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.