illuminates every
man's path on this subject so clearly, and think how the horrors of
intemperance must flash in his face at every step, I confess I feel
disposed indignantly to reply, No; this man cannot be a Christian. But
then I recollect David, the adulterer; Peter, the denier of his master,
profanely cursing and swearing; and John Newton, a genuine convert to
Christianity, yet for a long time violating every dictate of conscience
and of right; and I check my hasty judgment, and leave the secret
character of the manufacturer of ardent spirits to a higher and more
impartial tribunal. But if such a man be really a Christian, that is, if
he do really love God supremely and his neighbor as himself, in what a
state of awful alienation and stupidity must he be living! Remaining in
such a state, that is, while persevering in so unchristian an
employment, can he have any evidence himself, or afford any evidence to
others, of possessing a Christian character?

I would not apply these remarks in their unqualified severity to every
professor of religion who supplies the distillery with materials, or who
vends or uses wine or ardent spirits; for we shall find some of this
description who really suppose that, instead of being condemned for such
conduct in the Bible, they are rather supported by some parts of it:
they not only find Christ converting water into wine at a marriage, and
Paul directing Timothy to use a little wine for his health, but that, in
one case, the Jews had liberty to convert a certain tithe into money,
and bring it to Jerusalem and bestow it for what their _soul lusted
after, for oxen, or for sheep, or for wine, or strong drink_, and _they
were to eat there before the Lord their God, and rejoice, they and their
household_. Deut. 14:26. But before any one settles down into a
conclusion that this passage warrants the use of wine and ardent
spirits, in our age and country, let him consider that there may have
been, as there doubtless were, peculiar reasons, under the Levitical
dispensation, for permitting the Jews to partake of what their soul
desired _before the Lord_, which would not apply to mankind generally;
as was the case in respect to several other things. But not to urge this
point, I would say, further, that the fact that _Judea was a wine
country_, that is, a country where the grape for the manufacture of wine
was easily and abundantly raised, puts a different aspect upon this
permission. In our country, the apple takes the place of the grape, and
our cider is nearer equivalent to the wine of Judea; because there the
apple does not flourish, and here, the grape cannot be extensively
cultivated. _To use wine in wine countries, therefore, is essentially
the same thing as to use cider in cider countries_; and it does not
appear that the one, in such cases, is much more productive of
intemperance than the other. The fact is, the wines used in countries
where they are manufactured, contain but little more then half as much
alcohol as most of the wine sold in this country, where, as a very
respectable authority states, "for every gallon of pure wine which is
sold, there is perhaps a pipe, or fifty times the quantity of that,
which is adulterated, and in various manners sophisticated--the whole,
without exception, the source of a thousand disorders, and in many
instances an active poison, imperfectly disguised."

But after all, I am not obliged, in this place, to prove that God has
forbidden the use of wine, though led into this digression from the
desire to correct a general misapprehension of the Scriptures on this
subject; for the inquiry now relates to ardent spirits. And what shall
we say concerning the permission, above pointed out, for the Jews to use
_strong drink_? I say, it was merely a permission to use wine; for the
strong drink several times mentioned in the Bible was, in fact, _nothing
more than a particular kind of wine_, made of dates and various sorts of
seeds and roots, and called strong drink, merely to distinguish it from
the wine made from grapes. Nor is there any evidence that it was in fact
any stronger, in its intoxicating qualities, than common wine. The truth
is, _ardent spirits were not known until many centuries after Christ_:
not until the art of distillation was discovered, which was not
certainly earlier than the dark ages. _Not a word, therefore, is said in
the Bible concerning distilled spirits._ All its powerful descriptions
of drunkenness, and awful denunciations against it, were founded upon
the abuse men made of wine. How much louder its notes of remonstrance
and terror would have risen, had distillation thus early taught men how
to concentrate the poison, may be imagined by the reader.

After these statements, I trust none of those whom I address will any
longer resort to the Bible for proofs of a divine permission to
manufacture or use ardent spirits. But do the principles of the Bible
_condemn_ such use and manufacture?

What do you think of the golden rule of _doing unto others as we would
they should do unto us_? Should you suppose your neighbors were
conducting towards you according to this rule, were they unnecessarily
to pursue such a business, or to set such an example as would inevitably
lead any of your children or friends into confirmed drunkenness? If not,
then how can you, consistently with this rule, distil, use, or furnish
materials for the manufacture of ardent spirits, when you thereby,
directly or indirectly, render intemperate from two hundred thousand to
three hundred thousand of your fellow-citizens, and every year also
raise up new recruits enough to supply the dreadful ravages which death
makes in this army? This you are certainly doing; for were your
distilleries to stop, and you to stop drinking, few would become
drunkards, from want of the means.

How would you like to have your neighbors one after another break down
your fences, and turn their cattle into your corn-fields, cut down your
fruit and ornamental trees, set your house or barn on fire, and threaten
you with poverty and slavery? If you would not have your neighbor do
thus to you, provided he had the power, then how can you, by preparing
the food for intemperance, subject the property, the peace, the
morality, the religion, and the liberties of your country to those
dangers and fearful depredations which you are now inflicting upon her?

How would you like to have your neighbors, directly or indirectly, but
unnecessarily, cause the premature death of every fortieth of your
children and friends, and of one in three of those above the age of
twenty? I know you would not that they should do thus to you, and yet
your manufacture of spirits causes the premature death of five hundred
of your fellow-citizens every week; in other words, about that number
die every week through the intemperance produced by your distilleries.

Again, I ask the men whom I am addressing, how they reconcile their
manufacture and sale of spirits with another command of the Bible? _Woe
unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that puttest thy bottle to him,
and makest him drunken also, that thou mayest look on their nakedness._
True, this applies most emphatically to the retailer of spirits: but
what could the retailer do if there were no distillery; and what could
the distiller do if the farmer withheld the materials? All these men are
engaged, directly or indirectly, in giving their neighbors drink; and
though it may pass through many hands before it reaches all their
mouths, yet where must the burden of the guilt rest, if not upon those
who stand at the head of the series, and first convert the articles
which God has given to nourish and sustain life into active poison for
its destruction; and then, for the sake of a paltry pecuniary profit,
send it round amongst their neighbors, accompanied with all the plagues
that issued from the fabled Pandora's box?

Finally, let me ask these men how the business of preparing ardent
spirits for the community appears to them when they think most seriously
of another world? In the hours of sober reflection, on the Sabbath,
during seasons of devotion, when sickness overtakes you, and death seems
near, or you stand by the dying-bed of some one of your family or
neighbors; at such seasons can you look back upon this pursuit with
pleasure? If conscience then tells you that this business ought to be
given up, Oh remember, that conscience is an honest and faithful friend
at such times, and that, as this pursuit then appears to you, so will it
appear when you come actually to die. Test this business, I beseech you,
by bringing it in imagination to the scrutiny of your dying hour.
Whether it be lawful or unlawful, certain it is that it sends five
hundred drunkards into eternity every week; and you have the express
testimony of the Bible, that no drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of
God. As the Bible is true, then, are not the manufacturers of ardent
spirits in our land the means of sending five hundred souls to hell
every week? Tell me, my friends, how will this awful truth appear to you
on the bed of death? And how does it appear when you look forward to the
final judgment, and realize that you must meet there fifty or an
hundred, or five hundred times five hundred drunkards, made such through
your instrumentality, for one, or two, or ten years, and must there
justify yourselves for this instrumentality, or go away with them into
perdition, covered with their blood and followed by their execrations?

Oh, my friends, these are realities; and they are near. Do you begin to
doubt whether you are in the path of duty? Listen, I beseech you, to the
first whispers of the faithful monitor in your bosom.

By the reasonings of philosophy, by the testimony of physicians, by the
expostulations of your bleeding country, by the tears, the rags, and the
wretchedness of three hundred thousand drunkards, with their wives and
children; by the warnings of personal friendship, and by the sanctions
of the divine law, the solemnities of death and the judgment, and the
groans of ten thousand drunkards, rising from the pit, I entreat you,
abandon at once and for ever this most unrighteous employment, and save
yourselves from the eternal agonies of conscience, the execrations of
millions, and the wrath of Omnipotence.




ADDRESS TO
THE YOUNG MEN OF THE UNITED STATES,
ON TEMPERANCE.

BY RT. REV. C. P. M'ILVAINE, D. D.


In addressing the Young Men of the United States in regard to the great
enterprise of promoting the universal prevalence of Temperance, we are
not aware that any time need be occupied in apology. Our motives cannot
be mistaken. The magnitude of the cause, and the importance of that
cooperation in its behalf which this address is designed to promote,
will vindicate the propriety of its respectful call upon the attention
of those by whom it shall ever be received.

It is presumed that every reader is already aware of the extensive and
energetic movements at present advancing in our country in behalf of
Temperance. That an unprecedented interest in this work has been
recently excited, and is still rapidly strengthening in thousands of
districts; that talent, wisdom, experience, learning, and influence are
now enlisted in its service, with a measure of zeal and harmony far
surpassing what was ever witnessed before in such a cause; that great
things have already been accomplished; that much greater are near at
hand; and that the whole victory will be eventually won, if the
temperate portion of society are not wanting to their solemn duty, must
have been seen already by those living along the main channels of public
thought and feeling. Elevated, as we now are, upon a high tide of
general interest and zeal--a tide which may either go on increasing its
flood till it has washed clean the very mountain tops, and drowned
intemperance in its last den; or else subside, and leave the land
infected with a plague, the more malignant and incurable from the dead
remains of a partial inundation--it has become a question of universal
application, which those who are now at the outset of their influence in
society should especially consider: "What can _we_ do, and what _ought_
we to do in this cause?" For the settlement of this question we invite
you to a brief view of the whole ground on which temperance measures are
now proceeding.

It cannot be denied that our country is most horribly scourged by
intemperance. In the strong language of Scripture, _it groaneth and
travaileth in pain, to be delivered from the bondage of this
corruption_. Our country is free; _with a great price obtained we this
freedom_. We feel as if all the force of Europe could not get it from
our embrace. Our shores would shake into the depth of the sea the
invader who should presume to seek it. One solitary citizen led away
into captivity, scourged, chained by a foreign enemy, would rouse the
oldest nerve in the land to indignant complaint, and league the whole
nation in loud demand for redress. And yet it cannot be denied that our
country is enslaved. Yes, we are groaning under a most desolating
bondage. The land is trodden down under its polluting foot. Our families
are continually dishonored, ravaged, and bereaved; thousands annually
slain, and hundreds of thousands carried away into a loathsome slavery,
to be ground to powder under its burdens, or broken upon the wheel of
its tortures.

What are the statistics of this traffic? Ask the records of madhouses,
and they will answer, that one-third of all their wretched inmates were
sent there by Intemperance. Ask the keepers of our prisons, and they
will testify that, with scarcely an exception, their horrible population
is from the schools of Intemperance. Ask the history of the 200,000
paupers now burdening the hands of public charity, and you will find
that two-thirds of them have been the victims, directly or indirectly,
of Intemperance. Inquire at the gates of death, and you will learn that
no less than 30,000 souls are annually passed for the judgment-bar of
God, driven there by Intemperance. How many slaves are at present among
us? We ask not of slaves to man, but to Intemperance, in comparison with
whose bondage the yoke of the tyrant is freedom. They are estimated at
480,000! And what does the nation pay for the honor and happiness of
this whole system of ruin? _Five times as much, every year, as for the
annual support of its whole system of government._ These are truths, so
often published, so widely sanctioned, so generally received, and so
little doubted, that we need not detail the particulars by which they
are made out. What, then, is the whole amount of guilt and of woe which
they exhibit? Ask Him "unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known,
and from whom no secrets are hid." Ask _Eternity_!

The biographer of Napoleon, speaking of the loss sustained by England on
the field of Waterloo, says, "Fifteen thousand men killed and wounded,
threw half Britain into mourning. It required all the glory and all the
solid advantages of that day to reconcile the mind to the high price at
which it was purchased." But what mourning would fill _all_ Britain, if
every year should behold another Waterloo? But what does every year
repeat in our peaceful land? Ours is a carnage not exhibited only once
in a single field, but going on continually, in every town and hamlet.
Every eye sees its woes, every ear catches its groans. The wounded are
too numerous to count. Who is not wounded by the intemperance of this
nation? But of the dead we count, year by year, more than double the
number that filled half Britain with mourning. Ah, could we behold the
many thousands whom our destroyer annually delivers over unto death,
collected together upon one field of slaughter, for one funeral, and one
deep and wide burial-place; could we behold a full assemblage of all the
parents, widows, children, friends, whose hearts have been torn by their
death, surrounding that awful grave, and loading the winds with tales of
woe, the whole land would cry out at the spectacle. It would require
something more than "_all the glory_," and "_all the solid advantages_"
of Intemperance, "_to reconcile the mind to the high price at which they
were purchased_."

But enough is known of the intemperance of this country to render it
undeniable by the most ignorant inhabitant, that a horrible scourge is
indeed upon us.

Another assertion is equally unquestionable. _The time has come when a
great effort must be made to exterminate this unequalled destroyer._ It
was high time this was done when the first drunkard entered eternity to
receive the award of Him who has declared that no drunkard shall enter
the kingdom of God. The demand for this effort has been growing in the
peremptory tone of its call, as "the overflowing scourge" has passed
with constantly extending sweep through the land. But a strange apathy
has prevailed among us. As if the whole nation had been drinking the cup
of delusion, we saw the enemy coming in like a flood, and we lifted up
scarcely a straw against him. As if the magicians of Egypt had
prevailed over us by their enchantments, we beheld our waters of
refreshment turned into blood, and a destroying sword passing through
till "there was a great cry" in the land, for there was scarcely "a
house where there was not one dead;" and still our hearts were hardened,
and we would not let go the great sin for which these plagues were
brought upon us. It seems as if some foul demon had taken his seat upon
the breast of the nation, and was holding us down with the dead weight
of a horrid nightmare, while he laughed at our calamity and mocked at
our fear--when our fear came as desolation, and our destruction as a
whirlwind.

Shall this state continue? Is not the desolation advancing? Have not
facilities of intemperance, temptations to intemperance, examples to
sanction intemperance, been fast increasing ever since this plague
began? Without some effectual effort, is it not certain they will
continue to increase, till intemperate men and their abettors will form
the public opinion and consequently the public conscience and the public
law of this land--till intemperance shall become, like leviathan of old,
"king over all the children of pride," whose breath kindleth coals, and
a "flame goeth out of his mouth?" Then what will effort of man avail?
"Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook? His heart is as firm as a
stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone. He drinketh up a
river, and hasteth not. When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are
afraid."

It is too late to put off any longer the effort for deliverance. It is
granted by the common sense, and urged by the common interest; every
feeling of humanity and every consideration of religion enforces the
belief that the time has come when a great onset is imperiously demanded
to drive out intemperance from the land.

This, to be great, _must be universal_. The whole country is enslaved;
and the whole country must rise up at once, like an armed man, and
determine to be free. Of what lasting avail would it be for one section
of territory, here and there, to clear itself, while the surrounding
regions should remain under the curse? The temperance reformation has no
quarantine to fence out the infected. Geographical boundaries are no
barriers against contagion. Rivers and mountains are easily crossed by
corrupting example. Ardent spirits, like all other fluids, perpetually
seek their level. In vain does the farmer eradicate from his fields the
last vestige of the noisome thistle, while the neighboring grounds are
given up to its dominion, and every wind scatters the seed where it
listeth. The effort against intemperance, to be effective, _must be
universal_.

Here, then, are three important points which we may safely assume as
entirely unquestionable: that _our country is horribly scourged by
intemperance_; that _the time has come when a great effort is demanded
for the expulsion of this evil_; and that _no effort can be effectual
without being universal_. Hence is deduced, undeniably, the conclusion
that it is the duty, and the solemn duty of the people, in every part of
this country, to rise up at once, and act vigorously and unitedly in the
furtherance of whatever measures are best calculated to promote
reformation.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here the question occurs, _What can be done? How can this woe be
arrested?_ The answer is plain. Nothing can be done, but in one of the
three following ways. You must either suffer people to drink
_immoderately_; or you must endeavor to promote _moderation_ in
drinking; or you must try to persuade them to drink _none at all_. One
of these plans must be adopted. Which shall we choose? The first is
condemned already.

What say we to the second, the _moderate use_ of intoxicating drinks? It
has unquestionably the sanction of high and ancient ancestry. It is
precisely the plan on which intemperance has been wrestled with ever
since it was first discovered that "wine is a mocker," and that "strong
drink is raging." But hence comes its condemnation. Its long use is its
death-witness. Were it new, we might hope something from its adoption.
But it is old enough to have been tried to the uttermost. The wisdom,
the energy, the benevolence of centuries have made the best of it. The
attempt to keep down intemperance by endeavoring to persuade people to
indulge only moderately in strong drink, has been the world's favorite
for ages; while every age has wondered that the vice increased so
rapidly.

At last we have been awakened to a fair estimate of the success of the
plan. And what is it? So far from its having shown the least tendency to
exterminate the evil, it is the mother of all its abominations. All who
have attained the stature of full-grown intemperance, were once children
in this nursery, sucking at the breasts of this parent. All the "men of
strength to mingle strong drink," who are now full graduates in the
vice, and "masters in the arts" of drunkenness, began their education
and served their apprenticeship under the discipline of moderate
drinking. All that have learned to lie down in the streets, and carry
terror into their families, and whom intemperance has conducted to the
penitentiary and the madhouse, may look back to this as the beginning of
their course--the author of their destiny. No man ever set out to use
strong drink with the expectation of becoming eventually a drunkard. No
man ever became a drunkard without having at first assured himself that
he could keep a safe rein upon every disposition that might endanger his
strict sobriety. "_I am in no danger while I only take a little_," is
the first principle in the doctrine of intemperance. It is high time it
were discarded. It has deluged the land with vice, and sunk the
population into debasement. The same results will ensue again, just in
proportion as the moderate use of ardent spirits continues to be
encouraged. Let the multitude continue to drink a little, and still our
hundreds of thousands will annually drink to death.

It is settled, therefore, that to encourage moderate drinking is not the
plan on which the temperance reformation can be successfully prosecuted.
The faithful experiment of generation after generation, decides that it
must be abandoned. A cloud of witnesses, illustrating its consequences
in all the tender mercies of a drunkard's portion, demand that it should
be abandoned. Its full time is come. Long enough have we refused to open
our eyes to the evident deceitfulness of its pretensions. At last the
country is awaking, and begins to realize the emptiness of this dream.
Let it go as a dream, and only be remembered that we may wonder how it
deceived, and lament how it injured us.

But, if this be discarded, what plan of reformation remains? If nothing
is to be expected from endeavoring to promote a _moderate_ use of ardent
spirits, and still less from an _immoderate_ use, what can be done?
There is but one possible answer. _Persuade people to use none at all._
_Total abstinence_ is the only plan on which reformation can be hoped
for. We are shut up to this. We have tried the consequences of
encouraging people to venture but moderately into the atmosphere of
infection; and we are now convinced that it was the very plan to feed
its strength and extend its ravages. We are forced to the conclusion,
that, to arrest the pestilence, we must starve it. All the healthy must
abstain from its neighborhood. All those who are now temperate must give
up the use of the means of intemperance. The deliverance of this land
from its present degradation, and from the increasing woes attendant on
this vice, depends altogether upon the extent to which the principle of
total abstinence shall be adopted by our citizens.

But suppose this principle universally adopted, would it clear the
country of intemperance? Evidently it is the only, but is it the
effectual remedy? Most certainly, if all temperate persons would disuse
ardent spirits, they could not cease to be temperate. Many a drunkard,
under the powerful check of their omnipresent reproof, would be sobered.
His companions would totter, one after another, to their graves. A few
years would see them buried, and the land relinquished to the temperate.
Then what would be the security against a new inroad of the exterminated
vice? Why, public opinion would stand guard at every avenue by which it
could come in.

Consider the operation of this influence. Why is it now so easy to
entice a young man into the haunts of drunkenness? Because public
opinion favors the use of the very means of his ruin. He may drink
habitually, and fasten upon himself the appetite of drink, till he
becomes enchained and feels himself a slave; but if he has never fallen
into manifest intoxication, he has forfeited no character in public
opinion. All this is a direct result of the fact, that those considered
as temperate people set the example, and patronize the snare of moderate
drinking. But suppose them to take the ground proposed, and bear down
with the whole force of their example and influence on the side of
entire abstinence, would they not create an immense force of public
opinion against the least use of ardent spirits? How then could a
temperate man ever become a drunkard? He has not yet contracted the
desire for ardent spirits; and how will he contract it? Will he risk his
character; fly in the face of public feeling and opinion; despise all
the warnings in the history of intemperance, to get at the use, and put
himself under the torture of that for which, as yet, he has no
disposition? Only post a wakeful public sentiment at the little opening
of moderate drinking, and the whole highway to the drunkard's ruin will
be closed up. All its present travellers will soon pass away, while none
will be entering to keep up the character of the road.

Most assuredly, then, the reformation of the land is in the power of
public opinion. It is equally certain, that public opinion will
accomplish nothing but by setting its influence directly in opposition
to _any_ indulgence in strong drink. And it is just as plain, that in
order to accomplish this, the temperate part of the population must
create a power of example by setting out upon the firm and open ground
of total abstinence. In proportion, then, as the temperate throughout
the country shall come up to this ground, will the redemption of our
enslaved republic be accomplished.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus have we arrived at the last refuge of this cause. ABSTAIN ENTIRELY,
is the grand principle of life, to be written upon the sacred standard
of all temperance movements, and under which the contending host may be
as sure of victory as if, like Constantine, they saw inscribed with a
sunbeam upon the cloud, _In hoc signo vinces_.[F] But such being the
eminent importance of total abstinence, it deserves to be presented in
detail. We begin, therefore, with the position, that

_Entire abstinence from ardent spirits is essential to personal
security._ Such is the insidious operation of strong drink upon all the
barriers we may set up against excess; so secretly does it steal upon
the taste, excite the appetite, disorganize the nervous system, and
undermine the deepest resolutions of him who imagines himself in
perfect security; so numerous and awful have been its victories over
every barrier, and every species of mental and bodily constitution, that
we may lay it down as an assertion, which none who know the annals of
intemperance will dispute, that no individual who permits himself to use
ardent spirits moderately, has any valid security that he will not
become a victim to its power.

    [Footnote F: Under this standard you shall conquer.]

We know the remarks which instantly mount to the lips of many at the
sight of such an assertion: "Surely the little we take can never hurt
us. Look around and see how many have done the same, and continued the
habit to the end of life, without having ever been betrayed into
drunkenness." We do look around, and are constrained to remark, how many
have seemed to live temperately to the end, who, if the reality were
known, would be quoted as warnings against the insidiousness of the
poison, instead of examples of the security with which it may be used in
moderation. They were never delirious; but were they never fevered?
Fever is often fatal, without delirium. Ah, did every disease with which
human beings are fevered, and swollen, and slain, receive a candid name;
were every gravestone inscribed with a true memorial, as well of the
life, as the death of him at whose head it stands; could every
consumption, and dropsy, and liver-complaint, disclose its secret
history; did every shaking nerve, and palsied stomach, and aching
temple, and burning brain, and ruptured blood-vessel, relate how it
began, and grew, and triumphed, we should hear, indeed, of many who died
in consumption, or dropsy, and other diseases, without any impulse
towards the grave from the use of strong drink; but of how many, never
regarded as intemperate, should we learn that the real, though slow and
silent cause of their death was _drink_. They lingered long, and their
malady was called a disease of the lungs; or they fell suddenly, and it
was a case of apoplexy; or they were greatly swollen, and it was
considered dropsy; they lost their powers of digestion, and were said to
be troubled with dyspepsia; every vital function refused its natural
action, and the poor victim was treated for a liver-complaint. But why?
what produced the disease? Alcohol! They were poisoned. They died of the
intemperate use of ardent spirits, however moderately they may have had
the credit of indulging in them.

But again, we look at the world, and while we cannot acknowledge that
they have habitually indulged in even a moderate use of ardent spirits
without receiving some injury--for alcohol must hurt a healthy man in
some way or other--we do acknowledge that many have thus indulged with
no very perceptible injury. They have continued sober. But so it must be
acknowledged, that many have breathed the air and mingled with the
victims of a pestilence, without being infected; or stood amidst the
carnage of battle, without receiving a wound. But were they in no
danger? Because they came off unhurt, shall _we_ be willing to rush into
the streets of an infected city, or join the conflict of charging
battalions?

But again, we look at the world, and see how many have been slain, while
many have lived; how many who, if exalted station, eminent talents,
great attainments, excellent feelings, and heavy responsibilities, are
any security, might, with more than usual reason, have flattered
themselves with the assurance of safety: men of all professions, of
strong nerves, and numerous resolutions and precautions, at last reduced
to a level with the brutes; and this spectacle forces the conviction
that entire abstinence is the only security against final ruin. Had you
a tree in your gardens, the fruit of which should be discovered to have
inflicted disease as often as the prudent use of ardent spirits has
resulted in the sorrows of intemperance, that tree would be rooted up.
Its fruit would be entitled _poison_. The neighborhood would be afraid
of it. Children would be taught to beware of so much as venturing to try
how it tastes.

Again: _The total disuse of ardent spirits, on the part of parents, is
the only plan of safety in bringing up their children._ How many are the
parents whose lives are cursed with children who, were it not that "no
drunkard hath any inheritance in the kingdom of God," they would be
relieved to hear were dead! But how were those children ruined? "_Ah, by
those corrupting companions; by that vile dram-shop_," the parents would
answer. But what first inclined their way to that house of seduction? By
what avenue did evil associates first effect a lodgment in those
children's hearts? How many parents must turn and look at home for an
answer! They have not been intemperate; but while the tastes and habits
of their children were forming, they used to drink moderately of ardent
spirits. The decanter containing it had an honorable place on the
sideboard and on the table. It was treated respectfully, as a fountain
of strength to the feeble, of refreshment to the weary; and as perfectly
safe when used in moderation. To offer it to a friend was a debt of
hospitality. Thus the whole weight of parental example was employed in
impressing those children with a favorable idea of the pleasure, the
benefit, and the security, not to speak of the necessity, of the use of
ardent spirits. Thus the parents presented the decanter of strong drink
to their children, with a recommendation as forcible as if every day
they had encircled it with a chaplet of roses, and pronounced an oration
in its praise.

And what consequences were to be expected? Children who revere their
parents will honor what their parents delight to honor. It was not to be
supposed that those children would do else than imitate the high example
before them. Most naturally would they try the taste, and emulate to
acquire a fondness for strong drink. They would think it sheer folly to
be afraid of what their parents used. In a little while the flavor would
become grateful. They would learn to think of it, ask for it, contrive
ways of obtaining it, and be very accessible to the snares of those who
used it to excess. Thus easily would they slide into the pit. And thus
the history of the decline, and fall, and death of multitudes must
commence, not at the dram-shop, but at the tables of parents; not with
describing the influence of seductive companions, but with a lamentation
over the examples of inconsiderate parents, who furnished those
companions with their strongest argument, and wreathed their cup of
death with a garland of honor.

Such consequences must be looked for wherever parental example is
expected to be held in reverence among children. A father may venture to
the brink of a precipice, and stand without giddiness upon the margin of
the torrent that rushes by and plunges into a deep abyss; but will he
trust his child to occupy the same position? But if the child see him
there, is there no danger that when the parent's eye is away, he too
will venture, and go and play upon the frightful verge, and be amused
with the bubbles as they dance along the side of the cataract, and at
last become giddy, and be drawn in with the rush of the tide?

Entire abstinence from the drink of drunkards is the parents' only plan
in training up their children.

Again: _The total disuse of ardent spirits is essential to the
beneficial influence of the example of the temperate upon society at
large._

However novel the assertion to some, it can be easily shown that the
example of all who use ardent spirits, except as they use prescribed
medicine, _is in the scale of intemperance_. As far as its influence
extends, it helps directly to fill up the ranks of the intemperate, and
annually to launch a multitude of impenitent souls into a hopeless
eternity. Can this be true? Suppose all the rising generation, in
imitation of their elders, should commence the moderate use of strong
drink. They are thus attracted into the current of the stream which is
setting silently, smoothly, powerfully, towards the roaring whirlpool.
But now they are urged by those whose example they have thus far
followed, to go no farther. "Beware," they cry, "the tide is strong; do
like us; drop the anchor, ply the oar." Ah, but now their influence
fails. It was strong enough to persuade the thoughtless into danger; but
now it is perfectly impotent to keep them from ruin. They have none of
the strength or prudence by which others have been enabled to keep their
place. They have no anchor to drop, nor skill at the oar. They yield,
and go down, and perish. But where must we look for the prime cause of
this destruction? To those whose example enticed them into the way--_the
example of prudent drinkers_.

Such, unquestionably, was the influence by which a great portion of
those now intemperate were first drawn into the snares of death. It is
not, as many suppose, the odious example of those already under the
dominion of intemperate habits, by which others are seduced; the
operation of such disgusting precedents is rather on the side of entire
abstinence from the means of their debasement. But it is to the honor
given the degrading cup, by those who can drink without what is
considered excess, that we must ascribe, in a great degree, the first
seduction of all who receive the ultimate wages of intemperance.

Again: Entire abstinence from strong drink should be the rule of all;
because, _to one in health, it never does good, but, on the contrary, it
always, of its very nature, does harm_. We know the general idea, that
hard labor, and cold weather, and a hot sun demand its use; that a
little to stimulate the appetite, and a little to help digestion, and a
little to compose us to sleep, and a little to refresh us when fatigued,
and a little to enliven us when depressed, is very useful, if not
necessary. And we know how soon so many little matters make a great
amount. We have often been called to "behold how great a matter a little
fire kindleth." A more unfounded idea never was adopted, than that a man
in health can need such medicine. Is there any nourishment in drinking
alcohol? About as much as in eating fire.

But why should not the opinions of physicians suffice on this point? If
we take their advice as to what will cure us when sick, why not also as
to what will injure us when well? The first medical men throughout the
land do not more perfectly agree, that to breathe a foul atmosphere is
pernicious, than that the use of strong drink, in any quantity, is
hurtful. _Abstain entirely_, is their loud and reiterated advice. Many
of them will even maintain that it can easily and profitably be
dispensed with in medicine.

But how speaks experience on this head? Who works the longest under the
sun of August, or stands the firmest against the winter, or abides the
safest amidst abounding disease, or arrives last at the infirmities of
old age? The experiment of total abstinence has been fairly tried in
thousands of cases, by those who once imagined they must drink a little
every day; and invariably have they borne a grateful testimony to its
happy effects upon the health of their bodies and the peace of their
minds. Farms are tilled, harvests gathered, ships built, companies of
militia parade, associations of firemen labor, fishermen stand their
exposure, the student trims his lamp, the hungry eat their bread, and
the weary take their rest, with no debt of thanks to the aid of the
distillery.

We say no more upon the plan of entire abstinence. But we will mention
four reasons which should embolden any friend of temperance in urging it
upon others.

1. It is extremely _simple_. All can comprehend, all can execute it. It
requires no labor; costs no study; consumes no time.

2. It contains no _coercion_. Its whole force is that of reason. The
influence of laws and of magistrates it does not embrace. No man can
complain of a trespass upon his liberty, when we would persuade him to
escape the drunkard's slavery by not tasting the drunkard's cup.

3. _In this cure there is no pain._ It is recommended to whom? _the
temperate_--to those who, having formed no strong attachment to ardent
spirit, can feel no great self-denial in renouncing its use.

4. In this remedy _there is no expense_. To those who complain of other
works of usefulness because of their cost, this is without blame. To
drink no spirits, will cost no money. But what will it save? It will
save the majority of the poorer class of the population, in most of our
towns, one half their annual rent. It will empty all our almshouses and
hospitals of two thirds their inhabitants, and support the remainder.
Yes, such is the tax which the consumption of ardent spirits annually
levies upon this nation, that the simple disuse of strong drink,
throughout the land, would save in one year the value of at least five
times the whole national revenue.

It is too late to say that a general adoption of the great principle of
total abstinence is too much to be hoped for. A few years ago, who would
not have been considered almost deranged had he predicted what has
already been accomplished in this cause? Great things, wonderful things,
have already been effected. The enemies of this reformation, whose
pecuniary interests set them in opposition, are unable to deny this
fact. It is felt from the distillery to the dram-shop. It is seen from
Maine to the utmost South and West. Every traveller perceives it. Every
vender knows it. The whole country wonders at the progress of this
cause. It is rapidly and powerfully advancing. _One thing_, and only
one, can prevent its entire success. The frenzy of drunkenness cannot
arrest its goings. The hundreds of thousands in the armies of
intemperance cannot resist its march. But the _temperate_ can. If
backward to come up to the vital principle of this work, _they will_
prevent its accomplishment. But the banner of triumph will wave in peace
over all the land, hailed by thousands of grateful captives from the
gripe of death, in spite of all the warring of the "mighty to drink
wine," if those who abhor intemperance, and think they would be willing
to make a great sacrifice to save their children or friends from its
blasting curse, will only come up to the little effort of entire
abstinence. This is the surest and shortest way to drain off the river
of fire now flowing through the land. It is the moderate use of the
temperate that keeps open the smoking fountains from which that tide is
poured.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO YOUNG MEN who have not yet been brought under the dominion of
intemperate habits, we address the urgent exhortation of this cause.
Consider the immense responsibility that devolves upon you. It is not
too much to say that the question, whether this nation is to be
delivered front the yoke of death--whether the present march of
reformation shall go on till the last hiding-place of this vice shall be
subdued, or else be arrested and turned back, with the sorrow of
beholding the vaunting triumph, and the emboldened increase of all the
ministers of woe which attend in the train of intemperance, rests
ultimately with you. You compose the muscle and sinew of this nation.
You are to set the example by which the next generation is to be
influenced. By your influence its character will be formed. By your
stand its position will, in a great measure, be determined. You are soon
to supplant those who have passed the state of life which you now are
occupying. Soon the generation that is to grow up under the influence of
your example and instruction, will have reached your place. Thus are you
the heart of the nation. Corruption and debasement here must be felt to
the extremities of the national body. Temperance here will eventually
expel, by its strong pulsations, the last remnant of the burning blood
of drunkenness from the system, and carry soberness and health to every
member of our political constitution.

Are these things so? Suppose them exaggerations. Grant that the
importance of your vigorous and unanimous cooperation in this work of
reformation is unreasonably magnified; still, how much can you do. Were
our coasts invaded by a powerful enemy, come to ravage our cities, chain
our liberties, poison our fountains, burn our harvests, and carry off
our youth into perpetual slavery, what could young men do? To whom would
the trump of battle be sounded so effectually? Who else would feel upon
themselves the chief responsibility for their country's rescue? What
excuse could they find for supineness and sloth? Such indeed is the
enemy by which the country is already desolated. And now it is to the
warm hearts, and the strong hands, and the active energies, and the
powerful example of young men, that the dearest interests of the nation
look for deliverance.

Young men, shall we not enlist heartily and unitedly in promoting the
extermination of intemperance? What question have we to decide? Is it a
question whether the country is cursed with this plague to a most
horrible and alarming extent? No. Is it a question whether the present
power and the progressive character of intemperance among us demand an
_immediate_ rising up of all the moral force of the nation to subdue it?
No. Is it a question whether the most important part of the strength and
success of such an effort depends upon the part in it which the young
men in the United States shall take? No. Then what does the spirit of
patriotism say to us? If we love our country; if we would rise in arms
to shake off the hosts of an invader from our shores; if every heart
among us would swell with indignation at the attempt of an internal
power to break in pieces our free constitution, and substitute a
government of chains and bayonets; what does the love of country bid us
do, when by universal acknowledgment an enemy is now among us whose
breath is pestilence and whose progress desolation--an enemy that has
already done and is daily doing a more dreadful work against the
happiness of the people than all the wars and plagues we have ever
suffered?

What does the voice of common humanity say to us? Can we feel for human
woe, and not be moved at the spectacle of wretchedness and despair which
the intemperance of this country presents? Let us imagine the condition
of the hundreds of thousands who are now burning with the hidden flame,
and hastening to utter destruction by this most pitiless of all vices;
let us embrace in one view the countless woes inflicted by the cruel
tempers, the deep disgrace, the hopeless poverty, and the corrupting
examples of all these victims, upon wives, children, parents, friends,
and the morals of society; let us stand at the graves of the thirty
thousand that annually perish by intemperance, and there be still, and
listen to what the _voice of humanity_ speaks.

What does the exhortation of religion say to us? What undermines more
insidiously every moral principle of the heart; what palsies so entirely
every moral faculty of the soul; what so soon and so awfully makes man
_dead while he liveth_; what spreads through the whole frame-work of
society such rottenness, or so effectually opens the door to all those
powers of darkness by which the pillars of public order are crumbled and
the restraints of religion are mocked; what so universally excludes from
the death-bed of a sinner the consolations of the Gospel, or writes upon
his grave such a sentence of despair, as _intemperance_? Behold the
immense crowd of its victims! Where are they not seen? Read in the book
of God that declaration, "nor thieves, nor _drunkards_, shall inherit
the kingdom of God;" then listen to what the exhortation of Christian
benevolence speaks to us. Is it asked, _What can young men do?_ We can
do this one thing at least. _We can continue temperate._ What if every
one of us, now free from the appetite of strong drink, should hold on to
our liberty; how would the ranks of intemperance, which death is
continually wasting, be filled up? But how shall we continue temperate?
Not by using the means of destruction. Not by a moderate indulgence in
the cup of seduction. Not by beginning where all those began who have
since ended in ruin. But by _entire abstinence from strong drink_. Let
us renounce entirely what cannot profit us, what forms no important item
in our comforts, what may bring us, as it has brought such multitudes as
strong as we, to the mire and dirt of drunkenness.

But we can do something more. We can contribute the influence of our
example to help bring into disrepute the use of ardent spirits for any
purposes but those of medicine. If any of us are confident that we could
go on in the moderate, without ever coming to the immoderate use of
strong drink, we know that the deliverance of the country from its
present curse is utterly hopeless while ardent spirit is in the hands of
the people. It must be banished. Public opinion must set it aside. Young
men must contribute to form that opinion. It cannot be formed without
the total abstinence of the temperate. Let us not dare to stand in its
way.

But we can do something more. We have an influence which, in a variety
of ways, we may use in the community to diminish the temptations which,
wherever we look, are presented to the unwary to entice them to
intemperance. We can employ the influence of example, of opinion, and of
persuasion, to drive out of fashion and into disrepute, the common but
ensnaring practice of evincing hospitality by the display of strong
drink, and of testifying friendship and good-will over the glass. We can
contribute much powerful cooperation in the effort to make the use of
ardent spirits for the ordinary purposes of drink so unbecoming the
character of temperate people, that he who wishes to have his reputation
for temperance unsuspected, will either renounce the dangerous cup, or
wait till no eye but that of God can see him taste it. We can do much,
in union with those of more age and more established influence, to
create a public feeling against the licensing of those innumerable
houses of corruption where seduction into the miseries of drunkenness is
the trade of their keepers, and the means of destruction are vended so
low, and offered so attractively, that the poorest may purchase his
death, and the strongest may be persuaded to do so. These horrible
abodes of iniquity not only facilitate the daily inebriation of the
veteran drunkard, but they encourage, and kindle, and nourish, and
confirm the incipient appetite of the novice, and put forth the first
influence in that system of persuasion by which the sober are ultimately
subdued and levelled to the degradation of wretches, from whose
loathsomeness they once turned away in disgust. Why are these
instruments of cruelty permitted? Not because the authorities will not
refuse to license them. Public opinion is the conscience of those
authorities. Let the opinions and feelings of that portion of the
community where the strength and patronage of society reside, be once
enlisted in opposition to such houses, and the evil will be remedied;
the morals of society will not be insulted, nor the happiness of
families endangered at every step by the agents and means and
attractions of intemperance. Young men have much to do, and are capable
of doing a great work in creating such a public opinion.

In order to exert ourselves with the best effect in the promotion of the
several objects in this great cause to which young men should apply
themselves, let us associate ourselves into _Temperance Societies_. We
know the importance of associated exertions. We have often seen how a
few instruments, severally weak, have become mighty when united. Every
work, whether for evil or benevolent purposes, has felt the life, and
spur, and power of cooperation. The whole progress of the temperance
reformation, thus far, is owing to the influence of _societies_; to the
coming together of the temperate, and the union of their resolutions,
examples, and exertions, under the articles of temperance societies.
Thus examples have been brought out, set upon a hill, and made secure.
Thus the weak have been strengthened, the wavering confirmed, the
irresolute emboldened. Thus public attention has been awakened, public
feeling interested, and public sentiment turned and brought to bear.
Thus works have been performed, information distributed, agencies
employed, and a thousand instruments set in motion which no industry of
individual unassociated action could have reached. Let temperance
societies be multiplied. Every new association is a new battery against
the stronghold of the enemy, and gives a new impulse to the hearts of
those who have already joined the conflict. Let us arise, and be
diligent, and be united; and may the God of mercy bless our work.


THE DRUNKARD IN HIS FAMILY.

His example is seen daily in the house, and in the parent. It is seen by
children so soon as they can see any thing, and long before their minds
are capable of distinguishing its nature, or its tendency. The parent
visibly regards spirituous liquors as a peculiarly interesting enjoyment
of sense, at a time when they know no enjoyments but those of sense: of
course they cannot but think it eminently valuable. The means of
intoxication are also provided to their hand; and their own home, so far
as a dangerous and malignant influence is concerned, is changed into a
dram-shop. The mother, in the meantime, not unfrequently contracts the
same evil habit from the father; and thus both parents unite in the
unnatural and monstrous employment of corrupting their children.

What a prospect is here presented to our view! A husband and wife, to
whom God has given children to be trained up by them for heaven, united
together in taking them by the hand, and leading them coolly to
perdition. What heart, not made of stone, can look at such a family
without feeling exquisite distress, and the most terrible forebodings?
Contemplate, for a moment, the innocent, helpless beings, perfectly
unconscious of their danger, and incapable of learning it, thus led as
victims to the altar of a modern _Moloch_, less sanguinary, indeed, but
not less cruel than the heathen god before whom the Israelitish parents
burnt their own offspring, and say, whether you most pity the children,
or detest the parents.

Dr. Dwight.




No. 247.

WHO SLEW ALL THESE?

AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE.


About twenty years ago, Mr. and Mrs. ----, decent and respectable people,
removed with a family of children from the country to a neighboring
town, where they purchased a small house and lot, and lived very
comfortably. Their family, however, increasing to five boys, they
removed to the shore--the town being situated on a river--and in
addition to their former means of obtaining a living, erected a sign,
and provided "entertainment" for such as chose to call on them. They
were temperate people, accounted honest, and sent their children to the
most respectable school in the place. In a short time it was perceived
that they too frequently partook of the "entertainment," as it is
called, which they provided for their customers. The habit of daily
measuring the poison to others, induced them to taste for themselves;
their house was not as respectable as formerly; restraints were removed;
and although they were not drunkards, they gave evidence that they used
too freely the deadly drug which they fearlessly handled. If the
temperance reformation had been at that time commenced, they might have
been warned of their danger, and saved from ruin; but nothing arrested
their progress in the path of the destroyer.

Their children, who used to be clad with garments which denoted a
mother's industry, soon began to bear marks of neglect, and were by
degrees withdrawn from the school--their parents, because of _hard
times_, not being able to support them there. They consequently lounged
about, became acquainted with the customers at the bar, and learned
their evil habits, especially that of drinking.

The parents had commenced the sale of intoxicating drinks to become
rich; but at the end of a few years it had reduced them to poverty. They
had lost their respectability, their honesty, and their property, which
was mortgaged for rum; their children had become vagabonds, and their
house a receptacle of vice. Of all their five sons, not one escaped the
infection; they and their miserable parents wallowed in the mire
together.

In consequence of the dreadful excess to which she had abandoned
herself, the imagination of Mrs. ---- became disordered, and conjured up
horrible visions. In her fits of the _delirium tremens_, she fancied
herself bound with a belt of brass, to which was attached a chain held
by the great enemy of souls, who had indeed enchained her with the most
dire and effectual of all his spells. She would cross the room with the
rapidity of lightning, screaming that he was winding up the chain, and
she _must go_--she _could not_ stop. She was afraid to pass her own
threshold, and fancied she heard unearthly voices, and saw spirits black
and hideous all around her. "There they sit," she would say, "J----,
M----," mentioning the names of all her children; "there they sit,
grinning at me, and telling me I sent them to hell: they are on the
beams and in the corners, and wherever I go."

The writer of this has often witnessed her desperate struggles; has seen
her, when a gleam of reason came over her mind, weep in bitterness over
her ruin and misery; has heard her confessions of deeds of villany
committed under her roof; and has heard also her solemn vows to refrain
from that which wrought all this misery and sin; but after all this, has
seen her "seek it yet again."

All the arguments which religion can offer were set before her, and she
often appeared to feel their force, and resolved to repent; but the
deadly wave seemed to have retired to gather new force, and again swept
over her and prostrated her lower than "the beasts that perish." There
can be no more effectual barrier against the voice of conscience, the
powerful influence of natural affection, and the strivings of the
blessed Spirit of God, than the use of intoxicating drinks.

Her husband had made himself literally a beast: his appearance was
scarcely human; bloated, discolored, tottering, uttering curses, and
sometimes threatening her life. Her constitution after a while gave
away, and she sunk in death, snoring out the few last days of her
existence in a state of stupor, covered with rags and filth. Her husband
had so benumbed every feeling of humanity by his excess, that he seemed
very little affected by her death; and to one who reminded him of their
former respectability, and spoke of the wretched state to which they
were reduced, urging him powerfully, over the dead body of the
self-murdered wife _now_ to desist, he replied stupidly, that there is
an _eleventh hour_.

Four or five years have elapsed, and he is still in the same state of
beastly degradation--his property entirely gone, and he occasionally
earning a few cents, with which to purchase the poison which is
consuming his vitals, and rendering him stupid and dead to every motive
that can be urged for reformation.

Two of the sons of this unhappy man have gone down to death in an awful
manner. Another, in an affray occasioned by intoxication, received such
an injury in the head that his intellect has suffered, and he is subject
to fits of partial derangement. The other two are very intemperate; one
of them apparently lost to all sense of shame.

The circumstances attending the death of one of these young men were
extraordinary. He had become subject to fits in consequence of his
intemperate life; and his wife following the same course, they were
obliged to give up keeping a public-house, and he maintained himself by
fishing. He frequently stopped colored people and others who were
advertised as runaways, and obtained a reward for returning them to
their masters. He was brutally cruel in his treatment of those who thus
fell into his hands, and on one occasion, having apprehended a young
colored man on suspicion of his being a runaway, he confined him; and
taking him in a boat to his master--who had sent him from home on
business--as he was returning, he fell from the boat, probably in a fit,
and sunk like lead into the mighty waters. On the following day search
was made for his body, which was found swollen and disfigured, and laid
in the grave.

His brother, the youngest of the five, had not reached his twentieth
year, but had given himself up to the influence of the vice which has
proved the destruction of his family, until he also was subject to fits.
Not many months ago he was seized with one, being then intoxicated; he
was recovered by the by-standers, and crawled to a small sloop lying
partly on the shore for repairs: he laid himself down there, and was
found, ten minutes afterwards, _dead_, with his head partly under water.
It was supposed that another fit had seized him, and that in his
struggle he had fallen and suffocated.

This is a melancholy history, but a true one. Many circumstances
rendering it more striking are suppressed, as some of the parties are
living. The old man, but a short time ago, was warned again, and the
question put to him, "What are the benefits of this practice?" "It
_fattens graveyards_!" he replied, with a distorted countenance and a
horrid laugh.

Yes, such are the dire results of intemperance; and of intemperance not
born with one, but brought on by a temperate use of ardent spirit. These
facts are well known. They are published with the hope of their proving
a restraint to some one who, trusting in the strength of principle, may
occasionally taste this destructive poison.

"Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his color in the
cup, when it moveth itself aright: at the last it biteth like a serpent,
and stingeth like an adder." Go to God for strength to resist
temptation; practise entire abstinence from all that can intoxicate;
repent of sin, and trust in the mercy of Christ; and you shall be safe
for the present life, and that which is to come.


PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




THE
EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE
ON THE
MORAL, INTELLECTUAL, AND PHYSICAL POWERS.

BY THOMAS SEWALL, M. D.,

PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY
IN THE COLUMBIAN COLLEGE, WASHINGTON CITY.


I address you, fellow-citizens, to enlist your sympathies and efforts in
behalf of an institution which, in accordance with the spirit of the
times, has been established through our land by the almost united voice
of the nation, and this for the suppression of one of the most alarming
evils that ever infested human society; a vice, too, so odious in its
nature, so injurious in its consequences, and attended with so many
circumstances of suffering, mortification, and disgrace, that it seems
difficult to understand how it should ever have become a prevalent evil
among mankind; and more especially how it should have come down to us
from the early periods of society, gaining strength, and power, and
influence, in its descent. That such is the fact, requires no proof. Its
devastating effects are but too obvious. In these latter times, more
especially, it has swept over our land with the rapidity and power of a
tempest, bearing down every thing in its course. Not content with
rioting in the haunts of ignorance and vice, it has passed through our
consecrated groves, has entered our most sacred enclosures: and O, how
many men of genius and of letters have fallen before it; how many lofty
intellects have been shattered and laid in ruins by its power; how many
a warm and philanthropic heart has been chilled by its icy touch! It has
left no retreat unvisited; it has alike invaded our public and private
assemblies, our political and social circles, our courts of justice and
halls of legislation. It has stalked within the very walls of our
capitol, and there left the stain of its polluting touch on our national
glory. It has leaped over the pale of the church, and even reached up
its sacrilegious arm to the pulpit and dragged down some of its richest
ornaments. It has revelled equally on the spoils of the palace and the
cottage, and has seized its victims, with an unsparing grasp, from every
class of society; the private citizen and public functionary, the high
and the low, the rich and the poor, the enlightened and the ignorant:
and where is there a family among us so happy as not to have wept over
some of its members, who have fallen by the hand of this ruthless
destroyer?

As a nation, intemperance has corrupted our morals, impaired our
intellect, and enfeebled our physical strength. Indeed, in whatever
light we view it, whether as an individual, a social, or national evil,
as affecting our personal independence and happiness, our national
wealth and industry; as reducing our power of naval and military
defence, as enfeebling the intellectual energies of the nation, and
undermining the health of our fellow-citizens; as sinking the patriotism
and valor of the nation, as increasing paupers, poverty, and taxation,
as sapping the foundation of our moral and religious institutions, or as
introducing disorder, distress, and ruin into families and society; it
calls to us, in a voice of thunder, to awake from our slumbers, to seize
every weapon, and wield every power which God and nature have placed
within our reach, to protect ourselves and our fellow-citizens from its
ravages.

But the occasion will not permit me to dwell on the general effects of
intemperance, nor to trace the history of its causes. I shall,
therefore, confine myself more particularly to a consideration of its
influence on the individual; its effects on the moral, intellectual, and
physical constitution of man--not the primary effect of ardent spirit as
displayed in a fit of intoxication; it is the more insidious, permanent,
and fatal effects of intemperance, as exemplified in the case of the
habitual dram-drinker, to which I wish to call your attention.


I. The effects of ardent spirit on THE MORAL POWERS. It is perhaps
difficult to determine in what way intemperance first manifests its
influence on the moral powers, so variously does it affect different
individuals. Were I to speak from my own observation, I should say that
it first appears in an alienation of those kind and tender sympathies
which bind a man to his family and friends; those lively sensibilities
which enable him to participate in the joys and sorrows of those around
him. "The social affections lose their fulness and tenderness, the
conscience its power, the heart its sensibility, till all that was once
lovely, and rendered him the joy and the idol of his friends, retires,"
and leaves him to the dominion of the appetites and passions of the
brute. "Religious enjoyment, if he ever possessed any, declines as the
emotions excited by ardent spirit arise." He loses, by degrees, his
regard to truth and to the fulfilment of his engagements--he forgets the
Sabbath and the house of worship, and lounges upon his bed, or lingers
at the tavern. He lays aside his Bible--his family devotion is not
heard, and his closet no longer listens to the silent whispers of
prayer. He at length becomes irritable, peevish, and profane; and is
finally lost to every thing that respects decorum in appearance, or
virtue in principle; and it is lamentable to mark the steps of that
process by which the virtuous and elevated man sinks to ruin.


II. Its effects on THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. Here the influence of
intemperance is marked and decisive. The inebriate first loses his
vivacity and natural acuteness of perception. His judgment becomes
clouded and impaired in its strength, the memory also enfeebled and
sometimes quite obliterated. The mind is wandering and vacant, and
incapable of intense or steady application to any one subject. This
state is usually accompanied by an unmeaning stare or fixedness of
countenance quite peculiar to the drunkard. The imagination and the
will, if not enfeebled, acquire a morbid sensibility, from which they
are thrown into a state of violent excitement from the slightest causes:
hence, the inebriate sheds floods of tears over the pictures of his own
fancy. I have often seen him, and especially on his recovery from a fit
of intoxication, weep and laugh alternately over the same scene. The
will, too, acquires an omnipotent ascendency over him, and is the only
monitor to which he yields obedience. The appeals of conscience, the
claims of domestic happiness, of wives and children, of patriotism and
of virtue, are not heard.

The different powers of the mind having thus lost their natural relation
to each other, the healthy balance being destroyed, the intellect is no
longer fit for intense application, or successful effort; and although
the inebriate may, and sometimes does, astonish, by the wildness of his
fancy and the poignancy of his wit, yet in nine cases out of ten he
fails, and there is never any confidence to be reposed in him. There
have been a few who, from peculiarity of constitution, or some other
cause, have continued to perform intellectual labor for many years,
while slaves to ardent spirits; but in no instance has the vigor of the
intellect or its ability to labor been increased by indulgence; and
where there is one who has been able to struggle on under the habits of
intemperance, there are thousands who have perished in the experiment,
and some among the most powerful minds that the world ever produced. On
the other hand, we shall find, by looking over the biography of the
great men of every age, that those who have possessed the clearest and
most powerful minds, neither drank spirits nor indulged in the pleasures
of the table. Sir Isaac Newton, John Locke, Dr. Franklin, John Wesley,
Sir William Jones, John Fletcher, and President Edwards, furnish a
striking illustration of this truth. One of the secrets by which these
men produced such astonishing results, were enabled to perform so much
intellectual labor, and of so high a grade, and to arrive at old age in
the enjoyment of health, was a rigid course of abstinence. But I hasten
to consider more particularly,


III. Its effects on THE PHYSICAL POWERS. In view of this part of the
subject, the attention of the critical observer is arrested by a series
of circumstances, alike disgusting and melancholy.

1. The _odor of the breath_ of the drunkard furnishes the earliest
indication by which the habitual use of ardent spirit becomes known.
This is occasioned by the exhalation of the alcoholic principle from the
bronchial vessels and air-cells of the lungs--not of pure spirit, as
taken into the stomach, but of spirit which has been absorbed, has
mingled with the blood, and has been subjected to the action of the
different organs of the body; and not containing any principle which
contributes to the nourishment or renovation of the system, is cast out
with the other excretions, as poisonous and hurtful. This peculiar odor
does not arise from the accidental or occasional use of spirit; it marks
only the habitual dram-drinker--the one who indulges daily in his
potation; and although its density varies in some degree with the kind
of spirit consumed, the habits and constitution of the individual, yet
it bears generally a close relation to the degree of intemperance.

These observations are confirmed by some experiments made on living
animals by the celebrated French physiologist, Magendie. He ascertained
that diluted alcohol, a solution of camphor, and some other odorous
substances, when subjected to the absorbing power of the veins, are
taken up by them, and after mingling with the blood, pass off by the
pulmonary exhalants. Even phosphorus injected into the crural vein of a
dog, he found to pass off in a few moments from the nostrils of the
animal in a dense white vapor, which he ascertained to be phosphoric
acid. Cases have occurred, in which the breath of the drunkard has
become so highly charged with alcohol as to render it actually
inflammable by the touch of a taper. One individual in particular is
mentioned, who often amused his comrades by passing his breath through a
small tube, and setting it on fire as it issued from it. It appears,
also, that this has been the source of that combustion of the body of
the drunkard which has been denominated spontaneous, many
well-authenticated cases of which are on record.

2. The perspirable matter which passes off from the skin becomes charged
with the odor of alcohol in the drunkard, and is so far changed, in some
cases, as to furnish evidence of the kind of spirit drank. "I have met
with two instances," says Dr. McNish, "the one in a claret, and the
other in a port drinker; in which the moisture that exhaled from their
bodies had a ruddy complexion, similar to the wine on which they had
committed their debauch."

3. The _whole system_ soon bears marks of debility and decay. The
voluntary muscles lose their power, and cease to act under the control
of the will; and hence, all the movements become awkward, exhibiting the
appearance of stiffness in the joints. The positions of the body, also,
are tottering and infirm, and the step loses its elasticity and vigor.
The muscles, and especially those of the face and lips, are often
affected with a convulsive twitching, which produces the involuntary
winking of the eye, and quivering of the lip, so characteristic of the
intemperate. Indeed, all the motions seem unnatural and forced, as if
restrained by some power within. The extremities are at length seized
with a tremor, which is more strongly marked after recovery from a fit
of intoxication. The lips lose their significant expression, and become
sensual; the complexion assumes a sickly, leaden hue, or is changed to
an unhealthy, fiery redness, and is covered with red streaks and
blotches. The eye becomes watery, tender, and inflamed, and loses its
intelligence and its fire. These symptoms, together with a certain
oedematous appearance about the eye, bloating of the whole body, with
a dry, feverish skin, seldom fail to mark the habitual dram-drinker; and
they go on increasing and increasing, till the intelligence and dignity
of the man is lost in the tameness and sensuality of the brute.

But these effects, which are external and obvious, are only the "signals
which nature holds out, and waves in token of internal distress;" for
all the time the inebriate has been pouring down his daily draught and
making merry over the cup, morbid changes have been going on within; and
though these are unseen, and, it may be, unsuspected, they are fatal,
irretrievable. A few of the most important of these changes I shall now
describe.

4. The _stomach_ and its functions. This is the great organ of
digestion. It is the chief instrument by which food is prepared to
nourish, sustain, and renovate the different tissues of the body, to
carry on the various functions, and to supply the waste which
continually takes place in the system. It is not strange, therefore,
that the habitual application to the organ of any agent, calculated to
derange its functions, or change its organization, should be followed by
symptoms so various and extensive, and by consequences so fatal. The use
of ardent spirit produces both these effects; it deranges the functions
of the stomach, and if persisted in, seldom fails to change its organic
structure.

The inebriate first loses his appetite, and becomes thirsty and
feverish; he vomits in the morning, and is affected with spasmodic pains
in the region of the stomach. He is often seized with permanent
dyspepsia, and either wastes away by degrees, or dies suddenly of a fit
of cramp in the stomach.

On examining the stomach after death, it is generally found irritated,
and approaching a state of inflammation, with its vessels enlarged, and
filled with black blood; and particularly those of the mucous coat,
which gives to the internal surface of the stomach the appearance of
purple or reddish streaks, resembling the livid patches seen on the face
of the drunkard.

The coats of the stomach become greatly thickened and corrugated, and so
firmly united as to form one inseparable mass. In this state, the walls
of the organ are sometimes increased in thickness to the extent of ten
or twelve lines, and are sometimes found also in a scirrhous or
cancerous condition.

The following case occurred in my practice several years since. A
middle-aged gentleman, of wealth and standing, had long been accustomed
to mingle in the convivial circle, and though by no means a drunkard,
had indulged at times in the use of his old cogniac, with an unsparing
hand. He was at length seized with pain in the region of the stomach,
and a vomiting of his food an hour or two after eating. In about
eighteen months he died in a state of extreme emaciation.

On opening the body after death, the walls of the whole of the right
extremity of the stomach were found in a scirrhous and cancerous
condition, and thickened to the extent of about two inches. The cavity
of the organ was so far obliterated as scarcely to admit the passage of
a probe from the left to the right extremity, and the opening which
remained was so unequal and irregular as to render it evident that but
little of the nourishment he had received could have passed the lower
orifice of the stomach for many months.

I have never dissected the stomach of a drunkard, in which the organ did
not manifest some remarkable deviation from its healthy condition. But
the derangement of the stomach is not limited to the function of
nutrition merely. This organ is closely united to every other organ, and
to each individual tissue of the body, by its sympathetic relations.
When the stomach, therefore, becomes diseased, other parts suffer with
it. The functions of the brain, the heart, the lungs, and the liver,
become disordered; the secretions are altered, and all the operations of
the animal economy are more or less affected.

5. The _liver_ and its functions. Alcohol, in every form and proportion,
has long been known to exert a strong and speedy influence on this
organ, when used internally. Aware of this fact, the poultry-dealers of
England are in the habit of mixing a quantity of spirit with the food of
their fowls, in order to increase the size of the liver; so that they
may be enabled to supply to the epicure a greater abundance of that part
of the animal, which he regards as the most delicious.

The influence of spirit on the liver is exerted in two ways: first, the
impression made upon the mucous coat of the stomach is extended to the
liver by sympathy; the second mode of action is through the medium of
the circulation, and by the immediate action of the alcoholic principle
on the liver itself, as it passes through the organ, mingling with the
blood. In whichsoever of these ways it operates, its first effect is to
increase the action of the liver, and sometimes to such a degree as to
produce inflammation. Its secretion becomes changed from a bright yellow
to a green or black, and from a thin fluid to a substance resembling tar
in its consistence. There soon follows also an enlargement of the
liver, and a change in its organic structure. I have met with several
cases in which the liver has become enlarged from intemperance, so as to
occupy a greater part of the cavity of the abdomen, and weighing from
eight to twelve pounds, when it should have weighed not more than four
or five.

The liver sometimes, however, even when it manifests great morbid change
in its organic structure, is rather diminished than increased in its
volume. This was the case in the person of the celebrated stage-actor,
George Frederick Cook, who died a few years since in the city of New
York. This extraordinary man was long distinguished for the profligacy
of his life, as well as for the native vigor of his mind and body. At
the time of his death, the body was opened by Dr. Hosack, who found that
the liver did not exceed its usual dimensions, but was astonishingly
hard, of a lighter color than natural, and that its texture was so dense
as to make considerable resistance to the knife. The blood-vessels,
which, in a healthy condition, are extremely numerous and large, were in
this case nearly obliterated, evincing that the regular circulation
through the liver had long since ceased; and tubercles were found
throughout the whole substance of the organ.

I have met with several cases in the course of my dissections, in which
the liver was found smaller than natural, shrivelled, indurated, its
blood-vessels diminished in size and number, with the whole of its
internal structure more or less changed. In consequence of these morbid
changes in the liver, other organs become affected, as the spleen, the
pancreas, etc., either by sympathy or in consequence of their dependence
on the healthy functions of the liver for the due performance of their
own.

6. Of _the brain_ and its functions. Inflammation and engorgement of
this organ are frequent consequences of intemperance, and may take place
during a debauch--or may arise some time after, during the stage of
debility, from a loss of the healthy balance of action between the
different parts of the system. This inflammation is sometimes acute, is
marked by furious delirium, and terminates fatally in the course of a
few days, and sometimes a few hours. At other times it assumes a chronic
form, continues much longer, and then frequently results in an effusion
of serum, or an extravasation of blood, and the patient dies in a state
of insensibility, with all the symptoms of compressed brain. Sometimes
the system becomes so saturated with ardent spirit, that there is good
reason to believe the effusions, which take place in the cavities of the
brain, and elsewhere, are composed, in part at least, of the alcoholic
principle. The following case occurred, not long since, in England, and
is attested by unquestionable authority.

A man was taken up dead in the streets of London, soon after having
drank a quart of gin, on a wager. He was carried to the Westminster
Hospital, and there dissected. "In the ventricles of the brain was found
a considerable quantity of limpid fluid, distinctly impregnated with
gin, both to the sense of smell and taste, and even to the test of
inflammability. The liquid appeared to the senses of the examining
students, as strong as one-third gin, and two-thirds water."

Dr. Armstrong, who has enjoyed very ample opportunity of investigating
this subject, speaks of the chronic inflammation of the brain and its
membranes, as frequently proceeding from the free use of strong liquors.

It is a fact familiar to every anatomist, that alcohol, even when
greatly diluted, has, by its action on the brain after death, the effect
of hardening it, as well as most of the tissues of the body which
contain albumen; and it is common to immerse the brain in ardent spirit
for a few days, in order to render it the firmer for dissection.

On examining the brain after death of such as have long been accustomed
to the free use of ardent spirit, it is said the organ is generally
found harder than in temperate persons. It has no longer that delicate
and elastic texture. Its arteries become diminished in size, and lose
their transparency, while the veins and sinuses are greatly distended
and irregularly enlarged.

This statement is confirmed by my own dissections, and they seem also to
be in full accordance with all the intellectual and physical phenomena
displayed in the drunkard, while living.

7. The _heart_ and its functions. It has generally been supposed, that
the heart is less frequently affected by intemperance, than most of the
other great vital organs; but, from the history of the cases which have
come under my own observation, I am convinced that it seldom escapes
disease under the habitual use of ardent spirit. And why should it,
since it is thrown almost perpetually into a state of unnatural
exertion, the very effect produced by the violent agitation of the
passions, the influence of which upon this organ is found so injurious?

The following case came under my notice, a few winters since. A large
athletic man, long accustomed to the use of ardent spirit, on drinking a
glass of raw whiskey, dropped instantly dead. On carefully dissecting
the body, no adequate cause of the sudden cessation of life could be
found in any part, except the heart. This organ was free from blood, was
hard and firmly contracted, as if affected by spasms. I am convinced
that many of those cases of sudden death which take place with
intemperate persons, are the result of a spasmodic action of the heart,
from sympathy with the stomach, or some other part of the system. The
use of ardent spirit, no doubt, promotes also the ossification of the
valves of the heart, as well as the development of other organic
affections.

8. _The lungs_ and their functions. Respiration in the inebriate is
generally oppressed and laborious, and especially after eating or
violent exercise; and he is teased with a cough, attended with copious
expectoration, and especially after his recovery from a fit of
intoxication; and these symptoms go on increasing, and unless arrested
in their progress, terminate in consumption.

This affection of the lungs is produced in two ways: first, by the
immediate action of the alcoholic principle upon the highly sensible
membrane which lines the trachea, bronchial vessels, and air-cells of
the lungs, as poured out by the exhalants; and second, by the sympathy
which is called into action between the lungs and other organs already
in a state of disease, and more especially that of the stomach and
liver.

I have met with many cases in the course of my practice, of cough and
difficult breathing, which could be relieved only by regulating the
functions of the stomach, and which soon yielded, on the patient ceasing
to irritate this organ with ardent spirit. I have found the liver still
more frequently the source of this affection; and on restoring the organ
to its healthy condition, by laying aside the use of ardent spirit, all
the pulmonary symptoms have subsided.

On examining the lungs of the drunkard after death, they are frequently
found adhering to the walls of the chest; hepatized, or affected with
tubercles.

But time would fail me, were I to attempt an account of half the
pathology of drunkenness. _Dyspepsia_, _Jaundice_, _Emaciation_,
_Corpulence_, _Dropsy_, _Ulcers_, _Rheumatism_, _Gout_, _Tremors_,
_Palpitation_, _Hysteria_, _Epilepsy_, _Palsy_, _Lethargy_, _Apoplexy_,
_Melancholy_, _Madness_, _Delirium-tremens_, _and premature old age_,
compose but a small part of the catalogue of diseases produced by ardent
spirit. Indeed, there is scarcely a morbid affection to which the human
body is liable, that has not, in one way or another, been produced by
it; there is not a disease but it has aggravated, nor a predisposition
to disease, which it has not called into action; and although its
effects are in some degree modified by age and temperament, by habit and
occupation, by climate and season of the year, and even by the
intoxicating agent itself; yet, the general and ultimate consequences
are the same.

But I pass on to notice one state of the system, produced by ardent
spirit, too important and interesting to leave unexamined. It is that
_predisposition to disease and death_ which so strongly characterizes
the drunkard in every situation of life.

It is unquestionably true, that many of the surrounding objects in
nature are constantly tending to man's destruction. The excess of heat
and cold, humidity and dryness, noxious exhalations from the earth, the
floating atoms in the atmosphere, the poisonous vapors from decomposed
animal and vegetable matter, with many other invisible agents, are
exerting their deadly influence; and were it not that every part of his
system is endowed with a self-preserving power, a principle of
excitability, or, in other words, a vital principle, the operations of
the economy would cease, and a dissolution of his organic structure take
place. But this principle being implanted in the system, reaction takes
place, and thereby a vigorous contest is maintained with the warring
elements without, as well as with the principle of decay within.

It is thus that man is enabled to endure, from year to year, the toils
and fatigues of life, the variations of heat and cold, and the
vicissitudes of the seasons--that he is enabled to traverse every region
of the globe, and to live with almost equal ease under the equator and
in the frozen regions of the north. It is by this power that all his
functions are performed, from the commencement to the close of life.

The principle of excitability exists in the highest degree in the
infant, and diminishes at every succeeding period of life; and if man is
not cut down by disease or violence, he struggles on, and finally dies
a natural death--a death occasioned by the exhaustion of the principle
of excitability. In order to prevent the too rapid exhaustion of this
principle, nature has especially provided for its restoration by
establishing a period of sleep. After being awake for sixteen or
eighteen hours, a sensation of fatigue ensues, and all the functions are
performed with diminished precision and energy. Locomotion becomes
feeble and tottering, the voice harsh, the intellect obtuse and
powerless, and all the senses blunted. In this state the individual
anxiously retires from the light, and from the noise and bustle of
business, seeks that position which requires the least effort to sustain
it, and abandons himself to rest. The will ceases to act, and he loses
in succession all the senses; the muscles unbend themselves, and permit
the limbs to fall into the most easy and natural position; digestion,
respiration, circulation, secretion, and the other functions, go on with
diminished power and activity; and consequently the wasted excitability
is gradually restored. After a repose of six of eight hours, this
principle becomes accumulated to its full measure, and the individual
awakes and finds his system invigorated and refreshed. His muscular
power is augmented, his senses are acute and discriminating, his
intellect active and eager for labor, and all his functions move on with
renewed energy. But if the stomach be oppressed by food, or the system
excited by stimulating drinks, the sleep, though it may be profound, is
never tranquil and refreshing.

The system being raised to a state of feverish excitement, and its
healthy balance disturbed, its exhausted excitability is not restored.
The individual awakes, but finds himself fatigued rather than
invigorated. His muscles are relaxed, his senses obtuse, his intellect
impaired, and his whole system disordered; and it is not till he is
again under the influence of food and stimulus that he is fit for the
occupations of life. And thus he loses the benefits of this wise
provision of repose, designed for his own preservation.

Nothing, probably, tends more powerfully to produce premature old age,
than disturbed and unrefreshing sleep.

It is also true, that artificial stimulus, in whatever way applied,
tends constantly to exhaust the principle of excitability of the system,
and this in proportion to its intensity, and the freedom with which it
is applied.

But there is still another principle on which the use of ardent spirit
predisposes the drunkard to disease and death. It acts on the blood,
impairs its vitality, deprives it of its red color, and thereby renders
it unfit to stimulate the heart and other organs through which it
circulates; unfit, also, to supply the materials for the different
secretions, and to renovate the different tissues of the body, as well
as to sustain the energy of the brain--offices which it can perform only
while it retains the vermilion color, and other arterial properties. The
blood of the drunkard is several shades darker in its color than that of
temperate persons, and also coagulates less readily and firmly, and is
loaded with serum; appearances which indicate that it has exchanged its
arterial properties for those of the venous blood. This is the cause of
the livid complexion of the inebriate, which so strongly marks him in
the advanced stage of intemperance. Hence, too, all the functions of his
body are sluggish, irregular, and the whole system loses its tone and
its energy. If ardent spirit, when taken into the system, exhausts the
vital principle of the solids, it destroys the vital principle of the
blood also; and if taken in large quantities, produces sudden death; in
which case the blood, as in death produced by lightning, by opium, or by
violent and long continued exertion, does not coagulate.

The principles laid down are plain, and of easy application to the case
before us.

The inebriate having, by the habitual use of ardent spirit, exhausted to
a greater or lesser extent the principle of excitability in the
solids--the power of reaction--and the blood having become incapable of
performing its offices also, he is alike predisposed to every disease,
and rendered liable to the inroads of every invading foe. So far,
therefore, from protecting the system against disease, intemperance ever
constitutes one of its strongest predisposing causes.

Superadded to this, whenever disease does lay its grasp upon the
drunkard, the powers of life being already enfeebled by the stimulus of
ardent spirit, he unexpectedly sinks in the contest, and but too
frequently to the mortification of his physician, and the surprise and
grief of his friends. Indeed, inebriation so enfeebles the powers of
life, so modifies the character of disease, and so changes the operation
of medical agents, that unless the young physician has studied
thoroughly the constitution of the drunkard, he has but partially
learned his profession, and is not fit for a practitioner of the present
age.

These are the true reasons why the drunkard dies so easily, and from
such slight causes.

A sudden cold, a pleurisy, a fever, a fractured limb, or a slight wound
of the skin, is often more than his shattered powers can endure. Even a
little excess of exertion, an exposure to heat or cold, a hearty repast,
or a glass of cold water, not unfrequently extinguishes the small
remains of the vital principle.

In the season that has just closed upon us, we have had a melancholy
exhibition of the effects of intemperance in the tragical death of some
dozens of our fellow-citizens; and had the extreme heat which prevailed
for several days continued for as many weeks, we should hardly have had
a confirmed drunkard left among us.

Many of those deaths which came under my notice seemed almost
spontaneous, and some of them took place in less than one hour from the
first symptoms of indisposition. Some died apparently from a slight
excess of fatigue, some from a few hours' exposure to the sun, and some
from a small draught of cold water; causes quite inadequate to the
production of such effects in temperate persons.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus, fellow-citizens, I have endeavored to delineate the effects of
ardent spirit upon man, and more especially to portray its influence on
his moral, intellectual, and physical powers. And now let me mention a
few things which MUST BE DONE in order that the evil may be eradicated.

1. Let us keep in view the objects of the Temperance Society, and the
obligation imposed on us, _to use all proper measures to discourage the
use of ardent spirit in the social circle, at public meetings, on the
farm, in the mechanic shop, and in all other places_. It is not a mere
matter of formality that we have put our names to this society's
constitution; we have pledged ourselves to be bold, active, and
persevering in the cause; to proclaim the dangers of intemperance to our
fellow-citizens, and to do what we can to arrest its progress.

In view of these objects and of this pledge, then, let us, if indeed we
have not already done it, banish ardent spirit from our houses at once,
and for ever; and then we can act with decision and energy, and speak in
a tone of authority, and our voice will be heard, if precept be
sanctioned by example.

2. Let us use our utmost endeavors to lessen the number, and, if
possible, utterly exterminate from among us those establishments which
are the chief agents in propagating the evils of intemperance. I refer
to those shops which are licensed for _retailing ardent spirit_. Here is
the source of the evil. These are the agents that are sowing among us
the seeds of vice, and poverty, and wretchedness.

How preposterous, that an enlightened community, professing the highest
regard for morality and religion, making laws for the suppression and
punishment of vice, and the promotion of virtue and good order,
instituting societies to encourage industry, enlighten the ignorant,
reclaim the vicious, bring back the wanderer, protect the orphan, feed
the hungry, clothe the naked, bind up the broken-hearted, and restore
domestic peace, should, at the same time, create and foster those very
means that carry idleness, and ignorance, and vice, and nakedness, and
starvation, and discord into all ranks of society; that make widows and
orphans, that sow the seeds of disease and death among us; that strike,
indeed, at the foundation of all that is good and great.

You create paupers, and lodge them in your alms house--orphans, and give
them a residence in your asylum--convicts, and send them to the
penitentiary. You seduce men to crime, and then arraign them at the bar
of justice--immure them in prison. With one hand you thrust the dagger
to the heart--with the other attempt to assuage the pain it causes.

We all remember to have heard, from the lips of our parents, the
narration of the fact, that in the early history of our country, the
tomahawk and scalping-knife were put into the hands of our savage
neighbors, by our enemies at war, and that a bounty was awarded for the
depredations they committed on the lives of our defenceless
fellow-citizens. Our feelings were shocked at the recital, and a
prejudice was created, as well to these poor wandering savages, as to
the nation that prompted them to the work, which neither time nor
education has eradicated. Yet, as merciless and savage as this practice
may appear to us, it was Christian, it was humane, compared with ours:
theirs sought only the life-blood, and that of their enemies; ours seeks
the blood of souls, and that of our own citizens, and friends, and
neighbors. Their avarice was satiated with a few inches of the scalp,
and the death inflicted was often a sudden and easy one; ours produces a
death that lingers: and not content with the lives of our
fellow-citizens, it rifles their pockets. It revels in rapine and
robbery; it sacks whole towns and villages; it lays waste fields and
vineyards; it riots on domestic peace, and virtue, and happiness; it
sets at variance the husband and the wife; it causes the parent to
forsake the child, and the child to curse the parent; it tears asunder
the strongest bonds of society; it severs the tenderest ties of nature.

And who is the author of all this; and where lies the responsibility? I
appeal to my fellow-citizens.

Are not we the authors? Does not the responsibility rest upon us? Is it
not so?

The power emanates from us; we delegate it to the constituted
authorities, and we say to them, "Go on; cast firebrands, arrows, and
death; and let the blood of those that perish be on us and on our
children." We put the tomahawk and scalping-knife into the hands of our
neighbors, and award to them a bounty. We do more; we share the plunder.
Let us arouse, my fellow-citizens, from our insensibility, and redeem
our character for consistency, humanity, and benevolence.

3. Let us not confine our views or limit our operations to the narrow
boundaries of our own city or district. Intemperance is a common enemy.
It exists everywhere, and everywhere is pursuing its victims to
destruction: while, therefore, we are actively engaged upon the subject
in our own city, let us endeavor to do something elsewhere; and much may
be done by spreading through our country correct information on the
subject of intemperance. To this end, every newspaper and every press
should be put in requisition. Circulate through the various avenues
suitable tracts, essays, and other documents, setting forth the causes
of intemperance, its evils, and its remedy, together with an account of
the cheering progress now making to eradicate it.

Do this, and you will find thousands starting up in different parts of
the country, to lend their influence, and give their money in support of
your cause; individuals who have hitherto been unconscious of the extent
and magnitude of the evil of intemperance. You will find some who have
been slumbering upon the very precipice of ruin, rallying round your
standard. Indeed, we have all been insensible, till the voice of alarm
was sounded, and the facts were set in array before us.

4. Appeal to _the medical profession_ of the country, and ask them to
correct the false idea which so extensively, I may say, almost
universally prevails, viz., that ardent spirit is sometimes necessary in
the treatment of disease. This opinion has slain its thousands and its
tens of thousands, and multitudes of dram-drinkers daily shelter
themselves under its delusive mask. One takes a little to raise his
desponding spirits, or to drown his sorrow; another, to sharpen his
appetite, or relieve his dyspepsia: one, to ease his gouty pains;
another, to supple his stiffened limbs, or calm his quivering muscles.
One drinks to overcome the heat; another, to ward off the cold; and all
this as a medicine. Appeal, then, to the medical profession, and they
will tell you--every independent, honest, sober, intelligent member of
it will tell you--that there is no case in which ardent spirit is
indispensable, and for which there is not an adequate substitute. And it
is time the profession should have an opportunity to exonerate itself
from the charge under which it has long rested, _of making drunkards_.
But I entreat my professional brethren not to be content with giving a
mere assent to this truth. You hold a station in society which gives you
a commanding influence on this subject; and if you will but raise your
voice and speak out boldly, you may exert an agency in this matter
which will bring down the blessings of unborn millions upon your
memory.

5. Much may be done by guarding the _rising generation_ from the
contagion of intemperance. It is especially with the children and youth
of our land, that we may expect our efforts to be permanently useful.
Let us, then, guard with peculiar vigilance the youthful mind, and with
all suitable measures, impress it with such sentiments of disgust and
horror of the vice of intemperance, as to cause it to shrink from its
very approach. Carry the subject into our infant and Sunday schools, and
call on the managers and teachers of those institutions to aid you, by
the circulation of suitable tracts, and by such other instructions as
may be deemed proper. Let the rising generation be protected but for a
few years, and the present race of drunkards will have disappeared from
among us, and there will be no new recruits to take their place.

6. Let intelligent and efficient agents be sent out into every portion
of our country, to spread abroad information upon the subject of
intemperance, to rouse up the people to a sense of their danger, and to
form temperance societies; and let there be such a system of
correspondence and cooperation established among these associations as
will convey information to each, and impart energy and efficiency to the
whole. "No great melioration of the human condition was ever achieved
without the concurrent effort of numbers; and no extended and
well-directed association of moral influence was ever made in vain."

7. Let all who regard the virtue, the honor, and the patriotism of their
country, withhold their suffrages from those candidates for office who
offer ardent spirit as a bribe to secure their elevation to power. It is
derogatory to the liberties of our country, that office can be obtained
by such corruption--be held by such a tenure.

8. Let the ministers of the Gospel, wherever called to labor, exert
their influence, by precept and example, in promoting the cause of
temperance. Many of them have already stepped forth, and with a noble
boldness have proclaimed the alarm, and have led on the work of
reformation; but many timid spirits still linger, and others seem not
deeply impressed with the importance of the subject, and with the
responsibility of their station. Ye venerated men, you are not only
called to stand forth as our moral beacons, and be unto us burning and
shining lights, but you are placed as watchmen upon our walls, to
announce to us the approach of danger. It is mainly through your example
and your labors that religion and virtue are so extensively disseminated
through our country--that this land is not now a moral waste. You have
ever exerted an important influence in society, and have held a high
place in the confidence and affections of the people. You are widely
spread over the country, and the scene of your personal labors will
furnish you with frequent opportunities to diffuse information upon the
subject of temperance, and to advance its progress. Let me then ask you,
one and all, to grant us your active and hearty cooperation.

9. Appeal to the _female sex_ of our country, and ask them to come to
your assistance; and if they will consent to steel their hearts against
the inebriate, to shut out from their society the man who visits the
tippling shop, their influence will be omnipotent. And by what power, ye
mothers, and wives, and daughters, shall I invoke your aid? Shall I
carry you to the house of the drunkard, and point you to his weeping and
broken-hearted wife, his suffering and degraded children, robed in rags,
and poverty, and vice? Shall I go with you to the almshouse, the orphan
asylum, and to the retreat for the insane, that your sensibility may be
roused? Shall I ask you to accompany me to the penitentiary and the
prison, that you may there behold the end of intemperance? Nay, shall I
draw back the curtain and disclose to you the scene of the drunkard's
death-bed? No--I will not demand of you a task so painful: rather let me
remind you that you are to become the mothers of our future heroes and
statesmen, philosophers and divines, lawyers and physicians; and shall
they be enfeebled in body, debauched in morals, disordered in intellect,
or healthy, pure, and full of mental energy? It is for you to decide
this question. You have the future destiny of our beloved country in
your hands. Let me entreat you, then, for your children's sake, and for
your country's sake, not to ally yourselves to the drunkard, nor to put
the cup to the mouth of your offspring, and thereby implant in them a
craving for ardent spirit, which, once produced, is seldom eradicated.

10. Call upon all public and private associations, religious, literary,
and scientific, to banish ardent spirit from their circle; call upon the
agricultural, manufacturing, and commercial establishments, to withhold
it from those engaged in their employment; call upon the legislatures of
the different states to cooperate by the enactment of such laws as will
discourage the vending of ardent spirit, and render licenses to sell it
unattainable; call upon the proper officers to banish from the army and
navy that article which, of all others, is most calculated to enfeeble
the physical energies, corrupt the morals, destroy the patriotism, and
damp the courage of our soldiers and sailors; call upon our national
legislature to impose such duties on the distillation and importation of
ardent spirit as will ultimately exclude it from the list of articles of
commerce, and eradicate it from our land.

Finally, call upon every sober man, woman, and child, to raise their
voices, their hearts, and their hands in this sacred cause, and never
hold their peace, never cease their prayers, never stay their exertions,
till intemperance shall be banished from our land and from the world.




BIBLE ARGUMENT
FOR
TEMPERANCE.

BY REV. AUSTIN DICKINSON.


The Bible requires us to "present our bodies a living sacrifice, holy
and acceptable unto God;" to "purify ourselves, even as he is pure;" to
"give no occasion of stumbling to any brother;" to "give no offence to
the church of God;" to "love our neighbor as ourselves;" to "do good to
all as we have opportunity;" to "abstain from all appearance of evil;"
to "use the world as not abusing it;" and, "whether we eat or drink, or
whatsoever we do, to do all to the glory of God."

A Being of infinite benevolence could not prescribe rules of action less
holy, and they are "the same that shall judge us in the last day." Any
indulgence, therefore, not consistent with these rules, is rebellion
against the great Lawgiver, and must disqualify us for "standing in the
judgment."

As honest men, then, let us try by these rules the common practice of
drinking or selling intoxicating liquor.

The use of such liquor, instead of enabling us to "present our bodies a
living sacrifice, holy and acceptable," _actually degrades, and
prematurely destroys both body and mind_. Dr. Rush, after enumerating
various loathsome diseases, adds, that these are "the usual, natural,
and legitimate consequences of its use." Another eminent physician says,
"The observation of twenty years has convinced me, that were ten young
men, on their twenty-first birthday, to begin to drink one glass of
ardent spirit, and were they to drink this supposed moderate quantity
daily, the lives of eight out of the ten would be abridged by ten or
fifteen years." When taken freely, its corrupting influences are
strikingly manifest. And even when taken moderately, very few now
pretend to doubt that it shortens life. But nothing can be clearer, than
that he who thus wilfully cuts short his probation five, ten, or twenty
years, is as truly a suicide, as if he slew himself violently. Or if he
knowingly encourage his neighbor to do this, he is equally guilty. He
is, by the law of God, "a murderer."

But besides prematurely destroying the body, alcoholic drink injures the
immortal mind. To illustrate the blinding and perverting influence of
even a small quantity of such liquor, let a strictly temperate man spend
an evening with a dozen others indulging themselves "moderately:" they
will be sure to say things which to him will appear foolish, if not
wicked; and which will appear so to _themselves_ on reflection; though
at the time they may not be conscious of any impropriety. And if this
"moderate indulgence" be habitual, there must, of course, be an
increased mental perversion; till conscience is "seared as with a hot
iron," and the mind is lost to the power of being affected by truth, as
well as to the capacity for usefulness. And is this destruction of the
talents God has given, consistent with the injunction to "glorify God in
body and spirit?"

Again, the habit of drinking _is incompatible with that eminent holiness
to which you are commanded to aspire_. The great Founder of Christianity
enjoins, "Be ye perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect." This
will be the true Christian's desire. And a soul aspiring to the image
and full enjoyment of God, will have no relish for any counteracting
influence.

Is it said, that for eminently holy men to "mingle strong drink" may be
inconsistent; but not so for those less spiritual? This is making the
want of spirituality an excuse for sensuality; thus adding sin to sin,
and only provoking the Most High. His mandate is universal: "Be ye holy,
for I am holy."

To this end you are charged to "abstain from fleshly lusts, which war
against the soul;" to "mortify your members, which are earthly;" to
"exercise yourselves rather unto godliness;" to "be kindly affectioned
towards all men." But who does not know that "strong drink," not only
"eats out the brain," but "taketh away the heart," diminishes "natural
affection," and deadens the moral sensibilities, while it cherishes
those very passions which the Holy Spirit condemns? And how can one
aspiring to the divine image, drink that which thus tends to destroy all
that is pure, spiritual, and lovely, while it kindles the very elements
of hell?

The use of such liquor _is utterly inconsistent with any thing like high
spiritual enjoyment, clear spiritual views, or true devotion_. A sense
of shame must inevitably torment the professor who in such a day cannot
resist those "fleshly lusts which war against the soul;" his brethren
will turn from him in pity or disgust; and, what is infinitely more
affecting, the Holy Spirit will not abide with him. Thus, without an
approving conscience, without cordial Christian intercourse, without the
smiles of the Comforter, how can he enjoy religion?

Abstinence from highly stimulating liquor or food has ever been regarded
indispensable to that serenity of soul and clearness of views so
infinitely desirable in matters of religion. Hence, the ministers of
religion especially, were commanded not to touch any thing like strong
drink when about to enter the sanctuary. Lev. 10:9. And _this_, it is
added, _shall be a statute for ever throughout your generations; that ye
may put difference between holy and unholy_; clearly showing God's
judgment of the effect of temperance on spiritual discernment.

On the principle of abstinence we may account, in part, for that holy
ecstasy, that amazing clearness of spiritual vision, sometimes enjoyed
on the deathbed. "Administer nothing," said the eloquent dying
Summerfield, "that will create a stupor, not even so much as a little
porter and water--_that I may have an unclouded view_." For the same
reason, Dr. Rush, who so well knew the effect of strong drink,
peremptorily ordered it not to be given him in his last hours. And it is
recorded, that the dying SAVIOUR, "who knew all things," when offered
"wine mingled with myrrh," "_received it not_." The truly wise will not
barter visions of glory for mere animal excitement and mental
stupefaction.

Equally illustrative of our principle is the confession of an aged
deacon, accustomed to drink moderately: "I always, in prayer, felt a
coldness and heaviness at heart--_never suspecting it was the whiskey_!
but since that is given up, I have _heavenly communion_!" O, what an
increase of pure light and joy might there be, would all understand
this, and be _temperate in all things_.

The use of such liquor _is inconsistent with the sacred order and
discipline of the church_. A venerable minister, of great experience,
gives it as the result of his observation, that _nine-tenths_ of all the
cases calling for church discipline have in former years been occasioned
by this liquor. This is a tremendous fact. But a little examination will
convince any one that the estimate is not too high. And can it be right
to continue an indulgence that brings tenfold, or even fourfold more
trouble and disgrace on the church than all other causes united? Do not
these foul "spots in your feasts of charity" clearly say, "Touch not the
unclean thing?" Can we countenance that which is certain to bring deep
reproach on the church of Christ? "It must needs be that offences come,
but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh."

The use of alcoholic liquor by the religious community _is inconsistent
with the hope of reforming and saving the intemperate_; and thus shows a
_want of love to souls_. The Christian knows, that _drunkards cannot
inherit eternal life_. He knows also, that hundreds of thousands now
sustain or are contracting this odious character; and that if the evil
be not arrested, millions more will come on in the same track, and go
down to the burning gulf. But the man who drinks just so much as to make
himself "feel well," cannot reprove the drunkard who only does the same
thing. The drunkard may say to him, "My appetite is stronger than yours;
more, therefore, is necessary, in order to make me '_feel well_;' and if
you cannot deny yourself, how can I control a more raging appetite?"
This rebuke would be unanswerable.

All agree that total abstinence is the only hope of the drunkard. But is
it not preposterous to expect him to abstain, if he sees the minister,
the elder, the deacon, and other respectable men indulging their cups?
With mind enfeebled and character lost, can he summon resolution to be
singular, and live more temperately than his acknowledged
superiors?--thus telling to all that _he has been a drunkard_! This
cannot be expected of poor sunken human nature. No; let moderate
drinking be generally allowed, and in less than thirty years, according
to the past ratio of their deaths, armies of drunkards greater than all
the American churches, will go from this land of light and freedom to
"everlasting chains of darkness." If, then, the drunkard is worth
saving, if he has a soul capable of shining with seraphim, and if you
have "any bowels of mercies," then give him the benefit of your example.
Professing to "do good to _all_ as you have opportunity," be consistent
in this matter. By a little self-denial you may save multitudes from
ruin. But if you cannot yield _a little_, to save fellow-sinners from
eternal pain, have you the spirit of Him who, for his enemies, exchanged
a throne for a cross?

Could all the wailings of the thousand thousands slain by this poison
come up in one loud thunder of remonstrance on your ear, you might then
think it wrong to sanction its use. But "let God be true," and those
wailings are as real as if heard in ceaseless thunders.

Again, the use of intoxicating drink _is inconsistent with true
Christian patriotism_. All former efforts to arrest the national sin of
intemperance have failed. A glorious effort is now making to remove it
with pure water. Thousands are rejoicing in the remedy. Not a sober man
in the nation really doubts its efficacy and importance. Who, then,
that regards our national character, can hesitate to adopt it?
Especially, who that is a Christian, can cling to that which has
darkened the pathway of heaven, threatened our liberties, desolated
families and neighborhoods, and stigmatized us as a "nation of
drunkards?"

Is it said, that the influence of a small temperance society, or church,
is unimportant? Not so; its light may save the surrounding region; its
example may influence a thousand churches. And let the thousand thousand
professing Christians in this land, with such others as they can enlist,
resolve on TOTAL ABSTINENCE--let this great example be held up to
view--and it would be such a testimony as the world has not yet seen.
Let such a multitude show, that these drinks are unnecessary, and
reformation easy, and the demonstration would be complete. Few of the
moral would continue the poison; thousands of the immoral abandon it at
once; and the nation be reformed.

The use of this liquor is _inconsistent with the proper influence of
Christian example_. The Saviour says, "Let your light so shine before
men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is
in heaven." But will men esteem Christians the more for _drinking_, and
thus be led to glorify God on their behalf? Or will the Saviour praise
them for this, "when he shall come to be glorified in his saints, and to
be admired in all them that believe?" Rather, will not their drinking
lead some to excess, and thus sully the Creator's work? Nay, is it not
certain, that if the religious community indulge, the example will lead
_millions_ to drunkenness and perdition? And, on the other hand, is it
not morally certain, that if they abstain, their combined influence will
save millions from infamy and ruin? How, then, in view of that day when
all the bearings of your conduct shall be judged, can you hesitate on
which side to give your influence? It is not a little matter; for who
can conceive the results of even _one_ impulse, among beings connected
with others by ten thousand strings!

The use of this liquor _is inconsistent with, that harmony and brotherly
love which Christ requires in his professed followers_. He requires
them to "love one another with a pure heart, fervently;" to "be all of
one mind;" to be "of one heart and one soul." But who does not see the
utter impossibility of this, if some continue an indulgence which others
regard with abhorrence? Since public attention has been turned to the
subject, thousands have come to the full conviction, that to use
intoxicating liquor is a sinful as well as foolish practice. The most
distinguished lights of the church, and such as peculiarly adorn human
nature, embrace this sentiment. And how can you associate with these,
and yet continue a habit viewed by them with disgust? Ah, the man,
however decent, who "will have his glass, _not caring_ whom he offends,"
_must have it_; but he must also "_have his reward_." "Whoso shall
_offend one of these little ones which believe in me_, it were better
for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck."

The use of intoxicating drink, in this day of light, _is incompatible
with the hope of receiving any general effusion of the Holy Spirit_.
Christians are allowed to hope for the Spirit to be poured out only in
answer to prayer--true, spiritual, believing prayer. "If they regard
iniquity in their heart, the Lord will not hear them." If they wilfully
cherish sin, they cannot have faith. Indeed, how odious the spectacle of
a company looking towards heaven, but in the posture of devotion
breathing forth the foul, fiery element--literally "offering strange
fire before the Lord!"

We are not, then, to expect divine influence to come down "like showers
that water the earth," till we put away that which we know tends only to
wither and consume all the "fruits of the Spirit."

The _waste of property_ in the use of alcoholic drink _is inconsistent
with faithful stewardship for Christ_. Religious "contributions" are
among the appointed means for saving the world. But allow each of the
tens of thousands of professing Christians in this land only three cents
worth of such liquor daily, and the annual cost is some MILLIONS OF
DOLLARS; which would be sufficient to support THOUSANDS OF MISSIONARIES.
Let "stewards" of the Lord's bounty, then, who would consume their
portion of this "_little_" on appetite, ponder and blush for such
inconsistency; and let them hasten to clear off the heavy charge, "_Ye
have robbed me, even this whole nation_."

Again, to indulge in intoxicating liquor _is inconsistent with attempts
to recommend the Gospel to the heathen_. Nothing has done more, in
former years, to prejudice our Indian neighbors, and hinder among them
the influence of the Gospel, than those liquors we have encouraged them
to use. Several tribes have set the noble example of excluding them by
the strong arm of law; and it is only by convincing such that really
consistent Christians do not encourage these evils, that our
missionaries have been able to gain their confidence.

The same feeling prevails in some distant heathen nations. They cannot
but distrust those who use and sell a polluting drink, which _they_, to
a great extent, regard with abhorrence.

Suppose our missionaries should meet the heathen with the Bible in one
hand, and the intoxicating cup in the other; what impression would they
make? Nature herself would revolt at the alliance. And nothing but
custom and fashion have reconciled any to similar inconsistencies at
home.

But not only must our missionaries be unspotted, they must be able to
testify, that _no real Christians_ encourage this or any unclean thing.
With _such_ testimony they might secure the conviction, that our
religion is indeed elevating, and that our God is _the true God_. For
saith Jehovah, "Then shall the _heathen_ know that I am the Lord, when I
shall be sanctified in you before their eyes."

Indulgence in this drink, especially by the church, _is inconsistent
with any reasonable hope that the flood of intemperance would not return
upon the land, even should it for a season be dried up_. The same causes
which have produced it would produce it again, unless there be some
_permanent_ counteracting influence. Temperance associations are
unspeakably important as means of reformation. But they are not
permanent bodies; their organization may cease when intemperance is once
done away; and unless the principle of TOTAL ABSTINENCE be generally
acknowledged and regarded as a Christian duty, by some great association
that _is to be perpetual_, it may in time be forgotten or despised; and
then drunkenness will again abound. Such an association is found only in
"the church of the living God." This will continue while the world
stands. Let the principle of ENTIRE ABSTINENCE, then, be recognized by
all members of the church, and such others as they can influence; and
you have a great multitude to sustain the temperance cause, "till time
shall be no longer." And can the real Christian, or patriot, think it
hard thus to enlist for the safety of all future generations? If parents
love their offspring, if Christians love the millions coming upon the
stage, will they not gladly secure them all from the destroyer? Has he a
shadow of consistency who will rather do that, which, if done by the
church generally, would lead millions to hopeless ruin?

The use of intoxicating drink, as an article of luxury or living, _is
inconsistent with the plain spirit and precepts of God's word_. The
proper use to be made of it, is so distinctly pointed out in Scripture,
that men need not mistake. It is to be used as a _medicine_ in _extreme
cases_. "Give strong drink unto him that is _ready to perish_." Its
common use is condemned as foolish and pernicious. "Strong drink is
raging; and whosoever is deceived thereby, is _not wise_." "They are out
of the way through strong drink; they err in vision; they stumble in
judgment." Such passages show clearly the mind of God with respect to
the nature and use of this article.

Moreover, it is said, "Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink." But
does not every man who sells or uses this liquor, as a beverage,
encourage his neighbor to drink, and thus contemn God's authority? Does
he not aggravate his guilt by sinning against great light? And would he
not aggravate it still further, should he charge the blame on the sacred
word? O, what a blot on the Bible, should one sentence be added,
_encouraging the common use of intoxicating liquor_! "If any man thus
add, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book."

To encourage the manufacture of such liquors _is to abuse the bounties
of Providence_. When God had formed man, he kindly said, "Behold, I have
given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the
earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding
seed; _to you it shall be for meat_." God, then, it seems, intended men
should use the fruits of the earth for _food_. But "they have sought out
many inventions." And one of these is, to convert these "gifts of God"
into a poison, most insidious in its nature, and destructive both to
soul and body. The distiller, the vender, and the consumer, encourage
one another in this perversion of God's gifts. And is this "receiving
his gifts with thanksgiving?" Better, infinitely better, to cast them at
once into the fire, and say unto the Almighty, "We have no need of
these." But the ingratitude does not stop here. When men, in abuse of
the divine bounty, have made this poison, to give it currency, they call
it one of the "_creatures of God_." With as much propriety might they
call gambling establishments and murderous weapons his "creatures." But
how awful the _impiety_ of thus ascribing the worst of man's inventions
to the benevolent God!

For a man to _persevere in making, selling, or using intoxicating
liquor, as an article of luxury or living_, WHILE FULLY KNOWING ITS
EFFECTS, _and possessing_ THE LIGHT PROVIDENCE HAS POURED ON THIS
SUBJECT, _is utterly inconsistent with any satisfactory evidence of
piety_. "By their fruits ye shall know them." And what are _his_ fruits.
Why, as we have seen, he wilfully cuts short his own life, or the life
of his neighbor; he wilfully impairs memory, judgment, imagination, all
the immortal faculties, merely for sensual indulgence or paltry gain; he
stupefies conscience, and cherishes all the evil passions; he prefers
sordid appetite to pure spiritual enjoyment; he is the occasion of
stumbling to those for whom Christ died, and of dark reproach on the
church; he neglects the only means Providence has pointed out for
saving millions from drunkenness and perdition; he wilfully encourages
their downward course; he refuses the aid he might give to a great
national reform; he lends his whole weight against this reformation; he
is the occasion of offence, grief, and discord among brethren; he
grieves the Holy Spirit; he robs the Lord's treasury; he makes
Christianity infamous in the eyes of the heathen; he disregards the
plain spirit of the Bible; and, in fine, he perverts even the common
bounties of Providence. Such are his fruits. And the man, surely, who
can do all this in meridian light, while God is looking on, and widows
and orphans are remonstrating, _does not give satisfactory evidence of
piety_. He shows neither respect for God nor love to man.

Let conscience now solemnly review this whole argument by the infinitely
holy law. Is it indeed right and scriptural to impair body and mind, to
defile the flesh, cloud the soul, stupefy conscience, and cherish the
worst passions? Is it right to bring occasions of stumbling into the
church? Is it right to encourage drunkards; right to treat with contempt
a great national reform? Is it right to offend such as Christ calls
"brethren;" right to grieve the Holy Spirit, and hinder his blessed
influence? Is it right to "consume on lust" what would fill the Lord's
treasury; and right to make religion odious to the heathen? Is it right
to leave the land exposed to new floods of intemperance; to disregard
the manifest lessons of God's word and providence; and to convert food
to poison? Is it indeed scriptural and right to sanction habits fraught
only with wounds, death, and perdition? Can _real Christians_, by
example, propagate such heresy?

Let it not be suggested that our argument bears chiefly against the
_excessive_ use of these liquors; for common observation and candor will
testify that the _moderate_ use of the poison is the real occasion of
all its woes and abominations. Who was ever induced to taste, by the
disgusting sight of a drunkard? Or wise ever became a drunkard, except
by moderate indulgence in the beginning? Indeed, this habit of moderate
drinking is, perhaps, tenfold _worse_ in its general influence on
society than occasional instances of drunkenness; for these excite
abhorrence and alarm, while moderate indulgence sanctions the general
use, and betrays millions to destruction. O never, since the first
temptation, did Satan gain such a victory, as when he induced Christians
to sanction everywhere the use of intoxicating liquor. And never, since
the triumph of Calvary, has he experienced such a defeat as they are now
summoned to accomplish. Let them unitedly pledge themselves against
strong drink, and by _diffusing light on this subject_, do as much to
expose as they have done to encourage this grand device of Satan, and
mighty rivers of death will soon be dried up.

In this work of LIGHT AND LOVE, then, be _generous_, "be sober, be
self-denying, be vigilant, be of one mind;" for the great adversary, "as
a roaring lion, walketh about." And possibly through apathy, or discord,
or treason among professed friends of temperance, "Satan may yet get an
advantage," and turn our fair morning into a heavier night of darkness,
and tempest, and war. But woe to that man who, in this day of light,
shall wilfully encourage the _exciting cause_ of such evils. And
heaviest woe to him who shall avail himself of a standing in the church
for this purpose. I hear for such a loud remonstrance from countless
millions yet unborn, and a louder still from the throne of eternal
Justice.

But "though we thus speak," we hope better things, especially from the
decided followers of the Lamb, of every name; "things which make for
peace, things wherewith one may edify another, and things which
accompany salvation" to a dying world.




FOUR REASONS
AGAINST THE
USE OF ALCOHOLIC LIQUORS.

BY JOHN GRIDLEY, M. D.


In presenting this subject, it shall be my aim to state and illustrate
such facts and principles as shall induce every man, woman, and child,
capable of contemplating truth and appreciating motive, to exert the
whole weight of their influence in favor of the "TEMPERANCE REFORM."
There are _Four Reasons_ which claim special attention.

The FIRST REASON we would urge, why the use of alcoholic liquors should
be altogether dispensed with, is their _immense cost_ to the consumers.
It is estimated from data as unerring as custom-house books, and the
declarations of the manufacturers of domestic distilled spirit, that
previous to 1826, 60,000,000 gallons of ardent spirit were annually
consumed in these United States; the average cost of which is moderately
stated at fifty cents per gallon, and in the aggregate _thirty millions_
of dollars.

_Thirty millions of dollars annually!_ A sum which, if spread out in one
dollar bank-notes, end to end, would reach _across the Atlantic_. Or, if
in silver dollars piled one upon the other, would form a column nearly
_thirty miles_ high; and which it would occupy a man twelve hours in
each day, for almost two years, to enumerate, allowing him to count one
every second. Or to suppose a useful application of this fund, it would
support annually from _two to three hundred thousand young men_ in
preparing for the Gospel ministry. In three years it is a sum more than
equal to the supply of a _Bible to every family on the habitable
globe_. One-half the amount would defray all the ordinary expenses
incident to the carrying on of our nation's governmental operations
every year. Thus I might multiply object upon object, which this vast
sum is adequate to accomplish, and carry the mind from comparison to
comparison in estimating its immense amount; still the cost, thus
considered as involving the _pecuniary_ resources of the country, is a
mere _item_ of the aggregate, when the loss of time, waste of
providential bounty, neglect of business, etc., incident to the
consumption of this one article, are thrown into the account.

A SECOND REASON why its use should be condemned is, the _entire
inadequacy of any property it possesses to impart the least benefit_,
either nutrient, or in any other way substantially to the consumer, to
say nothing just now of its never-failing injurious effects. _Alcohol_
consists chemically in a state of purity of carbon, oxygen, and
hydrogen; in the proportions of carbon about 52 parts, oxygen 34, and
hydrogen 14 to the 100. The addition of water forms the various proof
spirits. It can be generated in no way but by _fermentation_: no skill
of art has yet been able to combine the above elements in such
proportions, or relations, as to produce alcohol, except by heat and
moisture inciting fermentation in vegetable substances. But it should be
understood, that vegetables may undergo a certain degree of fermentation
without producing alcohol; or, if suffered to produce it, another stage
of fermentation will radically destroy it, and produce an acid. Thus,
any of the vegetable substances, as corn or rye, subjected to a certain
degree of heat and moisture, will soon suffer a decomposition, and a
development of sugar, to a greater or less degree, will take place. If
removed now from circumstances favorable to its farther fermentation, as
is the case with dough for bread, etc., no appreciable quantity of
alcohol is created. A _further_ degree of fermentation, however, is
generative of alcohol, and if arrested here, the alcohol maintains its
decided character; while still another stage presents the acetous state,
and the alcoholic property is lost in vinegar. As in our opinion,
success to the temperance cause depends much upon a right understanding
of _what alcohol is_, and the manner of its production, a more simple
illustration may not be inappropriate here.

A farmer takes a quantity of apples to the mill in order to convert them
into cider. He grinds, then lays them up into a cheese, when pressure is
applied, and the juice runs into a vat placed to receive it. Here, at
this stage of the business, there is no alcohol in the juice. It is now
put into casks, and the sweet or sugar stage of fermentation, which is
already begun, soon passes into the vinous or _alcoholic_ stage, as it
is called, and _alcohol_ is formed. The prudent farmer, at this point,
when the juice is done _working_, or fermenting, immediately bungs his
casks, and does such other things as his skill and experience may
suggest, to prevent his cider becoming sour, which it will do if the
third stage of fermentation is permitted to succeed. Here, then, he has
_perfect alcohol_, though in small proportions; as perfect as it is in
brandy, gin, rum, and whiskey. The same results ensue from subjecting
corn, rye, barley, etc., to such processes as is customary to prepare
them for distillation, namely, to such a degree of fermentation as that
alcohol is formed. And when the alcohol is formed by fermentation, then
it is drawn off, by distilling, from its union with the other materials
in the fermented mass. Alcohol, then, is strictly _the product of
fermentation_. It is not, and cannot be produced in any other way. To
distil, therefore, is only to lead it off from its union with the
vegetable mass, and show it naked with all its virulence.

Having considered the manner in which alcohol is formed, let us examine
some of its _properties_. It contains nothing that can afford any
nourishment to the body, and consequently it can impart no strength.
When taken in certain quantities, diluted with water, as it must be for
common use, its effect is, to arouse the energies of the system, and for
a while the individual _feels_ stronger; but this excitement is always
followed by depression and loss of animal and mental vigor. Thus it is
a mere provocative to momentary personal effort, without affording any
resources to direct or execute. Hence the fallacy of that doctrine held
by some, that to accomplish deeds of daring, feats of muscular strength,
etc., with success, demands the drinking of spirituous liquors. Were I
about to storm an enemy's battery, with no alternative before me but
victory or death, I might, principle aside, infuriate my men with the
maddening influence of ardent spirit, and let them loose upon the
charge, as I would a wounded elephant, or an enraged tiger. But in
attaining an object to which the combined energies of mind and body were
requisite, I should never think of the appropriateness of spirituous
liquor to aid the effort.

But an objector says, "I certainly _feel stronger_ upon drinking a glass
of spirit and water, and can do more work than I can without it. I can
swing a scythe with more nerve, or pitch a load of hay in less time; and
feel a general invigoration of my body during the heat of a summer's
day, after having drank a quantity of grog. How is this?" We reply,
doubtless you _feel_ for the moment all that you describe; but your
_feeling strength_ thus suddenly excited, is far from being proof that
you are _really_ any stronger. The opposite is the fact; which we infer
from the inadequacy of any substance, be it ever so nutritious, to
impart strength so suddenly, as it would _seem_ ardent spirit did when
drank; for there has not been sufficient time for digestion, through
which process only can any substantial nourishment be derived to the
body. The _apparent_ strength which an individual feels upon drinking
ardent spirit, is the same in kind, though not in degree, with that
which a man feels who has lain sick with a fever fifteen or twenty days,
during which time he has taken little food, and been subjected to the
weakening influence of medicines; but who on a sudden manifests great
strength, striving to rise from his bed, etc., and in his delirious
efforts must be restrained perhaps by force. Now no man in his senses
will call this any _real_ increase of strength in the sick man, who has
been starving thus long; but only a rallying of the powers of life under
the stimulus of disease, which is always followed by extreme languor and
debility, if not by death. So it is with the individual under the
influence of ardent spirit: he _feels_ the powers of his body excited
from the stimulus of the spirit; yet, as we think must be clear to the
apprehension of any one, without any addition of _actual_ strength.

Again, alcohol is not only innutritious, but is _poisonous_. Taken into
the stomach in an undiluted and _concentrated_ state, in quantities of
two or three teaspoonfulls, it destroys life, as clearly shown in
Accum's experiments. Combined with different proportions of water,
sugar, etc., it is modified in its effects. Most of the vegetable and
mineral poisons may be so diluted and modified as to be capable of
application to the bodies of men internally, without producing immediate
fatal consequences; which, nevertheless, cannot be used any length of
time, even thus disarmed, without producing pernicious effects. So it is
with alcohol: like other poisons, it cannot be used any length of time,
even diluted and modified, without proving pernicious to health, and if
persevered in, in considerable quantities, inevitably destructive to
life. This last sentiment, however, we will consider more particularly
under the

THIRD REASON for the disuse of alcohol: It _destroys both body and
soul_. It is estimated that _thirty or forty thousand_ died annually in
the United States from the intemperate use of ardent spirit before the
Temperance reformation began. Thirty or forty thousand! a sacrifice
seldom matched by war or pestilence. The blood which flowed from the
veins of our martyred countrymen, in the cause of freedom, never reached
this annual sacrifice. And the pestilential _cholera_, ruthless as it
is, which has marked its desolating track through many of our towns and
cities, numbers not an amount of victims like this plague, much as its
virulence has been enhanced by ardent spirit. The destructive influence
of immoderate drinking upon the bodily powers of men, is painfully
apparent, sometimes long before the fatal catastrophe. The face, the
speech, the eyes, the walk, the sleep, the breath, all proclaim the
drying up of the springs of life. And although abused nature will often
struggle, and struggle, and struggle, to maintain the balance of her
powers, and restore her wasted energies, she is compelled to yield at
length to suicidal violence.

The effect of the habitual use of ardent spirit upon the health, is much
greater than is generally supposed. An individual who is in the habit of
drinking spirits daily, although he may not fall under the character of
a drunkard, is undermining his constitution gradually, but certainly; as
a noble building, standing by the side of a small, unnoticed rivulet,
whose current steals along under its foundation, and carries away from
its support sand after sand, has its security certainly though
imperceptibly impaired, and finally falls into utter ruin. A large
proportion of the inmates of our madhouses are the victims of ardent
spirit. Our hospitals and poor-houses speak volumes of the ruin that
awaits the bodily powers of those who indulge in even moderate tippling.
It exposes the system to much greater ravages when disease attacks it.
The powers of nature are weakened, and less able to resist disease; and
medicines will never act so promptly and kindly upon those who are
accustomed to strong drink as upon those who are not.

But where is the _soul_, the disembodied spirit of a deceased drunkard?
"No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God," is the plain declaration
of sacred writ; and were there no such scriptural denunciation of the
wretched inebriate, the very nature of his case would render his
prospect dark and dismal. In the intervals of his cups, when his animal
powers are not goaded by artificial excitement, his distressed spirit
partakes of the horrible collapse of its polluted tenement, and can
contemplate no motive, however weighty, nor entertain any other thought,
be it ever so interesting, than how to relieve its present wretchedness.
When, then, can the unhappy man find peace with God amid this tumult of
his unbalanced faculties, this perturbation of his unholy passions? How
utterly unfitted to perform those duties which are requisite to secure a
blessed immortality?

Our FOURTH REASON for the disuse of alcoholic liquors is, that _any
thing short of entire abstinence exposes to all the dread consequences
just named_. Here is the grand hope of our cause. TOTAL ABSTINENCE
defies all danger and mocks at consequences. With it, we are safe;
without it, in peril.

No man was ever _born_ a drunkard; nor are we born with a natural taste
or thirst for alcoholic drinks, any more than we are born with an
appetite for aloes, assafoetida, or any other drug or medicine. And
the child when first taught to take it, is induced to do so only by
sweetening it, and thus rendering it palatable, as is the case with
other medicines. Neither is it, at any time, the taste or flavor of
alcohol, exclusively, that presents such charms for the use of it; but
in the effect upon the _stomach and nerves_ lie all the magic and
witchery of this destructive agent. In proof of this, watch the
trembling victim of strong drink while he pours down his morning or
mid-day dram, and see him retch and strangle like a sickened child at a
nauseous medicine. Ask him, too, and he will confess it is not the taste
for which he drinks. Intemperate drinking is ever the result of what has
been misnamed _temperate drinking_. "Taking a little" when we are too
cold, or too hot, or wet, or fatigued, or low-spirited, or have a pain
in the stomach, or to keep off fevers, or from politeness to a friend,
or not to appear singular in company, etc., etc., or as is sometimes
churlishly said, "when we have a mind to."

And here I shall step aside a little from the main argument, and attempt
to _explain_ the _effects_ which _temperate drinking_ has upon the
animal system; and how it leads to ruinous drunkenness, BY A LAW OF OUR
NATURES, certain and invariable. The nervous system, as I have said, is
that department of our bodies which suffers most from stimulants and
narcotics. Although the circulation of the blood is increased, and all
the animal spirits roused by alcoholic drink; still, the nerves are the
organs that must finally bear the brunt and evil of this undue
excitement. Thus we see in the man who has been overexcited by these
stimulants, a trembling hand, an infirm step, and impaired mental vigor.
The _excitability_ of our system--and by this term we mean that property
of our natures which distinguishes all living from dead matter--is acted
upon by stimuli, either external or internal; and it is by various
stimuli, applied properly, and in due proportion, that the various
functions of life are kept up. Thus a proper portion of food, and drink,
and heat, and exercise, serves to maintain that balance of action among
all the organs, which secures health to the individual. But if an agent
is applied to the system, exerting stimulant powers exceeding those that
are necessary for carrying on the vital functions steadily, an
excitement ensues which is always followed by a corresponding collapse.
This principle is clearly illustrated by the stimulus of alcohol. If a
person unaccustomed to its use receives into his stomach a given
quantity of distilled spirits, it will soon produce symptoms of
universal excitement. The pulse increases in frequency; the action of
all the animal functions is quickened; and even the soul, partaking of
the impulse of its fleshly tabernacle, is unduly aroused. But this is of
short duration, and a sinking, or collapse, proportioned to the
excitement, soon takes place, with a derangement, more or less, of all
the organs of the body. The stimulus repeated, the same effect ensues.
We must, however, notice that the same quantity of any unnatural
stimulus, such as opium, spirit, etc., frequently repeated, fails to
produce its specific effect. Hence, in order to secure the same effect,
it is necessary to increase its quantity. Thus, to a person indulging in
the frequent or stated practice of drinking, before he is aware, the
repetition becomes pleasant. As the accustomed hour returns for his
dram, he regularly remembers it; again and again he drinks; the desire
increases; he makes himself believe it is necessary from the very fact
that he desires it; the principle, or law, of which we have been
speaking, developes itself; an increased quantity becomes necessary to
insure a feeling of gratification; more, and still more becomes
necessary, and oftener repeated, until without it he is miserable; his
overexcited system is wretched, soul and body, without _the constant
strain_ which the stimulus affords.

Here is a solution of the fact that has astonished thousands; how the
unhappy drunkard, with all the certain consequences of his course
staring him in the face, and amid the entreaties and arguments of
distressed friends, and the solemn denunciations of holy writ sounding
in his ears, and the sure prospect of an untimely grave, will still
press on, and hold the destroyer still firmer to his lips. It is because
nature shrieks at every pore, if I may be allowed the expression. Every
nerve, every vein, every fibre pines, and groans, and aches for its
accustomed stimulus. No substitute will do; no ransom can purchase
relief; insatiate as the grave, every fibre cries, Give, give! The
dictates of reason are drowned in the clamor of the senses. Thus the
_temperate drinker, by persisting in the practice_, throws himself
within the influence of _a law of his system_, of which he can no more
control the development, nor resist the urgency, than he can that law
which circulates the blood through his heart, or any other law peculiar
to animal life. That law is the LAW OF STIMULATION, which is never
unduly aroused, except by sinful indulgences; but when aroused, is
dreadfully urgent. We will state a case strikingly exemplifying the
influence of this law.

A gentleman, an acquaintance and friend of the writer, contracted the
habit of drinking during his college course. He settled in the practice
of the law in one of the villages of his native state. He soon became
invested with offices of honor and profit, and although young, gave
promise of shining brilliantly in the profession he had chosen. He was
the pride of a large and respectable family, who witnessed his growing
prospects with that satisfaction and delight which the prosperity of a
beloved son and brother cannot fail to impart. In the midst of these
circumstances the physician was one day called in haste to see him. He
had fallen into a fit. His manly form lay stretched upon the carpet,
while his features were distorted and purpled from the agony of the
convulsions. After some days, however, he recovered, without having
sustained any permanent injury. Being in company with his physician
alone, soon after, he said to him, "I suspect, sir, you do not know the
cause of my fit; and as I may have a return of it, when you will
probably be called, I think it proper that you should be made acquainted
with my habits of life." He then informed his physician, that for a
number of years previous he had been in the daily use of ardent spirit,
that the practice had grown upon him ever since he left college, and
that he was conscious it injured him. However, it was not known even to
his own family what quantity he used. His physician did not hesitate to
inform him of the extreme danger to his life in persisting in the use of
intoxicating drinks. He acknowledged his perfect conviction of the truth
of all that was said, and resolved to abandon his wicked course.

Not many weeks after, he was seized with another fit; but owing to the
absence of the family physician, he did not see him until some time
after he had come out of it. The physician, however, who attended,
informed him it was violent. After repeated assurances of his increasing
danger, and the remonstrances of friends, who had now begun to learn the
real cause of his fits, he renewed his promises and determination to
reform, and entered upon a course of total abstinence, which he
maintained for several months, and inspired many of his friends with
pleasing hopes of his entire reform and the reestablishment of his
health. But, alas, in an unguarded moment, he dared to taste again the
forbidden cup, and with this fled all his resolutions and restraints.
From that time he drank more openly and freely. His fits returned with
painful violence; friends remonstrated, entreated, pleaded, but all in
vain. He thus continued his course of intemperance, with intervals of
fits and sickness, about eight or ten months, and at length died
_drunk_ in his bed, where he had lain for two or three weeks in a
continual state of intoxication.

The writer has stated this case in detail, to show the influence of _the
law of stimulation_, or what in popular language is termed, "the
appetite for spirituous liquors," when once it is awakened.

Here we have the instance of an individual, of a fine and cultivated
intellect, with every thing on earth to render him happy, that could be
comprised in wealth, friends, honor, and bright prospects. Ay, indeed,
too, he professed an interest in the blood of the Saviour, and had
communed with Christians at his table; surrounded by those whom he
tenderly loved, the wife of his bosom, and the dear pledges of her
devotion. Yet, in spite of all these considerations, and the most
sensible conviction of his fatal career, he continued to drink, and thus
pressed downward to the gate of death and hell.

Now what was this? What giant's arm dragged this fair victim to an
untimely grave? Was it for the want of motives and obligations to pursue
an opposite course? No. Was it for the want of intellect and talents to
appreciate those obligations? No. Was it trouble, arising from
disappointed hopes and blasted prospects? Certainly, by those who knew
him best, he was accounted a man who might have been happy. What was it,
then, that urged this individual, with his eyes open upon the
consequences, and in the face of every thing most dear, thus to
sacrifice his _all_ upon the altar of intemperance? It _was that law_ of
which we have spoken, enkindled into action by his tippling, and which
once developed, he could no more control, _while persisting in his
pernicious practice of drinking_, than he could have hurled the Andes
from their base, or have plucked the moon from her orbit.

We say, then, that all persons who drink ardent spirit habitually, bring
themselves inevitably under the influence of a law _peculiar to their
natures_, which leads on to ruin. Instances may indeed have occurred,
in which individuals have used ardent spirit daily for a long course of
years, and yet died without becoming drunkards; but it only proves that
these have been constitutions that could _resist_ the _speedy
development_ of the law in question. Where one individual is found with
a constitution vigorous enough to resist the development of this law
through a life of habitual drinking, thousands go down to a drunkard's
grave, and a drunkard's retribution, from only a few years' indulgence.

We have thus briefly shown the _immense cost_ of the use of alcoholic
liquors. We have shown that they contain _no property that can impart
substantial strength or nourishment_ to the body; and that they are
actually a POISON. We have shown that they _destroy_ both _body_ and
_soul_; clouding the view of truth, and resisting the influences of the
Holy Spirit. "No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God." We have
shown that the _temperate use_ of these liquors tends inevitably to the
_intemperate use_; since those who drink them habitually, throw
themselves within the influence of a _law of their natures_, which leads
on directly to ruin.

In view of such considerations and such facts, who is so degraded, so
enslaved to appetite, or the love of gain, that he will not lend his aid
to the TEMPERANCE REFORM? Who will indulge in what he calls the
temperate use, flattering himself that he can control his appetite, when
thousands, who have boasted of _self-control_, have found themselves,
ere they were aware, within the coil of a serpent whose touch is poison,
and whose sting is death? O, who that regards his neighbor, his family,
his own reputation, or his own soul, will in this day of light be found
dallying with that which affords at best only _sensual_ pleasure, and
which _at the last biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder_?




DEBATES OF CONSCIENCE WITH
A DISTILLER, A WHOLESALE DEALER,
AND A RETAILER.

BY HEMAN HUMPHREY, D. D. PRESIDENT OF AMHERST COLLEGE.


DIALOGUE I.

AT THE DISTILLERY.--FIRST INTERVIEW.

DISTILLER. Good morning, Mr. Conscience; though I know you to be one of
the earliest risers, especially of late, I hardly expected to meet you
here at day-dawn.

CONSCIENCE. I am none too early, it seems, to find you at your vocation.
But how are you going to dispose of this great black building?

DISTILLER. Why, I do not understand you.

CONSCIENCE. What are you doing with these boiling craters, and that
hideous worm there?

DISTILLER. Pray explain yourself.

CONSCIENCE. Whose grain is that? and what is bread called in the Bible?

DISTILLER. More enigmatical still.

CONSCIENCE. To what market do you mean to send that long row of casks?
and how many of them will it take, upon an average, to dig a drunkard's
grave?

DISTILLER. Ah, I understand you now. I was hoping that I had quieted you
on that score. But I perceive you have come upon the old errand. You
intend to read me another lecture upon the sixth commandment. But what
would you have me do?

CONSCIENCE. Put out these fires.

DISTILLER. Nay, but hear me. I entered into this business with your
approbation. The neighbors all encouraged me. My brethren in the church
said it would open a fine market for their rye, and corn, and cider; and
even my minister, happening to come along when we were raising, took a
little with us under the shade, and said he loved to see his people
industrious and enterprising.

CONSCIENCE. "The times of this ignorance God winked at--but now
commandeth all men everywhere to repent." In one part of your defence,
at least, you are incorrect. It was not my _voice_, but my _silence_, if
any thing, which gave consent; and I have always suspected there was
some foul play in the matter, and that I was kept quiet for the time by
certain deleterious opiates. Indeed, I distinctly recollect the morning
bitters and evening toddy, which you were accustomed to give me; and
though I thought but little of it then, I now see that it deadened all
my sensibilities. This, I am aware, is no excuse. I ought to have
resisted--I ought to have refused, and to have paralyzed the hand which
put the cup to my lips. And when you struck the first stroke on this
ground, I ought to have warned you off with the voice of seven thunders.
That I did not then speak out, and do my duty, will cause me extreme
regret and self-reproach to the latest hour of my life.

DISTILLER. But what, my dear Conscience, has made you all at once so
much wiser, not only than your former self, but than hundreds of
enlightened men in every community, whose piety was never doubted? I
myself know, and have heard of not a few good Christians, including even
deacons and elders, who still continue to manufacture ardent spirit, and
think, or seem to think it right.

CONSCIENCE. And think it right! Ask their consciences. I should like to
witness some of those interviews which take place in the night, and
which make Christian distillers--(what a solecism!)--so much more
irritable than they used to be. I know one of the brotherhood, at least,
whose conscience has been goading him these five years, and yet he
perseveres.

DISTILLER. But if I stop, what will the people do? Half the farmers in
town depend upon their rye and cider to pay their taxes, and even to
support the Gospel.

CONSCIENCE. So, then, you are pouring out these streams of liquid death
over the land, and burning up your own neighbors, to enable them to pay
their taxes and support religion! Why don't you set up a coffin factory,
to create a brisker demand for lumber, and so help the farmers to pay
their taxes; and then spread the smallpox among the people, that they
may die the faster, and thus increase your business, and give you a fair
profit? It will not do. I tell you, that I can give you no peace till
you put out these fires and destroy that worm.

DISTILLER. How can I? Here is all my living, especially since, as you
know, my eldest son fell into bad habits, in spite of all the good
advice I daily gave him, and squandered what might have afforded me a
comfortable independence.

CONSCIENCE. Suppose you were now in Brazil, and the owner of a large
establishment to fit out slave-traders with handcuffs for the coast of
Africa, and could not change your business without considerable
pecuniary sacrifice; would you make the sacrifice, or would you keep
your fires and hammers still going?

DISTILLER. Why do you ask such puzzling questions? You know I don't like
them at all, especially when my mind is occupied with other subjects.
Leave me, at least till I can compose myself, I beseech you.

CONSCIENCE. Nay, but hear me through. Is it right for you to go on
manufacturing fevers, dropsy, consumption, delirium tremens, and a host
of other frightful diseases, because your property happens to be vested
in a distillery? Is it consistent with the great law of love by which
you profess to be governed? Will it bear examination in a dying hour?
Shall I bid you look back upon it from the brink of eternity, that you
may from such recollections gather holy courage for your pending
conflict with the king of terrors? Will you bequeath this magazine of
wrath and perdition to your only son not already ruined, and go out of
the world rejoicing that you can leave the whole concern in the hands of
one who is so trustworthy and so dear?

[Here the Distiller leaves abruptly, without answering a word.]


SECOND INTERVIEW.

DISTILLER. (Seeing Conscience approach, and beginning to tremble.) What,
so soon and so early at your post again? I did hope for a short respite.

CONSCIENCE. O, I am distressed--I cannot hold my peace. I am pained at
my very heart.

DISTILLER. Do be composed, I beseech you, and hear what I have to say.
Since our last interview I have resolved to sell out, and I expect the
purchaser on in a very few days.

CONSCIENCE. What will _he_ do with the establishment when he gets it?

DISTILLER. You must ask him, and not me. But whatever he may do with it,
_I_ shall be clear.

CONSCIENCE. I wish I could be sure of that; but let us see. Though you
will not make poison by the hundred barrels any longer yourself, you
will sell this laboratory of death to another man, for the same horrid
purpose. You will not, with your own hands, go on forging daggers for
maniacs to use upon themselves and their friends, provided you can get
some one to take your business at a fair price. You will no longer drag
the car of Juggernaut over the bodies of prostrate devotees, if you can
_sell out the privilege to good advantage_!

DISTILLER. Was ever any man's conscience so captious before? You seem
determined not to be satisfied with any thing. But beware; by pushing
matters in this way you will produce a violent "reaction." Even
professors of religion will not bear it. For myself, I wish to treat you
with all possible respect; but forbearance itself must have its limits.

CONSCIENCE. Possibly you may be able to hold me in check a little
longer; but I am all the while gathering strength for an onset which you
cannot withstand; and if you cannot bear these kind remonstrances now,
how will you grapple with "the worm that never dies?"

DISTILLER. Enough, enough. I will obey your voice. But why so pale and
deathlike?

CONSCIENCE. O, I am sick, I am almost suffocated. These tartarean fumes,
these dreadful forebodings, these heart-rending sights, and above all,
my horrid dreams, I cannot endure them. There comes our nearest
neighbor, stealing across the lots, with his jug and half bushel of rye.
What is his errand, and where is his hungry, shivering family? And see
there too, that tattered, half-starved boy, just entering the yard with
a bottle--who sent him here at this early hour? All these barrels--where
are the wretched beings who are to consume this liquid fire, and to be
consumed by it?

DISTILLER. Spare me, spare me, I beseech you. By going on at this rate a
little longer you will make me as nervous as yourself.

CONSCIENCE. But I cannot close this interview till I have related one of
the dreams to which I just alluded. It was only last night that I
suffered in this way, more than tongue can tell. The whole terrific
vision is written in letters of fire upon the tablet of my memory; and I
feel it all the while burning deeper and deeper.

I thought I stood by a great river of melted lava, and while I was
wondering from what mountain or vast abyss it came, suddenly the field
of my vision was extended to the distance of several hundred miles, and
I perceived that, instead of springing from a single source, this
rolling torrent of fire was fed by numerous tributary streams, and these
again by smaller rivulets. And what do you think I heard and beheld, as
I stood petrified with astonishment and horror? There were hundreds of
poor wretches struggling and just sinking in the merciless flood. As I
contemplated the scene still more attentively, the confused noise of
boisterous and profane merriment, mingled with loud shrieks of despair,
saluted my ears. The hair of my head stood up--and looking this way and
that way, I beheld crowds of men, women, and children, thronging down to
the very margin of the river--some eagerly bowing down to slake their
thirst with the consuming liquid, and others convulsively striving to
hold them back. Some I saw actually pushing their neighbors headlong
from the treacherous bank, and others encouraging them to plunge in, by
holding up the fiery temptation to their view. To insure a sufficient
depth of the river, so that destruction might be made doubly sure, I saw
a great number of men, and some whom I knew to be members of the church,
laboriously turning their respective contributions of the glowing and
hissing liquid into the main channel. This was more than I could bear. I
was in perfect torture. But when I expostulated with those who were
nearest to the place where I stood, they coolly answered, _This is the
way in which we get our living!_

But what shocked me more than all the rest, and curdled every drop of
blood in my veins, was the sight which I had of this very distillery
pouring out its tributary stream of fire! And O, it distracts, it
maddens me to think of it. There you yourself stood feeding the torrent
which had already swallowed up some of your own family, and threatened
every moment to sweep you away! This last circumstance brought me from
the bed, by one convulsive bound, into the middle of the room; and I
awoke in an agony which I verily believe I could not have sustained for
another moment.

DISTILLER. I will feed the torrent no longer. The fires of my distillery
shall be put out. From this day, from this hour, I renounce the
manufacture of ardent spirit for ever.


DIALOGUE II.

WHOLESALE DEALER'S COUNTING-ROOM.

CONSCIENCE. (Looking over the ledger with a serious air.) What is that
last invoice from the West Indies?

RUM-DEALER. Only a few casks of fourth proof, for particular customers.

CONSCIENCE. And that domestic poison, via New Orleans; and on the next
page, that large consignment, via Erie Canal?

DEALER. O, nothing but two small lots of prime whiskey, such as we have
been selling these twenty years. But why these chiding inquiries? They
disquiet me exceedingly. And to tell you the plain truth, I am more than
half offended at this morbid inquisitiveness.

CONSCIENCE. Ah, I am afraid, as I have often told you, that this is a
bad business; and the more I think of it, the more it troubles me.

DEALER. Why so? You are always preaching up industry as a Christian
virtue, and my word for it, were I to neglect my business, and saunter
about the hotels and steamboat wharves, as some do, you would fall into
convulsions, as if I had committed the unpardonable sin.

CONSCIENCE. Such pettish quibbling is utterly unworthy of your good
sense and ordinary candor. You know, as well as I do, the great
difference between industry in some safe and honest calling, and driving
a business which carries poverty and ruin to thousands of families.

DEALER. _Honest_ industry! This is more cruel still. You have known me
too long to throw out such insinuations; and besides, it is notorious,
that some of the first merchants in our city are engaged, far more
extensively, in the same traffic.

CONSCIENCE. Be it so. "To their own Master they stand or fall." But if
fair dealing consists in "doing as we would be done by," how can a man
of your established mercantile and Christian reputation sustain himself,
if he continues to deal in an article which he knows to be more
destructive than all the plagues of Egypt?

DEALER. Do you intend, then, to make me answerable for all the mischief
that is done by ardent spirit, in the whole state and nation? What I
sell is a mere drop of the bucket, compared with the consumption of a
single county. Where is the proof that the little which my respectable
customers carry into the country, with their other groceries, ever does
any harm? How do you know that it helps to make such a frightful host of
drunkards and vagabonds? And if it did, whose fault would it be? I never
gave nor sold a glass of whiskey to a tippler in my life. Let those who
will drink to excess, and make brutes of themselves, answer for it.

CONSCIENCE. Yes, certainly _they_ must answer for it; but will that
excuse those who furnish the poison? Did you never hear of abettors and
accessaries, as well as principals in crime? When Judas, in all the
agony of remorse and despair, threw down the thirty pieces of silver
before the chief priests and elders, exclaiming, _I have sinned, in that
I have betrayed the innocent blood_--they coolly answered, _What is that
to us? See thou to that._ And was it therefore nothing to them? Had
they no hand in that cruel tragedy? Was it nothing to Pilate--nothing to
Herod--nothing to the multitude who were consenting to the crucifixion
of the Son of God--because they did not drive the nails and thrust the
spear?

O, when I think of what you are doing to destroy the bodies and souls of
men, I cannot rest. It terrifies me at all hours of the night. Often and
often, when I am just losing myself in sleep, I am startled by the most
frightful groans and unearthly imprecations, coming out of these
hogsheads. And then, those long processions of rough-made coffins and
beggared families, which I dream of, from nightfall till daybreak, they
keep me all the while in a cold sweat, and I can no longer endure them.

DEALER. Neither can I. Something must be done. You have been out of your
head more than half the time for this six months. I have tried all the
ordinary remedies upon you without the least effect. Indeed, every new
remedy seems only to aggravate the disease. O, what would not I give for
the discovery of some anodyne which would lay these horrible phantasms.
The case would be infinitely less trying, if I could sometimes persuade
you, for a night or two, to let me occupy a different apartment from
yourself; for when your spasms come on, one might as well try to sleep
with embers in his bosom, as where you are.

CONSCIENCE. Would it mend the matter at all, if, instead of sometimes
dreaming, I were to be always wide awake?

DEALER. Ah, there's the grand difficulty. For I find that when you do
wake up, you are more troublesome than ever. _Then_ you are always
harping upon my being a professor of religion, and bringing up some text
of Scripture, which might as well be let alone, and which you would not
ring in my ears, if you had any regard to my peace, or even your own.
More than fifty times, within a month, have you quoted, "_By their
fruits ye shall know them._" In fact, so uncharitable have you grown of
late, that from the drift of some of your admonitions, a stranger would
think me but little, if any, better than a murderer. And all because
some vagabond or other may possibly happen to shorten his days by
drinking a little of the identical spirit which passes through my hands.

CONSCIENCE. You do me bare justice when you say that I have often
reproved you, and more earnestly of late than I formerly did. But my
remonstrances have always been between you and me alone. If I have
charged you with the guilt of hurrying men to the grave and to hell, by
this vile traffic, it has not been upon the house-top. I cannot, it is
true, help knowing how it grieves your brethren, gratifies the enemies
of religion, and excites the scorn of drunkards themselves, to see your
wharf covered with the fiery element; but I speak only in your own ear.
To yourself I have wished to prove a faithful monitor, though I have sad
misgivings, at times, even with regard to that. You will bear me
witness, however, that I have sometimes trembled exceedingly, for fear
that I should be compelled, at last, to carry the matter up by
indictment to the tribunal of Eternal Justice.

To avoid this dreadful necessity, let me once more reason the case with
you in few words. You know perfectly well, that ardent spirit kills its
tens of thousands in the United States every year; and there is no more
room to doubt that many of these lives are destroyed by the very liquor
which you sell, than if you saw them staggering under it into the
drunkard's grave. How then can you possibly throw off bloodguiltiness,
with the light which you now enjoy? In faithfulness to your soul, and to
Him whose vicegerent I am, I cannot say less than this, especially if
you persist any longer in the horrible traffic?

DEALER. Pardon me, my dear Conscience, if, under the excitement of the
moment, I complained of your honest and continued importunity. Be
assured, there is no friend in the world, with whom I am so desirous of
maintaining a good understanding as with yourself. And for your relief
and satisfaction, I now give you my solemn pledge, that I will close up
this branch of my business as soon as possible. Indeed, I have commenced
the process already. My last consignments are less, by more than one
half, than were those of the preceding year; and I intend that, when
another year comes about, my books shall speak still more decidedly in
my favor.

CONSCIENCE. These resolutions would be perfectly satisfactory, if they
were in the _present tense_. But if it was wrong to sell five hundred
casks last year, how can it be right to sell two hundred this year, and
one hundred next? If it is criminal to poison forty men at one time, how
can it be innocent to poison twenty at another? If you may not throw a
hundred firebrands into the city, how will you prove that you may throw
one?

DEALER. Very true, very true--but let us wave this point for the
present. It affects me very strangely.

CONSCIENCE. How long, then, will it take to dry up this fountain of
death?

DEALER. Don't call it so, I beseech you; but I intend to be entirely out
of the business in two or three years, at farthest.

CONSCIENCE. Two or three years! Can you, then, after all that has passed
between us, persist two or three years longer in a contraband traffic? I
verily thought, that when we had that long conference two or three
months ago, you resolved to close the concern at once; and that, when we
parted, I had as good as your promise, that you would. Surely, you
cannot so soon have forgotten it.

DEALER. No, I remember that interview but too well; for I was never so
unhappy in my life. I did almost resolve, and more than half promise,
as you say. But after I had time to get a little composed, I thought you
had pushed matters rather too far; and that I could convince you of it,
at a proper time. I see, however, that the attempt would be fruitless.
But as I am anxious for a compromise, let me ask whether, if I give away
all the profits of this branch of my business to the Bible Society, and
other religious institutions, till I can close it up, you will not be
satisfied?

CONSCIENCE. Let me see. Five hundred dollars, or one hundred dollars,
earned to promote the cause of religion by selling poison! By killing
husbands, and fathers, and brothers, and torturing poor women and
children! It smells of blood--and can God possibly accept of such an
offering?

DEALER. So then, it seems, I must stop the sale at once, or entirely
forfeit what little charity you have left.

CONSCIENCE. You must. Delay is death--death to the consumer at least;
and how can you flatter yourself that it will not prove your own eternal
death? My convictions are decisive, and be assured, I deal thus plainly
because I love you, and cannot bear to become your everlasting
tormentor.


DIALOGUE III.

AT THE RETAILER'S STAND.

CONSCIENCE. Do you know that little half-starved, bare-footed child,
that you just sent home with two quarts of rank poison?

(Retailer hums a tune to himself, and affects not to hear the question.)

CONSCIENCE. I see by the paper of this morning, that the furniture of
Mr. M---- is to be sold under the hammer to-morrow. Have I not often
seen him in your taproom?

RETAILER. I am extremely busy just now, in bringing up our ledger.

CONSCIENCE. Have you heard how N---- abused his family, and turned them
all into the street the other night, after being supplied by you with
whiskey?

RETAILER. He is a _brute_, and ought to be confined in a dungeon six
months at least, upon bread and water.

CONSCIENCE. Was not S----, who hung himself lately, one of your steady
customers? and where do you think his soul is now fixed for eternity?
You sold him rum that evening, not ten minutes before you went to the
prayer-meeting, and had his money in your pocket--for you would not
trust him--when you led in the exercises. I heard you ask him once, why
he did not attend meeting, and send his children to the Sabbath-school;
and I shall never forget his answer. "Come, you talk like a minister;
but, after all, we are about of one mind--at least in some things. Let
me have my jug and be going."

RETAILER. I know he was an impudent, hardened wretch; and though his
death was extremely shocking, I am glad to be rid of him.

CONSCIENCE. Are you ready to meet him at the bar of God, and to say to
the Judge, "He was my neighbor--I saw him going down the broad way, and
I did every thing that a Christian could do to save him?"

RETAILER. (Aside. O that I could stifle the upbraidings of this cruel
monitor.) You keep me in constant torment. This everlasting cant about
_rank poison, and liquid fire, and blood, and murder_, is too much for
even a Christian to put up with. Why, if any body but Conscience were to
make such insinuations and charges, he would be indictable as a foul
slanderer, before a court of justice.

CONSCIENCE. Is it _slander_, or is it _because I tell you the truth_,
that your temper is so deeply ruffled under my remonstrances? Suppose I
were to hold my peace, while your hands are becoming more and more
deeply crimsoned with this bloody traffic. What would you say to me,
when you come to meet that poor boy who just went out, and his drunken
father, and broken-hearted mother, at the bar of God? Would you thank
your conscience for having let you alone while there was space left for
repentance?

RETAILER. Ah, had honest trader ever _such_ a conscience to deal with
before? Always just so uncompromising--always talking about the "golden
rule"--always insisting upon a moral standard which nobody can live up
to--always scenting poverty, murder, and suicide, in every glass of
whiskey, though it were a mile off. The truth is, you are not fit to
live in this world at all. Acting in conformity with your more than
puritanical rules, would starve any man and his family to death.

CONSCIENCE. Well, here comes another customer--see the carbuncles! Will
you fill his bottle with wrath, to be poured out without mixture, by and
by, upon your own head? Do you not know that his pious wife is extremely
ill, and suffering for want of every comfort, in their miserable cabin?

RETAILER. No, Mr. E----, go home and take care of your family. I am
determined to harbor no more drunkards here.

CONSCIENCE. You mean to make a distinction then, do you, between
harboring those who are already ruined, and helping to destroy such as
are now respectable members of society. You will not hereafter tolerate
a single _drunkard_ on your premises; but--

RETAILER. Ah, I see what you are aiming at; and really, it is too much
for any honest man, and still more for any Christian to bear. You know
it is a long time since I have pretended to answer half your captious
questions. There's no use in it. It only leads on to others still more
impertinent and puzzling. If I am the hundredth part of that factor of
Satan which you would make me, I ought to be dealt with, and cast out
of the church at once; and why don't my good brethren see to it?

CONSCIENCE. That's a hard question, which they, perhaps, better know how
to answer than I do.

RETAILER. But have you forgotten, my good Conscience, that in retailing
spirit, I am under the immediate eye and sanction of the laws. Mine is
no contraband traffic, as you very well know. I hold a license from the
rulers and fathers of the state, and have paid my money for it into the
public treasury. Why do they continue to grant and sell licenses, if it
is wrong for me to sell rum?

CONSCIENCE. Another hard question, which I leave them to answer as best
they can. It is said, however, that public bodies have no soul, and if
they have no soul, it is difficult to see how they can have any
conscience; and if not, what should hinder them from selling licenses?
But suppose the civil authorities should offer to sell you a license to
keep a gambling-house, or a brothel, would you purchase such a license,
and present it as a salvo to your conscience?

RETAILER. I tell you once more, there is no use in trying to answer your
questions; for say what I will, you have the art of turning every thing
against me. It was not always so, as you must very distinctly remember.
Formerly I could retail hogshead after hogshead of all kinds of spirits,
and you slept as quietly as a child. But since you began to read these
Reports and Tracts about drinking, and to attend Temperance meetings, I
have scarcely had an hour's peace of my life. I feared that something
like this would be the effect upon your nervous temperament, when you
began; and you may recollect that I strongly objected to your troubling
yourself with these new speculations. It now grieves me to think that I
ever yielded to your importunity; and beware that you do not push me to
extremities in this matter, for I have about come to the resolution
that I will have no more of these mischievous pamphlets, either about
my store or tavern; and that your temperance agents may declaim to the
winds and walls, if they please.

CONSCIENCE. I am amazed at your blindness and obstinacy. It is now from
three to five years since I began to speak--though in a kind of
indistinct undertone at first--against this bloody traffic. I have
reasoned, I have remonstrated, and latterly I have threatened and
implored with increasing earnestness. At times you have listened, and
been convinced that the course which you are pursuing, in this day of
light, is infamous, and utterly inconsistent with a Christian
profession; but before your convictions and resolutions have time to
ripen into action, the love of _money_ regains its ascendency: and thus
have you gone on _resolving, and relapsing, and re-resolving_--one hour
at the preparatory lecture, and the next unloading whiskey at your door;
one moment mourning over the prevalence of intemperance, and the next
arranging your decanters to entice the simple; one day partaking of the
cup of the Lord at his table, and the next offering the cup of devils to
your neighbors; one day singing,

    "All that I have, and all I am,
    I consecrate to Thee,"

and the next, _for the sake of a little gain_, sacrificing your
character, and polluting all you can induce to drink! O, how can I hold
my peace? How can I let you alone? If you will persist, your blood, and
the blood of those whom you thus entice and destroy, be upon your own
head. Whether you will hear, or whether you will forbear, I shall not
cease to remonstrate; and when I can do no more to reclaim you, I will
sit down at your gate, in the bitterness of despair, and cry, _Murder!_
Murder!! MURDER!!!

RETAILER. (Pale and trembling.) "Go thy way for this time; when I have a
convenient season, I will call for thee."




BARNES
ON THE
TRAFFIC IN ARDENT SPIRITS.


There are some great principles in regard to _our_ country, which are
settled, and which are never to be violated, so long as our liberties
are safe. Among them are these: that every thing may be subjected to
candid and most free discussion; that public opinion, enlightened and
correct, may be turned against any course of evil conduct; that that
public opinion is, under God, the prime source of security to our laws
and to our morals; and that men may be induced, by an ample and liberal
discussion, and by the voice of conscience and of reason, to abandon any
course that is erroneous. We are to presume that we may approach any
class of American citizens with the conviction that if they are
_convinced_ that they are wrong, and that their course of life leads to
sap the foundation of morals and the liberties of their country, they
will abandon it.

Our present proposition is, that THE MANUFACTURING AND VENDING OF ARDENT
SPIRITS IS MORALLY WRONG, AND OUGHT TO BE FORTHWITH ABANDONED.

We _mean by the proposition_, that it is an employment which _violates
the rules of morals that ought to regulate a man's business and
conduct_. The doctrine proceeds on the supposition, that there is
somewhere a correct standard of morals--a standard by which a man's
whole conduct and course of life is to be tried; and that _this_
business cannot be vindicated by a reference to that standard. Or, for
example, we mean that it is man's duty to love God, and seek to honor
him, and that this business cannot be vindicated by a reference to that
standard. That it is man's duty to love his fellow-men, and seek to
promote their welfare, and that this business cannot be vindicated by
that standard. That it is man's duty to render a valuable compensation
to his fellow-men in his transactions with them, and that this business
cannot be vindicated by that standard. That every man is bound to pursue
such a course of life as shall promote the welfare of the entire
community in which he lives, as shall _not_ tend to promote crime, and
pauperism, and misery, and to make widows and orphans, and that this
business cannot be vindicated by that standard. In one word, that by any
rules of life that have been set up to regulate the conduct of men,
whether in the Bible, in the necessary relations of the social compact,
in the reason and conscience of Christians, and of other men, this
business is incapable of vindication, and is to be regarded as immoral.

In this proposition, however, it is important to be understood. We mean
to confine it simply to the business where it is sold as an article of
_drink_. For to sell it as a medicine, with the same precaution as other
poisons are sold, would be no more immoral than it is to sell arsenic.
And to sell it for purposes of manufacture, where it is necessary for
that purpose, is no more immoral than to sell any other article with
that design. Between selling it for _these_ purposes, and selling it as
an article of drink, there is, as any one can see, the widest possible
difference.

When we speak of this business as _immoral_, it is also important to
guard the use of the word _immoral_. That word, with us, has come to
have a definite and well understood signification. When we speak of an
immoral man, we are commonly understood to attack the foundations of his
character; to designate some gross vice of which he is guilty, and to
speak of him as profane, or licentious, or profligate, or dishonest, or
as unworthy of our confidence and respect. Now, we by no means intend to
use the word in such a wide sense, when we say that this business is
immoral. We do not mean to intimate that in no circumstances a man may
be engaged in it and be worthy of our confidence, and be an honest man,
or even a Christian: for our belief is, that many such men have been,
and are still, unhappily engaged in this traffic. The time has been,
when it was thought to be as reputable as any other employment. Men may
not see the injurious tendency of their conduct. They may not be
apprized of its consequences; or they may be ignorant of the proper
rules by which human life is to be regulated. Thus, the slave-trade was
long pursued, and duelling was deemed right, and bigamy was practised.
But for a man to maintain that all these would be right _now_, and to
practise them, would be a very different thing.

In this view of the subject, we do not of course speak of the dead, or
offer any reflection on their conduct or character. Many men are
unwilling to regard this traffic as wrong, because, by so doing, they
would seem to convey a reflection on their parents, or friends, who may
have been engaged in the same business. But nothing of this kind is
intended. The great laws of morals are indeed unchanged: but the degrees
of light and knowledge which men possess may be very different. We
should not deem it right to apply _our_ laws and knowledge, in judging
of the laws of Sparta, which authorized theft; nor our laws to judge of
the conduct of the Hindoo in exposing his father on the banks of the
Ganges; nor our present views to determine on the morality of our
fathers an hundred years ago in the slave-trade; nor our views of the
marriage relation to condemn the conduct of Abraham, David, or Jacob.
Man's conduct is to be estimated by the light which he has. They who sin
without law, are to be judged without law; and they who sin in the law,
are to be judged by the law. Your father might have been engaged in the
traffic in ardent spirits. Whether he was innocent or not, is not now
the question, and has been determined by a higher tribunal than any on
earth. The question now is, whether _you_ can pursue it with a good
conscience; or whether, with all that you know of the effects of the
traffic, it be right or wrong for you to pursue it.

       *       *       *       *       *

With these necessary explanations, I proceed to PROVE that, in the sense
in which it has been explained, the traffic is MORALLY WRONG.

In proving this proposition, I shall take for granted two or three
points which are now conceded, and to establish which would lead me too
far out of my way. The first is, that this is not an employment in which
_the properties of the article are unknown_. The seller has as good an
opportunity to be acquainted with the qualities of the article, and its
effects, as the buyer. There is no concealment of its character and
tendency; there can be no pretence that you were deceived in regard to
those qualities, and that you were unintentionally engaged in the sale
of an article which has turned out to be otherwise than you supposed it
to be. For, alas, those properties are too well ascertained; and all who
are engaged in this employment have ample opportunity to know what they
are doing, and engage in it with their eyes open.

The _effects_ of this traffic are well known. The public mind has been,
with remarkable intensity, directed to this subject for ten years in
this land, and the details have been laid before the American public. It
is believed that no vice has ever been so faithfully gauged, and the
details so well ascertained, as the vice of intemperance in this nation.
It is far better understood than the extent of gambling, of piracy, or
robbery, or the slave-trade. It is established now, beyond the
possibility of debate, that ardent spirits is a poison, as certain, as
deadly, and destructive, as any other poison. It may be more slow in its
effects, but it is not the less certain. This is established by the
testimony of all physicians and chemists who have expressed an opinion
on the subject. It is not necessary for the welfare of man as an
ordinary drink. This is proved by the like testimony, by the example of
many thousands who abstain from it, and by the fact, that before its
invention, the Roman soldier, the Scythian, and the Greek, were as hardy
and long-lived as men have been since. Its direct tendency is to produce
disease, poverty, crime, and death. Its use tends to corrupt the morals,
to enfeeble the intellect, to produce indolence, wretchedness, and woe
in the family circle; to shorten life, and to hurry to a loathsome
grave; to spread a pall of grief over families and nations. It is
ascertained to be the source of nine-tenths of all the pauperism, and
nine-tenths of all the crimes in the land. It fills our streets with
drunkards, our almshouses with loathsome wretches, our jails with poor
criminals, and supplies our gibbets with victims. It costs the land in
which we live more than 100,000,000 of dollars annually, and renders us
no compensation but poverty, want, curses, loathsomeness, and tears.

In any single year in this Union, could the effects be gathered into one
single grasp, they would present to the eye the following affecting
details. An army of at least 300,000 drunkards--not made up of old men,
of the feeble, but of those in early life; of our youth, of our men of
talents and influence; an enlistment from the bar, the bench, the
pulpit, the homes of the rich, and the firesides of piety; the abodes of
the intelligent, as well as the places of obscurity, and the humble
ranks--all reeling together to a drunkard's grave. With this army
Napoleon would have overran Europe. In the same group would be no less
than 75,000 criminals, made such by the use of ardent spirits; criminals
of every grade and dye, supported at the expense of the sober, and lost
to morality, and industry, and hope; the source of lawsuits, and the
fountain of no small part of the expenses of courts of justice. In the
same group would be no less than 200,000 paupers, in a land abounding in
all the wealth that the richest soil can give, and under all the
facilities which the most favored spot under the whole heaven can
furnish for acquiring a decent and an honest subsistence. Paupers,
supported at the expense of the sober and the industrious, and creating
no small part of our taxes, to pay for their indolence, and
wretchedness, and crimes. And in the same group would be no less than
600 insane persons, made such by intemperance, in all the horrid and
revolting forms of delirium--the conscience destroyed, the mind
obliterated, and hope and happiness fled for ever. And in the same group
there would be no less than 30,000 of our countrymen, who die annually,
as the direct effect of the use of ardent spirit. Thirty thousand of our
countrymen sinking to the most loathsome and dishonored of all graves,
the grave of the drunkard. This is just a summary of the obvious and
sure effects of this vice. The innumerable woes that it incidentally
causes; the weeping and groans of the widow and the fatherless; the
crimes and vices which it tends to introduce into abodes that would, but
for this, be the abodes of peace, are not, and cannot be taken into the
account.

Now, this state of things, if produced in any other way, would spread
weeping and sackcloth over nations and continents. Any sweeping
pestilence that could do this, would hold a nation in alarm, and
diffuse, from one end of it to the other, trembling and horror. The
world has never known any thing else like it. The father of mischief has
never been able to invent any thing that should diffuse more wide-spread
and dreadful evils.

It is agreed further, and well understood, that this is the _regular
effect of the traffic, and manufacture, and use of this article_. It is
not casual, incidental, irregular. It is uniform, certain, deadly, as
the sirocco of the desert, or as the malaria of the Pontine marshes. It
is not a periodical influence, returning at distant intervals; but it is
a pestilence, breathing always--diffusing the poison when men sleep and
when they wake, by day and by night, in seed-time and harvest--attending
the manufacture and sale of the article _always_. The destroyer seeks
his victim alike in every hogshead, and in every glass. He exempts no
man from danger that uses it; and is always secure of prostrating the
most vigorous frame, of clouding the most splendid intellect, of
benumbing the most delicate moral feelings, of palsying the most
eloquent tongue, of teaching those on whose lips listening senates hung,
to mutter and babble with the drunkard, and of entombing the most
brilliant talents and hopes of youth, wherever man can be induced to
drink. The establishment of every distillery, and every dram-shop, and
every grocery where it is sold, secures the certainty that many a man
will thereby become a drunkard, and be a curse to himself and to the
world. The traffic is not only occasionally and incidentally injurious,
but it is like the generation before the flood in its effects, evil, and
only evil continually.

Now the question is, whether this is an employment in which a moral man
and a Christian man _ought_ to be engaged. Is it such a business as his
countrymen ought to approve? Is it such as his conscience and sober
judgment approve? Is it such as his God and Judge will approve?

       *       *       *       *       *

In examining this, let it be remembered, that the _reason_ why this
occupation is engaged in, and the sole reason, is, _to make money_. It
is not because it is supposed that it will benefit mankind; nor is it
because the man supposes that duty to his Creator requires it; nor is it
because it is presumed that it will promote public health, or morals,
or happiness; but it is engaged in and pursued solely as a means of
livelihood or of wealth. And the question then is reduced to a very
narrow compass: Is it _right_ for a man, for the sake of gain, to be
engaged in the sale of a poison--a poison attended with destruction to
the property, health, happiness, peace, and salvation of his neighbors;
producing mania, and poverty, and curses, and death, and woes
innumerable to the land, and to the church of God? A question this, one
would think, that might be very soon answered. In answering it, I invite
attention to a few very obvious, but undeniable positions.

1. It is an employment which tends to _counteract the very design of the
organization of society_. Society is organized on a benevolent
principle. The structure of that organization is one of the best adapted
instances of design, and of benevolence, anywhere to be found. It is on
this principle that a lawful employment--an employment fitted to produce
subsistence for a man and his family, will not interfere with the rights
and happiness of others. It may be pursued without violating any of
their rights, or infringing on their happiness in any way. Nay, it may
not only not interfere wits _their_ rights and happiness, but it will
tend to promote directly their welfare, by promoting the happiness of
the whole. Or, for example, the employment of the farmer may be pursued,
not only without interfering with the rights or privileges of the
mechanic, the physician, or the merchant, but it will directly
contribute to _their_ welfare, and is indispensable to it. The
employment of the physician not only contributes to the support of
himself and family, but to the welfare of the whole community. It not
only does _not_ interfere with the rights and happiness of the farmer
and the mechanic, but it tends directly to their advantage. The
employment of the merchant in lawful traffic, not only contributes to
his support, but is directly beneficial to the whole agricultural part
of the community; for, as has been well said, "the merchant is the
friend of mankind." He injures no man, at the same time that he benefits
himself; and he contributes to the welfare of the community, by
promoting a healthful and desirable exchange of commodities in different
parts of the land, and of various natures. The same is true of the
mechanic, the mariner, the legislator, the bookmaker, the day-laborer,
the schoolmaster, the lawyer, the clergyman.

Now, we maintain that the traffic in ardent spirits, as a drink, is a
violation of this wise arrangement. It tends to sap the foundation of
the whole economy. It is solely to benefit the trafficker, and it tends
to evil, evil only, evil continually. If every man should act on this
principle, society could not exist. If every man should choose an
employment that should _necessarily_ and _always_ interfere with the
peace, and happiness, and morals of others, it would at once break up
the organization. If every manufacturer should erect a manufactory, as
numerous as our distilleries and dram-shops, that should necessarily
blight every farm, and produce _sterility_ in its neighborhood, every
farmer would regard it as an unlawful employment; and if pursued, the
business of agriculture would end. If a physician could live only by
diffusing disease and death, who would regard his as a moral employment?
if a mariner could pursue his business from this port to Calcutta or
Canton, only by importing the plague in every return voyage, who would
deem it an honorable employment? If an apothecary could pursue his
business only by killing nine persons out of ten of those with whom he
had dealing, who would deem it a lawful business? If a man can get a
living in his employment only by fitting out a privateer and preying
upon the peaceful commerce of the world, who will deem it a lawful
employment? If a man lives only to make a descent on the peaceful abodes
of Africa, and to tear away parents from their weeping children, and
husbands from their wives and homes, where is the man that will deem
this a _moral_ business? And why not? Does he not act on the same
principle as the man who deals in ardent spirits--a desire to make
money, and that only? The truth is, that in all these cases there would
be a violation of the great fundamental law on which men must agree to
live together in society--a violation of that great, noble, and
benevolent law of our organization, by which an honest employment
interferes with no other, but may tend to diffuse blessings in the whole
circle of human engagements. And the traffic in ardent spirits is just
as much a violation of this law, as in any of the cases specified.

2. Every man is bound to pursue such a business as to _render a valuable
consideration_ for that which he receives from others. A man who
receives in trade the avails of the industry of others, is under
obligation to restore that which will be of real value. He receives the
fruit of toil; he receives that which is of value to himself; and common
equity requires that he return a valuable consideration. Thus, the
merchant renders to the farmer, in exchange for the growth of his farm,
the productions of other climes; the manufacturer, that which is needful
for the clothing or comfort of the agriculturist; the physician, the
result of his professional skill. All these are valuable considerations,
which are fair and honorable subjects of exchange. They are a mutual
accommodation; they advance the interest of both parties. But it is not
so with the dealer in ardent spirits. He obtains the property of his
fellow-men, and what does he return? That which will tend to promote his
real welfare? That which will make him a happier man? That which will
benefit his family? That which diffuses learning and domestic comfort
around his family circle? None of these things. He gives him that which
will produce poverty, and want, and cursing, and tears, and death. He
asked an egg, and he receives a scorpion. He gives him that which is
established and well known as a source of no good, but as tending to
produce beggary and wretchedness. Now, if this were practised in any
other business, it would be open fraud. If in any way you could palm
upon a farmer that which is not only _worthless_, but mischievous--that
which would certainly tend to ruin him and his family, _could there be_
any doubt about the nature of this employment? It makes no difference
here, that the man _supposes_ that it is for his good; or that he
applies for it. _You know_ that it is _not_ for his benefit, and you
know--what is the only material point under this head--that it will tend
to his ruin. Whatever _he_ may think about it, or whatever _he_ may
desire, you are well advised that it is an article that will tend to sap
the foundation of his morals and happiness, and conduce to the ruin of
his estate, and his body, and his soul; and you know, therefore, that
you are _not_ rendering him any really valuable consideration for his
property. The dealer may look on his gains in this matter--on his
houses, or mortgages, or lands, obtained as the result of this
business--with something like these reflections.

"This property has been gained from other men. It was theirs, honestly
acquired, and was necessary to promote their own happiness and the
happiness of their families. It has become mine by a traffic which has
not only taken it away from them, but which has ruined their peace,
corrupted their morals, sent woe and discord into their families, and
consigned them perhaps to an early and most loathsome grave. This
property has come from the hard earnings of other men; has passed into
my hands without any valuable compensation rendered; but has been
obtained only while I have been diffusing want, and woe, and death,
through their abodes."

Let the men engaged in this traffic look on their property thus gained;
let them survey the woe which has attended it; and then ask, as honest
men, whether it is a moral employment.

3. A man is bound to pursue such a business as shall tend to _promote
the welfare of the whole community_. This traffic does not. We have seen
that an honorable and lawful employment conduces to the welfare of the
whole social organization. But the welfare of the whole cannot be
promoted by this traffic. _Somewhere_ it must produce poverty, and
idleness, and crime. Even granting, what cannot be established, that it
may promote the happiness of a particular portion of the community, yet
it must be at the expense of some other portion. You may export poison
to Georgia, and the immediate effect may be to introduce money into
Philadelphia, but the only important inquiry is, what will be the effect
on the _whole body politic_? Will it do more good than evil on the
whole? Will the money which you may receive here, be a compensation for
all the evil which will be done there? Money a compensation for
intemperance, and idleness, and crime, and the loss of the health, the
happiness, and the souls of men?

Now we may easily determine this matter. The article thus exported will
do as much evil _there_ as it would if consumed _here_. It will spread
just as much devastation somewhere, as it would if consumed in your own
family, and among your own friends and neighbors. We have only to ask,
what would be the effect if it were consumed in your own habitation, in
your neighborhood, in your own city? Let all this poison, which is thus
exported to spread woes and death somewhere, be concentrated and
consumed where you might see it, and is there any man who will pretend
that the paltry sum which he receives is a compensation for what he
knows would be the effect of the consumption? You keep your own
atmosphere pure, it may be, but you export the pestilence, and curses,
and lamentation elsewhere, and receive a compensation for it. You sell
disease, and death, and poverty, and nakedness, and tears to other
families, to clothe and feed your own. And as the result of this current
of moral poison and pollution which you may cause to flow into hundreds
of other families, you may point to a splendid palace, or to gay apparel
of your sons and daughters, and proclaim that the evil is hidden from
your eyes. Families, and neighborhoods, and states, may groan and bleed
somewhere, and thousands may die, but _your_ gain is to be a
compensation for it all. Is this an honorable traffic?

Suppose a man were to advertise consumptions, and fevers, and
pleurisies, and leprosy, for gold, and could and would sell them; what
would the community say to such a traffic? Suppose, for gain, he could
transport them to distant places, and now strike down by a secret power
a family in Maine, and now at St. Mary's, and now at Texas, and now at
St. Louis; what would the community think of wealth gained in such a
traffic? Suppose he could, with the same ease, diffuse profaneness, and
insanity, and robberies, and murders, and suicides, and should advertise
all these to be propagated through the land, and could prevail on men to
buy the talismanic nostrum for gold--what would the community think of
such a traffic as this? True, he might plead that it brought a vast
influx of money--that it enriched the city, or the country--that the
effects were not seen there; but what would be the public estimate of a
man who would be willing to engage in such a traffic, and who would set
up such a plea? Or suppose it were understood that a farmer from the
interior had arrived in Philadelphia with a load of flour, nine-tenths
of whose barrels contained a mixture, more or less, of arsenic, and
should offer them for sale; what would be the feelings of this community
at such a traffic? True, the man might plead that it would produce gain
to his country; that they had taken care to remove it to another
population; that his own family was secure. Can any words express the
indignation which would be felt? Can any thing express the horror which
all men would feel at such a transaction as this, and at the
cold-blooded and inhuman guilt of the money-loving farmer? And yet we
witness a thing like this every day, on our wharves, and in our ships,
and our groceries, and our inns, and from our men of wealth, and our
moral men, and our _professed Christians_--and a horror comes through
the souls of men, when we dare to intimate that this is an immoral
business.

4. A man is bound to pursue such a course of life as _not necessarily to
increase the burdens and the taxes_ of the community. The pauperism and
crimes of this land grow out of this vice, as an overflowing fountain.
Three-fourths of the taxes for prisons, and houses of refuge, and
almshouses, would be cut off, but for this traffic and the attendant
vices. Nine-tenths of the crimes of the country, and of the expenses of
litigation for crime, would be prevented by arresting it. Of 653 who
were in one year committed to the house of correction in Boston, 453
were drunkards. Of 3,000 persons admitted to the workhouse in Salem,
Mass., 2,900 were brought there directly or indirectly by intemperance.
Of 592 male adults in the almshouse in New York, not 20, says the
superintendent, can be called sober; and of 601 women, not as many as
50. Only three instances of murder in the space of fifteen years, in New
York, occurred, that could not be traced to ardent spirit as the cause.
In Philadelphia, ten. This is the legitimate, regular effect of the
business. It tends to poverty, crime, and woe, and greatly to increase
the taxes and burdens of the community.

What is done then in this traffic? You are filling our almshouses, and
jails, and penitentiaries, with victims loathsome and burdensome to the
community. You are engaged in a business which is compelling your
fellow-citizens to pay taxes to support the victims of your employment.
You are filling up these abodes of wretchedness and guilt, and then
asking your fellow-citizens to pay enormous taxes indirectly to support
this traffic. For, if every place where ardent spirits can be obtained,
were closed in this city and its suburbs, how long might your splendid
palaces for the poor be almost untenanted piles; how soon would your
jails disgorge their inmates, and be no more filled; how soon would the
habitations of guilt and infamy in every city become the abodes of
contentment and peace; and how soon would reeling loathsomeness and want
cease to assail your doors with importunate pleadings for charity.

Now we have only to ask our fellow-citizens, what right they have to
pursue an employment tending thus to burden the community with taxes,
and to endanger the dwellings of their fellow-men, and to send to my
door, and to every other man's door, hordes of beggars loathsome to the
sight; or to compel the virtuous to seek out their wives and children,
amidst the squalidness of poverty, and the cold of winter, and the
pinchings of hunger, to supply their wants? Could impartial justice be
done in the world, an end would soon be put to the traffic in ardent
spirits. Were every man bound to alleviate all the wretchedness which
his business creates, to support all the poor which his traffic causes,
an end would soon be made of this employment. But alas, you can diffuse
this poison for gain, and then call on your industrious and virtuous
countrymen to alleviate the wretchedness, to tax themselves to build
granite prisons for the inmates which your business has made; and
splendid palaces, at an enormous expense, to extend a shelter and a home
for those whom your employment has turned from their own habitations. Is
this a moral employment? Would it be well to obtain a living in this way
in any other business?

5. The business is _inconsistent with the law of God_, which requires
us to love our neighbor as ourselves. A sufficient proof of this would
be a fact which no one could deny, that no man yet, probably, ever
undertook the business, or pursued it from that motive. Its defence is
not, and cannot be put on that ground. No man in the community believes
that a continuance in it is required by a regard to the welfare of his
neighbor. Every one knows that his welfare does not require it; and that
it would be conferring an inestimable blessing on other men, if the
traffic was abandoned. The single, sole object is gain; and the sole
question is, whether the love of gain is a sufficient motive for
continuing that which works no good, but constant ill to your neighbor.

There is another law of God which has an important bearing on this
subject. It is that golden rule of the New Testament, which commends
itself to the conscience of all men, to do to others as you would wish
them to do to you. You may easily conceive of your having a son, who was
in danger of becoming a drunkard. Your hope might centre in him. He
might be the stay of your age. He may be inclined to dissipation; and it
may have required all your vigilance, and prayers, and tears, and
authority, to keep him in the ways of soberness. The simple question now
is, what would you wish a neighbor to do in such a case? Would it be the
desire of your heart, that he should open a fountain of poison at your
next door; that he should, for gain, be willing to put a cup into the
hands of your son, and entice him to the ways of intemperance? Would you
be pleased if he would listen to no remonstrance of yours, if he should
even disregard your entreaties and your tears, and coolly see, for the
love of gold, ruin coming into your family, and your prop taken from
beneath you, and your gray hairs coming down with sorrow to the grave?
And yet to many such a son may you sell the poison; to many a father
whose children are clothed in rags; to many a man whose wife sits
weeping amidst poverty and want, and dreading to hear the tread and the
voice of the husband of her youth, once her protector, who now comes to
convert his own habitation into a hell. And there are not a few men of
fair standing in society who are engaged in this; and not a few--O tell
it not in Gath--who claim the honored name of Christian, and who profess
to bear the image of Him who went about doing good. Can such be a
_moral_ business?

6. The traffic is _a violation of that law which requires a man to honor
God_. Whether ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory
of God. And yet is this a business which was ever engaged in, or ever
pursued, with a desire to honor God? Is it an employment over which a
man will pray? Can he ask the God of heaven to give him success? Let
him, then, in imagination, follow what he sells to its direct result;
let him attend it to its final distribution of poverty, and woes, and
crimes, and death, and then kneel before heaven's eternal King, and
render thanksgiving for this success? Alas, it cannot be. Man pursues it
not from a desire to honor God. And can the man who is engaged in a
business on which he cannot implore the blessing of heaven; who is
obliged to conceal all thoughts of it if he ever prays; who never
engaged in it with a desire to glorify God, or to meet his approbation,
can _he_ be engaged in a business which is lawful and right?

I might dwell further on these points. But I am now prepared to ask,
with emphasis, whether an employment that has been attended with so many
ills to the bodies and souls of men; with so much woe and crime; whose
results are evil, and only evil continually; an employment which cannot
be pursued without tending to destroy the very purposes of the
organization of society; without violating the rule which requires us to
render a valuable consideration in business; without violating the rule
which requires a man to promote the welfare of the whole of the
community; which promotes pauperism and crime, and imposes heavy burdens
on your fellow-citizens; which is opposed equally to the love of man and
the law of God--_whether this is a moral, or an immoral employment?_

The question is submitted. If moral, it should be driven on with all the
power of American energy; with all the aids of wealth, and all the might
of steam, and all the facilities of railroads and canals; for our
country and the church calls the man to the honorable employment. But if
it be immoral and wrong, it should be abandoned on the spot. Not another
gallon should ever pass from your store, if it be evil, only evil, and
that continually.

       *       *       *       *       *

We are prepared now to examine a few of the OBJECTIONS to this doctrine.

1. The first is, that the traffic is not condemned in the Bible. To this
the answer is very obvious. The article was then unknown. Nor was it
known until 600 years after the Bible was completed. This mode of
extending and perpetuating depravity in the world was not suggested by
the father of evil, until it was too late to make a formal law against
it in the Bible, or to fortify the argument of human depravity from this
source. It is neither in the Bible, nor in any other code of laws, the
custom to specify crimes which do not exist. How remarkable in a code of
laws would have been such a declaration as the trafficker demands, "Thou
shalt not deal in ardent spirits," hundreds of years before the article
was known. The world would have stood in amazement, and would have been
perplexed and confounded by an unmeaning statute. But further, it is not
the practice in the Bible, or in any other book of laws, to specify each
shade and degree of wrong. Had it been, there could have been no end of
legislation, and no end to books of law. I ask the dealer in ardent
spirits, where is there a formal prohibition of piracy, or bigamy, or
kidnapping, or suicide, or duelling, or the sale of obscene books and
paintings? And yet does any man doubt that these are immoral? Does he
believe that the Bible will countenance them? Will he engage in them,
because they are not specified formally, and with technical precision,
in the Scriptures? The truth is, that the Bible has laid down great
principles of conduct, which on all these subjects can be easily
applied, which _are_ applied, and which, under the guidance of equal
honesty, may be as easily applied to the traffic of which I am speaking.
Still further, the Bible _has_ forbidden it in principle, and with all
the precision which can be demanded. A man cannot pursue the business,
as has been shown, without violating its great principles. He cannot do
justly in it; he cannot show mercy by it; he cannot seek to alleviate
human woes by it; he cannot do as he would wish to be done unto; he
cannot pursue it to glorify God. The great principles of the Bible, the
spirit of the Bible, and a thousand texts of the Bible are pointed
against it; and every step the trafficker takes, he infringes on the
spirit and bearing of some declaration of God. And still further, it is
_his_ business to make out the propriety of the employment, not ours to
make out the case against him. Here is the rule--for him to judge. By
this he is to be tried; and unless he can find in the volume a rule that
will justify him in a business for gain that scatters inevitable woes
and death; that accomplishes more destruction than all the chariots of
war and the desolations of gunpowder on the field of blood; that sends
more human beings to the grave, than fire, and flood, and pestilence,
and famine, altogether; that heaps on human society more burdens than
all other causes combined; that sends armies on armies, in a form more
appalling, and infinitely more loathsome than Napoleon's "food for
cannon," to the grave: unless he can find some prophecy, or some
principle, or some declaration, that will justify these, the Bible is
against him, and he knows it. As well might he search for a principle to
authorize him to plant a Bohon Upas on every man's farm, and in the
heart of every city and hamlet.

2. A second plea is, "If I do not do it, others will; the traffic will
go on." Then, I answer, _let_ others do it, and on them, not on you, be
the responsibility. But it is said, perhaps, if it is not in your
hands--the hands of the respectable and the pious--it will be in the
hands of the unprincipled and the profligate. I answer, THERE LET IT BE.
There, if anywhere, it should be. There, if these principles are
correct, is its appropriate place. And if that were done, intemperance
would soon cease to curse the land. _It is just because it is upheld by
the rich, and the reputable, and by professed Christians, that the
reform drags so heavily._ The business has never found its proper level.
And O that the dealers in it would kindly forego this plea of
benevolence, and feel themselves released from this obligation. But is
this a correct principle of conduct? Is this the rule which heaven has
given, or which conscience gives, to direct the doings of man? Have I a
right to do all which I know other men will do? Other men will commit
murder. Have I a right to do it? Other men will commit adultery. Have I
a right to do it? Other men will curse, and swear, and steal. Have you a
right to do it? Other men will prey on unoffending Africa, and bear
human sinews across the ocean to be sold. Have you a right to do it? The
traffic in human flesh will go on; ships will be fitted out from
American ports; and American hands will bear a part of the price of the
tears and groans of enslaved men. And why should not you participate
with them, on the same principle?

3. A third excuse is, that the traffic is the source of gain to the
country. Now this is known to be not so. More than 100,000,000 of
dollars would be necessary to repair to this land the annual loss in
this business. Is it no loss that 300,000 men are drunkards, and are the
slaves of indolence and want? Is it no loss to the nation that 30,000
each year go to the grave? Is there no loss in the expense of supporting
75,000 criminals, and nine-tenths of the paupers in the land? Is it no
loss that bad debts are made, and men are made unable and unwilling to
pay their debts? Whence are _your_ bad debts? Whence, but directly or
indirectly from this business? From the indolence, and want of
principle, and want of attention, which intemperance produces?

4. The man who is engaged in this business says, perhaps, "I have
inherited it, and it is the source of my gain; and what shall I do?" I
answer, beg, dig--do any thing _but_ this. It would be a glorious
martyrdom _to starve_, contrasted with obtaining a livelihood by such an
employment. In this land, assuredly, men cannot plead that there are no
honorable sources of livelihood open before them. Besides, from whom do
we hear this plea? As often as otherwise from the man that rolls in
wealth; that lives in a palace; that clothes his family in the attire of
princes and of courts; and that moves in the circles of fashion and
splendor. O how cheering is _consistent_ pleading; how lovely the
expressions of perfect honesty! This business may be abandoned without
difficulty. The only question is, whether the love of man, and the
dictates of conscience, and the fear of God, shall prevail over the love
of that polluted gold which this traffic in the lives and souls of men
shall introduce into your dwelling.

During a warmly contested election in the city of New York, it is stated
in the daily papers that numerous applications were made for _pistols_
to those who kept them for sale. It is added that the application was
extensively denied, on the ground of the apprehension that they were
intended for bloodshed in the excitement of the contest. This was a
noble instance of principle. But on the plea of the dealer in ardent
spirits, why should they have been withheld? The dealer in fire-arms
might have plead as the trafficker in poison does: "This is my business.
I obtain a livelihood by it. _I am not responsible for what will be done
with the fire-arms._ True, the people are agitated. I have every reason
to believe that application is made with a purpose to take life. True,
blood may flow and useful lives may be lost. But _I_ am not responsible.
If they take life, they are answerable. The excitement is a favorable
opportunity to dispose of my stock on hand, and it is a part of my
business to avail myself of all favorable circumstances in the community
to make money." Who would not have been struck with the cold-blooded and
inhuman avarice of such a man? And yet there was not _half_ the moral
certainty that those fire-arms would have been used for purposes of
blood, that there is that ardent spirits will be employed to produce
crime, and poverty, and death.

I have no time to notice other objections. Nor need I. I have stated the
_principle_ of all. I just add here, that the excuses which are set up
for this traffic will apply just as well to any other business as this,
and will fully vindicate any other employment, if they are to be
sustained. Apply these excuses to the case of a bookseller. The question
might be suggested, whether it was a moral or an immoral business to
deal in infidel, profligate, and obscene pictures and books. True, it
might be alleged that they did evil, and only evil continually. It might
be said that neither the love of God or man would prompt to it. He might
be pointed to the fact, that they _always_ tended to corrupt the morals
of youth; to blight the hopes of parents; to fill up houses of infamy;
to blot out the hopes of heaven; and to sink men to hell. But then he
might with commendable coolness add, "This traffic is not condemned in
the Bible. If _I_ do not engage in it, others will. It contributes to my
livelihood; to the support of the press; to the promotion of business;
and I am not responsible for _their_ reading the books, nor for their
desire for them. I am pursuing the way in which my fathers walked before
me, and it is _my living, and I will do it_." Wherein does this plea
differ from that of the trafficker in ardent spirits? Alas, we have
learned how to estimate its force in regard to other sins; but we shrink
from its application in regard to this wide-spread business, that
employs so much of the time and the wealth of the people of this land.

Here I close. The path of duty and of safety is plain. These evils may
be corrected. A virtuous and an independent people may rise in their
majesty and correct them all. I call on all whom I now address, to exert
their influence in this cause; to abandon all connection with the
traffic; and to become the firm, and warm, and thorough-going advocates
of the temperance reformation. Your country calls you to it. Every man
who loves her welfare, should pursue no half-way measures; should tread
no vacillating course in this great and glorious reformation.

But more especially may I call on _young men_, and ask _their_ patronage
in this cause. For they are in danger; and they are the source of our
hopes, and they are our strength. I appeal to them by their hopes of
happiness; by their prospects of long life; by their desire of property
and health; by their wish for reputation; and by the fact that by
abstinence, strict abstinence alone, are they safe from the crimes, and
loathsomeness, and grave of the drunkard. Young men, I beseech you to
regard the liberties of your country; the purity of the churches; your
own usefulness; and the honor of your family--the feelings of a father,
a mother, and a sister. And I conjure you to take this stand by a
reference to your own immortal welfare; by a regard to that heaven which
a drunkard enters not--and by a fear of that hell which is his own
appropriate, eternal home.

Again I appeal to my fellow professing Christians; the ministers of
religion, the officers and members of the pure church of God. The pulpit
should speak, in tones deep, and solemn, and constant, and reverberating
through the land. The watchmen should see eye to eye. Of every officer
and member of a church it should be known where he may be found. We want
no vacillating counsels; no time-serving apologies; no coldness, no
reluctance, no shrinking back in this cause. Every church of Christ, the
world over, should be, in very deed, an organization of pure temperance
under the headship and patronage of Jesus Christ, the friend and the
model of purity. Members of the church of God most pure, bear it in
mind, that intemperance in our land, and the world over, stands in the
way of the Gospel. It opposes the progress of the reign of Christ in
every village and hamlet; in every city; and at every corner of the
street. It stands in the way of revivals of religion, and of the glories
of the millennial morn. Every drunkard opposes the millennium; every
dram-drinker stands in the way of it; every dram-seller stands in the
way of it. Let the sentiment be heard, and echoed, and reechoed, all
along the hills, and vales, and streams of the land, _that the
conversion of a man who habitually uses ardent spirits is all but
hopeless_. And let this sentiment be followed up with that other
melancholy truth, that the money wasted in this business--now a curse to
all nations--nay, the money wasted in one year in this land for it,
would place a Bible in every family on the earth, and establish a school
in every village; and that the talent which intemperance consigns each
year to infamy and eternal perdition, would be sufficient to bear the
Gospel over sea and land--to polar snows, and to the sands of a burning
sun. The pulpit must speak out. And the press must speak. And you,
fellow-Christians, are summoned by the God of purity to take your stand,
and cause your influence to be felt.




THE FOOLS' PENCE.

[Illustration: Gin-shop]


Have you ever seen a London gin-shop? There is perhaps no statelier shop
in the magnificent chief city of England. No expense seems to be spared
in the building and the furnishing of a gin-shop.

Not many years ago a gin-shop was a mean-looking, and by no means a
spacious place, with a few small bottles, not bigger than a doctor's
largest vials, in the dusty window. But now, however poor many of the
working classes may be, it seems to be their pleasure to squander their
little remaining money upon a number of these palaces, as if they were
determined that the persons whom they employ to sell them poison should
dwell in the midst of luxury and splendor. I do not mean to say, that we
have a right to throw all the blame upon the master or the mistress of
a gin-shop. For my part, I should not like to keep one, and be obliged
to get rich upon the money of the poor infatuated creatures who will
ruin both soul and body in gin-drinking; but the master of the gin-shop
may be heard to say, "I don't force the people to drink; they will have
gin, and if I do not sell to them somebody else will." The story of "The
Fools' Pence," which follows, is worth attending to.

    A little mean-looking man sat talking to Mrs. Crowder, the
    mistress of the Punch-bowl: "Why, Mrs. Crowder," said he, "I
    should hardly know you again. Really, I must say you have
    things in the first style. What an elegant paper; what noble
    chairs; what a pair of fire-screens; all so bright and so
    fresh; and yourself so well, and looking so well!"

    Mrs. Crowder had dropped languidly into an arm-chair, and sat
    sighing and smiling with affectation, not turning a deaf ear
    to her visitor, but taking in with her eyes a full view of
    what passed in the shop; having drawn aside the curtain of
    rose-colored silk, which sometimes covered the window in the
    wall between the shop and the parlor.

    "Why, you see, Mr. Berriman," she replied, "our business is a
    thriving one, and we don't love to neglect it, for one must
    work hard for an honest livelihood; and then you see, my two
    girls, Letitia and Lucy, were about to leave their
    boarding-school; so Mr. Crowder and I wished to make the old
    place as genteel and fashionable as we could; and what with
    new stone copings to the windows, and new French
    window-frames to the first floor, and a little paint, and a
    little papering, Mr. Berriman, we begin to look tolerable. I
    must say too, Mr. Crowder has laid out a deal of money in
    fitting up the shop, and in filling his cellars."

    "Well, ma'am," continued Mr. Berriman, "I don't know where
    you find the needful for all these improvements. For my part,
    I can only say, our trade seems quite at a stand-still.
    There's my wife always begging for money to pay for this or
    that little necessary article, but I part from every penny
    with a pang. Dear Mrs. Crowder, how do you manage?"

    Mrs. Crowder simpered, and raising her eyes, and looking
    with a glance of smiling contempt towards the crowd of
    customers in the shop, "The fools' pence--'tis THE FOOLS'
    PENCE that does it for us," she said.

    Perhaps it was owing to the door being just then opened and
    left ajar by Miss Lucy, who had been serving in the bar, that
    the words of Mrs. Crowder were heard by a man named George
    Manly, who stood at the upper end of the counter. He turned
    his eyes upon the customers who were standing near him, and
    saw pale, sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments.
    He turned them upon the stately apartment in which they were
    assembled; he saw that it had been fitted up at no trifling
    cost; he stared through the partly open doorway into the
    parlor, and saw looking-glasses, and pictures, and gilding,
    and fine furniture, and a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy, in a
    silk gown, sitting down to her piano-forte: and he thought
    within himself, how strange it is, by what a curious process
    it is, that all this wretchedness on my left hand is made to
    turn into all this rich finery on my right!

    "Well, sir, and what's for you?"

    These words were spoken in the same shrill voice which had
    made the "fools' pence" ring in his ears.

    George Manly was still in deep thought, and with the end of
    his rule--for he was a carpenter--he had been making a
    calculation, drawing the figures in the little puddles of gin
    upon the counter. He looked up and saw Mrs. Crowder herself
    as gay as her daughters, with a cap and colored ribbons
    flying off her head, and a pair of gold earrings almost
    touching her plump shoulders. "A glass of gin, ma'am, is what
    I was waiting for to-night, but I think I've paid the last
    '_fools' pence_' I shall put down on this counter for many a
    long day."

           *       *       *       *       *

    George Manly hastened home. His wife and his two little girls
    were sitting at work. They were thin and pale, really for
    want of food. The room looked very cheerless, and their fire
    was so small that its warmth was scarcely felt; yet the
    commonest observer must have been struck by the neatness and
    cleanliness of the apartment and every thing about it.

    "This is indeed a treat, girls, to have dear father home so
    soon to-night," said Susan Manly, looking up at her husband
    as he stood before the table, turning his eyes first upon one
    and then upon another of the little party; then throwing
    himself into a chair, and smiling, he said,

    "Well, children, a'n't you glad to see me? May not those busy
    little fingers stop a moment, just while you jump up and
    throw your arms about your father's neck, and kiss him?"

    "O yes, we have time for that," said one of the girls, as
    they both sprang up to kiss their father.

    "But we have no time to lose, dear father," said Sally,
    pressing her cheek to his, and speaking in a kind of coaxing
    whisper close to his ear, "for these shirts are the last of
    the dozen we have been making for Mr. Farley, in the
    Corn-market."

    "And as no work can be done to-morrow," added Betsy gravely,
    who stood with her little hand in her father's, "we are all
    working as hard as we can; for mother has promised to take
    them home on Monday afternoon."

    "Either your eyes are very weak to-night, dear wife," said
    George, "or you have been crying. I'm afraid you work too
    hard by candlelight."

    Susan smiled, and said, "_Working_ does not hurt my eyes,"
    and as she spoke, she turned her head and beckoned with her
    finger to her little boy.

    "Why, John, what's this that I see?" said his father. "What,
    you in the corner! Come out, and tell me what you have been
    doing."

    "Nay, never mind it, dear husband; John will be very good, I
    hope, and we had better say no more about what is past."

    "Yes, but I must know," said he, drawing John close to him.
    "Come, tell me what has been the matter."

    John was a plain-spoken boy, and had a straight-forward way
    of speaking the truth. He came up to his father, and looked
    full in his face, and said, "The baker came for his money
    to-night, and would not leave the loaves without mother paid
    for them; and though he was cross and rough to mother, he
    said it was not her fault, and that he was sure you had been
    drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother
    cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not
    know she was crying, till I saw her tears fall, drop, drop,
    on her hands; and then I said bad words, and mother sent me
    to stand in the corner."

    "And now, John, you may bring me some coal," said Susan;
    "there's a fine lump in the coal-box."

    "But first tell me what your bad words were, John," said his
    father; "not swearing, I hope?"

    "No," said John, coloring, but speaking as bluntly as before,
    "I said that you were a bad man. I said, bad father."

    "And they were bad words, I am sure," said Susan, very
    calmly; "but you are forgiven, and so you may get me the
    coal."

    George looked at the face of his wife, and as he met the
    tender gaze of her mild eyes now turned to him, he felt the
    tears rise in his own. He rose up, and as he put the money
    into his wife's hands, he said, "There are my week's wages.
    Come, come, hold out both hands, for you have not got all
    yet. Well, now you have every farthing. Keep the whole, and
    lay it out to the best advantage, as you always do. I hope
    this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and
    happier days on yours; and now put on your bonnet, and I'll
    walk with you to pay the baker, and buy a bushel or two of
    coal, or any thing else you may be in want of; and when we
    come back I'll read a chapter of the Bible to you and the
    girls, while you get on with the needle-work."

    Susan went up stairs to put on her bonnet and shawl, and she
    remained a little longer, to kneel down on the spot where she
    had often knelt almost heart-broken in prayer--prayer that
    her heavenly Father would turn her husband's heart, first to
    his Saviour, and then to his wife and children; and that, in
    the meantime, he would give her patience. She, knelt down
    this time to pour out her heart in thanksgiving and praise.
    The pleasant tones of her husband's voice called her from her
    knees.

    George Manly told his wife that evening, after the children
    were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor
    could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out
    the landlord's wife and daughters; and when he thought of his
    own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in
    want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, and
    drinking, night after night, more like a beast than a man,
    destroying his own manly strength, and the fine health God
    had given him, he was so struck with sorrow and shame, that
    he seemed to come to himself at last. He made his
    determination, from that hour, never again to put the
    intoxicating glass to his lips, and he hoped he made it in
    dependence upon God for grace and strength to keep it.

    It was more than a year after Mrs. Crowder, of the
    Punch-bowl, had first missed a regular customer from her
    house, and when she had forgotten to express her wonder as to
    what could have become of the good-looking carpenter that
    generally spent his earnings there, and drank and spent his
    money so freely--

    "There, get on as fast as you can, dears; run, girls, and
    don't stop for me, your beautiful dresses will be quite
    spoilt; never mind me, for my levantine is a French silk, and
    won't spot."

    These words were screamed out as loud as her haste would
    permit, by Mrs. Crowder, who was accompanying her daughters,
    one Sunday evening, to the tea-gardens.

    She was answered by Miss Lucy, "You know, ma, we can't run,
    for our shoes are so tight."

    "Then turn into one of these houses, dears," said the mother,
    who was bustling forward as fast as she could.

    "No, indeed," replied the other daughter, who found time to
    curl her lip with disdain, notwithstanding her haste and her
    distress, "I'll not set a foot in such filthy hovels."

    "Well, dears, here is a comfortable, tidy place," cried the
    mother at length, as they hastened forward; "here I'll enter,
    nor will I stir till the rain is over; come in, girls, come
    in. You might eat off these boards, they are so clean."

    The rain was now coming down in torrents, and the two young
    ladies gladly followed their mother's example, and entered
    the neat and cleanly dwelling. Their long hair hung dangling
    about their ears, their crape bonnets had been screened in
    vain by their fringed parasols, and the skirts of their silk
    gowns were draggled with mud. They all three began to stamp
    upon the door of the room into which they had entered with
    very little ceremony; but the good-natured mistress of the
    house felt more for their disaster than for her floor, and
    came forward at once to console and assist them. She brought
    forth clean cloths from the dresser-drawer, and she and her
    two daughters set to work to wipe off, with quick and
    delicate care, the rain-drops and mud-splashes from the
    silken dresses of the three fine ladies. The crape hats and
    the parasols were carefully dried at a safe distance from the
    fire, and a comb was offered to arrange the uncurled hair,
    such a white and delicately clean comb as may seldom be seen
    upon a poor woman's toilet.

    When all had been done that could be done, and, as Miss Lucy
    said, "they began to look themselves again," Mrs. Crowder,
    who was lolling back at her ease in a large and comfortable
    arm-chair, and amusing herself by taking a good stare at
    every thing and every one in the room, suddenly started
    forward, and cried out, addressing herself to the master of
    the house, upon whose Bible and at whose face she had been
    last fixing her gaze, "Why, my good man, we are old friends:
    I know your face, I'm certain; still, there is some change in
    you, though I can't exactly say what it is."

    "I used to be in ragged clothes, and out of health," said
    George Manly, smiling, as he looked up from his Bible; "I am
    now, blessed be God for it, comfortably clad, and in
    excellent health."

    "But how is it," said Mrs. Crowder, "that we never catch a
    sight of you now?"

    "Madam," said be, "I'm sure I wish well to you and all
    people; nay, I have reason to thank you, for words of yours
    were the first means of opening my eyes to my own foolish and
    sinful course. You seem to thrive--so do we. My wife and
    children were half-naked and half-starved only this time last
    year. Look at them, if you please, now; for, so far as sweet,
    contented looks go, and decent raiment befitting their
    station, I'll match them with any man's wife and children.
    And now, madam, I tell you, as you told a friend of yours one
    day last year, that ''tis the FOOLS' PENCE which have done
    all this for us.' The fools' pence! I ought to say, the pence
    earned by honest industry, and spent in such a manner that I
    can ask the blessing of God upon the pence."

    When Mrs. Crowder and her daughters were gone, George Manly
    sat without speaking for some considerable time. He was deep
    in thought, and his gentle, pious wife felt that she knew on
    what subject he had been thinking so deeply; for when he woke
    up from his fit of thought, a deep sigh stole from his lips,
    and he brushed away the tears which had filled his eyes.

    "Susan," he said, "what can I render to the Lord for all his
    goodness to me? From what a fearful depth of ruin have I been
    snatched! Once I met some of my old companions, who so set
    upon me to draw me to drink with them, that I thought Satan
    must have urged them on. Another time, I went walking on, and
    found myself at the door of the poison-shop, without knowing
    how I got there; but God gave me strength to turn instantly
    away, and not linger a moment to daily with temptation.

    "I could not help thinking, as I was reading this holy book,
    when that showy dame came in from whose hand I so often took
    the poisonous cup, how much I owed to God for saving me from
    ruin, and giving me that peace and satisfaction in religion
    which I now enjoy; and making me, I hope, a blessing to you
    all. O, what a love was the love of Christ to poor sinners!
    He gave his own blood as our precious ransom; he came to save
    us from our sins, that we may serve him in newness of life."

           *       *       *       *       *

The above history, which is taken from a Tract of the Religious Tract
Society in London, has its counterpart in the case of multitudes in our
own country. Let him who would not shorten his days, and make his family
wretched, and ruin his own soul, resolve with George Manly, "_never
again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips_;" and like him, let him
go humbly and with childlike confidence to God for strength to keep his
resolution, and for grace to pardon all his sins, through the blood and
righteousness of Christ. Then shall he have peace of mind, and be a
blessing in his day; and when this brief life is ended, he shall enter
into eternal joy.


PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE REPAIRED;

OR,

THE WRETCHED MADE HAPPY.

A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.

[Illustration: Violent drunk with wife and child]


For fifteen years of my married life I was as miserable as any woman
could be. Our house was the picture of wretchedness externally, and it
looked still more wretched within. The windows were patched, the walls
shattered, the furniture defaced and broken, and every thing was going
to ruins.

It had not always been so: once my home was happy, and I used to take
much pleasure and some pride in hearing the neighbors say, "How neat and
trim neighbor N----'s house always looks!" But they could not say so
long. One thing after another changed. Our table was no longer spread
with comfortable food, nor surrounded with cheerful faces; but there
were scanty meals, sour looks, and loud and angry words; while, do the
best I could, I was not able to conceal the tatters of my own and my
children's clothing. My husband is a mechanic; his employment is good,
and he might have made his family as happy as any family in the place;
but he was in the habit of taking ardent spirit every day. _He_ thought
it did him good; _I_ knew it did not, for I found him every day more and
more unkind. Our comforts, one by one, were stripped away, till at last
I saw myself the wife of a confirmed drunkard.

I well remember, one evening, I was sitting by the fire, mending my poor
boy's tattered jacket. My heart was very sad. I had been thinking of the
happy evenings I had spent with my husband before our marriage; of the
few pleasant years that succeeded; of the misery that then came; of the
misery yet to come; and for me there seemed no ray of hope or comfort.
My husband was a terror to his family, and a nuisance to the
neighborhood; my children were idle, ragged, and disobedient; myself a
heart-broken wife and wretched mother. While I thought of all this, I
could no longer retain my composure, but, dropping my work, I leaned my
head upon my hand and wept bitterly. My husband had been absent all day,
and I was now expecting him home every minute. It was growing late, so I
wiped away my tears as well as I could, and put the embers together, to
make my fireside look as inviting as possible. But I dreaded my
husband's return--his sharp voice and bitter words pained me to the
heart, and rougher treatment than all this I often experienced from him
who had once been to me all that I could wish.

At length the door opened, and Robert entered. I saw by his flushed
countenance and angry expression that I had better remain silent; so,
with a sinking heart, I placed a chair for him by the fire, and
continued my work without speaking.

Robert broke silence, and in a sharp tone said, "What on earth do you
sit there for, at work on that dirty rag? Why don't you give me
something to eat?" and snatching the work roughly from my hands, he
threw it into the fire. I sprang forward to rescue my poor child's
garment, and so quick were my movements, that I saved it from much
injury. But while I was shaking the ashes from it, my husband again
snatched it from my hands, and with a terrible oath, defying me to touch
it, once more threw it into the fire. I was afraid to attempt to save
it; so I turned away, with bitter feelings to see my labor all lost, and
my destitute child made still more destitute by its father's hand. But,
as patiently and kindly as I could, I set before Robert the supper I had
prepared for him. It did not look very inviting, to be sure; but I could
offer nothing more. He swore he would not taste a particle. I now
reproached him for not having provided any thing better for myself and
children. But this was no time for reproach. Robert's anger rose to the
highest pitch. He dashed the cup and plate I had placed for him to the
floor, and seizing me roughly by the arm, he opened the door, and
forcing me from the dwelling, bid me enter again, if I dared. The night
was cold and windy. I was thinly dressed, and even ill. But I forbore to
take refuge under a neighbor's roof. My heart was too sad and desolate
to admit of human consolation. At this sorrowful moment I remembered
that

    "Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;"

so, falling almost unconsciously upon my knees, I prayed that God would
comfort my stricken heart; that my sins might be pardoned; that I might
be enabled to repose all my griefs in the bosom of that gracious One who
has kindly promised to give the heavy-laden rest. I then prayed for my
miserable husband, that God would have mercy upon him, and deliver him
from his dreadful delusion before it was too late. I prayed, too, for my
poor children, with all the fervor of a mother's soul. This was the
first prayer I had offered for years; for I had been an impenitent
woman. Had I prayed sooner, I might have saved myself much sorrow and
distress. But as it was, I arose from my knees with feelings far less
hopeless and bitter. I then crept back to the house, and on looking in
at the window, I found that Robert had fallen asleep; so I opened the
door quietly, without disturbing his heavy slumbers, and laid myself
down to rest.

The events of this evening were no uncommon events to me. Each
succeeding day brought but the same rough treatment, the same
wretchedness and want. Robert grew worse and worse. He not only
destroyed all our peace, but brought noise and discord into the whole
neighborhood, till at last, for the sake of quiet, he was taken to the
house of correction. I never can forget that dreadful night when he was
carried away. He came home shockingly intoxicated. The little children
crept into the farthest corner of the house to shield themselves from
his fury. He threatened every thing with destruction. I was in danger of
my life, and ran for safety into the nearest house, where a poor widow
lived. Robert followed--we fastened the door--he swore he would set fire
to the building, and burn it over our heads. But some one passing by
heard the uproar, and went for the town officers. Several of them came,
just as my infatuated husband was pelting the window with stones. They
took him away by force, while he was uttering the most shocking oaths. I
sat down and wept with shame and vexation. My little Jane put her arm
round my neck, and said, "Don't cry, ma--he has gone--wicked pa has
gone, and I hope he will never come back--he is so cross, and beats us
so." I hardly knew what to say in answer to my little girl, but I felt
that it was a dreadful thing to have my children speak so of him whom I
would gladly have taught them to love and honor.

I determined, now my husband was away, to support my family by my own
work; for wretched as my home was, I could not bear to leave it and come
upon the town. I could not earn much, for my health was feeble, but I
managed, by depriving myself of several meals, to save enough to mend my
poor neighbor's window.

But Robert longed to regain his liberty. He resolved that he would do
better, and upon promising orderly conduct, was permitted to return to
his family. Badly as he had treated me, I was glad to see him back
again. He looked humble, and spoke to me kindly. He kissed the younger
children, too, and for a while every thing went on smoothly. To me it
seemed like the dawning of better days, and when Robert one evening
brought home some new shoes for our oldest boy, and a new gown for my
little Jane, I actually wept for joy, and Jane said, her "wicked pa had
come back very good."

But these bright days were not to last. Darker ones came, darker than I
had ever known before, or perhaps they seemed darker, from the transient
sunshine that had gleamed upon us. I again heard my children crying for
food, when I had no food to give them. I was again often turned from my
dwelling, or, if I offered any resistance, was forced to receive harsh
words and cruel blows. But it is in vain to tell all I suffered. Many
have gone through the same fiery trial, and will feel that a recital of
my woes is but a recital of what they too have borne.

There was one privilege, the want of which I at this time felt deeply.
The village church was within sight of our door. I used to hear the bell
ring, and see the children of the neighborhood go by, neatly dressed, to
the Sabbath-school; but I had no gown, nor bonnet, nor shawl fit to
wear, and my children were still more destitute than myself. So we were
obliged to spend the Sabbath in sadness at home, while Robert, if the
day was fine, would profane it by going on the water to fish, or would
linger with his companions round the door of the grogshop--not to enter,
it is true; for the dram-seller, with his wife and children, dressed
very fine, and were accustomed to attend church; and but for that
dreadful shop, I might have gone there too.

Our minister was one of those who thought it his duty to "reason on
temperance," as well as "righteousness," and "judgment to come;" and
through his exertions, and the exertions of other good men, a reform
had commenced, which gave great encouragement to the friends of human
happiness and virtue. Temperance-meetings were held once a month in
different parts of the town, and in spite of much opposition, and many
prophecies to the contrary, the cause went on.

I heard much said about these meetings, and resolved to attend the next;
so, when the evening came, I borrowed a cloak and bonnet of one of the
neighbors, and hastened to the church. The prayers I there heard did my
wounded spirit good, and the plain, impressive language of the minister
spoke to my very heart. I resolved to persuade my husband, if possible,
to go with me when there should be another meeting.

A circumstance occurred about this time that quite destroyed my
remaining courage, and almost caused me to give Robert up for lost. We
lived in a small, shabby-looking house, a part of which he rented to a
very poor family. They could not pay the rent immediately upon its being
due. It was in the depth of winter, and the poor woman had a little
infant, not more than two weeks old. But Robert's heart was shut to all
kind feelings. One very stormy day he drove the whole family out of
doors, and they were obliged to seek some other dwelling. It was too
much for the poor woman in her feeble state. She caught a severe cold,
and died in a few days. After this heartless act, my faiths quite failed
me, and I felt as if nothing could recall my husband to a sense of duty.
But I little knew the workings of his mind. He seemed to return a little
to his senses, when he saw that his cruelty had probably caused the
death of the poor woman, and rendered a large family of helpless
children motherless. His countenance became more dark and gloomy, and he
scarcely raised his eyes to notice any one.

Things were in this state, when one day our minister called, as he was
visiting the people of his parish. I was very glad to see him, and told
him all my griefs freely. He gave me what consolation he could, and
informed me that there was another temperance-meeting in the evening,
which he hoped I would attend; "and," added he, "bring your husband
along with you, if you can persuade him to come."

When Robert came home to supper, I was surprised and delighted to find
him sober; so I told him of the minister's visit, and the meeting in the
evening. He seemed pleased that the minister had called, and even asked
me how things looked about the room, "for," said he, "we don't look
quite so stylish here as we once did, Mary."

"No, Robert," said I, with a sigh, as I surveyed the wretched apartment;
"but if you would attend the temperance-meeting, and hear what the
minister says about saving money, I think it would soon look much better
here, and the boys might have better jackets, and I might have a better
gown. Oh, Robert"--

I would have said more, but my eyes filled with tears, and I could not.
Robert hung down his head, and looked ashamed. He knew he had spent, for
rum, money enough to feed and clothe his family well. I thought he had
half a mind to tell me he would go with me. When I had cleared away the
supper, and sent the children to bed, I put on my bonnet, and said, "I
will just step into neighbor Warren's, and borrow Nancy's cloak."

"Have not you any cloak of your own?" said he.

"No," I replied, "I have been without one a long time."

Robert said no more, but when I came back with the cloak, and said to
him, "Will you go with me?" he said, in a tone which seemed as if he
were trying to suppress kinder feelings, "Go along, Mary, and don't be
always fretting about me." I was grieved, but said nothing, and
proceeded to the meeting alone, praying that Robert might think better
of it, and come. The services were even more interesting than they had
been at the preceding meeting. The minister said every thing to
convince, and I felt a distressing anxiety, that I could not control, to
have my husband hear all that was said. Judge, then, of my surprise and
pleasure, when, a short time after I had returned home, Robert entered,
and said, "Guess where I have been, Mary."

"Not to meeting, Robert."

"Yes, Mary, to meeting. I took up my hat after you had gone, thinking
that I would go down to the shop; for I felt uneasy, and wanted
something to suppress my disagreeable thoughts. But as I passed by the
meeting-house, it was so well lighted up, and the bell was ringing, and
the people going in, I thought perhaps I had better go in too; and I am
glad I did. Wife, I do believe the minister is right. I know that hard
drinking has been the ruin of myself and family, and while the minister
was speaking, I thought I would try to break away from my bad habits."

"O, Robert, _will you try_?" I exclaimed, while my heart beat with
pleasure to hear him thus speak.

"'Tis hard work, Mary, harder than you think for."

"I know it is hard, my dear husband; but only think of the happiness it
would bring to us all--of the ruin from which it will save our little
boys--the agony from which it will save your poor wife. O, Robert, if
you have one spark of love remaining in your bosom for any of us"--

I could not go on; but leaning my hands upon my husband's shoulder, I
sobbed aloud.

Robert seemed affected, and said, in a doubtful tone, "Perhaps I might
leave it off by degrees."

"O no, Robert, no," I answered, "that will never do. Don't you remember
how particular the minister was to say, '_Leave it off at once_?' You
will never do it by degrees."

Robert looked steadily into the fire, and did not say one word more.
When not under the influence of strong drink, he is a man of good sense,
and I thought it better to leave him to his own reflections. I know not
what passed through his mind. The kinder and better feelings of other
days seemed to be awakened from their slumber, or rather, He from whom
"all just thoughts and holy desires proceed," was influencing his
determination. As for myself, I longed in secret to pour out my soul to
God. So I went into the bedroom, where my poor children were fast
asleep; and after seeing that they were well covered up, I kissed each
one of them, and knelt down by their side to offer up my prayer. I
prayed as I had never done before. I seemed, through my Redeemer, to
gain a nearer and bolder access to the throne of grace. My heart was
filled with deep gratitude, penitence, humility, and joy; and from that
hour I have dared to hope myself a child of God. O that blessed, blessed
night. It caused joy among the angels in heaven, over the reconciliation
of one soul to God--over the desire of another soul to return to the
path of duty. It caused joy on earth, in our poor, humble dwelling--joy
in the bosom of the long-afflicted wife--joy that her own soul was
trusting in Christ--joy that her husband was purposing to forsake his
wretched way, and turn into a happier, better path.

The next day, before Robert went out, I encouraged him all I could to
persevere. I brought to his remembrance as much of the lecture as I
could, so that it might be fresh in his mind. He left me in good
spirits, and promised to see me again at night a sober man. But O, what
an anxious day was it for me! I dreaded, and yet longed for evening to
come, and my heart beat as I heard his footstep at the door. But he had
kept his word--he had not tasted a drop of spirit during the day. He had
seen, too, the minister and several members of the Temperance Society.
In consequence of the meeting on the last evening, many new names were
added to the temperance list, and they had promised, in case of entire
abstinence till the next meeting, to receive his. I could scarcely
believe my senses when I heard my husband speak thus, and the prospect
of his becoming a sober man seemed too delightful to be ever realized.
For a time, I rejoiced with trembling; but when, day after day, I saw
him return orderly and quiet, my courage revived, and I felt that he
_would persevere_.

At length the evening came round for the next meeting, and my husband
and myself went, O so happy! and put our names to the pledge. What a
different prospect did our home now present. I could not keep my
countenance for joy, when the neighbors came in to congratulate me on
the change. I could now dress my children neat and comfortable, and send
them to the Sabbath-school. I went myself with my husband constantly to
church, and on making known my wish to our minister, publicly professed
my faith in the Saviour of sinners. Thus happily did the winter and
summer pass away. One day in autumn, as the minister was passing by, my
husband was in the road in front of the house.

The minister remarked, "I am glad, Robert, to see your _house repaired_
and looking so well."

"Thank you, sir; why, it does look some better." As the minister was
about to pass on, Robert added, "Mr. G., I have not drank a drop of rum
for one year, come next Monday. So you see the effect upon my house. I
used to work hard before, and spent about all I earned for rum, to drink
myself, or to give away. Many a time I have been at my work on a Sunday,
and earned a dollar or more in the course of the day, and taken the
money, and then laid out the whole in rum. Now I can clothe my family
well, and have something to lay out upon my house. Last summer, my boy
and I saved sixty dollars besides supporting the family."

Sixty dollars saved! But who can tell the value of the happy days and
nights of this year; or the worth of a kind, sober, industrious husband
and father, compared with a cross, cruel, and drunken one? Ask the wife;
what would she tell you? Ask the children; what would be their answer?

Some of my husband's former wicked companions felt piqued and envious
that Robert was free from their degrading habit. They saw him thriving,
respected, and happy. His life and prospects were a continued reflection
upon theirs. They longed to see him fall, and determined, if possible,
to effect his ruin. As he was quietly returning home one evening, he
passed by the shop which he was once so much in the habit of
frequenting. They accosted him: by taunts and jeers which he had not
firmness enough to resist, they drew him into their company. Once there,
they thought him within their power. When they could not induce him to
violate his pledge by taking rum, they called him a "cold-water man;"
"a white-livered coward;" "priest-ridden;" "afraid of his minister," and
many other titles of reproach. They then told him he had not promised to
drink no wine; and, after much persuasion, they induced him to take a
glass. But in this glass they had mingled the poison. Once stimulated,
he called for more and yet more, till these wretches had the pleasure of
seeing him who had so long stood firm, reeling from the shop, to mar at
once all that was pleasant and peaceful at home. When my husband did not
return at supper-time, I felt rather anxious, but thought he might be
delayed, as he sometimes is; so I put his supper to the fire and sat
down to my knitting-work, while one of the boys read to me from his
Sabbath-school book.

We were thus employed when my deluded husband entered. O the agony of
that moment! Had he been brought to me a corpse, I could not have been
more shocked. Had those wicked men that thus seduced my husband entered
my house and done the same things that they caused him to do, they might
have been indicted for the outrage. In the morning Robert had come to
himself; but he saw in the broken furniture, in the distrustful looks of
the children, in the swollen eyes and distressed countenance of his
wife, more than he cared to know. There was a mixture of remorse and
obstinacy in his looks, and when he left me for the morning, instead of
his usual "Good-morning, Mary," he shut the door roughly after him and
hurried away.

When evening came again, Robert returned to the shop, and asked for a
glass of rum. He wanted something to stifle the keen reproaches of
conscience. The dram-seller knew my husband, knew of his reform, that
from being a nuisance to the town, he had become an orderly and
respectable citizen; and now that he had been seduced from the right
way, instead of denying him the cause of all our former misery--instead
of a little friendly advice--with his _usual courteous smile_, he put
the fatal glass into his hand.

For a time my poor Robert continued in a very bad way. He mingled again
with his profane and wicked associates; he was ashamed to see his
minister, and took no notice of him when he passed; hung down his head
when he met any of his temperance friends, and seemed to be fast
returning to his former miserable habits.

But he was not thus to become the dupe of wicked and designing men. His
wife's prayers and tears were not thus to be of no avail. On a sudden he
awoke from his delusion. He had lived a whole year without rum; and
though exposed to all weathers, he knew his health had been better, his
head clearer, his nerves firmer, his purse heavier, and his home
happier. He called one evening to see the President of the Temperance
Society; confessed his weakness in yielding to temptation; asked the
forgiveness of the Society; requested to have his name, which had been
erased from the temperance list, renewed; and promised never again to
violate the pledge. Since that night my husband has continued a
perfectly temperate man. No temptation has ever led him again to violate
his pledge.

I have been induced to give this history of his reform to the world, in
order, if possible, to persuade others to follow his example, to show
them _how_ quiet and plenty were restored to a wretched dwelling, virtue
and respectability to a ruined family, and the _poor man's house
repaired_.

       *       *       *       *       *

    A clergyman, worthy of all confidence, and acquainted with
    the writer of the above, and the circumstances detailed,
    testifies, that the case is "literally and faithfully
    described."




JAMIE;

OR,

A VOICE FROM IRELAND FOR TEMPERANCE.

A TRUE NARRATIVE.

BY PROFESSOR EDGAR,
  OF BELFAST.


In a populous and civilized district of Ulster lived JAMIE, a
day-laborer; a fellow of right good sense and practical talent,
carpenter and mason, shoemaker and blacksmith, and aught else the case
required. The variety of his powers had nearly ruined him. On all hands
he was in requisition, and everywhere he was a favorite--kindness
flowing to him in its common channel, spirituous liquor. Wherever he
went, he was _treated_. This was too much for flesh and blood, and Jamie
became, in the style of the world's false charity, "fond of the drop."
His cash flew to the spirit-shop, and brought neither health nor
happiness in return. The neighbors called him--alas, for such lullabies
to conscience!--an honest, good-hearted fellow, who did nobody any harm
but himself. While, however, they tempted, and flattered, and deceived,
their victim was posting to ruin.

But, while moderate drinkers were training him to drunkenness, God was
raising up the Temperance Society as an ark of safety to him from the
flood of their temptations. One of the publications of the Ulster
Temperance Society fell into his hands, and he read it, for he was of
an inquiring spirit, and a blessing attended it. What, said he, in
amazement, can this be true?--distilled spirits of no more use to any
man in health than arsenic or opium? "Distilled spirits are too
tempting, and dangerous, and violently intoxicating, to be used as a
common beverage at all!" O, thought he, that at least is true.
"Distilled spirits are in their very nature injurious to the human
constitution; and every man who indulges even in their moderate use,
injures himself in proportion to the quantity which he consumes." Jamie
was astonished, and well he might be; but Jamie was conscientious, and
though he had the manhood to confess, what few moderate drinkers will,
that he liked a glass, yet, because he had still a conscience,
notwithstanding the searing it had got from the fiery drink, he said to
himself, "I must, at least, _try_ whether these wonderful statements
respecting distilled spirits be true." James _tried_, and the effects
were delightful. In a very short time he found, from happy experience,
that his health was better from the change; that his purse was better;
that soul and body, the whole man of him was far better, in all
respects, since he renounced the maddening draught.

His duty was now clear before him--to _abstain_ from the raging drink
which, in time past, had been emptying his pocket, destroying his
character, and bringing down his body to the grave, and his soul to
hell. He did his duty in the right way for doing duty--_at once_, and
_right on_.

He saw, however, that something more was incumbent on him than merely
doing his duty in this particular--he must, for the good of others, let
it be known, without ostentation, that his duty was done. Abstaining, he
said to himself, has done me good; the banishment of spirituous liquors
would do my country good; what is every man's duty is my duty; and
therefore, in love to my brethren, I'll freely give the blessing which
to me has been so freely given. Union is strength, thought he: separate
efforts are a rope of sand; united, they are the cable which holds the
mighty ship. He resolved to establish a Temperance Society.

For this purpose, he supplied himself _immediately_ with a number of
Tracts on temperance; for Jamie knew that when self-interest or passion
come in, second thoughts are not always best; and forthwith he commenced
travelling around, reading them, at spare hours throughout the
neighborhood, wherever he could find half-a-dozen people to listen to
him. He was a good reader, and very soon found that his reading was not
without effect; for in a short time he heard of a decent woman telling
her neighbor to send for Jamie to the wake which was to be held in her
house, if she wished to save her whiskey, and have peace and quietness;
for, said she, he came to the wake in my house, and read and talked
about temperance, till both the whiskey and the people seemed either
persuaded or frightened, for hardly one had the courage to put to his
lips what Jamie called, indeed too truly, "the accursed thing."

Jamie, however, soon found to his cost that he had commenced a very
great and a very sore work. The spirit-sellers, four of whom were at a
single cross-roads in his neighborhood, he expected to be against him,
and drunkards he expected would be against him too; but he soon found
that his chief opponents lay in quite another quarter. Sensible people
soon began to see that spirit-sellers are drones on the community, doing
no good, but much harm: and, besides, one of them having first allowed a
temperance meeting to be held in his barn, conscientiously shut up his
spirit-shop, and joined the Temperance Society, being convinced that
spirit-selling is poison-selling, and that each spirit-shop might justly
have on its sign-board, "Beggars made here." Of the drunkards, some
indeed did call him hard names, and impute to him base motives; but from
among even these, lost as they seemed to be to all hope, he was, by
God's grace, enabled to reclaim some, as brands snatched from the
burning, while others of them said to him, in the bitterness of their
reflecting moments, Go on, Jamie, your work is God's work. Had you
commenced but a little sooner, what a blessing might your Society have
been to us; but alas, it is all over with us now!

What at first surprised Jamie much was, that the fathers or husbands of
these very drunkards were his most bitter opponents. He went to them
with a glad heart, expecting that they would hear with delight of a plan
by which drunkards, in great numbers, have been reclaimed, and by which
the temperate can be effectually secured against temptation; but his
heart sunk when he found, not that they received him coldly, for to such
receptions he was accustomed, but that they, as well as others who boast
much of being "temperate enough already," lost all temper at the very
sound of temperance.

Some of these neighbors of Jamie were regular in attendance on public
worship, orthodox and strict, which gave them an influence in the
neighborhood. Jamie, therefore, was anxious to enlist them on the side
of temperance. Yet he could not but know, and very seriously consider,
that whether, in market or fair, these same men either bought or sold,
there could be no such thing as a _dry_ bargain; that at _churns_, and
wakes, and funerals, and marriages, and such like, they always pushed
round the bottle cheerily; that they held it churlish to refuse either
to give or take a treat; that at their evening tea-parties it was not
uncommon for six or eight gallons of spirituous liquor to be consumed by
a few neighbors, men and women, in a single night; that in every house
which their minister visited, the bottle was put to his mouth; and that
as the natural consequence of all this and far more, not only was the
crime of drunkenness, whether in minister or private layman, treated
with much false charity, and called by many soft names, but drunkenness
was spreading its ravages through many families, and bringing down many
heads in sorrow to the grave.

Jamie was indeed charitable, but he was unable to persuade himself that,
amid such universal drinking, all the objections to his Temperance
Society arose merely from ignorance, or prejudice, or conscience; and
therefore, when people were telling him, as they often did, that they
cared not a rush about spirituous liquor, "they could either drink it or
let it alone," he used sometimes to reply, "Oh, I know well enough that
you can drink it; what I want to know is, whether you can let it alone:"
and at other times he would tell them Dean Swift's story of the three
men who called for whiskey in a spirit-shop: I want a glass, said the
first, for I'm very hot; I want a glass, said the second, for I'm very
cold; let me have a glass, said the third, because I like it!

As Jamie's opponents were no match for him in argument, they tried the
plans usually resorted to when the wisdom and the spirit by which truth
speaks cannot be resisted. For a while they tried ridicule. That,
however, neither satisfied their own consciences nor frightened Jamie,
for Jamie could stand a laugh, what many a man can't do who has stood
grape-shot. Then they circulated reports about his having got drunk on
different occasions, and having been caught drinking in secret; and some
believed them, being of the same mind with the distiller, who asserted
it to be mere humbug that any man could live without whiskey, and that
wherever the croaking cold water society men did not drink in the
daytime, they made up for it by drinking at night. These evil reports,
however, fell dead after a little, and nobody was vile enough to take
them up again; and though attempts were made to circulate the lie, that
Jamie had grown weak and sickly since he gave up drinking, yet every
body who looked him in the face saw, that though he had neither a purple
nose nor whiskey blossoms on his chin, yet he was stronger and healthier
than ever; and that he could say, what every member of the Temperance
Society, whether temperate or intemperate formerly, can say with truth,
after abstaining for a single month from distilled spirits, that in
every sense of the word he is better for the change.

Foiled thus in all their attempts, the opponents of Jamie and of
temperance rallied strong for one last charge; and as it was against
Jamie's weak side--who has not a weak side--they already chuckled in
triumph. Jamie had thrown away his glass for ever, but his pipe stuck
firm between his teeth still. The time was, when he was strong and well
without tobacco, and when the taste of tobacco was disgusting and
sickening to him; but respectable people were smoking, and chewing, and
snuffing around him, and when he went to the wake, the funeral, or the
evening gathering, "Why," thought he, "should I be singular, and not
take a whiff like the rest?" He chose smoking, probably, because he
considered it to be the most _genteel_ way of being dirty and
disgusting; and, according to the general law of habits, being most
inveterate where the article used was at first most nauseous, he soon
became so confirmed a smoker that one-half of what he smoked would have
kept him decently clothed.

The lovers of strong drink, therefore, thought that they had Jamie on
the hip completely, when they told him that his only reason for giving
up whiskey was, that he could not afford to buy both it and tobacco; and
promised, though with no sincerity, that they would quit drinking if he
would quit smoking.

The reproach stuck like a burr to Jamie's conscience. He asked himself
again and again, Is my use of tobacco a stumbling-block in the way of
any? Does it do injury to the great cause which has all my heart? He
read, he thought, and read and thought again; and the more he read and
thought, the more was he convinced that the habitual use of tobacco in
any of its forms is useless; is wasteful of time and money; is dirty; is
offensive to others, and a breach of Christian charity; is a bad example
to the simple and young; is a temptation to drunkenness, and injurious
to health. He resolved to renounce it, and flung the old black pipe from
him to lift it again no more. Thus Jamie was conqueror still; and his
victory was one which Alexander, the conqueror of the world, could not
gain. Jamie gained a victory over himself, and he that ruleth over his
own spirit is better than he that taketh a city; but Alexander, who wept
because he had not other worlds besides his own to subdue, died as a
fool dieth, and sleeps in a drunkard's grave.

Jamie learned an important lesson in his victory, which will be of use
to him as long as he lives. Whatever bad habit, he says, has got hold
upon you, _break it of at once_. Would you pull your child out of the
fire cautiously and gradually; or would you out with him at once? So let
it be with every thing wrong. Don't prepare for ceasing from sin
to-morrow, or next year, but cease from it now. Do so yourself; go right
up to your neighbor without fear, and in love tell him to do the same,
having this assurance on your mind continually, _that what ought to be
done, can be done_.

Jamie seemed from the commencement, to have taken for his motto, Expect
great things, work for them, and you shall have them. Work as though all
depended on self; pray as knowing all to depend upon God. He knew his
place, and modestly kept it; yet when opportunity offered for dropping a
word on behalf of temperance, in the ear either of clergyman or layman,
whatever his rank, he did what conscience told him was right towards a
neighbor and a brother. Jamie's pockets and hat were filled with tracts,
which, as the most suitable plan for his shallow purse, and perhaps,
too, for securing a reading of them, he generally lent, and sometimes
gave away, to all who promised to read.

Let it not be supposed that amidst such active benevolence he neglected
his own business. No; Jamie had not learned in vain the apostle's maxim,
"Let him labor, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he
may have to give to him that needeth." It was nothing for him to start
off half a dozen miles of an evening after his work was finished, to
procure some new tracts, or attend a temperance-meeting, or read and
talk kindly to some poor drunkard, whose wife had sent him a hint that
her husband would be glad to see him; or else to procure the services of
some clergyman to address the next meeting of his Temperance Society.
Jamie is one of those who imagine that the business of a minister of the
Gospel is not finished when he has preached a couple of discourses on
the Sabbath; he really presumes to say, that both minister and layman
should be "instant in season and out of season," and like their great
Master, going about continually doing good. He does not set up for a
preacher, nevertheless, but confines himself to his own proper sphere.
He applied to ministers to address his meetings, and though some few of
them refused, telling him significantly that they preach the Gospel,
even when Jamie did ask in his simplicity, if Paul forgot his resolution
to know nothing but Christ and him crucified, when he reasoned of
righteousness, _temperance_, and judgment to come; yet to the honor of
the ministry around him be it told, that whenever he got up a meeting, a
minister was at Jamie's service to address it.

Though, as a body, Jamie's Temperance Society was most steady, yet a
few, and only a few, fell. It would be harsh to say that some were glad
at their fall; at least many temptations were thrown in their way; and
when they fell, a shout of triumph was raised against the Temperance
Society. Such trials as these only urged Jamie on with fresh vigor.

Suppose, he used to say, that every drunkard should return again to
drunkenness and ruin; would not this be another proof that truth, and
honor, and principle, are all as nothing before the drunken appetite?
Would not this be a louder and a stronger call to save the young, to
stop young sons and daughters, now safe, from filling the place of
drunken parents when they are gone? What ruins these poor wretches? he
would ask. Is it the mere _abuse_ of a good and wholesome thing? No.
Distilled spirits are tempting, deceitful, and too violently
intoxicating to be at all habitually used with safety; and as four
hundred of the ablest doctors now living have established, and
unnumbered facts prove, they are unwholesome and injurious to body and
soul. Let every man, then, for his own sake abstain; and for the sake of
others too, especially such as are near and dear to him, O let him
abstain for ever.

Who, he would ask, give currency and influence to the absurd fooleries
which are circulated respecting the marvellous excellences of spirituous
liquors, while common-sense tells that they are of no more use to a man
than to a cow or horse? Not drunkards, surely; for, on such a subject at
least, they would not be believed. Who give support and respectability
to spirit-shops, and the whole spirit-trade? Drunkards surely could make
nothing respectable, and no spirit-seller would put on his sign-board,
"The drunkard's spirit-shop." Again, he would put it to men's
consciences to answer, who give respectability and permanence to all the
_treatings_ and other customs by which each successive generation of
drunkards is trained? There was no getting over the undeniable fact,
that moderate spirit-drinkers must bear the responsibility of all this;
and the more the matter was canvassed, the more clearly was it seen,
that the only way in which drunkenness can be put down is the very way
which Jamie and the Temperance Society proposed--_the union of the
temperate in refraining from intoxicating drinks, and promoting
temperance_.

To _parents_ Jamie addressed himself with unwearied and anxious
importunity. Would you object, he would say to them, when other
arguments had failed--would you object to your son becoming a member
when going away from you to live, perhaps, amidst the temptations of a
large town? Would you be afraid, lest keeping him away from the
temptations of the bottle would make him an easier prey to the
solicitations of the strange woman, whose house is the way to death, and
whose steps take hold on hell? He met with none, whether spirit-sellers
or spirit-drinkers, who were able to resist this appeal; and from this,
as well as other causes, the young formed a large and zealous portion of
Jamie's Society. The young he was particularly anxious to enlist in his
cause, not merely because youth is the time of truth, and of open, warm
hearts, and in an especial manner God's time, but because he believed
spirit-drinking parents to be the great agents in making their children
drunkards.

A case which happened in his own neighborhood, gave him a melancholy
confirmation of this opinion. A respectable moderate drinker, who only
now and then exceeded his single tumbler of punch, had seven daughters,
whom he was in the habit of treating to a little glass of punch each day
after dinner. He, of course, considered it good, and they were soon
taught to consider it so too. They began first to like their one glass;
then they began to like two glasses much better; one glass called for
another, till, in the end, they found, according to the adage, that
though one glass of spirits is too much for any one, two glasses are
quite too little. Right onward they went to drunkenness and crime; for,
alas, it was too true in their case, as in all others, that any one may
be ruined who can be persuaded to drink intoxicating liquors. With the
help of whiskey, as the murderer said, a man can do any thing; so, at
least, it was with these poor girls; they are living with broken
character, virtue and all lost. There is, however, one exception, the
youngest; and how did she escape? She was too young when her father died
to be influenced by her father's example; and her father, with the
character of a moderate, regular man, died sitting at table with his
tumbler of punch before him.

Principally through the prudent and laborious exertions of Jamie, a
great moral reformation has been effected throughout an extensive
district; three hundred names are enrolled on the list of his Temperance
Society; wives and sisters are blessing him for husbands and brothers
reformed; the standard of public sentiment in regard to temperance has
been nobly raised; people don't talk now as formerly of a man's being
_somewhat elevated_ or _tipsy_, or merely _overtaken_, when he is drunk,
for they have learned to call things by their right names, and not
practise imposture by slang phrases. Public resolutions have been passed
against giving spirituous liquor at wakes or funerals, churns,
ploughing-matches, or evening parties; men and women can go to market
and fair, buy and sell, and yet never think of _treating_ or being
_treated_ with spirits; and what still more fully exhibits the extent of
the reformation, it has reached, in some cases, even the most degraded
victims of iniquity, some of whom at least are now consistent members of
the Temperance Society.

Arguing on the subject of temperance has, in a good degree, ceased in
the neighborhood; and though a number of the old or ill-disposed appear
decidedly resolved to have their glass, whatever the consequences, in
the spirit of the fellow who told his doctor that he loved his glass,
and did not care a fig for his liver, yet the young and conscientious
are becoming more hearty in the cause of Jamie and temperance.

Nothing gladdened Jamie's heart more than the success which crowned his
efforts in the Sabbath-school, of which he is superintendent.
Spirit-drinking he not only knew to be a barrier against the progress of
the Gospel, in preventing drunkards from hearing it, and grieving away
the Spirit of God from the moderate drinker, but he felt it to be
peculiarly injurious to the young, in often swallowing up that money
which should be spent in their education, and in withholding from many
even the poor pittance which should cover their nakedness in the
Sabbath-school and the house of God.

As, therefore, the children of the poor had wrung out so much of the
bitter dregs of spirit-drinking, he was anxious that Temperance
Societies, the sworn foes of spirit-drinking, should, with their
earliest, warmest efforts, return blessings to them for years of sorrow,
oppression, and wrong. Sabbath-school teachers, too, he saw to be among
God's choicest instruments in the work of reform. Young, yet serious,
active, and benevolent, possessed of the confidence of their scholars
and their parents, and from their own character, and their connection
with a noble system of Christian enterprise, exercising a mighty moral
influence, wide as the world, what could they not do for the
regeneration of the public mind, especially of that mind which shall be
all active, in good or ill, when the present generation are mouldering
in the grave.

He commenced, therefore, the work of reformation in his own
Sabbath-school, and he commenced in the right way, by communicating
information, and bringing both teachers and scholars to think and apply
the truth for themselves. He wished none, he said, to join his ranks
against the great enemy, but volunteers; he wished for no influence over
any one, but the influence of truth, and no bond upon any but the bond
of an enlightened conscience. He introduced a proposal for each teacher
in rotation to read an interesting extract to the scholars on some
suitable subject, and temperance of course was not excluded. The mere
hearing of the principles of Temperance Societies was sufficient to make
converts of some of the teachers; for what can be more rational than
abstaining from intoxicating drinks and promoting temperance? but it was
not so with others.

Freethinkers may talk as they please about a man having no more control
over his belief than over the hue of his skin or the height of his
stature, still it is a simple fact of Jamie's experience, that it is
mighty hard to convince a man who does not wish to be convinced; and
that, when anybody first resolves to continue to drink, he is then
marvellously fertile in objections against the Temperance Society.

One of the teachers especially, who had been at different times
_overtaken_ by the bottle coming from the market or fair, was so opposed
to temperance, that when his turn for reading on the subject came, he
had still some excuse; and Jamie, without in any way wounding his
feelings, was prepared with an extract to read for him, till at length,
finding him softening down under the influence of truth and love, he, on
one morning of his turn for reading, put an extract into his hand, and
said kindly, Just go out for a little and read it over by yourself, and
that will prepare you for reading it nicely to the children. He did so,
and came in and read it as one who felt its power. Jamie saw that his
heart was full, he knew that _now_ is the time for doing good, and not
to-morrow, and therefore rising up and proposing that a Temperance
Society should be formed in the school, he put his own name to the usual
declaration, _We resolve to refrain from intoxicating drinks, and
promote temperance._

The next man who stepped forward was the self-same teacher who had so
long opposed. "Children," said he, "spirituous liquor is a bad thing; it
has done me harm; it is doing harm to every thing good, and to show that
I hate it and renounce it, I put down my name." The other teachers
followed; the elder children followed the noble example of their
teachers, and as a proof that they knew and felt what they did, when
after school-hours on next Candlemas-day, the master of a day-school
which some of them attended, brought forth whiskey to treat the scholars
according to custom, the noble little temperance heroes rose, as if by
concert, and marched out of the room.

While thus Jamie urged on the good work of reforming others, his own
soul knew the blessings of the promise, "He that watereth others, shall
be watered also himself." After renouncing whiskey, he felt a sweetness
and power in God's word which he had never known before. He almost
doubted whether it could be the same old Bible that he used to read. He
had been abusing God's mercy by indulging in sin in time past, as if in
expectation that sovereign grace would some moment descend in a miracle
and drag him to holiness and heaven; but now he saw clearly that God is
sincere in all his promises, and that the gracious invitations of the
Gospel mean just what they say.

His first duty, he saw clearly, was to give his own self to the Lord. To
that God of love who asked his heart, he gave it. He heard God in his
word saying, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be
saved;" and he took God at his word, and obeyed his command. From what
he knew to be sin, he ceased at once; and what God told him was duty, he
did at once, as God enabled him, without stopping to calculate
consequences, for he left them with his Maker. He knew that no one goes
to heaven or hell alone, the influence of the most humble being
necessarily exerted either for good or ill; and as though travailing in
birth for immortal souls, he was each day, by his conversation and
example, saying to his neighbor, Come with us, and we will do you good.
The more heartily and fully he obeyed God, the better he liked God's
service; and the more extensive acquaintance he obtained of the great
salvation of the Gospel, the more strongly did he feel himself drawn by
a Saviour's love to accept, to adorn, and propagate it. Though beyond
middle life, he had never celebrated his Saviour's love at the Lord's
table. Now, however, he saw it to be his duty and privilege; and those
whose hearts are set on winning souls, can conceive with what holy joy a
worthy young minister, whose church Jamie had lately joined, saw him
sitting down to commemorate with his fellow-Christians the dying love
of the great Redeemer.

"Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory, for thy
mercy, and for thy truth's sake."

       *       *       *       *       *

I knew a man by the name of D----, who was a very skilful, robust, and
prosperous blacksmith, and a man of more than ordinary intelligence. He
yielded to the temptation to which his trade exposed him, till he became
habitually intemperate, and actually a nuisance to the neighborhood. The
innkeeper, who was also a store-keeper, on whom he depended for his
daily supplies of strong drink, amounting, it is believed, to little
less than a barrel and a half annually, at length hired him to abstain
for one year, by giving him his note of hand of ten dollars. He
immediately became a calm and peaceable man. His health, and appetite,
and business returned to him. And he would tell you that the innkeeper
had done him the greatest kindness he had ever received. "I was undone,"
said he. "Now I enjoy myself and my family, and the best farm in the
town would not tempt me to return to the use of ardent spirits." The
poor man kept his resolution till the end of the eleventh month, which
it seems he had mistaken for the end of the year, and then ventured to
indulge a little; and alas, when I saw him last, he was dragging his
legs along, supported by two of his companions, who I feared were
pursuing the same miserable course to destruction, and seemed to be
lending him their sympathy; and he was one of the most loathsome and
degraded human beings my eyes ever beheld. I should not be surprised to
know that he is now with the dead. May my latter end not be like his.

       *       *       *       *       *

A respectable merchant in P----, having long observed that a farmer,
with whom he often traded, was in the habit of using ardent spirits to
great excess, offered one day to give him fifty dollars, if he would
drink no more for ten years; except so much as his physician should
think necessary for his health. The farmer agreed to the proposition,
and the bargain was confirmed in writing. It was not long before he felt
unwell, applied to his physician, and bitters were prescribed. He had
scarcely begun to use them, when he found that his appetite for ardent
spirits was returning with almost irresistible violence. He foresaw the
evil that would probably ensue, threw away his bitters, and dashed his
bottle to pieces. He drunk no more ardent spirits till the ten years had
expired, when he called on the merchant, and informed him that the
conditions of the obligation had been, on his part, fulfilled. "Of
course, then," said the merchant, "you want your money." "No," he
replied, "I cannot take it. I have saved far more than my fifty dollars
in my bills at your store, and I have made ten times that sum by
attention to my business." The merchant has long since gone to his rest.
The farmer still lives, has a large estate, and a fine family around
him, and is a respectable and worthy citizen; for, till this day, he
drinks no ardent spirits.

       *       *       *       *       *

DECLARATION OF THIRTY-EIGHT PHYSICIANS.

"The undersigned, physicians of Cincinnati, feel it their duty to
express their decided opinion in opposition to the habitual, as well as
occasional use of ardent spirits. They are convinced, from all their
observation and experience, that ardent spirits are not only
_unnecessary_, but absolutely _injurious_ in a healthy state of the
system; that they produce many, and aggravate most of the diseases to
which the human frame is liable; that they are unnecessary in relieving
the effects of cold and fatigue, which are best relieved by rest and
food; that their use in families, in the form of bitters, toddy, punch,
etc., is decidedly pernicious, perverting the appetite, and undermining
the constitution; that they are equally as poisonous as opium or
arsenic, operating sometimes more slowly, but with equal certainty."




THE WONDERFUL ESCAPE.


In the town where I reside were twelve young men who were accustomed,
early in life, to meet together for indulgence in drinking and all
manner of excess. In the course of time, some of them engaged in
business; but their habits of intemperance were so entwined with their
very existence, that they became bankrupts or insolvents. Eight of them
died under the age of forty, without a hope beyond the grave, victims of
intemperance. Three others are still living in the most abject poverty.
Two of these had formerly moved in very respectable circles, but now
they are in the most miserable state of poverty and disgrace.

One more, the last of the twelve, the worst of all, remains to be
accounted for. He was a sort of ringleader; and being in the wine and
spirit trade, his business was to take the head of the table at
convivial parties, and sit up whole nights drinking and inducing others
to do the same, never going to bed sober. He was an infidel, a
blasphemer, a disciple of Tom Paine, both in principle and practice, yet
he was a good-natured man, and would do any body a kindness. At length
he left the town, and went to reside at a distance, where, for a time,
he refrained from drinking, was married, and every thing seemed
prosperous around him; but instead of being thankful to God for his
mercy, and watching against his besetting sin, he gave way to his old
propensity, and brought misery on his family and friends.

One dark night, being in the neighborhood of Dudley, he had been
drinking to excess, wandered out of the house, and staggered among the
coalpits, exposed to fall into them, and be lost. He proceeded on till
he fell, and rolled down the bank of the canal; but God, who is rich in
mercy, had caused a stone to lie directly in his path, and the poor
drunkard was stopped from rolling over into the water, where, by one
turn more, he would have sunk into eternal ruin. His senses returned for
a moment; he saw that if he attempted to stand, he would fall headlong
into the canal, and crawled back again into the road. But this
miraculous preservation had no effect upon him; he merely called it a
lucky escape.

Once, after having indulged in many days of intemperance, being come a
little to his senses, he began to reason with himself upon his
folly--surrounded with blessings, yet abusing the whole--and in an
angry, passionate manner, he muttered, "O, it's no use for me to repent;
my sins are too great to be forgiven." He had no sooner uttered these
words, than a voice seemed to say, with strong emphasis, "If thou wilt
forsake thy sins, they shall be forgiven." The poor man started at what
he believed to be real sound, and turned round, but saw no one, and said
to himself, "I have been drinking till I am going mad." He stood
paralyzed, not knowing what to think, till relieved by a flood of tears,
and then exclaimed, "Surely, this is the voice of mercy, once more
calling me to repentance." He fell on his knees, and half suffocated by
his feelings, cried out, "God be merciful to me a sinner." The poor
wretch was broken-hearted; and now his besetting sin appeared more
horrible than ever; but it must be conquered, or he must perish. Then
commenced a contest more terrible than that of conflicting armies; the
soul was at stake; an impetuous torrent was to be turned into an
opposite course. He now began to search the Bible, which he had once
despised. Here he saw that crimson and scarlet sins could be blotted
out, and made white as snow; that the grace of God was sufficient. He
refrained from intemperance, commenced family prayer, and hope again
revived; but his deadly foe still pursued him, and he was again
overcome.

Now his disgrace and sinfulness appeared worse than ever, and with
melancholy feeling he cried out, in anguish of spirit, that he was
doomed to eternal misery, and it was useless to try to avert his fate.
His cruel enemy took this opportunity to suggest to his mind that he had
so disgraced himself, that it would be better to get rid of his life at
once--frequently the end of drunkards. The razor was in his hand; but
the Spirit of the Lord interposed, and the weapon fell to the ground.
Still his enemy pursued him, and seemed to have new power over his sin
of intemperance. He would sometimes refrain for days and weeks, and
then again he was as bad as ever. Hope seemed now to be lost; especially
one day, when, after having been brought into great weakness through
intemperance, death appeared to be very near, and his awful state more
terrific than ever. Not a moment was to be lost; he cast himself once
more at the footstool of his long-insulted Creator, and with an
intensity of agony cried out, "What profit is there in my blood when I
go down to the pit? Shall the dust praise thee? Shall it declare thy
truth? Hear, O Lord, and have mercy upon me; Lord, be thou my helper."
He sunk down exhausted; he could say no more. That prayer was heard; and
a voice from heaven seemed to reply, "I will help thee; I have seen thy
struggles, and I will now say to thine enemy, 'Hitherto thou hast
come--but no further.'"

A physician was consulted as to the probability or possibility of
medicine being rendered effectual to stop the disposition to
intemperance. The poor man would have suffered the amputation of all his
limbs, could so severe a method have freed him from his deadly habit,
which, like a vulture, had fastened upon his very vitals. Eagerly did he
begin to take the simple medicine prescribed--a preparation of
steel--with earnest prayer to God for help in this last struggle for
life; but faith and prayer proved the best of remedies; he persevered,
and conquered; and be it said to the honor and glory of the Lord God
Almighty, who sent his angel to whisper in the poor man's ear, "I will
help thee," that from the latter end of September, 1816, to the present
hour, nearly twenty years, _not so much as a spoonful of spirituous
liquor, or wine of any description, has ever passed the surface of that
man's tongue_.
#/

The above account of his own experience, was given by Mr. Hall, a
merchant of Maidstone, Kent, at the anniversary of the British and
Foreign Temperance Society, May, 1836.

Mr. Hall stated, in conclusion, that he had since been aiming to be
useful to his fellow-men, and had written a Tract, the object of which
was to call drunkards, and all sinners to repentance, of which more than
one hundred thousand copies had been circulated. See Tract No. 349.

Has the reader a relative, friend, or neighbor, who drinks his daily
drams, and is plunging into that awful gulf which yearly swallows up its
thousands of victims? Let the above history suggest a duty, and
encourage to its performance. This is not a solitary instance of victory
obtained over powerful and raging appetite. There is evidence that tens
of thousands of persons in the United States, who were once intemperate,
have become sober, useful citizens; and not a few of them ardent
Christians. And this has been effected, not by despising and reproaching
them, but chiefly through the divine blessing on _the kind personal
influence of friends_, excited by no other motive than Christian
benevolence and love of their fellow-men. The self-despair of the
intemperate mind arises, in a great measure, from the conviction that he
is an outcast from public respect and sympathy. He is moved by the
language of kindness; and if suitably warned of his danger, and pointed
to the way of escape, may be saved from ruin. Persuade him to refrain
till reason resumes her sway, and the burning desire for stimulus has
subsided. A few months will generally effect this great change. In his
sober hours he often weeps over his folly, his ear is open to the voice
of friendship, and he will yield to kind remonstrance--perhaps consent
to place himself under the care of a temperate physician. _Go to him
when alone_, with tenderness and love. Offer him such aid as is needed
by himself or family. Give him the above history, in view of which none
need despair. Bring him, if possible, to the house of God. Go to him
again and again, till you obtain his pledge, to abstinence. Follow him
with kindness. Support him in the struggle. Induce him _utterly to
abandon all that can intoxicate, as his only safety_; wholly to-refrain
from the _place_ and the _company_ where intoxicating drinks are used;
and in dependence on Christ, humbly to offer the prayer, "Hold thou me
up, and I shall be safe." Interest yourself in his welfare, and
persevere till you gain the glorious triumph--the conquest of an
_immortal mind_, that may diffuse blessings on every side in this life,
and be a star in the Redeemer's crown of glory for ever.


PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




THE EVENTFUL TWELVE HOURS;

OR,

THE DESTITUTION AND WRETCHEDNESS OF A DRUNKARD.

[Illustration: Drunk's ill wife fainting]


"It is a sorrowful heart," said I to myself, as I raked over the dying
embers upon the hearth, to throw a transient gleam of light over my
dreary cottage--"It is a sorrowful heart that never rejoices; and though
I am somewhat in debt at the _Blue Moon_, and the landlady of the _Stag_
has over and over again said she'd never trust me, still she has not yet
refused me, only at first. Many's the shilling I have paid them both, to
be sure," said I, rising involuntarily and going to the cupboard: "I had
better take a mouthful before I go out, for it's no use to wait any
longer for Mary's return."

Just at this moment the eldest of my two children inquired in a piteous
tone, "if that was mother." "Your mother? no," said I; "and what if it
was, what then?" "Because, father," continued the child, "I thought
perhaps she had brought a loaf of bread home, for I am so hungry."
"Hungry, child," said I; "then why did you not ask me before you went to
bed?" "Because, father, I knew there was no bread. When mother sent me
to get a loaf this morning at the grocer's, Mrs. Mason said our last
month's bill had not yet been settled, and she could not trust any more;
and so we have only had a few potatoes. When mother went out to look for
work, she promised to bring a loaf home very early." "Why, Jane," said
I, "this is a new story--what, is there nothing at all in the house?"
"No, father, nothing; and that is not all, father; mother cried this
morning about it when she went out; and though she never uses bad words,
said something about cursed drink: she said she should be back before
dark, and it has now been dark a long time, and hark, how it rains."

The fire flickered up a little, and at this moment the latch of the door
clicked; I peeped up through the gloom, a pang of conscious shame
stealing through my frame; but it was not my wife, as I of course
supposed--it was Mrs. Mason. I was surprised and confused. "Where is
your wife, James?" said she, in a mild, firm tone. "Is that mother?"
said my child again, in a rather sleepy tone; "I am so glad you are
come, I am so hungry." "That child," said I, "has gone to bed without
her supper to-night," fumbling about at the same time upon the
mantel-piece for a bit of candle, which I could not find. "Yes," said
Mrs. Mason, very gravely, "and without its dinner too, I fear; but where
is your wife, James? for I am come to see whether she brought any thing
home with her for herself and family; for I could not feel comfortable
after I had refused your child a loaf this morning, just as I know the
refusal was." I now stammered out something about "sorry," and
"ashamed," and "bad times." "But where _is_ your wife, James?" "She is,
perhaps, at neighbor Wright's," said I, briskly, glad to catch an
opportunity of a minute's retreat from my present awkward position;
"I'll just step and see. Jane, get up, child." "No, James," said Mrs.
Mason, in a tone not to be misunderstood; "no, James, I wish she was
sitting by their comfortable fireside; I called in there just now, as I
came along, to pay a little bill, and they spoke very kindly of your
wife, and hoped she might be enabled to rub through this winter--but I
will call again in half an hour: Mary will have come home, I hope, by
that time."

The door closed upon her, and I remained in a kind of half stupor; my
month's unpaid bill, my public-house scores, my destitute home; these
and a thousand things connected with my situation, kept me musing in no
very comfortable frame of mind, when the latch again clicked, the door
opened, and through the half gleam of one flickering flame, I just
caught the glimpse of a form, that in the next instant, cold and wet,
sunk lifeless in my arms. It was Mary. As she sunk down upon me, she
just said, with a shudder, "Cold." Shall I stop to tell you of the agony
of my mind? Shall I endeavor to relate a portion of the thoughts that
chased each other with a comet's rapidity through my brain; the
remembrance of our past comforts, and our happiness too? Recovering
after the lapse of an instant, I called, "Jane, Jane, get up, and make
haste; your mother is come home, and is very ill and faint; get a
light"--she was quickly at my side--"get a light," for the little
unfriendly flame had ceased to burn.

"But where are you, mother?" said Jane. "Jane, child," said I, angrily,
"your mother is here; get a light directly." "We haven't a bit of
candle, father." "Then get some wood out of the back room--break up some
little bits--O, do make haste." "We haven't a bit of wood, father."
"Child, child--" "Yes, father, but we haven't any." My poor wife at this
moment gave a kind of sob, and with a slight struggle, as if for breath,
sunk heavier in my arms. I tried to hold her up in an easier posture,
calling to her in a tender manner, "Mary, my dear Mary;" but my
sensations and my conscience almost choked me. In this moment of anguish
and perplexity, my wife, for aught I knew, dead in my arms--without
light, without fuel, without food, without credit, Mrs. Mason returned.
Jane had managed to make the fire burn up, just so as to disclose our
wretched situation. "Your wife ill?" said Mrs. Mason, hastily stepping
forward--"very ill, I fear, James, and wet and cold--run hastily,
James," reaching herself a broken chair, "and call in Mrs. Wright, and
place your wife on my lap." This I immediately did, and as I opened the
door to go out, I heard Mrs. Mason ask Jane to get a light--and shame
made me secretly rejoice, that I had escaped the humiliation, for the
present, of confessing that we had not even a bit of a candle in the
house.

Mrs. Wright was preparing for supper: they were regular and early folks,
and my heart sunk within me when, in my hurry, I unceremoniously opened
the door--I mean the contrast I saw between their cottage and my own; a
clean cloth was laid, with spoons, and basins, and white, clean plates,
and knives and forks, with every other necessary comfort. Wright was
sitting with his back towards the fire, with a candle in one hand and a
book in the other, reading to his wife, who was leaning forward, and
just in the act of taking a pot off the hanger, in which it would be
easy to guess, was something warm for supper. The fire and candle gave a
cheerful light, and every thing looked "comfortable." "My wife is taken
very ill," said I, "and Mrs. Mason, who has just stepped in, begged me
to call in your help." "Mrs. Mason at your house now?" said Mrs. Wright;
"come, Wright, reach me my cloak, and let us make haste and go." We were
all at the door, when Mrs. Wright said, "What, come to fetch us without
a lantern? and ours is at the glazier's. What are we to do?" "The
distance is very short," I said. "Yes," said Wright, "but long enough
for an accident; how I do like necessaries;" adding, in an undertone, as
he pulled his wife along, something about "enough for _tavern debts_,
but nothing to buy _necessaries_."

On opening my cottage door, I called out--for no one was in the
room--"Mrs. Mason, are you up stairs? how is Mary? here is Mrs. Wright;
shall I come up?" No one answered, and Mrs. Wright passed me, going
softly up stairs, saying, in a low tone, as she ascended, "James, you
had better make up a good fire, and get some water heated as fast as you
can." Again I was aghast. "Get some water heated," said I; and the
wretchedness of our bedless bed and furnitureless room crossed my mind
at the same time. Mrs. Mason, at this moment, leaned over the banisters,
and said, in a soft voice, "James, fetch the doctor, and lose no time;
make haste, for life may depend on it." My wretchedness seemed now
complete; the very fire of delirium and confusion seemed to seize upon
my brain; and hastily calling out to Jane to attend upon Mr. Wright, I
snatched up my hat, and pushed by my neighbor without heeding some
inquiries he had begun about the necessaries that were then so much
required.

It rained, and was very dark; the road to the doctor's was not the best,
and he lived rather more than a mile off; it was impossible to proceed
faster than a slow, cautious walk. I was now alone, and, in much
bitterness of spirit, began to upbraid myself, and those companions of
my folly who had led me on to habits that had first disgraced, and then
brought me to severe ruin. With what vivid brightness did the first year
of our marriage, its comforts and its hopes, again pass before me; and
when my mind led me on through all its changing scenes, up to the moment
when Mrs. Mason, in her low, subdued tone of voice, called to me to
fetch the doctor, and to mind I lost no time; I could only realize my
wife as dying, and myself the cruel tyrant who had, by neglect, ill
usage, and partial starvation, brought her to an untimely end.

When I entered the doctor's house, "Is that you, James King?" said he,
sharply; "do you want me?" "Yes, sir," said I; "my wife is very ill, and
Mrs. Mason, who called in just at the time she was taken, desired me to
come and to request your attendance upon her. I am afraid, sir, it is no
little affair." "Mrs. Mason, Mrs. Mason," said the doctor; "I am
inclined to think Mrs. Mason has better drugs in her shop for your
wife's complaint, than my shop affords, and I expect I shall have to
tell her so." I hung down my head with shame; I understood what he
meant. He then moved towards the door, putting on his greatcoat as he
walked along. "But stop," said he, just as we got to the outer door,
"how did you come--no lantern?" "I can carry your lantern before you,
sir," said I. "Yes," said he, "and _I_ may bring it back." "But I will
return with you, sir; my wife will most likely want some medicine."
"Yes, James," said he, "and if she does, I shall want the money longer
still." I had no word to reply, it was no time to begin being
independent. The doctor's large glass lantern was brought, and our
journey back was quickly performed. I should have thought a great deal
of giving 7_s._ 6_d._ for such a lantern, if I had really required just
such an one; yet I had paid as many pounds on my scores, and thought
nothing at all about it.

On getting home, I found that somehow it had been managed to make up a
good fire, and the tea-kettle was boiling, and Mrs. Mason was just
making a little tea. "How is Mary?" said I, hardly daring to look Mrs.
Mason in the face. "Well, Mrs. Mason," said the doctor, "pray what is
the matter?" and as the doctor spoke, Mrs. Mason took up the jug of tea
she had made, conversed with the doctor in an undertone for half a
minute, and both walked up stairs, leaving me again to reflection, in
fact, taking no notice of me. I sunk down heavily upon the chair that
was beside the fire, in a state of exhaustion, and while I was wondering
where all this would end, was aroused by the cry of "James, James, the
doctor says your wife must put her feet into warm water; so bring up
some directly, James, in a large pan or bucket, or any thing that is
handy; pray, make haste;" and before I could reply, for I doubted
whether there was either, the door was shut, and again I was placed in a
new difficulty. However, I found an old leaky pail and an old broken
pan; so I set the pail into the pan to catch the leakage, and together,
they did tolerably well; but I felt considerable shame as I handed this
lumbering affair up stairs, well knowing it would call forth some
remark.

I had just again seated myself at the fire, when the doctor, in no very
gentle tone, called out, "James, here, man, take this paper to my
office; Mr. Armstrong will give you some physic for your wife, and then
it will be twice given, for I suppose you will never pay for it." I
stared at him, or rather paused and hesitated--who could tell why? was
it the taunts I was thus obliged to endure; or was it bodily exhaustion?
I had eaten all the food my poor Mary had put into my basket for my
breakfast; and, as it appeared, all she had in the world; yet I had
managed to borrow sixpence at noon, intending to buy me a loaf and
cheese, and half a pint of beer for my dinner; but venturing upon half a
pint of beer first, I called for another; and, becoming thirsty, for a
pint; and so my dinner and my afternoon's work were both lost together.
It must now have been nearly ten o'clock, and I had tasted no food, as I
said before, since breakfast. I felt faint, and well I might; however,
with a heavy step and a heavier heart, taking up the doctor's lantern,
and looking round upon the empty wretchedness before me, I again set out
for the doctor's. And did I not also think over neighbor Wright's
comfortable, cheerful room, and his boiling pot; while I, who had that
day spent a borrowed sixpence upon beer, had not even a crust of bread
for myself or family? And did I forget the pence, and then the
shillings, and then the pounds I had paid at public-houses; selling, and
pawning my bed from under me, and my clothes from off my back, and all
to gain misery and want, and lose my good name?

Mr. Armstrong was a kind-hearted young man, and soon prepared the
medicines, and by kind and cheerful hopes concerning my poor Mary, and a
little civil conversation, raised my spirits, and I walked back somewhat
lighter of heart; but I was thoroughly wet, and the cold rain pierced my
very marrow, for I was wearing summer clothing in the winter season--I
had no other. Cold and wet, exhausted and miserable, I once more lifted
the latch of my own cottage door. The candle was dimly burning. My fears
arose, and my heart sunk within me: "Is Mary worse?" said I. "She is no
better," said Mr. Wright, who was sitting over the dying embers--"no
better--heavy work, James."

I placed the medicine upon the table, and sat down, exhausted and
wretched. Whose situation so low, could he have known all, that would
not have pitied me? Wright rose, and carried the medicines up stairs;
and in another minute all was the stillness of death. I could have borne
any thing but this--at least I so felt--but under this oppressive
stillness, my feelings gave way in torrents of tears, and every moment
brought a fresh accusation against myself for my past doings; and again
I looked around me, as well as my tearful eyes and dimly-lighted room
would allow, and contrasted all with John Wright's. "So comfortable,"
said I, involuntarily. Indistinct sounds and cautious steppings were now
heard above; and while I was raising myself up to listen, in order to
catch, if possible, something that would acquaint me with the state of
my poor Mary, the bedroom door opened, and down came Wright and his
wife, the latter carefully lighting the doctor, Mrs. Mason being close
behind him. I tried to recover myself a little, and to assume something
like the appearance of courage; and in a half-choked, coughing voice,
said, "How is my poor wife, sir?" The doctor, with a severity of manner,
and imitating my manner of speaking, replied, "You should have coughed
sooner, James;" then turning to Mrs. Mason, said, "Remember, _quiet_ is
the best medicine _now_; indeed, it is food and medicine in her present
state; don't teaze her about any thing; at half past, mind--and again at
twelve, until the pain subsides, when sleep will follow."

I shrunk back at the words "half past," which reminded me that I had not
even a twenty-shilling clock in the house.

"James," said the doctor, "have you no time in the house?" "No, I
suppose not," he answered himself. "Well, then, you must guess at it; oh
dear, bad work indeed. Come, James, put that bit of candle into the
lantern; I hope it does not rain now."

Wright opened the door, and I walked out with the lantern, the doctor
following, and, buttoning his coat closely round him, remarked upon the
darkness of the night. I walked on with an unsteady step, feeling as if
every yard of ground I strode over would be the last. But, urged on by
my situation, I reached the doctor's house without any remark from him
upon my wearied step, and pulled his bell in rather a hasty manner.

"You are in a hurry, James," said he, "you forget the time of night; a
gentle pull would have waked the attendant without disturbing my family.
_My_ family are very regular, James, and I make it a rule never to
disturb them when it can be avoided; perhaps you think such things of no
consequence: regularity, James, and sobriety, are two very principal
things in a family."

By this time the attendant appeared, and, giving him the lantern and
thanking the doctor for his kind attention, I left the door to return
home. The door closed, and my situation was a very painful one; the
sudden change from light to utter darkness obliged me to stand still a
few minutes before I could venture to move, but a world of sensations
ran through my mind, and distracted me more than ever; the weakness of
my body prevented my checking its sensations; and, could I have weighed
in the balance of reason, to say nothing of religion, at this moment,
all foolish, sinful pleasures--falsely so called--of drinking, with the
distress of mind and weariness of body I then endured, and had endured
on this one single night, how light would they have seemed. Yes, even if
I had not included the loss of positive property and health.

Once again, then, I reached my home. All was still; but soon Mrs. Mason
came down. Before I could speak, she said, "Mary is better, James; she
has fallen into a nice sleep." She spoke kindly, and looked kindly. I
tried to answer her, but my feelings choked me; and seeing my effort to
suppress them, she continued, "God has dealt very mercifully, James,
towards you, in so blessing the means that have been used; but you have
had no supper; you will find some nice warm soup by the side of the fire
there; Mrs. Wright sent it in for you, by her husband, when she returned
home: come, James, eat it while it is warm, it will do you good; your
little girl and boy have both had some, and they are now warm in bed and
fast asleep."

"Mr. and Mrs. Wright are very kind," I added, "and you are kind; what
should I have done but for you and them?"

"Done, James?" said she mildly; "done, James? see how God orders his
dispensations; 'in the midst of wrath he remembers mercy,' and I trust
he has purposes of mercy in this event towards you and your family; but
beware, James, for the Bible expressly says, 'My son, despise not the
chastening of the Lord;' and again, 'whom the Lord loveth, he
chasteneth.' But eat your supper; I will step up stairs and see if your
wife is still sleeping, and if she is, I will come down and chat a
little with you."

As she went softly up stairs my eyes followed her, and I said to myself,
This is one of your religious ones, is it, that I have so often joined
in jeering at? Surely I ate my supper with a thankful heart, and was
much strengthened by it. Mrs. Mason soon returned, and stepping into the
back room, where Jane lay, and her little brother, brought out three or
four billets of wood, and a cheerful fire was soon made; so that with my
warm, nourishing supper, the cheerful fire, and Mrs. Mason's mild and
cheerful countenance and manner, I regained my spirits, and a
considerable portion of my strength. After a little pause, she said,

"James, when Mary recovers, if it should please God to order it so,
great care will be required lest she should relapse. You would not wish
to lose her, James; she has, I believe, been a kind and affectionate
wife to you, and a tender mother to your children. When you were first
married every thing went well with you, and it was a remark I often made
of you as a neighbor, that you wanted nothing but the true fear of God
in your heart, and faith in our blessed Saviour, to make you a pattern
to all around you. I used often to say a few words to Mary, and she
always received them meekly, but I seldom saw you, and your manner never
gave me any encouragement to talk to you on religious subjects. James,
experience has enabled me to make one remark, that _absence from divine
worship_, as a regular or customary thing, is an almost unerring sign of
the absence of religion from the heart; and it is indeed seldom that I
have seen you in your place on the Sabbath-day. The Sabbath is a blessed
day when it is spent aright." So leaving me, she again went up stairs,
remarking that Mr. Wright had been home to her house, to explain the
cause of her absence, (and as I tolerably well guessed, this partly
explained the mystery of fire and candle, and tea and sugar, and bread,)
adding, "Mrs. Wright will come in at daylight, and will stay with Mary,
and that will allow me to attend to my morning's business: you know,
James, the Bible says, 'diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving
the Lord.'"

I longed to go and see my poor Mary, but I was not asked, and I supposed
it right that it should be so. I now thought of my poor children; and
going into their room, I felt distressed to find them so badly provided
with bed-clothes. I kissed them, and secretly prayed, in a kind of way,
that I might be spared to care more for them than I had lately done. I
sat down, and began to reflect upon all the circumstances of the past
day, and of this eventful night; but I soon fell into a sound sleep,
which continued until Mrs. Mason awoke me, informing me that it was
nearly daylight, and reminded me of her intentions to return home to her
duties as soon as Mrs. Wright should arrive. "And why wait for Mrs.
Wright, madam?" said I; "surely I can attend upon Mary now, or at least
until Mrs. Wright does come." "It is very natural," said Mrs. Mason,
"that you should desire to attend upon your wife, and think yourself
capable of doing so; but my most particular directions from the doctor
were, not to allow you to see your wife, if I could prevent you, until
he had seen her once more; and you may remember, James, in how grave a
manner he directed she might not in any way be teazed, nor--but, James,
to deal honestly with you, and rightly as I consider it, whatever may be
your future conduct to your wife, your behavior to her for these last
three years has not been quite kind; and as grief and depression have
very much to do with her present illness, we are all of opinion that you
had better refrain from going to see her until she is more composed. You
have bruised, James; seek now to heal."

I was touched with the reproof; I was, perhaps, more touched by the
manner. Mrs. Mason was one who sought to win souls: she won my esteem
and confidence, and I felt that if Mrs. Mason could talk to me thus, I
had still something to lose. I went to call Mrs. Wright. On my return,
Mrs. Mason was up stairs, but she had placed nearly a whole loaf and a
piece of butter on the table, and some tea and sugar, and the kettle was
singing by the fireside. These were times of deep thought to me. On Mrs.
Wright's arrival, I thanked her for her great kindness, and hoped better
times were in store. "Yes," she replied, "better times may be in store
for you; I hope they are; you have certainly bought your corn at a very
dear market lately, but you _may_ find a better one to go to yet." Mrs.
Mason now appeared, and ready to go home; the morning had just fully
dawned. "Come, James," said she, "you must go with me; I want to send
back a few things to Mary; and mind, you must not leave the house to-day
after your return, and your little girl ought to be sent to account for
your absence from work--that is, James, if--"

"If, madam?" said I quickly; "if what?"

"Yes, James, if you think you can maintain a new character, and desire
really to become again, what I well remember you once was, a respectable
man; yes, James, a respectable man; for remember, that word is the just
right of every man who acts as every man ought to do. The word seems to
surprise you: it is a sad mistake that seems insensibly to have crept
into common acceptance in these days, that respectability must mean
something belonging rather to riches and rank, than honesty and
uprightness of character; respectability is as much the birthright of
yourself as of young 'squire Mills; indeed, I may say that on this
point, you both started in life exactly equal: his father was indeed
respectable in every sense of the word; and your father was certainly
nothing behind him; both faithfully discharged the duties of that
station 'into which it pleased God to call them,' and this I consider,
from the king to the cottager, is to be respectable; but, James, the
young 'squire is as _respectable_ a man, I am happy to say, as his
father was, and why should not you become as respectable as yours? I
have lived to see many changes, but the change I most mourn over, is the
change of principle in my neighbors. Their respectability seems to be
exchanged for finer clothes and fewer fireside, fewer home comforts; and
I happen also to know, that if very much of the grain that has been made
into poisonous beer and whiskey had been made into good wholesome bread,
both you and I, James, should have been better off, I think, than we are
now, for I have had my struggles as well as you; so have many others. I
have worked early and late, taking care of _the pence_, to maintain my
respectability; yet, let me again repeat it, your father and mother were
respectable to the day of their death, and many in this village would
gladly see their only child following their footsteps, and seeking the
same inheritance they now possess 'in mansions in the skies.' But the
road leads down hill to vice and folly, and I might add, the gulf of
ruin lies at the bottom; you may be far down it; I fear you are, yet
there is a hand that even now beckons to you, and says, 'Turn, turn, I
have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth; wherefore turn and
live:' but, James, you are not ignorant of your Bible."

I tried to conceal my emotions, for it was a very long time since I had
heard such words as these. My Bible and the house of God had been long
entirely neglected. Mrs. Mason perceived that I was affected, and moving
towards the door, said, "Yes, James, it is a slippery, down-hill path
that leads to ruin, and many there be that walk therein. Heaven may be
said to lie upward, yet 'its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its
paths are peace.' But come, it is broad daylight, and I must hasten
home."

As we passed neighbor Wright's cottage, I had not forgotten the comfort
that was within, and I said secretly, "I'll see what's to be done." The
arrival of Mrs. Mason at home seemed to give to all the liveliest
pleasure and satisfaction; and their inquiries after my poor wife were
made with a kindliness of manner that surprised me. "They respect her,"
said I to myself; they took little notice of me, yet treated me with
more civility than I had a right to expect. Mrs. Mason soon put up a few
little things and directed me to give them to Mrs. Wright, and weighing
me a pound of bacon, and putting a large loaf and half a pound of cheese
into the basket with it, with some soap and candles, said, "I shall
charge _these_ to your bill, James. Patty, go into the garden and cut
James a couple of nice cabbages; I dare say he will know what to do with
them." Having had this unexpected provision made me for the day, and
receiving parting words of encouragement from this kind friend, I
returned home. I found my children up and washed, and breakfast ready.
Mrs. Wright had kindly done this. Jane looked cheerful, and my little
Harry came edging towards me, as if he did not know what to make of all
this. "Mother's so ill, Jane says, father--is she; is she, father?"
looking up in my face as I sat down, "is she?"

"She is better now, my boy," I said.

"Better, father? who made her ill? _you_ didn't make her ill, did you,
father--nice bread, father--did mother bring this nice bread home,
father? speak, father, you don't speak."

I could not trust myself to answer; so I rose, for I was much affected
at the thought that Mrs. Mason had cared for these babes and their
mother, but I had neglected them, and foolishly squandered away their
comforts and even their necessary bread.

Mrs. Wright went home; but returned soon after we had finished
breakfast; and by the time I had put things a little to rights, the
doctor called. His "Well, James," filled me with no very pleasing
sensations. "I hope we shall have a change, eh, James?" and passing on,
went up stairs. Ah, thought I, I hope so too, for I know what you mean.
He soon came down; said my wife might get up if she liked, taking a
little care, and, "after to-day, give her a pill every noon for dinner
off a loin of mutton, eh, James? A few more broiled pills for _her_,
and a pint less of liquor for _you_, and your old father and mother
would soon come to life again. _Your_ savings' bank is at the tavern,
and the landlady of the Stag keeps your accounts, I believe, eh, James?
I shall charge you nothing for this." This was the doctor. I received
his reproofs humbly, and certainly thought, you have been very kind, but
I also thought, you are not Mrs. Mason.

Soon after this, my poor Mary came down stairs, and I at once confessed
my sorrow for my past conduct, and my determination to _drink no more_;
and, to conclude, my wife slowly recovered, and, I may add, I recovered
also; but I was very far down the hill, and consequently found it a long
and hard tug to get up again; but Mrs. Mason encouraged me, Mrs. Wright
helped me, the doctor cheered me, Mr. Armstrong praised me, our kind
minister instructed me, my wife assisted me, and, as a crowning point of
all, the blessing of God rested on me. I worked hard, I prayed in my
family, I paid my debts, I clothed my children, I redeemed my bed, I
mended my windows, I planted my garden and sold garden stuff, instead of
buying; I bought me a wheel-barrow, I mended my chairs and table, I got
me a clock; and now here I am, but never shall I forget John Wright or
his wife, how long soever I may remember my other kind friends, and most
of all, Mrs. Mason. But there were no temperance societies in those
days, or I think I should have been reclaimed sooner.




THE
LOST MECHANIC RESTORED.

[Illustration: Reformed drunk re-employed]


Near the close of 1831, says Mr. C----, of Hartford, Conn., I was
requested by a pious and benevolent lady, to take into my employ a young
man who had become intemperate. I objected that the influence of such a
man would be injurious to my other workmen, and especially my
apprentices. But the kind-hearted lady urged her request, saying that he
was willing to come under an engagement not to drink at all, and to
conform strictly to all the regulations of the establishment; that she
received him into her family when a boy, and felt a deep interest in his
welfare; that he had learned a trade, and was an excellent workman; had
become hopefully pious, and united with one of our churches; had married
a very worthy young woman, but his intemperance had blasted his fair
prospects. He was now sensible of his danger; and she believed his
salvation for this, if not for a future world, would turn on my
decision.

I consented to make the trial; and he came, binding himself, by a
written contract, to receive no part of his wages into his own hands,
and to forfeit whatever should be due to him, in case he became
intoxicated. He succeeded remarkably in my business, was industrious and
faithful, and strictly temperate and regular in all his habits.

But in the summer of 1832, he was by some means induced to taste again
an intoxicating drink, and a fit of drunken insanity ensued, which
continued about a fortnight. Knowing that his wife had some money, he
gave her no peace, day nor night, till he got possession of it. He then
took the boat for New York, spent the money, and after bartering some of
his clothes, returned, a most destitute and wretched object.

After he had become sober and rational once more, I happened to meet him
in the street, and asked him why he did not come to work as usual. With
a voice trembling and suppressed, and with a look of grief,
self-reproach, and despair that I shall never forget, he said, "I can
never come into your shop again. I have not only violated my contract
with you, but I have treated you with the basest ingratitude, proved
myself unworthy of your confidence, and destroyed the last hope of my
reformation."

I assured him of my increased desire for his welfare; he returned to his
employment, and his attention to business evinced the sincerity of his
confessions.

But not more than three months had elapsed before he was taken again in
the toils of his old deceiver; and at this time he was so furious and
unmanageable, that he was arrested and committed to the workhouse. He
was soon released, and engaged once more in my business. He continued
for about two months, when he fell again; and after a frenzy of a week,
came to me and begged me to take him to the workhouse, as the only means
by which he should get sober. He remained there a few days, and then
returned to his work.

Such was his history: a few months sober, industrious, and obliging in
my shop; kind, attentive, and affectionate in his family; then a week
furiously drunk, absent from my shop, violent and abusive in his family;
then at the workhouse; and then sober, and at home again.

He had already been excommunicated from the church for his intemperance,
had become a terror to his wife, who frequently sent for me to protect
her from his violence, and seemed to be utterly abandoned.

In the month of May, 1833, he was again missing; and no one, not even
his wife, knew what had become of him. But in the course of the summer
she received a letter from him, in which he said he had got employment,
and wished her, without informing me where he was, to come and live with
him. She accordingly removed to his new residence, and I heard nothing
from either of them.

About two years and a half after this, he came into my shop one day; but
how changed. Instead of the bloated, wild, and despairing countenance
that once marked him as a drunkard, he now wore an aspect of
cheerfulness and health, of manliness and self-respect. I approached,
took him by the hand, and said, "Well, ----, how do you do?" "_I am
well_," said he, shaking my hand most cordially. "Yes," said I, "well in
more respects than one." "_Yes, I am_," was his emphatic reply. "_It is
now more than two years since I have tasted a drop of any thing that can
intoxicate._" He began by abstaining from ardent spirits only; "But,"
said he, "I soon found that what you had so often told me was true; that
I could not reform but by abstaining from all that can intoxicate. I
have done so, and you see the result."

I then inquired after the health of his wife and child: his reply was,
"They are well and happy." I asked him if "his wife made him any
trouble" now. "Trouble," said he, "no; and never did make any: it was I
that made the trouble. You told me so, and I knew it at the time. _But
what could I do?_ So long as I remained here, I could not turn a corner
in your streets without passing a grog-shop. I could not go to my meals
without coming in contact with some associate who would try to entice me
to drink with him; and even the keepers of these shops would try every
artifice to induce me to drink; for they knew that if they could get me
to taste once, I should never know when to stop, and they would be sure
to get a good bill against me.

"I have now come," said he, "to tell you why I left you. It was because
I knew that I should die if I did not leave off drinking, and I saw
distinctly that I could never leave off while I remained in Hartford. My
only hope was, in going where liquor was not to be had."

About two years and a half after this, he applied to me for further
employment, as the business he was following had failed. I told him
there was no man whom I should rather employ, but I could not think of
having him encounter again the temptations which he had so miraculously
escaped. He very pleasantly replied, "I am a man now, and do not believe
I have any thing more to fear from the temptations of the city than you
have."

I told him that I had confidence in the firmness of his purpose, but
feared to see it put to the test. Yet, as he was out of business, I
consented; and no man that I ever employed did better, or was more
deserving of confidence and respect. He continued with me till spring,
when he proposed to take his work into the country, so that he could be
with his family: the arrangement was made, and I employ him still.

On the fourth of July last, (1839,) the Sunday-schools in the town where
he resides made arrangements for a celebration, and I was invited to be
present and address them. As I looked upon the audience, the first
countenance that met my eye was that of this very man, _at the head of
his Sunday-school class_. The sight almost overwhelmed me. Instead of a
loathsome, drunken maniac--a terror to his family and a curse to
society, whose very presence was odious, and his example
pestilential--he was then, in the expressive language of Scripture,
"clothed, and in his right mind;" and was devoted to the heavenly work
of guiding children to Christ and salvation. He had made a public
profession of religion, which he was daily honoring by a life of
Christian meekness and sobriety.

O, who can comprehend the tide of domestic joy, of social happiness, and
of Christian consolation which flows through the heart of this man and
his family, in consequence of this change in his habits?

Now, what was the cause of this surprising change? What wrought this
wonderful transformation in this individual? The whole story is told in
one short line. _He went where intoxicating liquor was not sold._ Had he
remained in this city, he would probably long since have been laid in
the drunkard's grave.


PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




REFORMATION OF DRUNKARDS.


Truly we live in an age of wonders. Under peculiar influences, hundreds
and thousands of once hopeless drunkards are becoming sober men--yet the
work of reform has but commenced. It is computed that there are in the
land no less than five hundred thousand habitual inebriates. The
condition of each individual calls for sympathy and aid, that he may
become a sober man, and through the blessing of God, gain eternal life.

For drunkenness there is and can be no apology; but the condition of the
drunkard is often pitiable in the extreme. However gradual, or
respectable, may have been his progress in the descent called _temperate
drinking_, the appetite now _is formed_ within him--the drunkard's
appetite. Wretched man! He feels what not faintly resembles the gnawing
of "the worm that never dies." He asks for help. There are times when he
would give worlds to be reformed. Every drunkard's life, could it be
written, would tell this in letters of fire. He struggles to resist the
temptation, causes himself to be shut up in prison, throws himself on
board a temperance ship for a distant voyage, seeks new alliances and
new employments, wrestles, agonizes, but all in vain. He rises to-day
but to fall to-morrow; and amid disappointment and reproach, poverty and
degradation, he says, "Let me alone, I cannot live," and plunges
headlong to destruction.

Who will come to his rescue? Who will aid in the deliverance of
thousands of thousands from this debasing thraldom of sin and Satan? Our
aid they must have.

Their _number_ demands it. Half a million, chiefly adults, often heads
of families, having each a wife and children, making miserable a million
and a half of relatives and friends. They pass, too, in rapid
succession. Ten years is the measure of a generation, and if nothing is
done to save them, in the next forty years two millions may be swept
into eternity.

Their personal degradation and suffering require it. What would we not
do to pull a neighbor out of the water, or out of the fire, or to
deliver him from Algerine captivity, or wrest him from the hand of a
pirate or midnight assassin? But what captivity, what pirate, what
murderer so cruel as Alcohol?

Their _families_ plead for it. The innocent and the helpless, the lambs,
in the paw of the tiger, and that tiger a husband and father. Amid
hungering and thirsting, cold and nakedness, humiliation and shame,
sufferings which no pen can describe, they ask for aid.

_The good of the community_ demands it. While they live as they do, they
are only a moth and a curse. The moment they are reformed, society is
relieved of its greatest burden. The poor-house and the jail become
almost tenantless.

_The practicability of a sudden and complete reform of every drunkard in
the land_ calls for it. This, science has denied. Religion has only
said, "With man it is impossible, but not with God; for with God all
things are possible." But science yields to experiment, and religion
marches on joyful in the footsteps of Providence. Thousands among us
say, "How it has been done, we know not. One thing we know, that whereas
once we were drunkards, now we are sober men."

But above all, _the salvation of the soul_ makes it indispensable.
Temperance is not religion. Outward reformation is not religion; but by
this reform a great obstacle is removed, and thousands of these
miserable men may be brought into the kingdom of God. The strong chain
that has been thrown around them by the "prince of the power of the
air," is broken. They may be approached as they never could be before.
Conviction of sin is fastened upon their conscience. Gratitude inspires
their bosoms. Good men are, of choice, their companions. The dram-shop
is exchanged for the house of God. A Bible is purchased. Their little
ones they bring to the door of the Sabbath-school. They flee affrighted
from the pit; and, through grace, many lift up their hands imploringly
to heaven, as the only refuge for the outcast, the home for the weary.
This has been the operation of the reform in England. Of thirty-five
thousand reformed drunkards in that country, fifty-six hundred have
become members of Christian churches, having hope in God and joy in the
Holy Ghost. So it has been in Scotland; many there now sing of grace
and glory. So it manifestly is in America, and so will it be more and
more around the world, as ministers and Christians meet them in kindness
and lead them to the waters of salvation.

But what can we do? How can we aid the poor unfortunate drunkard? This
is the question.

All can do a little. Some can do much. Every man can get out of the way
of his reform; cease setting him an example which proves his ruin; cease
selling him an article which is death to the soul; discountenance the
drinking usages of society, and those licensed and unlicensed dram-shops
which darken the land. Every man can speak an encouraging word to the
wretched inebriate; tell him of what is doing in the land, allure him
and go with him to the temperance-meeting, and urge him to sign the
pledge; and when he has signed, comfort and strengthen him, give him
employment, give him clothing; and if he falls, raise him up, and if he
falls seven times, raise him up and forgive him.

Try it, Christian brother. I know your heart beats in gratitude to God
for what he has done; that he has raised up a new instrumentality for
rescuing thousands of our race from the lowest degradation. It is a
token of good for our country and the world. Enter into this field of
labor. "You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ; that though he was
rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, that we through his poverty
might become rich." Go imitate his example; become poor, if need be, to
save the lost. "Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to
come in."

Try it, Christian philanthropist. "It is good neither to eat flesh, nor
to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is
offended, or made weak." Sacrifices make the world happy, and God
glorious.

Try it, Christian female. It is work for your sex. Woman is the greatest
sufferer from intemperance: driven by it from her home; made an outcast
from all the comforts of domestic love, while her babes cry for bread,
and she has no relief. Lost men will listen to your words of kindness,
be cheered by your benefactions, encouraged by your smiles.

Try it, young men. Have you no companions early palsied, withered, and
scathed by alcoholic fires, treading now on the verge of the drunkard's
grave? Go after them in their misery. Go, thanking God that you are not
as they are. Go, believing that you may save them; that they will
receive you thankfully; that they must have your help, or be lost. Go,
and be strong in this work. The movements of Providence call you to
effort for the unfortunate and wretched, that you may pull them out of
the fire. What you do in the blessed work, do quickly. O, if it be in
your power to save one young man, do it quickly. Run and speak to that
young man. He will thank you for it. His father will thank you. His
mother will thank you. His sisters will thank you. His immortal soul,
rescued and saved, will love you for ever.


TO THE POOR UNFORTUNATE DRUNKARD.

MY FRIEND AND BROTHER--You are poor and wretched. A horrid appetite
hurries you on in the road to ruin. Abroad you are despised. Home is a
desolation. A heart-broken wife weeps over you, yet does not forsake
you. She hopes, she waits for your reform and for better days.
Conscience bids you stop. But appetite, companions, and custom say, _One
glass more_. That is a fatal glass. You rise but to fall again, and you
feel that you can never reform. But you CAN REFORM. Thousands and
thousands around you have reformed, and would not for worlds go back to
drinking. They are happy at home; respected abroad; well dressed; well
employed; have no thirst for the dreadful cup. They feel for you. They
say, "Come thou with us, and we will do thee good." Come _sign the
pledge_, the pledge of total abstinence. In this is your only hope. This
is a certain cure. Touch not, taste not, handle not rum, brandy,
whiskey, wine, cider, beer, or any thing that intoxicates, and you will
be a new man, a happy man. Begin now. Try it now in the strength of the
Lord. From this good hour resolve that none of these accursed drinks
shall ever enter your lips. The struggle may be severe, but it will soon
be over. Say then, "Come life, come death, by the help of God I will be
free."


PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.




TOM STARBOARD

AND

JACK HALYARD.

A NAUTICAL TEMPERANCE DIALOGUE.

[Illustration: Tom Starboard and Jack Halyard]


JACK. Halloo, shipmate; what cheer? Mayhap, however, you
don't choose to remember an old crony.

TOM. Why, Jack, is that you? Well, I must say, that if you hadn't hailed
me I should have sailed by without knowing you. How you're altered! Who
would have supposed that this weather-beaten hulk was my old messmate
Jack Halyard, with whom I've soaked many a hard biscuit, and weathered
many a tough gale on old Ocean? and then you used to be as trim in your
rigging as the Alert herself; but now it's as full of ends as the old
Wilmington brig that we used to crack so many jokes about at Barbadoes.
Give me another grip, my hearty, and tell me how you come on.

JACK. Bad enough, Tom--bad enough. I'm very glad, however, to overhaul
you again, and to find you so merry, and looking so fat and hearty. The
world must have gone well with you, Tom.

TOM. You may well say that, Jack, and no mistake. The world has gone
well with me. My appetite is good, my sleep sound; and I always take
care to have a shot in the locker, and let alone a snug little sum in
the seamen's savings-bank, that I've stowed away for squally times, or
when I get old, so as to be independent of hospitals and retreats, and
all that sort of thing. And what's more to the purpose, Jack, I try to
have a clean conscience--the most comfortable of all; don't you think
so?

JACK. Why yes, Tom, I do think that a clean conscience must be a very
comfortable thing for a man to have. But I can't brag much of mine
now-a-days; it gives me a deal of trouble sometimes.

TOM. Ah, that's bad, Jack--very bad. But come, let me hear something
about you since we parted, some four years or so ago. Where have you
last been, in what craft, etc.? Give me a long yarn: you used to be a
famous hand at spinning long yarns, you know, Jack. Don't you remember
how angry old copper-nosed Grimes used to get when the larboard watch
turned in, and, instead of sleeping, we made you go ahead with the story
you were on, which made him wish us all at Davy Jones' locker? Ha, ha,
ha.

JACK. O yes, Tom, I remember it all very well; but--

TOM. And then, don't you recollect how we used to skylark in the lee
scuppers with those jolly fellows, Buntline and Reeftackle, until the
Luff had to hail, and send a Middy with his _compliments_ to the
_gentlemen_ of the larboard watch, and to say, that if _quite agreeable
to them_, less noise would be desirable? I say, Jack, you seem to have
forgotten all these funny times in the Alert. Cheer up, man; don't be
downhearted. Give me your flipper again; and if you are really in
trouble, you may be sure, that as long as your old messmate Tom
Starboard has a shot in the locker, or a drop of blood in his veins,
he'll stand by Jack Halyard--aye, aye, to the last.

JACK. Thank you, Tom--thank you. You were always an honest fellow, and
meant what you said; so let us steer for the sign of "The Jolly Tar,"
round the corner, and over a bowl of hot flip we'll talk over old times,
and--

TOM. Avast there, Jack--avast, my hearty. None of your hot flip, or cold
flip, or any other kind of flip for me. "The burnt child dreads the
fire," as the old proverb says; and I am the child that was once pretty
well scorched: but now I give it a wide berth. If you will come with me
to my quiet boarding-house, "THE SAILOR'S HOME," I will be very glad to
crack a joke with you; but you won't catch me in any such place as "The
Jolly Tar," I can tell you. I mind what the old Philadelphia Quaker said
to his son, who, as he was once coming out of a house of ill-fame, spied
old Broadbrim heaving in sight, and immediately wore ship. The old chap,
however, who always kept his weather-eye open, had had a squint of young
graceless, and so up helm and hard after he cracked, and following him
in, hailed him with, "Ah, Obadiah, Obadiah, thee should never be
ashamed of _coming out_--thee should always be ashamed of _going in_."
No, no, Jack, I side with friend Broadbrim: I won't enter such places.

JACK. Well, I don't know, Tom, but that you are about half right. I
think, myself, that "The Jolly Tar" is not what it's cracked up to be. I
am sure that neither the landlord nor the landlady look half as kindly
on me as they did when I first came in, with plenty of money in my
pocket. Indeed, they have been pretty rough within the last few days,
and tell me that I must ship, as they want my advance towards the score
run up, of the most of which I am sure I know nothing; but it's always
the way.

TOM. Yes, Jack, it's always the way with such folks. The poor tar is
welcomed and made much of as long as his pockets are well lined; but let
them begin to lighten, and then the smiles begin to slacken off; and
when the rhino is all gone, poor Jack, who was held up as such a great
man, is frowned upon, and at last kicked out of doors: or if, mayhap,
they have let him run up a score, he is hastily shipped off, perhaps
half naked, and the advance is grabbed by the hard-hearted landlord, who
made poor Jack worse than a brute with his maddening poison. Oh, Jack,
how my heart has bled at witnessing the cruel impositions practised upon
our poor brother sailors by these harpies. But come, I want to hear all
about my old messmate. If I am not greatly out of my reckoning, grog is
at the bottom of all your troubles, and long faces, and sighs, and
groans. Cheer up, Jack, and unbosom yourself to your old friend and
pitcher.

JACK. Well, Tom, as I know you to be a sincere fellow, I will unbosom
myself. You were never nearer your right latitude than when you said
that grog was at the bottom of my troubles. Yes, grog has pretty nearly
used up poor Jack Halyard. A few years ago I was a light-hearted, happy
fellow, and only drank because others did--not that I liked the taste
particularly in those days, but I did it for good-fellowship, as it was
called; and moreover, I did not like to seem odd; and when I shipped on
board the man-of-war, where it was served out to us twice a day, I soon
became fond of it. And you know we both used to long for the sun to get
above the fore-yard, and for the afternoon middle watch, that we might
splice the main-brace. Sure I am that it was _there_ I first took a
liking to the stuff; and O, Tom, don't you think the government will
have much to answer for, in putting temptation in the way of us poor
sailors? Instead of being our protector, it is our seducer. Our blood
will stick in its skirts.

TOM. Yes, Jack, I think that Uncle Sam has a great deal to answer for on
that tack; and I can say, too, that the love of rum that I acquired in
the government service had pretty nearly fixed my flint, both for this
world and the next. But still, Jack, it wont do for seamen to drink grog
because the government supplies it, and think to excuse themselves by
blaming it. No, no; that is a poor excuse. Men who brave the dangers of
the mighty deep, as our class do, and face death in every form with
unshrinking courage, ought to be able to resist such a temptation. It
will be a poor reason to hand in to the Almighty when the angel summons
all hands before his dread tribunal, in palliation of our drunkenness
and the sins committed by us when under the influence of liquor, that
the government, instead of comforting us, and fortifying us against heat
and cold, etc., with coffee, and tea, and other wholesome small stores,
poisoned our bodies and souls with vile rum. No, indeed, Jack, that will
avail us naught in that awful day; and it will be poor consolation _in
the drunkard's hell_, to blame the government. But go on.

JACK. Well, when the Alert's cruise was up, and we were paid off, about
a dozen of us went to lodge with old Peter Hardheart, at the sign of the
Foul Anchor; and as we had plenty of money, we thought we would have a
regular blow-out. So Peter got a fiddler and some other unmentionable
requisites for a jig, and we had a set-to in firstrate style. Why, our
great frolic at Santa Martha, when Paddy Chips, the Irish carpenter,
danced away his watch, and jacket, and tarpaulin, and nearly all his
toggery, you know, and next morning came scudding along the beach
towards the Alert, as she lay moored near shore, and crept on board on
all-fours, like a half-drowned monkey, along the best bower, wouldn't
have made a nose to it. Well, next morning I had a pretty smart touch of
the horrors, and felt rather muddy about the head; but old Peter soon
set us agoing again, and we kept it up for three days and three nights,
carriage-riding, and dancing, and drinking, and theatre-going, etc.; and
we thought the world was too little for us: when all at once old
Hardheart took a round turn on us with, "I'll tell you what it is, you
drunken swabs, I'll not have such goings-on in my house--my house is a
decent house--you must all ship; yes, ship's the word. I must have the
advance--you're more than a month's wages apiece in my debt." Tom, I was
sober in an instant. My conscience smote me. In three days I had
squandered the wages of a three years' cruise, and had not a dollar left
to take to my poor old mother in the country, whom I had intended to go
to see after the frolic was over, and give all my money to. O Tom, what
a poor, pitiful, sneaking wretch I felt that I was. The two letters that
I had received from her during my absence--so kind, so affectionate,
and so full of fervent prayers to God that her poor boy might be
preserved from the temptations that beset the sailor, and be brought
safely back to her widowed arms--rushed to my remembrance, and
overwhelmed me with grief; and I--I, who ought to have denied myself
even innocent gratification until I had ministered to her wants, had
forgotten the best of mothers, and had spent all of my hard earnings
with the vilest of the vile.

TOM. Poor Jack, my heart bleeds for you; but cheer up, and go on.

JACK. Well, to shorten a long story, I was the next day bundled, when
about three sheets in the wind, on board a merchantman, with an empty
chest, although it was winter, old Hardheart nabbing the whole of my
advance; and for two or three days, Tom, I suffered awfully from the
horrors. I thought I was already in the hell to which the wicked who
don't repent must go. Awake, asleep, at the helm, on the yard, in the
storm, in the calm, everywhere I was haunted with the remembrance of my
ingratitude to my poor dear mother--to her who had watched over me in
helpless infancy and childhood; who had prayed over and for me so much;
who had pinched herself to give me a snug outfit when I first went to
sea; and who I knew had strained her poor old eyes in watching for the
loved form of her Jack--for the papers must have apprised her of the
arrival of the Alert two days after we got in. But, dear old woman, she
watched in vain; Jack had forgotten his best friend; he had herded with
beasts, and had became a beast himself. O Tom, what a miserable wretch I
was. I sometimes tried to read in the Bible that she had given me, but
it seemed as if every verse was a fiery scorpion stinging me for my
crimes and ingratitude. As the ship in which I was, sailed under the
temperance clause, I could get no liquor on board, and I determined to
shun the accursed thing ever after; to turn over a new leaf in my
log-book of life; to save my money; and to become a steady, sober lad,
so that I might after a while be made a mate, and then a master, and
have a shot in the locker for my dear old mother. These good resolutions
lasted as long as I had no liquor; but you will see that they vanished
like smoke when I came ashore, on the return of the vessel. As the wind
was light in the bay in coming up, we were boarded by several boats from
sailor boarding-houses, and among the rest by old Hardheart. When I saw
him I fairly gritted my teeth with rage, for I had not forgotten how he
treated me before; but he came up to me in so kind a manner, and
inquired so affectionately after my health, and seemed to feel such a
real interest in me, that I swallowed all his blarney and coaxing, and
at last agreed to stop with him again for the night that I would be in
the city, intending, the moment that we should be paid off next day, to
steer straight for my old mother, if, mayhap, my cruelty had not broken
her heart; and moreover, determining not to drink a drop of liquor in
his house.

TOM. Dear Jack, I trust that you were able to keep that resolution.

JACK. You shall hear, Tom. When we got to old Peter's, I found, as
usual, a good many people in the house; and the old woman and the girls
were rejoiced to see me again, as they made out. The old woman at once
proposed that we should celebrate my safe return in the big punch-bowl;
but Peter said, "No, Jack has turned cold-water man, and he can't drink;
but we'll drink for him." I observed that Peter sneered whilst he said
this, and so did all the rest, and it galled me a good deal. While the
punch was brewing, some of the men whispered, "_White-liver_"--"_poor
sneak_"--"_no sailor_;" and after the punch had passed round amongst
them once or twice, I thought I would just take _one swig_, to show them
that I was not the poor sneak they took me for, and no more. But, Tom,
that one swig sealed my doom: THE DANGER'S ALWAYS IN THE FIRST GLASS.
The men cheered, and said they knew I was a man, and a _real seaman_, by
the cut of my jib, and that I was too good for the Temperance Society;
and the girls cast sheep's-eyes at me, and said that I was just the chap
to run away with a woman's heart, and that my eyes were not made for the
good of my soul, and such-like foolish and wicked talk. My weak head
could not stand the punch, nor my vain heart the flattery, and I was
soon regularly used up. Instead of having a dollar to take home to my
poor old mother, I found myself, in a few days, the second time
penniless; was forced to ship again; got back; the same scenes were
acted over; and here I am, the miserable wretch that you see me--light
in purse, sick in body, and tormented in mind; the past a curse, the
future despair.

TOM. Well, Jack, I must say, that your case is hard enough. But don't
despair, my boy. Many a poor fellow who has hung to a plank in mid-ocean
until he thought it was surely all over with him, has been picked up and
saved. The same kind Providence who has watched over us, and preserved
us in so many dangers, will not desert us. What we have to do is, to
turn from every evil way, and humbly trusting in the merits of Christ
our Saviour, look up to him for mercy, repent of all sin, and resolve,
in his strength, to fear and obey him in future. And I trust, Jack, that
all will yet be well with you; and I rejoice that I have wherewithal to
give you a lift towards fitting you out, and heading you off towards
your old mother.

JACK. A thousand thanks, Tom--a thousand thanks. "A friend in need is a
friend indeed." You have lightened my mind of a heavy cargo of care by
your kind offer, made with the frankness of a sailor, and which I must
gratefully accept. And now that I have finished my long and mournful
yarn, it is your turn; and to tell the truth, Tom, I am exceedingly
anxious to hear all about you. So heave ahead.

TOM. Well, Jack, here goes. You know when we left the Alert we had
plenty of rhino in our pockets. So I intended to steer straight for my
native village, in the state of Pennsylvania, where I had left my old
father and a sweet, dear little sister, three years before, to cheer
their hearts with a sight of their sailor-boy, and to make them
comfortable with the cash. Unfortunately, as I passed through
Philadelphia, I went with some wild fellows to the theatre--to so many
the gateway to hell--and having grog enough aboard to make me pretty
crank and foolish, I soon found myself in the third tier among the
painted fire-ships; and as the proverb says, "When the wine is in, the
wit is out," so I was led as the simple one of Scripture, "like an ox to
the slaughter." Truly, Jack, "her house is the way to hell, going down
to the chambers of death." The consequences you may readily imagine. I
was made to drink until I was quite insensible; was robbed of all my
money, and then turned out of doors into the cold street. When I came to
myself it was nearly sunrise, and I could not imagine how I had got
there. My head swam, my bones ached, and I felt as if it was "blue
Monday" with me. I staggered off not knowing where I was or whither I
went, for half an hour or more, when I sat down on a flight of steps,
and fell asleep. When I awoke, all the horrors of my situation rushed
upon my mind; and O, Jack, I felt the raging hell in my bosom that you
did when Hardheart first shipped you off. How sunk and degraded in my
own eyes. I determined, however, upon going home, as the distance was
short--only fifteen miles--and a bitter journey it was, Jack. I thought
on my madness and folly, and wondered, with the poor ignorant Indian,
why people would put an enemy into their mouths to steal away their
brains. Instead of going to meet my dear father and sweet little sister
with a joyous face and a pocket full of money, with which to make their
hearts sing for joy, I was returning, like the prodigal son, from
feeding upon husks with swine--poor, and with a heavy heart and a
gnawing conscience. O the hell, Jack, of a bad conscience. It is the
beginning of the existence of the worm that never dies, and of the fire
that is never quenched. It is a foretaste of that eternal hell prepared
for those who persist in violating God's holy laws. Well, I reached home
at last, and a sad home I found it. The sand of my dear father's glass
was almost run out--the poor old man was about slipping his cable. But
O, Jack, how happy he looked; and so calm and resigned to the will of
his heavenly Father, as he said--ready to set sail on the great voyage
of eternity, or to stay and weather more of the rough gales of adversity
in this life, just as God pleased. He held out his thin, white hand to
me, and welcomed his boy, and thanked the Lord that he had given him a
sight of me before his eyes were scaled in death. My poor sister hung
weeping on my neck. But, Jack, bad as I then felt, I felt a thousand
times worse when my dear old father beckoned me to him, and laying his
hand on my head, prayed that God--his God, the Friend who had stood by
him in every gale and tempest of life, and proved true to him till the
last--would bless his dear boy Thomas, and take him into his especial
keeping, and lead him to the blessed Jesus; and finally, when the voyage
of life was over, that we all three might join the dear mother who had
gone before us, at the right hand of the throne of God, to bless and
praise his holy name for ever. He then put Susan's hand into mine, and
blessed us both again, and said, "Thomas, I leave this dear, precious
girl with you; watch over her, cherish and protect her, and be to her
both father and brother. May the great God bless you, my dear children,
and make you his. I have but little time to say more, for the icy hand
of death is on me; my Saviour beckons, and I must away. Come, Lord
Jesus." With these words the glorified spirit of my beloved father
winged its flight to mansions in the skies--to that "rest prepared for
the people of God;" and I was left with my weeping sister, almost
stupefied with grief. Three days after, the clods of the valley covered
the mortal remains of my honored parent, and then poor Sue and I felt
that we were all in all to each other. I told her of all my troubles,
and that I had robbed her by my vileness; but the dear girl kissed me,
and said, "Dear brother, do not mourn on my account; I am young and
healthy, and can easily support myself by my needle; but mourn on your
own account--mourn over your sins, and your ingratitude to the great
Being who has upheld you and preserved you in so many dangers, known and
unknown, on the mighty deep. And promise me, dear brother, that you will
never touch another drop of liquor again; it will be the first step
towards reformation."

JACK. Poor dear girl. Of course, Tom, you promised?

TOM. Aye, aye, Jack, I did promise; and what's more, I kept my promise.
But you must know how I was able to do it. Before I left the village a
great Temperance-meeting was held there, and several of the friends of
the cause delivered addresses, in which they showed so clearly and
conclusively the great evils resulting from the use of spirituous
liquors, that nearly every body in the village signed the pledge of
total abstinence--at least, all of the respectable part of the
community, and even a good many sots who had been given up as
incorrigible. O Jack, if you had heard the awful accounts they gave of
broken-hearted wives and beggared children; of the widows and orphans
made by rum; of the misery and degradation attendant upon it; of the
crimes committed under its influence--robbery, murder, suicide--leading
to the penitentiary, the gallows, and death, it would have made your
blood freeze in your veins. And these accounts were all true, Jack, for
many of the horrible scenes had taken place about the neighborhood.

JACK. I don't doubt it at all, Tom. And moreover, I believe that not one
half of the misery caused by rum--no, not the thousandth part, is ever
known by the public. Many an injured wife and suffering and ruined child
have concealed the history of their woes from the eye and ear of the
world, and buried their sorrows deep in their own bosoms.

TOM. True, Jack, or breathed them only to their God, whose ear is always
open to the cry of the afflicted, and whose hand is always ready to aid
them. Well, I signed the pledge, which I am sure has a great effect in
restraining one when tempted to swerve; for what man of honorable
feelings would wilfully violate his word and promise--and a few weeks
after, having fixed my sister comfortably with a pious milliner, I went
to Philadelphia, and there shipped with a temperance captain for a South
American port. O Jack, what a blessed voyage that was to me. On the
first day out, all hands were called aft to the break of the
quarterdeck, when the captain, who was a pious man, told us in a few
words, that it was his practice to have "family worship" every morning
and evening in the cabin, and he hoped that all his men would cheerfully
unite with him. The captain was so kind in his manner, and appeared to
be so sincere, and as he seemed, moreover, to regard us as human beings
with immortal souls, and not as brute beasts, out of whose muscles and
sinews he cared only to get plenty of work, we all willingly consented.
So at sundown all hands were mustered in the cabin, except the man at
the helm, as the weather was mild and the ship under easy sail; and the
captain prayed fervently that God would give us a safe and pleasant
passage, and bring us all to think of our souls. He then read a portion
of Scripture, which he explained to us, and after singing a couple of
hymns we were dismissed.

JACK. Ah, Tom, good captains make good crews, all the world over; and
I'll warrant there was neither knocking down nor mutiny aboard of that
vessel.

TOM. No, Jack; there was nothing but peace, and quietness, and good
order; every man knew his place and did his duty; and the captain was
like a father to us. He had a spare quadrant, which each of us used in
turn in taking the daily observation, under his own eye; and he taught
us how to work our reckoning; so that in the course of the voyage some
of us got to know a good deal about navigation. And, Jack, I had good
evidence of the value of religion also, particularly when we encountered
the equinoctial gale in the southern tropic, and were near going down.
Then it was, Jack, when we had lost our foretopmast, and our maintopsail
and most of our other sails had been blown into ribbons; when the sea
had carried away nearly all our bulwarks, and swept the decks clear of
caboose, longboat, etc.; and the pumps were constantly going--at one
time to the tune of more than a thousand strokes an hour--to keep the
vessel free; and the axes were at hand, ready to cut away the masts when
the worst should come--that our captain was calm and collected. He
seemed to be as patient and submissive to the will of God, as if he had
been _born_ a Christian; and he gave many a kind word of encouragement
to his men. What a difference there must have been between him and the
vulgar, bullying man that Sam Bowsprit once sailed with, who was a wolf
when there was no danger, and a sheep when there was; but it is always
so with your bullies, whether in the cabin or the forecastle. To return
to my story: in two or three days the gale spent its fury, and we
reached our port in safety. One day while in port, in rummaging my
chest, I discovered at the bottom a little package neatly tied up,
which, upon opening, I found to contain two small books, called, "James'
Anxious Inquirer after Salvation," and "Baxter's Call to the
Unconverted;" with a few touching lines from my dear sister, earnestly
beseeching me to look to my soul, and to read my Bible and these little
books, and never to forget my God. Jack, this went to my heart like an
arrow. It brought fresh to my mind the death-bed scene of my dear
father, and I fell upon my knees, and, for the first time, _really_
prayed to God. Yes, Jack, I then prayed indeed. I felt my ingratitude to
God to some extent, and I began to see what a sinner I had been. I at
once commenced reading my Bible and the little books, that I might learn
more of my lost condition, and how to flee from the wrath to come. In
the course of a day or two the captain observed that I was uneasy in my
mind, and called me to him to ask if he could do any thing to aid me. I
frankly told him all my trouble, and he at once pointed me to "the Lamb
of God, who takes away the sin of the world." He then gradually and
clearly unfolded to me the great gospel plan of redemption; and kneeling
down together, he prayed most fervently for me. After a few days of deep
solicitude and constant prayer to Almighty God, he, in his infinite
mercy, shed light upon my soul, and I felt that Christ had died for
me--_even me_. O Jack, then it was that I first tasted true joy--that
joy which the world cannot give, and which the world cannot take away;
that peace of mind which passeth understanding. And with God's aid, I
have ever since tried to walk close in the way prescribed by him; and I
trust that my dear father's dying prayer will indeed be answered, and
that we shall all meet in heaven.

JACK. Well, Tom, I congratulate you, for although I make no pretensions
to religion myself, I sincerely respect it in others--that is, where it
is genuine, as I am sure it is in your case; but I can't stand playing
soldier in religion, Tom, as I have seen it done by some hypocrites.

TOM. So much the worse for them, Jack. But, my dear fellow, I advise
you, as a friend, not to put off seeking religion another day. _This
day_ may be your last, Jack. Don't you remember the story of the rich
man in Scripture, who said, "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many
years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry?" But God said unto
him, "Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee." O Jack,
don't put off this most important of all works to a dying bed, for you
may not have one; you may be called into eternity at a moment's warning.
You surely have not forgotten the awful death of swearing Joe Swifter,
who was shaken off the yard into the boiling sea in that terrible night
off the Canaries, when we were all aloft close reefing the Alert's
maintopsail? And, Jack, can you ever forget his cry of agony as we shot
ahead in the gale, forced to leave him to perish? I am sure it will
haunt _me_ to my dying hour. Poor Joe, thou wert called with all thy
sins upon thy head into the presence of an offended God.

JACK. Poor Joe. I remember it as if it had occurred but yesterday, Tom.
It was an awful warning; and I don't think there were three oaths sworn
on board the Alert for three days after. To tell the truth, Tom, I have
had some queer feelings about death and the judgment, lately; and
although I tried hard to drown them in grog, they would come up in spite
of me. But I'll tell you more about it when we reach your lodgings,
where we will be quiet and uninterrupted. You got safely back, I hope?

TOM. Yes, Jack, thanks to a kind Providence. I made two more voyages
with the same captain; and I expect to go with him next trip as mate. I
have been able to send my sister a snug little sum to keep her
comfortable; and I have something handsome in the seamen's savings bank,
as I told you before; together with a clear head and a happy heart;
trusting in my God, and loving all who bear his image. Now, Jack, what
do you think of temperance?

JACK. Think of it? Why, Tom, I always _thought_ well of it, though I
can't say that I have latterly _practised_ it much; but I like it now
better than ever. I have ruminated a good deal upon its evils, both at
sea and ashore. Don't you think, Tom, that rum is at the bottom of nine
out of ten of the floggings that take place in the navy?

TOM. Yes, indeed, Jack, I am sure of it. And I think, moreover, that if
it were discarded _entirely_ from the government and merchant service,
insubordination and floggings would be of rare occurrence in the one,
and trouble and mutiny in the other. And there would be fewer vessels
and lives lost in the merchant-service, in the bargain.

JACK. I have often thought, Tom, what a degrading thing that flogging
is. It sinks a man below the level of a brute, both in his own and the
eyes of others. It seems to me that if I had ever been triced up at the
gratings, and had a stroke of the cat, it would have completely crushed
my spirit, if it had not broken my heart outright.

TOM. I think it would have had the same effect on me too, Jack. I am
sure I could not have stood it.

JACK. And, Tom, to show more of the bad effects of liquor, I remember
that I was once in Port-au-Prince, in the island of St. Domingo, during
the sickly season, when a fearful mortality raged among the shipping, so
that every vessel lost some of her men; most of them bringing on the
yellow-fever by their intemperance. There were three ships that were
left without a man; all were swept off from the captain to the cook.

TOM. Awful, Jack, awful. I have also seen many a stout and noble-hearted
tar, in those yellow-fever countries, stowed away under a foot of earth
for the landcrabs to feed upon, just from drinking rum, or the strong
brandy of the country. I'll tell you what it is, Jack, when the coppers
are scalded by rum, physic can't get a hold--it is just like casting
anchor on a rocky bottom--and so the grip of the grim monster Death is
sure. The only safe man there, as well as everywhere else, indeed, is
the teetotaler.

JACK. What is a teetotaler, Tom? I have often heard the term, without
fully knowing what it meant.

TOM. A teetotaler, Jack, is one who conscientiously abstains from every
description of intoxicating drink: rum, whiskey, brandy, gin, cordials,
wine, cider, ale, and even beer.

JACK. What, Tom, you don't mean to say that you give such a wide berth
to _beer_? Tell that to the marines, for old sailors won't believe it.

TOM. I do say it, Jack. I give even beer a wide berth. Don't you know
that it contains alcohol? And what is perhaps worse, there is but little
beer and ale made for sale that does not contain many hurtful
ingredients--poisonous drugs. No, no; nothing for me that can in the
slightest degree affect my noble reason, that great gift of Almighty
God. Pure cold water--Adam's sparkling, life-invigorating ale--and
coffee and tea, are my beverages. Try them once, Jack, and the word of
an honest sailor for it, you will never go back to alcohol, or any of
its accursed family.

JACK. Well, Tom, I think I will. The fact is, you seem to be so well in
body and happy in mind, so comfortable and respectable in worldly
matters, and speak so cheeringly of another world--to which I know that
the rapid current of time is hurrying us both--that I'll follow in your
wake, and try to make a little headway in these things myself.

TOM. Well said, my hearty. Give me another shake of your honest fist.
Now I begin to recognize my old true-hearted friend and messmate Jack
Halyard in his early days, when we swore friendship to each other across
the sea-chest, on board the Alert. You are the man for me, Jack; so come
up with me at once to the Sailor's Home, and I'll rig you out a little
more decently--make you look a little more shipshape--and to-night we
will go to the great temperance-meeting at the seamen's bethel chapel,
and you shall sign the pledge, which will be the wisest act of your
life, Jack, as I'll wager a barrel of pork against a mouldy biscuit:
aye, I'll warrant me you will say so at some future day. There will be
plenty of blue-jackets there that will lend a hand in so good a cause.

JACK. Well, heave ahead, old messmate. I did think of _tapering
off_--quitting by degrees--but perhaps the safest and easiest plan will
be, _to break off at once_.

TOM. That is the way, Jack, the only true way. Tapering off is not what
it is cracked up to be. It is very hazardous; for it keeps up
excitement, and the taste of the liquor hangs about the palate. Don't
you remember Ben Hawser, one of the best maintopmen of the Alert--he who
saved the first Luff from drowning at Port Mahon, when he fell overboard
from the cutter?

JACK. Surely I do, Tom. Do you suppose I could forget such a
noble-hearted fellow as Ben Hawser--as fine a fellow as ever laid out
upon a yard, or stood at the wheel; and such a firstrate marlinespike
seaman in the bargain? No, indeed.

TOM. You are right, Jack. He was a noble fellow, and a thorough seaman.
There was nothing of the lubber about poor Ben: always the first man at
his duty, and ready to share his last copper with a fellow-mortal in
distress, whether seaman or landsman. Well, Ben once got into a great
frolic ashore, and kicked up such a bobbery that the watchman clapped
him in limbo for the night; and the justice next morning gave him such a
clapper-clawing with his tongue, and bore down upon him so hard with his
_reprimands_, as I think the lawyers call it, and raked him so severely
fore and aft with his good advice, to wind up with, that Ben felt pretty
sheepish; and, as he told us afterwards, didn't know whether he was on
his head or his heels--on the truck, or on the keelson. He felt so sore
about it, and so much ashamed of himself, that he did not touch a drop
for six weeks. He then thought he would take it _moderately_ just enough
to keep the steam up--or, as some folks say, he thought he would be a
_temperate drinker_. O, Jack, that _temperate drinking_ is a famous net
of old Satan's to catch fools in. Your temperate drinker treads on
slippery ground; for as I verily believe that alcohol is one of the most
active imps for the destruction of both body and soul, the temperate
drinker is too often gradually led on by the fiend, until the habit
becomes fixed and inveterate; and he drags a galling chain, each day
riveted more strongly, and the poor wretch hourly becomes more callous
to shame, until he sinks into the grave--_the drunkard's grave_.

JACK. But, Tom, you don't mean to say that poor Ben's reel has been run
off in that style, do you?

TOM. Indeed, Jack, it is true, and sorry am I that it is so. Yes, I
followed the worn-out hulk of Ben Hawser to the dark and silent grave a
fortnight ago. He slipped his cable in the prime of life; and all along
of _temperate drinking_ at first. Ben, like many other men, thought he
was strong-minded, and could stop at a certain point; but he found, to
his cost, that king Alcohol was stronger, and that when once he had
forged his chains around his victim, he was sure of him, unless the
grace of a merciful God intervened, and plucked him as a brand from the
burning. So I advise every one to beware of _temperate drinking_. Give
it a wide berth, or it may wreck you for time and for eternity.

One thing more, Jack. I would like your temperate drinker to pause, and
reflect upon the fact, that the quantity of brandy or rum that he took
at a drink, when he commenced this downhill course, has been gradually
increased; so that in the second year, what had been quite sufficient
to please his palate and produce all the desired effects in the first,
was then insipidly small; and more so in the third year, if, mayhap, he
could with any decency lay claim to the title of _temperate drinker_ so
long. Jack, this is a fearful reflection for one of this class of the
slaves of alcohol; but let him think upon it when quite free from
excitement, say after two or three days' abstinence--if he can abstain
that long just to cool off for reflection--and I'll warrant he will
tremble at the prospect.

Besides, Jack, the _influence_ of your temperate drinker is ten times
worse than that of the confirmed and notorious drunkard; for it is not
likely that any one in his senses would desire to copy the confirmed sot
in his beastliness. No, indeed; he would shrink with horror from the
intoxicating bowl, if he felt sure that such would be the result to him,
if he indulged. But he should remember, that no one ever became a sot
_at once_; the degradation was by degrees. And it may be that your
temperate drinker is a respectable and thriving man in the eyes of the
world--say a great merchant, or lawyer, or master of a ship--and small
folks do not imagine they are in any danger when they see such men stand
fast, as they think: but they had all better remember the advice in
Scripture, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall;"
and so they follow in the wake, and perhaps nine out of ten go down to
the grave _drunkards_; often, I am sure, in company with the very men
whose example they thought so safe, but which led them to certain ruin.
It is an awful thought, Jack, that we have been the means of misleading
others, either by example or precept; and one that will weigh like lead
upon the conscience of many a man on his death-bed. No, no; my motto
is, "TOUCH NOT, TASTE NOT, HANDLE NOT." The wise man of Scripture knew
what he was about when he said, "Look not upon the wine when it is red,
when it giveth his color in the cup; at the last it biteth like a
serpent, and stingeth like an adder." The same wise man said also, that
"the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty." But, Jack, what
are poverty and shame, bad as they are, in comparison with the loss of
the soul? Think of that--_the loss of the immortal soul_--for God says,
that neither thieves, nor drunkards, nor any thing that defileth, shall
enter heaven. And O, Jack, to think of being cast into hell for ever,
with the devil and his angels; how awful! _but such must be the fate of
the unrepentant drunkard_.

JACK. Awful, indeed, Tom. I am now fully persuaded that you are right;
and so I'll follow your good example, and sign the teetotal pledge. And
what is more, I'll try to be a Christian too, for I believe that
religion is the best security against every kind of temptation.

TOM. I like that, Jack; it is truth itself. So we will shape our course
for the Sailor's Home, under the direction of that noble institution,
"The American Seamen's Friend Society;" there you will be out of the way
of temptation, and there is a good deal in that--and to-night we will go
to the Bethel. By the way, Jack, you can't think what excellent places
these Homes are for the poor tempest-tossed mariner; and how snug and
comfortable we all are there. The rules of the houses are excellent;
neither swearing nor drinking is allowed; and every night and morning we
unite with the families in worship; and on the Sabbath, and some of the
evenings of the week, we are kindly invited to the Bethel chapel, where
we have excellent preaching on the word of God; and in the family
prayers, the good of us poor sailors, for time and eternity, is not
forgotten, I can tell you. It reminds me of the days of my boyhood, when
my dear father called us together, morning and evening, to praise God;
and also of the happy time I have spent with my present good captain.

And then, Jack, when any of us are sick they are so kind and attentive
just like our own dear mothers and sisters. I saw how kindly poor Martin
Gray was treated during his long illness, by the manager--a worthy old
salt--and his excellent family; and how they smoothed his dying pillow,
and did all they could to make his way easy towards the dark valley of
the shadow of death. Oh, Jack, it is a great thing to fall in with real
Christians at such a time. It makes one think of the poor man in
Scripture who fell among thieves, and had his wounds dressed and care
taken of him by the good Samaritan. Aye, aye, Jack; and I know,
moreover, that the good example and excellent advice in these houses
have been the means, in the Lord's hands, of saving both the body and
soul of many a poor neglected, weather-beaten tar, who would otherwise
have fallen into the jaws of the devouring sharks who are always on the
watch, with open mouths, to prey upon the poor son of ocean, and to
swallow him up without pity or remorse.

JACK. Well, heave ahead, my hearty; I'm the lad that won't flinch. So,
three cheers for the glorious Temperance cause, for Sailor's Homes and
Bethels, and for the mothers, wives, sisters, and sweethearts of all
true-hearted seamen. And let every jolly tar who loves his family and
domestic peace, and wants to do his duty and be respected in this world,
and lay an anchor to windward of another and better world, toe the
plank, and sign the pledge right off the reel. Huzza, huzza, huzza.




THE OX SERMON.


Among the laws given by the divine Lawgiver through Moses to the Jews,
was the following: "If an ox gore a man or a woman that they die, then
the ox shall be surely stoned; but the owner of the ox shall be quit.
But if the ox _were wont to push_ with his horn in time past, and it
hath been testified to his owner, and he hath not kept him in, but he
hath killed a man or a woman, the ox shall be stoned, and his owner also
shall be put to death." Exod. 21: 28, 29.

The principle of this law is a very plain one, and a very broad
one--here applied in a specific case, but extending to ten thousand
others. It is this. Every man is responsible to God for the evils which
result from his selfishness, or his indifference to the welfare of
others.

Ages before this law was given, God says to Noah, "Your blood of your
lives will I require: at the hand of every beast will I require it, and
at the hand of man." A stigma shall be fixed upon man or beast that
shall destroy him who is made after the similitude of God. But why, in
the case first supposed, is the owner quit, or guiltless? Simply because
the death is not in any way the result of his carelessness or of his
selfishness. From any thing within his knowledge, he had no reason to
expect such a result. But if the ox hath been _wont to push_ with his
horns, and he knew it, he shall be responsible for the consequences,
whatever they may be; for he had every reason to expect that mischief
would be done, and took no measures to prevent it. And if the ox kill a
man or woman, the owner hath done the murder, and he shall be put to
death. Why? The death was the result of his selfishness, or his
indifference to the lives of others. And according to the law of God,
his life shall go for it. The principle of this law is a principle of
common-sense.

You see a fellow-creature struggling in the water. You know that he can
never deliver himself. And you know that a very little assistance, such
as you can render, will rescue him from a watery grave. You look on and
pass by. True, you did not thrust him in. But he dies by your neglect.
His blood will be upon your head. At the bar of God, and at the bar of
conscience, you are his murderer. Why? You did not kill him. Neither did
the owner of the ox lift a hand. _But he shall surely be put to death._
You had no malice, neither had he. You did not intend his death--at the
very worst, you did not care. This is just his crime. He did not care.
He turned loose a wild, fiery, ungovernable animal, knowing him to be
such; and what mischief that animal might do, or what suffering he might
cause, _he did not care_. But God held him responsible.

Every man is responsible for evils which result from his own selfishness
or indifference to the lives of men. In other words, to make a man
responsible for results, it is not necessary to prove that he has
malice, or that he intended the results. The highwayman has no malice
against him he robs and murders, nor does he desire his death, but his
money; and if he can get the money, he does not care. And he robs and
murders because he loves himself and does not care for others; acting in
a different way, but on the same selfish principle with the owner of the
ox; and on the very same principle is he held responsible.

In the trial of the owner of the ox, the only questions to be asked were
these two: Was the ox _wont to push_ with his horn in time past? Did the
owner _know it_ when he let him loose? If both these questions were
answered in the affirmative, the owner was responsible for all the
consequences. This is a rule which God himself has established.

       *       *       *       *       *

Is INTOXICATING LIQUOR wont to produce misery, and wretchedness, and
death? Has this been testified to those who make and deal in it as a
beverage? If these two things can be established, the inference is
inevitable--they are responsible on a principle perfectly intelligible,
a principle recognized and proclaimed, and acted upon by God himself.

Turn then your attention to these two facts. 1. Intoxicating liquor _is
wont to produce misery_. 2. Those who make or traffic in it, _know_
this.

1. Upon the first point it will be sufficient to remind you of the hopes
which intoxicating liquor has blasted, and the tears it has caused to
flow. Let any one of us count up the number of its victims which we have
known--consider their character and standing in society--their once
happy families and prospects, and what a fearful change has a few years'
use of strong drink produced. Very few but remember twenty, thirty,
fifty, or one hundred families ruined in this way. Some of them were
once our intimate friends--and their story is soon told.

They drank occasionally, for the sake of company, or merely for
exhilaration. The relish for stimulants was thus acquired, and habits of
dissipation formed. They became idle, and of course uneasy. And they
continued to drink, partly to gratify taste and partly to quiet
conscience. They saw the ruin that was coming upon them, and they made
some earnest but ineffectual struggles against it. But the resistance
became weaker and weaker--by and by the struggle is ended--they float
with the current, and where are they? One has been found by the
temperance reformation, a mere wreck in property, character, body, and
mind, and reclaimed. Another is dead: his constitution could not bear
his continued dissipation. Another died in a fit; another was found by
the road-side one cold morning, a stiffened corpse. Another was thrown
from his horse, and is a cripple for life, but still can contrive means
to pay a daily visit to the dram-shop. Another is a mere vagabond,
unprincipled and shameless--wandering from shop to shop, a fit companion
for the lowest company, a nuisance to society and a curse to his
kindred. Another is in the penitentiary for a crime which he committed
in a drunken frolic.

Go into the crowded court-house and you may see another; his countenance
haggard and ghastly, and his eye wildly rolling in despair. What has he
done? One night, after spending all his money for drink, and loitering
about till all the shops were closed, he returned to his miserable
habitation. He found a few coals on the hearth, and his wife and
children sitting by them. He threw one child this way and another that,
for he was cold. His wife remonstrated, and withal told him that what
little fire there was was none of his providing. With many a horrid oath
he declared he would not be scolded after that sort. He would let her
know who should govern, and by way of supporting his authority, beat her
brains out with the last remaining stick of wood. He did not mean to
kill her. Her dying struggles brought him to his senses, and he stood
horror-struck. He would give almost any thing that the deed were not
done. If that could restore her to life, he would be almost ready to
give a pledge never to taste intoxicating liquor again. Now look at the
wretchedness of his family. For years he has made very little provision
for them; they have lived as they could, half naked and half starved,
and not educated at all--with a most wretched example before their eyes.
What encouragement had the wife or the children to attempt any thing--to
make any exertion? The children are abused and trampled on at home, and
they grow up without self-respect, without shame, and without principle.
Can any thing good be expected of them? And if they do rise, it must be
through a world of difficulty.

How many thousand families have been ruined in some such way as this.
The father was a drunkard, and the mother--what could she do? She
endured, hoping against hope--and for the children's sake bore up
against the current; and many a time disguised a sad despairing heart
under a joyful countenance, till at length she died of a broken heart,
or died by the hands of him who had sworn to protect her.

These, and things like these, are the effects of intoxicating
liquor--not casual, accidental, but common, natural edicts, seen
everywhere, in every town, in every neighborhood, and in every
connection. Look which way we will, we see some of these effects. The
greatest wretchedness which human nature in this world is called to
endure, is connected with the use of inebriating drink. There is
nothing else that degrades and debases man like it--nothing so mean
that a drunkard will not stoop to it--nothing too base for him to do to
obtain his favorite drink. Nothing else so sinks the whole man--so
completely destroys not only all moral principle, but all self-respect,
all regard to character, all shame, all human feeling. The drunkard can
break out from every kind of endearing connection, and break over every
kind of restraint; so completely extinct is human feeling, that he can
be drunk at the funeral of his dearest relative, and call for drink in
the last accents of expiring nature.

Now look at a human being, whom God has made for noble purposes, and
endowed with noble faculties, degraded, disgraced, polluted, unfit for
heaven, and a nuisance on earth. He is the centre of a circle--count up
his influence in his family and his neighborhood--the wretchedness he
endures, and the wretchedness he causes--count up the tears of a
wretched wife who curses the day of her espousals, and of wretched
children who curse the day of their birth. To all this positive evil
which intoxicating liquor has caused, add the happiness which but for it
this family might have enjoyed and communicated. Go through a
neighborhood or a town in this way, count up all the misery which
follows in the train of intoxicating liquor, and you will be ready to
ask, Can the regions of eternal death send forth any thing more deadly?
Wherever it goes, the same cry may be heard--lamentation, and mourning,
and woe; and whatever things are pure, or lovely, or venerable, or of
good report, fall before it. These are its effects. Can any man deny
that "the ox is wont to push with his horn?"

2. _Has this been testified to the owner?_ Are the makers and venders
aware of its effects? The effects are manifest, and they have eyes,
ears, and understandings, as well as others. They know that whatever
profit they make is at the expense of human life or comfort; and that
the tide which is swelled by their unhallowed merchandise sweeps ten
thousand yearly to temporal and eternal ruin. But this is not all. The
attention of the public has been strongly turned to this subject. The
minds of men have been enlightened, and their responsibility pressed
home upon them. The subject has been presented to them in a new light,
and men cannot but see the absurdity of reprobating the tempted, while
the tempter is honored--of blaming drunkards, and holding in reputation
those whose business it is to make drunkards.

But are the makers of intoxicating liquor aware of its effects? Look at
the neighborhood of a distillery--an influence goes forth from that spot
which reaches miles around--a kind of constraining influence, that
brings in the poor, and wretched, and thirsty, and vicious. Those who
have money bring it--those who have none, bring corn--those who have
neither, bring household furniture--those who have nothing, bring
themselves and pay in labor. Now the maker knows all these men, and
knows their temperament, and probably knows their families. He can
calculate effects, and he sends them off, one to die by the way, another
to abuse his family, and another just ready for any deed of wickedness.
Will he say that he is not responsible, and like Cain ask, "Am I my
brother's keeper?" He knew what might be the result, and for a mere
pittance of gain was willing to risk it. Whether this man should abuse
his family, or that man die by the way, so his purpose was answered, he
did not care. The ox was wont to push with his horn, and he knew it; and
for a little paltry gain he let him loose, and God will support his law
by holding him responsible for the consequences.

But a common excuse is, that "very little of our manufacture is used in
the neighborhood; we send it off." And are its effects any less deadly?
In this way you avoid _seeing_ the effects, and poison strangers instead
of neighbors. What would you say to a man who traded in clothes infected
with the smallpox, and who would say by way of apology, that he sent
them off--he did not sell any in the neighborhood? Good man! he is
willing to send disease and death all abroad; but he is too kind-hearted
to expose his neighbors. Would you not say to him, you may send them
off, but you cannot send off the responsibility? The eye of God goes
with them, and all the misery which they cause will be charged to you.
So we say to the man who sends off his intoxicating liquor.

"But if I do not make it and traffic in it, somebody else will." What
sin or crime cannot be excused in this way? I know of a plot to rob my
neighbor; if I do not plunder him, somebody else will. Is it a privilege
to bear the responsibility of sending abroad pestilence and misery and
death? "Our cause is going down," thought Judas, "and a price is set
upon the head of our Master, and if I do not betray him somebody else
will. And why may not I as well pocket the money as another?" If you
consider it a privilege to pocket the wages of unrighteousness, do so.
But do not pretend to be the friend of God or man while you count it a
privilege to insult the one and ruin the other?

Says another, "I wish it were banished from the earth. But then what can
I do?" What can you do? You can keep one man clear; you can wash your
own hands of this wretched business. And if you are not willing to do
that, very little reliance can be placed on your good wishes. He that is
unjust in the least, is unjust also in much. I can hardly conceive any
thing more inconsistent with every generous feeling, every noble
principle, than the traffic in intoxicating liquor at the present day.
The days of ignorance on this subject have passed by; every man acts
with his eyes open.

Look at the shop and company of the retailer. There he stands in the
midst of dissipation, surrounded by the most degraded and filthy of
human beings, in the last stages of earthly wretchedness. His business
is to kindle strife, to encourage profanity, to excite every evil
passion, to destroy all salutary fears, to remove every restraint, and
to produce a recklessness that regards neither God nor man. And how
often in the providence of God is he given over to drink his own poison,
and to become the most wretched of this wretched company. Who can behold
an instance of this kind without feeling that God is just. "He sunk down
into the pit which he made; in the net which he hid is his own foot
taken."

Another will say, "I neither make nor traffic in it." But you drink it
occasionally, and your example goes to support the use of it. You see
its tremendous effects, and yet you receive it into your house and bid
it God speed. As far as your influence supports it and gives it
currency, so far are you a partaker of its evil deeds. If you lend your
influence to make the path of ruin respectable, or will not help to
affix disgrace to that path, God will not hold you guiltless. You cannot
innocently stand aside and do nothing.

A deadly poison is circulating over the land, carrying disease and
desolation and death in its course. The alarm has been given. Its deadly
effects have been described, seen, and felt. Its victims are of every
class; and however wide the difference in fortune, education, intellect,
it brings them to the same dead level. An effort has been made to stay
the plague, and a success surpassing all expectation has crowned the
effort. Still, the plague rages to an immense extent. What will every
good citizen do? Will he not clear his house, his shop, his premises of
it? Will he not take every precaution to defend himself against it, and
use his influence and his exertions to diminish its circulation and thus
diminish human misery? If he fears God or regards man, can he stop short
of this? Can he, in his recklessness and selfishness say, "Let others
take care of themselves? I'll make no promises--I'll not be bound--I am
in no danger?" If he can speak and act thus, and stands aloof, and
continues to drink, is he not guilty, and with the distiller and vender
accountable to God for the perpetuation of these mighty evils, which but
for his cooperation and agency must soon cease to exist? "I speak as
unto wise men; judge ye what I say."


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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious
typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have
been fixed. The letter after the page number indicates the Tract (see
the Table of Contents). Corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted
below:

page 3, A: typo corrected

   and I have heard of its speading[spreading] through a whole
   family composed of members

page 8, A: typo corrected

   The strength they produce in labor is of a transient nature, and
   is always followed by a sense of weakness nd[and] fatigue.

page 3, D: removed extraneous quote

   his influence to continue a practice, or he should at least be
   conniving at a practice, which was ["]destroying more lives,
   making more mothers widows, and children

page 8, D: typo fixed

   attend public worship. In a word, their whole deportment, both at
   home and abread,[abroad] is improved, and to a greater extent
   than any, without witnessing it, can well imagine.

page 4, P: typo fixed

   It is believed that no vice has ever been so faithfully
   guaged[gauged], and the details so well ascertained, as the vice





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