IN a village not a hundred miles from Philadelphia, resided the Rev.
Mr. Manlius, who had the pastoral charge of a very respectable
congregation, and was highly esteemed by them; but there was one
thing in which he did not give general satisfaction, and in
consequence of which many excellent members of his church felt
seriously scandalized. He would neither join a temperance society,
nor omit his glass of wine when he felt inclined to take it. It is
only fair to say, however, that such spirituous indulgences were not
of frequent occurrence. It was more the principle of the thing, as
he said, that he stood upon, than any thing else, that prevented his
signing a temperance pledge.
Sundry were the attacks, both open and secret, to which the Reverend
Mr. Manlius was subjected, and many were the discussions into which
he was drawn by the advocates of total abstinence. His mode of
argument was very summary.
"I would no more sign a pledge not to drink brandy than I would sign
a pledge not to steal," was the position he took. "I wish to be free
to choose good or evil, and to act right because it is wrong to do
otherwise. I do not find fault with others for signing a pledge, nor
for abstaining from wine. If they think it right, it is right for
them. But as for myself, I would cut off my right hand before I
would bind myself by mere external restraint. My bonds are internal
principles. I am temperate because intemperance is sin. For men who
have abused their freedom, and so far lost all rational control over
themselves that they cannot resist the insane spirit of
intemperance, the pledge is all important. Sign it, I say, in the
name of Heaven; but do not sign it because this, that, or the other
temperate man has signed it, but because you feel it to be your only
hope. Do it for yourself, and do it if you are the only man in the
world who acts thus. To sign because another man, whom you think
more respectable, has signed, will give you little or no strength.
You must do it for yourself, and because it is right."
The parson was pretty ready with the tongue, and rarely came off
second best when his opponents dragged him into a controversy,
although his arguments were called by them, when he was not present,
"mere fustian."
"His love for wine and brandy is at the bottom of all this hostility
to the temperance cause," was boldly said of him by individuals in
and out of his church. But especially were the members of other
churches severe upon him.
"He'll turn out a drunkard," said one.
"I shouldn't be surprised to see him staggering in the streets
before two years," said another.
"He does more harm to the temperance cause than ten drunkards,"
alleged a third.