one a dram. "The brisk minor panting for twenty-one," baptizes his new born manhood in the strong drink to which he intends training it up. Births, marriages, and burials, are all hallowed by strong drink. Anniversaries, civic festivities, military displays, municipal elections, and even religious ceremoniels, are nothing without strong drink. The political ephemera of a little noisy day, and the colossus whose footsteps millions wait upon,must alike be apotheosised in liquor. A rough-hewn statesman is toasted at, and drank at to his face in one place, while his boisterous adversary sits through the same mummery in another. Here, in their brimming glasses, the adherents of some successful candidate mingle their congratulations, and there, in like manner, the partisans of his defeated rival forget their chagrin. Even the great day of national emancipation is, with too many, only a great day of drinking, and the proud song of deliverance is trouled from the lips of those, who are bending body and soul to a viler thraldom than that from which their fathers rescued them. pp. 8-10. "For the benefit of the young especially," says Dr. Beecher, "I propose to lay down a map of the way to destruction, to rear a monument of warning upon every spot where a way-faring man has been ensnared and destroyed." Under the title of " occasions of intemperance," he mentions the following: "The free and frequent use of ardent spirits in the family, as an incentive to appetite, an alleviation of lassitude, or an excitement to cheerfulness." "Ardent spirits given as a matter of hospitality." "Days of public convocation." "A resort to ardent spirits as an alleviation of trouble." "The employment of ardent spirits to invigorate the intellect, and restore exhausted nature under severe study." "The use of ardent spirits employed as an auxiliary to labor." To complete the list, we will add a few more. Attending market in a large town has often proved an occasion of intemperance. While the seller is waiting for a purchaser, to relieve the tedium of idleness and deferred expectation, he is tempted to resort to one of the many tippling shops, or soda establishments, which display their signs before him, and take a dose of the consoling cordial. Perhaps he meets some of his acquaintances in similar circumstances, and they go together and take a social glass. These visits are repeated as occasions occur, till a habit is contracted which leads on to excess. The practice of many merchants to treat their customers, has been the stumbling block to others. We knew a respectable merchant in a country town, who used frequently to observe, that "brandy is the steam of trade." And we have observed decanters and glasses placed on the counter in other stores, to which customers had free access. And in some places every considerable purchase must be complimented with a glass of spirits, and every bargain be confirmed in the same way. Merchants who court custom by such means, conduct many of those who frequent their shops into the path of ruin. Men will drink when liquor is thus presented to them, who would not purchase it for the purpose. Public dinners are not unfrequently the occasion of excess, and of the commencement of a habit which becomes inveterate. Every one knows that it is the fashion to drink deep at these festal boards, and that the multiplication of toasts almost compels the guests to go beyond the bounds of strict sobriety. So numerous and so varied are the temptations to this vice. They surround our path, and meet us at every step of our progress. In evcry form and shape, they have beguiled some of the unwary into the way of destruction; but the most dangerous of these temptations are the various forms of social drinking, and the use of spirits to support the fatigues of labor; the one is encouraged by generous, friendly feeling; the other, by the plea of necessity. "With her much fair speech she caused him to yield, and with the flattering of her lips she forced him." He, who would escape the guilt and wretchedness of intemperance, must understand the temptations to which he is exposed, and guard himself against them. Our course lies among the rocks and shoals, which are covered with the bones of the heedless, who have been wrecked upon them, and if we neglect our chart we shall add to the fearful number of victims. The cause of humanity is much indebted to Dr. B. for his exposition of the signs of intemperance. It is of great advantage to the patient to know the early symptoms of his disease, as seasonable remedies afford the only hope of cure. We verily believe, that the habit of drinking, in many, is so confirmed as to render their case hopeless, before they have a suspicion of danger. For the benefit of such as may have entered on the dangerous ground, we shall quote Dr B's. account of the signs of the incipient habit; those which indicate its confirmation are so obvious, and common, and well understood, that we shall leave them to be observed as they are cxhibited in actual life, believing that the originals are more affecting than any representation. 1. One of the early indications of intemperance may be found in the associations of time and place. In the commencement of this evil habit, there are many who drink to excess only on particular days for military exhibition, the anniversary of our independence, the birth-day of Washington, Christmas, new years' day, election, and others of the like nature. When any of these holidays arrive, and they come as often almost as saint's days in the calendar, they bring with them, to many, the insatiable desire of drinking, as well as a dispensation from the sin, as efficacious and quieting to the conscience, as papal indulgencies. p. 26. There are others who feel the desire of drinking stirred up within them by the associations of place. They could go from end to end of a day's journey without ardent spirits, were there no taverns on the road. But the very sight of these receptacles of pilgrims awakens the desire "just to step in and take something." p. 27. In every community you may observe particular persons also who can never meet without feeling the simultaneous desire of strong drink. p. 27. 2. A disposition to multiply the circumstances which furnish the occasions and opportunities for drinking, may justly create alarm that the habit is begun. When you find occasions for drinking in all the variations of the weather, because it is so hot or so cold -so wet or so dry-and in all the different states of the system-when you are vigorous, that you need not tireand when tired, that your vigor may be restored, you have approached near to that state of intemperance in which you will drink in all states of the weather, and conditions of the body, and will drink with these pretexts, and drink without them whenever their In like frequency may not suffice. manner if on your farm, or in your store, or workshop, or on board your vessel, you love to multiply the catches and occasions of drinking, in the forms of treats for new comers-for mistakes -for new articles of dress-or furniture-until in some places a man can scarcely wear an article of dress, or receive one of equipage or furniture, which has not been "wet," you may rely on it that all these usages, and rules, and laws, are devices to gratify an inordinate and dangerous love of strong drink. pp. 28, 29. 3. Whoever finds the desire of drinking ardent spirits returning daily at stated times, is warned to deny himself instantly, if he intends to escape confirmed intemperance. It is infallible evidence that you have already done violence to nature--that the undermining process is begun that the over-worked organ begins to flag, and cry out for adventitious aid, with an importunity which, if indulged, will become more deep-toned, and importunate, and irresistible, until the power of self-denial is gone, and you are a ruined man. It is the vortex begun, which, if not checked, will become more capacious, and deep, and powerful, and loud, until the interests of time and eternity are ingulfed. It is here then--beside this commencing vortex--that I would take my stand, to warn off the heedless navigator from destruction. To all who do but heave in sight, and with voice that should rise above the winds and waves, I would cry-"stand off!!" -spread the sail, ply the oar, for death is here and could I command the elements--the blackness of darkness should gather over this gate-way to hell--and loud thunders should utter their voices-and lurid fires should blaze,--and the groans of unearthly voices should be heard--inspiring consternation and flight in all who came near. For this is the parting point between those who forsake danger and hide themselves, and the foolish who pass on and are punished. pp. 29, 30. 4. Another sign of intemperance may be found in the desire of concealment. When a man finds himself disposed to drink oftener, and more than he is willing to do before his family and the world, and begins to drink slily and in secret places, he betrays a consciousness that he is disposed to drink more than to others will appear safe and proper, and what he suspects others may think, he ought to suppose they have cause to think, and reform instantly. p. 31. drink always in company so much as 5. When a man allows himself to he may think he can bear without awakening in others the suspicion of inebriation, he will deceive himself, and no one beside. p. 31. selves for some cause always irritated An aged country merchant, of an acute mind and sterling reputation, once said to me, "I never knew an attempt made to suppress intemperance, from whom I should not have expect which was not opposed by some persons, ed opposition; and I never failed to find, first or last, that these persons were themselves implicated in the sin.' Temperate men seldom if ever oppose the reformation of intemperance. p.32. To recount the number of the evils of intemperance, and portray them in their true colors, exceeds the powers of human genius. The most frightful pictures are but faint representations of the originals. These evils in our country are almost omnipresent; and we might as well undertake to count those which are said to have issued from the fabled box of Pandora. Yet something must the heedless, and those who are enbe attempted to alarm, if possible, tering upon the paths which lead to this land of sorrow, and guilt, and despair. On this part of the subject our authors have done what argument and eloquence can do. Take from the miseries of the drunkard himDr. B. a glowing representation of self. But of all the ways to hell, which the feet of deluded mortals tread, that of the intemperate is the most dreary and terrific. The demand for artificial stimulus to supply the deficiencies of healthful aliment, is like the rage of thirst, and the ravenous demand of famine. It is famine: for the artificial excitement has become as essential now to strength and cheerfulness, as simple nutrition once was. But nature, taught by habit to require what once she did not need, demands gratification now with a decision inexorable as death, and to most men as irresistible. The denial is a living death. The stomach, the head, the heart, and arteries, and veins, and every muscle, and every nerve, feel the exhaustion, and the restless, unutterable wretchedness which puts out the light of life, and curtains the heavens, and carpets the earth with sackcloth. All these varieties of sinking nature, call upon the wretched man with trumpet tongue, to dispel this darkness, and raise the ebbing tide of life, by the application of the cause which produced these woes, and after a momentary alleviation will produce them again with deeper terrors, and more urgent importunity; for the repetition, at each time renders the darkness deeper, and the torments of selfdenial more irresistible and intolerable. At length, the excitability of nature flags, and stimulants of higher power, and in greater quantities, are required to rouse the impaired energies of life, until at length the whole process of dilatory murder, and worse than purgatorial suffering, having been passed over, the silver cord is loosed, the golden bowl is broken, the wheel at the cistern stops, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit to God who gave it. These sufferings, however, of animal nature, are not to be compared with the moral agonies which convulse the soul. It is an immortal being who sins, and suffers; and as his earthly house dissolves, he is approaching the judgment seat in anticipation of a miserable eternity. He feels his captivity, and in anguish of spirit clanks his chains and cries for help. Conscience thunders, remorse goads, and as the gulf opens before him, he recoils, and trembles, and weeps, and prays, and resolves, and promises, and reforms, and "seeks it yet again,"-again resolves,and weeps, and prays, and "seeks it yet again!' Wretched man, he has placed himself in the hands of a giant, who never pities, and never relaxes his iron gripe. He may struggle, but he is in chains. He may cry for release, but it comes not; and lost! lost! may be inscribed upon the door posts of his dwelling. In the meantime these paroxysms of his dying moral nature decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of spiritual death,comes on. His resolution fails, and his mental energy, and his vigorous enterprise; and nervous irritation and depression ensue. The social affections lose their fulness and tenderness, and conscience loses its power, and the heart its sensibility, until all that was once lovely and of good report, retires and leaves the wretch abandoned to the appetites of a ruined animal. In this deplorable condition, reputation expires, business falters and becomes perplexed, and temptations to drink multiply as inclination to do so increases, and the power of resistance declines. And now the vortex roars, and the struggling victim buffets the fiery wave with feebler stroke, and warning supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul, and with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive, and disappears. pp. 14-16. As these evils afflict the family circle, they are beautifully pourtrayed by Mr. S. tim of excess, and trace him back, step May we not select some youthful vicby step, to these harmless indulgencies these innocent recreations? Have we not seen "The young disease, that must subdue Could he repeat-alas! he cannot-his mind is sunk in his body's defilement-but could he for a moment shake off his lethargy, and repeat to us the story of his errors, as faithfully as he looks their odious consequences, he would tell us that to the innocent enjoyments of hospitality and festivity he owes his ruin-that the warranted in dulgencies of convivial life led the way to the habitual debauch, which has finally set upon him the seal whereby all men may know the drunkard. He would tell us that he was once worthy of a happier destiny-that he stepped on life's pathway, rejoicing in purity and hope--that he was blessed with a frame for vigorous action, and a heart for the world's endearing charities-that his eye loved the beauties of nature, and his spirit adored the goodness of nature's God. But, he would tell us, that in an evil hour, he found he had fallen, even before he knew he was in danger -that the customs of society had first enticed him, and then unfitted him for its duties-that the wreaths they had insidiously flung round him hardened to fetters, and he could not shake them off. He would tell us that over the first discovery of his fatal lapse, his alarmed parents wept, and he mingled his tears with theirs-that as he grew more unguarded in his offence, they raised the angry voice of reproof, and he braved it in sullen silence-that as he became still more vile and brutish, kindred and friend turned their cold eyes away from him, and his expiring shame felt a guilty relief. He would tell us, that at length, just not hated, he has reached the lowest point of living degradation-that in his hours of frenzy he is locked up in the receptacle for the infamous, and in his lucid intervals let out, a moving beacon to warn the virtuous.--Could he anticipate the end of his unhappy story, he might tell us that yet a little while, and his short and wretched career will be endedthat the father who hung over his cradle, weaving bright visions of his son's future greatness, will feel a dreadful satisfaction as he gazes upon him in his coffin-that the mother who lulled him to sleep on her bosom, and joyed to watch his waking, will not dare to murmur that the sleep has come upon him. out of which on earth he will never awake--that the grave will be gladly made ready to receive him-that as, "while living," he forfeited "fair renown," so doubly dying," he must "Go down "To the vile dust from whence he sprung, "Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung." But deplorably as the frivolous usages of society show, in their effects upon the young, the prospect is doubly terrific, when we behold their ravages among the more mature. The common calamities of life may be endured. Poverty, sickness, and even death, may be met-but there is that which, while it brings all these with it, is worse than all these together. When the husband and father forgets the duties he once delighted to fulfil, and by slow degrees becomes the creature of intemperance, there enters into his house the sorrow that rends the spirit--that cannot be alleviated, that will not be comforted. It is here, above all, where she, who has ventured every thing, feels that every thing is lost. Woman, silent-suffering, devoted woman, here bends to her direst affliction. The measure of her wo, is, in truth, full, whose husband is a drunkard. Who shall protect her, when he is her insulter, her oppressor? What shall delight her, when she shrinks from the sight of his face, and trembles at the sound of his voice? The hearth is indeed dark, that he has made desolate. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are whispered to herself, her bruised heart bleeds in secret. There, while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant revelry, she holds her solitary vigil, waiting, yet dreading his return, that will only wring from her by his unkindness, tears even more scalding than those she sheds over his transgression. To fling a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns back, and broods upon the past. Like the recollection to the sun-stricken pilgrim, of the cool spring he drank at in the morning, the joys of other days come over her, as if only to mock her parched, and weary spirit. She recalls the ardent lover, whose graces won her from the home of her infancy-the enraptured father, who bent with such delight over his new-born children-and she asks if this can really be him--this sunken being, who has now nothing for her but the sot's disgusting brutality-nothing for those abashed and trembling children, but the sot's disgusting example! Can we wonder, that amid these agonizing moments, the tender cords of violated affection should snap asunder? that the scorned and deserted wife should confess, "there is no killing like that which kills the heart?" that though it would have been hard for her to kiss for the last time the cold lips of her dead husband, and lay his body forever in the dust, it is harder to behold him so debasing life, that even his death would be greeted in mercy? Had he died in the light of his goodness, bequeathing |