selves as we were raised above. We now become dull, listless, dissatisfied with ourselves, and with every body else. There is a dryness in the throat, a burning in the stomach; there is a feebleness, a general languor that comes over us. We cannot remain in this situation. We must raise the tone. We drink again. But it takes more to raise us to the same extacy to-day than it did yesterday; and hence it is, the oftener we stimulate ourselves with ardent spirit, the oftener we shall want to do it, and the oftener we do it, the greater the quantity which will be required. But this is not all. The constitution will not long bear this exciting and this sinking away. A friend of mine, relates that he found one winter two black Snakes, in a completely torpid state. He brought them to his house, laid them down before the fire, and soon perceived the warmth gave them life. Soon they became quite active. He then threw them into a snow bank, and soon they were torpid again. He repeated this process of freezing and thawing, and for four or five times with the same results. Placed before the fire they were alive and ac tive, in the snow they were apparently dead; but on the fifth or sixth time, the experiment failed. The fire produced no signs of returning life, the vital spark was extinguished, the snakes were dead. Such is the effect of ardent spirit. For a few times a man may stimulate himself, but after a while the unnatural elevation and equally unnatural depression wear out the system, the vital energy fails, the man is dead. Your physicians will tell wherefore. But, my friends, to perceive the ruinous effects of ardent spirit, you need but call to mind that young man you so highly esteemed, and of whom you predicted so much. I seem to see him now just entering upon manhood. I see his fine, open, manly countenance; his mildly beaming eye; his fascinating smile; his engaging address.His mind is well cultivated; his person is prepossessing; a father's heart beats proudly as he marks him; a mother recalls with pleasure the care with which she watched over his infancy and childhood. Society hails him as her brightest ornament, and opens to him the path to eminence and fame. The bar welcomes him; the pulpit is ready to receive him. He leads to the altar one of the fairest and loveliest of our daughters; wealth brings his offerings, and health weaves her garlands of flowers. * * * * * * * * What see I now? Gone is that roseate hue of health, gone is the mild lustre of that eye, gone is that fascinating smile, gone is he who might have adorned Senates and added glory to his country and to man, and there is before me now, only the tottering frame, with squalid aspect, swollen eyes, bloated countenance, and ruined mind. A poor, worthless, disgusting drunkard, is all I see of that noble young man, whose morning sun shone so bright with rich promise. Who of us has not seen this young man in his pride,-who of us has not gazed with horror on his awful ruins? He is seen every where, every town, village, neighborhood has seen him, and mourned over his dark and melancholy end. Take one view more. Enter the house where lately dwelt youth, beauty, and all the pleasures of life. Look at that half famished female, brooding in silence over her ruined fortunes, and her blasted hopes; at her half naked and half famished children, calling in vain for a father's That wife has seen better days. It was a bright sun that rose on her bridal morn. Her heart beat high as she pronounced her marriage vows. There she sits in sorrow, waiting the return of him who should have cherished her with an affection which slumbers not. Yet he comes not. care. She has "watched the moon go down, But yet he comes not. Once it was not so. She sits patient, meek; but she feels that keen anguish which only woman can feel; she feels the loss of lover, husband, friend. She looks upon her children as worse than fatherless; upon herself as worse than widowed.— All that can kindle a smile is gone; the heart is broken, a rude hand has snapped its cords,-she is a lone, withered thing. Mark her well, young man, and dash the poisoned chalice from thy lips. I need not pursue the picture, you have all seen the one from whom I drew it. We have all seen the wife ruined by the drunken husband; and, not unfrequently, by his cruelty, brought to an untimely grave. We have seen her die, and leave her helpless offspring to-I will not proceed. I know too well, to what are left the children of drunkards. I know too well, that the father's sins are visited upon his innocent but wretched offspring. 66 Is there no way to prevent the immoderate use of ar-/ dent spirits? This is the question which now most interests us. Time has been when I should have answered this question differently from what I now shall. Some years since, I was ready to engage in any plan which promised any extensive reforination of society. Then I never doubted success. Then I did not dream that the cause of truth and humanity must quail before haughty vice. Much of my young enthusiasm has left me; and though I abate nothing in my good wishes, repeated disappointments have taught me to expect little. He who labors to reform mankind, labors in a noble cause, but in one from which he will receive few thanks."Mankind," says the Spanish proverb, is an ass, that kicks the one who attempts to take off his panniers. No matter. We should not cease to do good because our labors are not as successful as we could wish. I am bound to say, I do not believe it possible, at once, to check the immoderate use of ardent spirit. Drunkenness will survive this generation. Individuals, much less nations, cannot change their habits at once. We cannot command the concurrence of all the necessary causes. Physical obstacles may be overcome, while moral ones remain. The moral strength of our countrymen, I fear, is too weak to effect the reform needed. Still we may do much, and if we cannot now prevent intemperance entirely, we may put into operation a set of causes, which will finally prove sufficient. But allow me to say, that if we mean to do any thing, we must act. Mere talk will not do away intemperance. We must act; we must put our shoulder to the wheel, if we would recover it from the rut. But what shall we do? What can we do? We cannot cure all drunkards, for many of them are past cure. We cannot do a great deal even for the adult portion of our present population. Our labors must be prospective.But if we will act we may do much to prevent the rising generation from becoming drunkards. * How? By the force of public opinion. I have spoken of the power of fashion. We must direct that power against the use of ardent spirit. We must make every one feel that, in taking a glass of rum, he is as much out of the fashion as a lady would be who should put on the high heeled shoes of our great grandmothers. Fashion will accomplish more than all the admonitions of the physician, the solemn warnings from the pulpit, than the affectionate counsels and entreaties of parents and friends. Bring fashion to bear on those who resort to the bottle, and, though at first some few may bid defiance, it will soon prove all powerful. But how shall we thus direct fashion, how bring public opinion to bear directly on this point? Public opinion is now too weak on this point-how shall we strengthen it? By association, by joining, if you please, a Temperance Society. There is no other effectual way to call out and direct public opinion. When you join a Temperance Society you give your names, your characters, your influence, to make up and direct that public opinion you wish. Let nine-tenths of the people of this town join, and think you the other tenth would not be ashamed to take its glass? Would not this shame form a sufficient restraint in a great majority of cases? We make it disreputable to use ardent spirits, and we prevent its use by all who regard public opinion. But some have objections to Temperance Societies.They think they should degrade themselves should they sign a pledge. They can keep sober without binding themselves not to drink. This is a wrong view. We believe men have something of benevolence, and we ask them to come forward, not to aid those who can, but those who cannot, govern themselves. We know there are those who cannot govern themselves, and we appeal to the benevolent that they join with us, that we all unite to dart moral energy into the weak, and empower them to keep their resolutions to abstain. The intemperate should join, that they may have an additional motive to become temperate, and the temperate should join that they may give their aid and the full force of their example to the intemperate. But some do not like the manner in which Temperance Societies are conducted. I own I have been one of this number. But I have seen the good that they have done, I have traveled over a large portion of our country both! before and since the establishment of Temperance Societies, and I am constrained to admit that with all their objections, they have done much for society. This admission is extorted from me, for I am opposed to self-created societies in general. I do not like the machinery put into operation by this wonder working age. We have too many wheels within wheels, too many governments within governments. The age tends too much to association; people are beginning to act only in crowds, and the individual is fast being lost in the mass. Still the present is an extreme case, and after some years' hesitation, and extensive observation, I have resolved to give to the Temperance Society my full and cordial support. The case is urgent; something must be done; nothing better has been devised, I am unable to devise any thing better, and I feel bound by all my duties as a father, a neighbor, (a christian, a patriot and a man, to do all I can in aid of societies pledged to total absti nence. Besides, in joining a Temperance Society, we become responsible only for the one we join. We join the Walpole Temperance Society. It is in our own town, its operations are under our own control, subject to no foreign dominion. All parties support it, and really I see nothing to fear from it. Divided as we are in religious belief, in political and other interests, it is refreshing to have one topic on which we can unite, to find one spot, where we can meet on common ground, and unite, heart and hand, in a good cause. We keep too far apart. We should love each other better would we meet oftener, and we should find a better spirit within us, would we oftener find a point of union, and more frequently act together. Some, perhaps, would readily join, could they obtain the hired help they need without furnishing ardent spirit. To these, I wish to put a few plain questions: Do you believe it is of any real advantage to your hired man to drink ardent spirit? Do you think that it promotes his health, makes him more faithful to himself, really more happy? Have you not known many a young man become a drunkard, from the habit acquired in the haying or harvest field? Is it not your deliberate opinion, that your hired men would be far better off, so far as them |