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.