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HUXTER, ROSE k COMPAXY, PRINTERS. ; 1809. f^ X "is'^^'iimtm^mmm ^/ / / 3 /V *'s^r i I f CONTENTS. PAGE. irry no Man if ho Drinks 1 Parting in Life 2() Imbition «j^^ lis of Dram-drinking 3t) [hoosing a Trade 40 le Schoolmaster Abroad 45 toderation ; or I can Take It or Leave It Alone 49 debates of Conscience with a Distiller, a Wholesale Dealer and a Retailer 54 ?he Drunkard's Daughter 70 ^hite Lies 75 ['he Trial of Alcohol 78 Plea for the Pledge 83 'he Try Company 87 [y Mother's Gold Ring T. . . . . . 9B ?he Virtues 105 'he Old Lady's Will 109 # i -«W' i i ^ |l ' P ♦ |j ' ■»tf i ■i .;.',•» ^tmptxancc Maio^ixts. MAREY NO MAN IF HE DRINKS OR, Laura's plan and how it succeeded. DRAMATIS PERSONif:. |rRA Bell A R^faBtoer* {fliE Gray, i Laura's #r5endfl. BTTiE Ellis, ) >RRis Hall, ^ ILL. Bdrnside, > Admirers of these Ladies^ ID. AlleN; j — — — * :, SCENE I. ■Parlor. — Laura sitting hy a tahh, her head resting on \ her hand, as if in deep thought; Nettie sewing; §(^ Su HIE reading, AH silent for a few moments. Laura. — [^Raising her head and speaking with em- iasis.'\ I have it, girls ! I have it ! j Susie. — [Jumps.'] Oh, my ! how you have startled le ! What have you got, Laura — a fit ? Laura. — No — an idea, and a plan. Nettie. — Wonderful ! Susie. — Astonishing I Nettie. — Shall we be honored with the development # mn 2 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. of this brilliaat inspiration ? or is it too profound for out untaught minds to comprehend ? * Laura. — Now, girls, do be serious, for I am in sobei earnest, and what I wish to say is the result of long an^ anxious thought. Susie.— Mercy on me, how solemn I but, as the «ay in meeting — " Sister Bell will please proceed.' ^Closes her hook.'} Put away your sewing, Nettie. Now Laura, you have our profound attention. Laura. — Very well. Now assist me, if you please, tc call to mind the young men of our immediate circle oi acquaintance who use intoxicating liquors; also thos« who use tobacco. Susie. — Oh ! I like to talk about the beaux. I caught two splendid ones at the skating park last night — but I forgot — we're to be serious. [Puts on a long face.'] Laura. — Let me see. There's George Boswell — smokes. Ed. Stacy — smokes, chews, and drinks oc- casionally. Nettie. — John West — does he smoke ? yes, and drinks too. Laura.— Will. Burnside ^SusiE. — Oh, Laura, that's Nettie's devoted aitnirer j you^d best not discuss him in her presence. Nettie. — What a fib, Susie ! Go on, Laura. Laura. — Will. Burnside takes his social glass. 1 don't think he uses tobacco in any form. Nettie. — Robert Baker and Arthur Wool both drink occasionally, and Morris Hall Susie. — \_Clapping her hands,] Oho, Miss Laura! he's ^o?<;' beau ; and he smokes, because I met him yes- terday with a meerschaum in his mouth nearly a yard long. And ho loves his wine, too, for I have seen him drink it. Laura. — [Emharrassed.] Very well; who else ? but I think the list is sufl&ciently long for the present. Susie. — [Poutrng.] I'd thank you not to slight my Fred; he's the best-looking man of the whole lot. Cllel Mei ft till -••rJifc.* -*•• m^^' MARRY NO MAN IV HE DRINKS. 8 'ound for our am in sobei of loDg an' but, as the e proceed.' Nettie. Now ou please, U ate circle ol also thosf X. I caught ight— but I Boswell— drinks oc- ; and drinkj i admirer ; a. iss, I don't both drink is3 Laura ! Dt him yes- rly a yard ) seen him ' else ? but mt. slight my lot. SNettie. — Really you must pardon the omigaion, Susie; as uniatentional. Fred. Allen smokes, chews, drinks. Laura. — These young men are, without exception, fllentcd, educated, and move in the highest circle of iteiety ; several are professors of religion, and yet all are addicted to habits which, unless abandoned, will make sUves of them. The use of tobacco injures and debases ft man physically, mentally, and morally, and I am sus- liincd in this assertion by the most eminent and learned lHjsiciaDs. IjNettie. — Why, Laura, what has induced you to think iid speak so earnestly in regard to this subject ? Laura. — I will tell you. On New Year's, a majority of the young men whose names have been mentioned, mdc the usual calls during the day. Some were chew- ing gum or anise-seed to disguise the odor of the cigars nikich mere only laid aside at the door. Some paid two ^ three visits to the spittoon during a brief call of ten miinutes ; and, worse than all, the mingled fumes of the ipfferent liquors which many of them had imbibed at the (puses of the numerous friends whom they had visited, iicmed more strongly suggestive of a bar-room than a lady's parlor. Not one of them, I suppose, has ever been Intoxicated, or has caused his friends any anxiety by this T0ry moderate, temperate use of spirituous liquors ; but I •dntend that they are all in imminent danger, for this fipsidious appetite will increase and become more and u both, and defeated ; 1 it, however, is injurious, am such an ►ort for you extremely )ple rather If, I nevei the street e clouds ol sing mascu- with him a his clothes, ? As for ing habit, block with- p over the d there by halls, in ) vestibules no place is put the viih a wife ;urQ home, I MAT?KY NO MAN IF UK niUVTC>«. #Ould put up her mouth to be kissed, m ith the stain.s of Hbacco juice on her lip.^ and a quid tucked aw:;y in her •heek ? or who would sit on his knco and putfaway at a •Iron^ cigar or monstrous meerschaum ? >\'ould he not Itrn from her with unspeakable di.^gu.st ? and yet women iff compelled to submit to these abominable, loathsome thing.s without murmuring. Susie. — You've extinguished me entirely, Laura ; I nnist admit that tobacco is not such a nice thing, after all. But now about the harmless glass that some of our young Alends take now and then. I am confident not one of ttiem would ever be seen at the bar of a restaurant or drinking saloon. Only drunkards, and thos3 who are biwoming so, will be found at such places — men who bare lost all sejf- respect. Laura. — But what sends the drunkards to these places, •i^eoially those whom you denominate as just ^' becomimj dtunkards ?" Is not the appetite formed by the '^ harm- Mis glass " that they speak of so lightly, that is passed iiUnd at social parties, receptions, and weddings, until liie desire for strong drink increases, and they then resort Id restaurants and saloons ? Nettie. — Really, Laura, I view this subject in a dif- Affent light altogether. You have given me some ideas that I shall not soon forget. But what is to be done '/ wliat can be done 't Susie. — That's the question. I admit all that Laura Ins said, but what is the use of groaning about a state of itairs that can't be changed? '^what is to be, icUl be;" tiiat's my belief, so let's stop this long talk and go out m a walk. ifNETTiE. — Not yet, Susie. I think Laura may suggest liplan by which we can accomplish something. pSusiE.— Oh, you stupid, tiresome old fogies ! well I ■i|>posc I must be resigned. [Puts on a comical air of fpig nation'] |Lauea. — Yes, we can accomplish something. It is n 6 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. part of woman's mission to refine the minds and elevate and improve the morals of men. We have a broad field before us ; let us begin from this day to exert an influence upon our male friends whitih will result in their attaining to a higher standard of moral excellence. Let us tel them that true manliness will not be fettered by the chains of unhallowed appetite, but will struggle against temptation, and rise above all habits and practices incoo sistent with manly dignity and genuine nobility oi character. Susie. — You surely don't mean that we are to rcsoh; ourselves into a Total Abstinence and Anti-Tobacco So ciety, for the purpose of delivering lectures to all th* good-looking young men we know, whenever an oppor tunity offers, do you ? ^ Nettie. — [ With animation.'] Yes, that's the ver} idea ! I fully agree with Laura, that it is incumbent upon us to exert our influence in behalf of the mora! reformation of those around us j to speak warning words to those who are thoughtlessly dallying with temptation, seemingly unconscious of the dangers before them. Laura: — I'm glad, Nettie, to have gained so valuable an ally. Perhaps you and Susie will term me a radical, when I here announce my firm determination to accept neither the general nor special attentions of any gentle- man who, after having the subject fully presented for his consideration, continues to smoke, chew, or drink. If he likes tobacco or liquor more than me, he can have the benefit of the preference. Nettie. — Bravo, Laura! that pleases me immecsely. I'm with you heart and hand, SvsiE. — Bah ! tell that to the marines. You'll botl sing a difierent tune when certain young cavaliers that I know, happen to ** pop the question j" and judging by their increasing devotion, that event is not far in the future. Then we'll see what your heroic resolutions amount to. 4 ¥f MARiiY NO MAN IF HE DRINKS. 3 and elevat( a broad field I an influence eir attainioc Let us tel 3red by the iggle agains: ctices incoD nobility ot re to rcsohj lobacco So' s to all thf r an oppor s the ver} I incumbeot E* the moral rning words temptation tiem. so valuable le a radical, n to accept any gentle- 3 ted for his nk. If he n have the immeosely. You'll botl Hers that I udging by far in the resolutions n^£TTiE. — We say what we mean, and mean what wc S, To the question-popping part of your remark, I will y reply that if Fred. Allen does not propose before a y$lllfik has passed, I shall be much surprised. Susie. —[/SSprtn^Vn^ up hastily.] There ! Fred, is to eiil for me at four o'clock to go to the picture gallery. ail4 I had forgotten entirely. I shall not be ready m tttie, I know. [^Uurries out.'] ^AURA. — What a careless, thoughtless creature I [A fOp. Laura g^es to the door and receives a letter. Ex-- til$im€s the address and delivers it to Nettie.] Some- ^g for you, Nettie. Nettie. — [_Opens letter; reads a few lines, and seem^ miicA agitated."] Excuse me, Laura ; I will retire to my room to read and reply to this communication. Laura. — Certainly, Nettie. [N. retires.] That wasi Will. Burnside's writing, and from Nettie's agitation, I l^uld judge it to be a proposal. Her newly-formed fiwlution will now be tested, for Will, loves the sparkliDf;^ ipie. Suppose /should be called to decide this important ^estion, would my courage waver ? If ever man loved woman, Morris Hall loves me, though he has never rwealed it in words. How generous and kind hearted^ how noble and unselfish he is I— and yet he is a moderate ^nker, and smokes to excess. [A rap. She admits Feed; Allen.] Good-day, Mr. Allen ; be seated. Allen. — Thank you. Is Miss Susie ready ? [Takes itfmething from his vest pocket and puts it in his m^uih.] i Laura. — She will be down in a few minutes. Excuse lie, Mr. Allen, but I have some curiosity to know what j^u are chewing. ?p Allen. — Well — you know. Miss Laura — that is— the §»t is, we young men indulge in smoking occasionally, Iffd it is deemed polite and desira^ble to use something Ijiiich — you understand, Miss Laura — which — ^ Laura. — How can I understand unless you explain. § Allen. — Well, then, it is desirable to use something 8 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. -' ^X ^\ w to disguise the odor that a cigar aaavoidably leaves on the breath. But, really, as ladies are not supposed to take an interest in such things, you embarrassed me somewhat. I have in my mouth at present some aromatic seed ; the name I da not remember. Laura. — Why render the necessary to deodorize the breath before going into ladies' society ? Is smoking essential to health or happiness, and does it SUBIE. — {^Appears attired for the street, drawing on her gloves."] How do you do, Fred.? Sorry I've kept you waiting; Laura and Nettie have been discussing tobacco and moderate drinking, and in listening to their learned disquisitions I almost forgot our engagement for this evening. If you wish to keep in their good graces, never allow another atom of tobacco, or a drop of anything stronger than cofifeci to touch your lips. Come, I'm ready. Allen. — [^Rising.'] Miss Laura had just opened her batteries upon mo when you entered. Laura.— -I hope Susie will keep up a constant fire upon the enemy's works ; or, to speak seriously, convince you that the use of tobacco and stimulants is unnecessary, undignified, and injurious. » Susie. — ^No, indeed! I can't talk scientifically and philosophically, and all that sort of thing, like you can, consequently the effect of my argument, even if I could produce any, would be lost. Come on Fred. {_A8 they Icavey they are met hy MoRRXS Hall, with whom they all exchange merry greetings.] M0RRI8. — I am happy to meet you alone, Laura, as important business calls me away to-morrow to be absent a month, and before leaving, I desire to speak to you on a subject which deeply affects my present and future happiness. {Draws his seat near and takes her hand.] You cannot be ignorant of the fact, that for months past my feeling towards your have been deeper and warmer than those of friendship, and 'the encouragement and ** Ml ives on the to take an Qewhat. I seed; the idorize the I smokiDg rawing on I've kept discussing g to their igagement heir good )r a drop rour lips. ►ened her stant fire convince ecessary, ally and you can, I could {^As they they all laura, as e absent you on 1 future hand.'] ths past warmer !nt and MARRY NO MAN IF HE DRINKS. » our I have *eceived have induced the flattering belief you do not coQsider me altogether unworthy of your _,^ard. You know that I am a man of plain speech and iSt wards. I can only say, dear Laura, 1 love you ! will ^u be my wife ? ;^Laura.— [i/iicA embarrassed.'] Morris, you have tiiien me by storm; this is a serious subject. I must live time to think. ^Morris. — Time to think ! Do you* not sufficiently #|d^jrstand the feelings of your heart to answer me now ? i$ib know not what may transpire ere we meet again ; do iit send me on my journey without the promise of your liro to cheer me during my absence. 4IIiAUBA. — Morris, I will speak frankly. No other hks Will so high a place in my regard as yourself, and I will 0fi|ifes8 that the words you have uttered meet a ready iHpoDse from my heart ; but before I can give you the MBurance you desire, certain conditions must be complied fith. -Morris. — \^Throwing his arm a^osa the hack of her i|n^] Name them, dearest ; I know you are too good and £ie, to exact anything unworthy or impossible, and the ticipated reward will lighten the most arduous task. Laura. — It is no task, Morris, only a simple act of i^f-denial. You must, from this hour, abstain entirely from the use of tobacco and all intoxicating drinks. Morris. — [Drops her hand and starts hack.] Laura, you astonish me ! You know that for years I have been Hloustomed to smoking ; and though it hasbeen six months Ifkice I began to use wine and other light stimulants, itore as a social custom, His true, than because I desired Ibem, yet you have never manifested the slightest disap- |tobation, but have, on more than one occasion, sipped f^ne yourself Why, then, this sudden opposition to ese harmless indulgences ? Laura. — I acknowledge with shame and sorrow that m have but recently awakened to a sense of the duty I fl f ! 10 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES, owe to God and my fellow-creatures. But I haye resolves that my future course shall, as far as possible, atooe fo; the past. I shall exert all my influence to induce tLt young men with whom I associate, to relinquish all un manly^ demoralizing habits, especially that of indulging the appetite for this social glass, which if continued inevitably leads to the drunkard's awful fate. Morris. — But there can be no possible danger for me there is not a habit to which I am addicted that I cannc at any time abandon without difficulty. I do not thinl that I smoke enough to be injurious to myself or un pleasant to others ; and as for drinking to excess — tha can never be, for to mo there can be no more disgracefu and disgusting object than a drunken man. A well balanced mind and a proper degree of self-respect wii prevent any man from thus degrading himself. Laura. — Excuse my plain speaking, Morris, but thf odor of cigar smoke that hovers about you at this momcc; is decidedly difio^reeable. I assert, moreover, that the wavering, unsettled mind, the want of self respect, anii the blunting, defdening of the sensibilities invariablj follow the continued use of alcoholic drinks, and are the results of drinking, not the causes. {^Pauses a moment] I have firmly resolved that I will marry no man wh( yields to the tempter, even to the smallest extent ; and more than that, the signatiyre of my future husband mus: be attached to the Pledge of Total Abstinence. Morris. — Laura, you aie surely jesting ! I cannot bt bound by pledges and promises — they are for drunkards, not sober men ; it would be betraying a want of confidence in my own moral firmness, integrity, and stability. B not make this a test of my love, dear Laura. lAgan takes her hand,"] Laura. — [Dger than for me, consequently I am rejected. f|PusiE. — [Raising her hands with astonishment.'] Well, Iiijlra Bell I so you have been absolutely reducing your lii([|h-flown theory to practice, and have lost the handsomest matf (but one) in town. You are decidedly the most Qii9iitigated goosie I ever saw ! Well, '< what is to be, wiB be," I suppose. But, Laura, Til tell you a little secret t]^ will help to cheer up your spirits. Fred, and I are ' — actually engaged^ and the day appointed. Isn't nice? AURA. — And did you say anything to him on this rtant subject, Susie ? usiE. — Not L I was so fluttered and agitated, I fo^ot it entirely; and I'm glad I did, for Fred, might e run off in a crazy way like Morris Hall, and then I Id be in the same sad, forlorn condition in which I poor you. Not exactly though. I should have run ;j ( ass l)i H 12 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. after him and told him he might keep all his pet habits- that I was only joking ; and I expect you wish you h done so, don't you Laura ? Laura — No. I do not regret what I have done. ! he loves his *' pet habits," as you call them, more than \ loves me, he is not worthy of me. Susie.— Well, I believe Fred, would do anything; give up anything I should request of him. He'll make model husband. [^Goes out singing j and Nettie enk loith an open letter in her hand.'] Nettie. — I presume, Laura, you know from whence tb; letter came 'i Laura. — I do. And from your agitation, I conje: tured its contents. Nettie. — I confess candidly, Laura, that it contains manly declaration of love and offer of marriage. You ai aware that Will. Burnside has been my constant attendao for thee years, and during that time I have never know: him to commit a mean or dishonorable act. Had thii arrived one day earlier, I should have returned to hie the unhesitating acceptance my heart would have s; earnestly dictated. But our conversation this mornio: has materially changed my views in regard to certaic things, and in my reply, which I dispatched some timi ago, I acquainted him with the convictions of duty lateh aroused in my mind, and stated my]deter) lination to marn no man addicted to the use of strong drink, as I shouk constantly be haunted with the fear of becoming tha most wretched of beings — a drunkard's wife. I am sure Laura, that you commend my decision. Lauba. — I do, most heartily. It is tbe-only saf course. During your absencqfj I have had an interview with Morris Hall, who, being compelled to leave town to morrow, desires an answer to a certain important question My reply was, la substance, the same as yours to Mi Burnside ; and iltough I reasoned with him long am earnestly, his pride could not tolerate the idea of beio; ''it MARRY NO MAN IF HE DRINKt 13 pet habits- ish you hi kve done. I nore than I anything : He'll make ETTIE enk a whence tli; >n, I conj e: it contains 56. You ai mt attendao never know ;. Had thii rned to bin lid have ;; his mornio: 1 to certaii id some timi i" duty lateli ion to marr; , as I shoul<: eoming tha I am sure e-only saf m interview ive town to mt question rours to Mr long aDc ca of beio; Mind by pledge ; finally, he left in anger ; and though Illould not reverse my decision, still I feel very sad, for Mirris has won a place in my heart which no other «oan •1^ fill. IffBTTiE. — Accept my sincere sympathy, dear friend, and let me cheer ^^u with the thought that a little re- fleolion on his part will bring him to your side again. Ailfl DOW a word in reference to our conversation of this morning. If we entend to carry out our proposed plan, wcmust have a book prepared for the signatures of all gtl^emen whom we can impress with the importance of Uli|^ course. / IBaura. — I think I have one that will suit our purpose •a^irably. [£^jV.] JBdbnside. — [Enters with eager liaste^ advances to^ET- TVf^u>ho IS still standing J and clasps her hands lovingly.'] BliipDg Nettie, I have just received your note, and could a resist the impulse to come to you immediately. Did dream for an instant that I would let any foolish habit rpose and obstacle between me and your precious self ? £h|:aearest ; I will gladly submit to your very reasonable recrements, and the more willingly, because I have nqnblf been in serioxis doubt as to the safety of this social drinking custom. It only needed your sweet, womanly arginuent to establish my convictions firmly. {^Laura eniefs unobserved.'} And now this little hand is mine. [JTtliies it.} jiglURA. — Ahem ! [Coughs.'] ^R^isiDE.-'lStarting.] Why, Miss Laura, you en- so much as a spirit, that your suddenly revealed nee startled me. * XJRA. — [Roguishly.] Spirits donH wear high-heeled ^aiiirs, and cough to attract the attention of mortals, Mr. side. Nettie, I find that the book I referred to has used for another purpose, and we have no other that nswer. lURNsiDE. — There is a bookstore at the corner, ladies; 11 be happy to supply any want. 14 TEMPERANCE DIALOOUES. Laura. — We accept your offer with thanks, and de. legate you to procure for us a small hlank book, in whicl wo propose to write a Pledge. BuRNSiDE. — I will return in a few moments. [Exit Nettie. — And I will get the pen and ink. lExit."] Laura. — [SeatiHf/ herself in ancdtitude of sadness an despondency.] Nettie is happy ; and I must appear so even though my heart should break in the sad struggle [^Covers her face with her hands, and sighs.] Morris. — [^Appears at the open door — pauses a mi> ment — advances quickly y and dropping on one knee at h: side,, gen tit/ removes her hands.] Dear Laura, you hav; conquered ! Forgive the foolish pride that for a tim obscured my sense and judgment and made me obliviou to my own danger and heedless of your sweet warning Since our interview, I have calmly weighed every argn ment you advanced, and I thank you earnestly for th frankness with which you placed the subject before me, and the courage and firmness with which you combated m; weak reasoning and* refused any compromise with thi- evil. If all young ladies would pursue the same course there would be fewer drunkards, and consequently les: unhappiness and misery. Will you forgive me and be m own Laura? Laura. — All is forgiven, Morris j and I confess tha; my heart feels much lighter than it did a few moment; ago J but I hear footsteps. Oh, Morris, do get up. I: that wild Susie Gray should catch you in this attitude we should not escape from her saucy tongue for a month Morris. — I don't care for Susie or any one else jur now — I'm too happy; but to sj»are your blushes, I wil assume a more dignified position. [^Snatches a kiss am springs up Just as NETTiE'enters at one door and BURNSIDI at the other. The three exchange greetings.] BuRNSiDE. — I have obtained the desired article. IHandi it to Laura.] LaurA; — Thank you. Now for the Pledge. [ Writes' MARRY NO MAN IF HE DRINKS. 15 ka, and de. f, ia whicl s. [Exit lExit.] sadness an appear go id struggle uses a m'j- knee at h , you hav', for a tim e obliviou 5et warning every argu sstly for th before me, ombated m 5 with thi- ame course juently Ics: and be m} confess tk w moment; get up. I lis attitude )r a month ne else ju\ shes, I wil kiss au BuRNsin Of e. [Z7a«(ii [ Writei] Morris — What a moral revolution would be produced society if other ladies would adopt and maintain the inciples you two so firmly advocate ? Nettie. — There is no earthly reason why it should not be so. I am amazed and ashamed that I have lived so llDg in ignorance of my duty in this respect. Laura.— Attention. [/?caonade in town, wouldn't we, Will. ? [SusiE and Fred. h heartily. 2 16 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. 1 Hi llji I li^ ^n Susie. — Lemonade with wedding-c&ke ! what a fum idea ! But to speak seriously, the Bihle recommen: wine, though I don't recollect the exact words. Refrei my memory, some of you. Laura. — Who hath sorrow? who hath contentioDi who hath wounds without cause ? They that tarry lot at the wine ; they that seek strong drink ! BuRNSiDE. — Wine is a mocker, strong drink is ragii; and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise ! Nettie. — Be not among winebibbers, for the druDbr shall couie to poverty ! Morris. — Look not upon the wine when it is red, wk it giveth its color in the cup, for at last it biteth like serpent and stingcth like an adder ! i^The/our in concert.'] — No drunkard shall enter tl kingdom of heaven ! [Susie and Fred, elevate their ejj hroioSf and raise their hands as if overwhelmed hy the tei that follow each other in quick successiouy and are utta- with great imprcssiveness and solemnity.'] [^Curtain falls."] SCENE IL Laura and Nettie ; the former turning over the ha. of the Pledge-hooJc, Laura. — As six months have elapsed since the inaugui; tion of our total abstinence movement, I thought 1 wou look over our little book, and I find it contains fifty-eigi names. We have been far more successful than I antic pated. Nettie. — Many of those whom we induced with gre difl&culty to sign the Pledge were swiftly going to rui but are now sober and prosperous. I am thankful ' have been permitted to accomplish so much. [Hall ai BuRNSiDE cn^er, fa;cAan(7e customary greetings withi girls, and take seats.] '31 MARRY NO MAN IF HE DRINKS. 17 hat a fum recommeD: Is. Refrei sontentioDi t tarry loi ik is rap^is; be druDkai is red, wlc )itetb like ill enter tl ate their fy :l hi/ the iei (l are utter }cr the ha. Lbe inaugw ight 1 wou 18 fifty-eigt ban I antic dwitb gre ing to rui thankful ^ [Hall a\ 'rigs withi MoRRifl. — I see you have the Pledge-book, Laura ; I m think that had Fred. Allen's name been inscribed in he might not have fallen. His boasted pride and self- pect have not restrained bis terrible appetite for liquor, _ he is now a common drunkard. I met his wife yeater- ^1^, and could scarcely recognize her as the saucy, light- l^trted Susie who, six months ago, laughed at what she 90td our ** oldfogy notions.'' She has changed sadly, •ad I have heard that Fred, is very violent and brutal iriien intoxicated. lusiE. — [^Enters, plainlt/ attired^ and in a state of great ttion."] Dear Liura, will you kindly give your miser- friend shelter for one night ? jIiAURA. — Certainly, Susie, for as long a time as you wish tO#»y. [^Leads her to a seat and stan.ds bj/ Aer.] May liUquire the cause of your trouble ? You appear to be wi|*ppy- ipuBiE. — Tou are all old and true friends, and have, iipitless, heard of the sad life I have led since my marriage, i^|( will speak freely. I had not been married a week hiftre I ascertained that my husband had, for a long timOi h||n drinking much more freely than I or any of his Minds had imagined ; in fact, he acknowledged that he olwi drank in restaurants and saloons, side by side witfi the most degraded drunkards. For two months past htilttui scarcely been sober a day. His business is totally nflf^oted, his money squandered among vile associates. Tkl§ ooDstant and excessive use of liquor has transformed into a jQend whose brutal cruelty I can no longer en- . If you will permit me to remain here to-night, I to-morrow return to my parents, who live in the ooiilltry, about forty miles from this place. I left them, ft-li^py, merry bride; I shall return, a broken-hearted, led woman ! [^Heavy footsteps are heard approach- and a loudj angry voice exclaims^ " Where is she ?" [1 crouches in terror behind Lauba.] IliLBN. — IThrows open the door violently. ffi$ /ace i. 18 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. I very red ; eyes glaring with rage ; clothing torn and soiled.] Where is my wife ? Ah, you need not try to hide, madaia — I have found you. [^Rushes to her and grasps her arm.] Come, march home immediately. BuRNSiDE. — [^Grasping him by the shoulder."] Allen, you shall not use any yiolenoe toward your wife ia our presence. She desires to remain with Miss Bell to-night, and I would advise you to leave the room quietly, or you may compel us to use force. Allen. — She shall not stay here I home's the place for a married woman, and she shall go. Morris. — [ Who has risen.'] The home that should be her dearest refuge, you have converted into such a plac; of torment that she has been compelled to flee from it Fied. Allen, has your manhood utterly forsaken you ? Le, your poor, persecuted wife stay where she can find res' and peace, and go away quietly. Allen. — Seems to me, you're interfering in what don't concern you. Tid'nt that woman know when she married me that I took my glass whenever I wanted it ? Don'; you remember how she laughed at you for signing the Pledge, saying at the same time that J didnU need it f K little persuasion from her then, would have caanged my wild course and made me a different man, for I wouIJ have sacrificed anything to please her ; but she didn't think it was necessary^ aud she's got no right to complain now. Susie. — lie speaks the truth ! I know now, when too late, that my own thoughtless conduct has brought this grief upon me. When I could easily have turned him from the path of danger, I laughed at the idea, and re- fused to exert my influence to win him to a better life I have carved my own destiny — and hereafter I will sul) mit to my sad lot without murmuring. Allen. — Now, that's more sensible. What's the use of fretting about what you can't help, eapecially as you've acknowledged that you brought it on yourself id soikd] 0, madam her arm."^ ] AUcD, [b in oui 1 to- night, ly, or yon the place sJiouM li ih a place from it, you ? Le find res' wbat don't le married t ? Don'; filing th« edit^ A iDged mj I woulJ ihe didn't ) complaiQ when too ought thi! raed him and re- >etter life will sul)' the use of las you've MARRY NO MAN IF UE DRINKS. 19 MoRRis.—AllcD, reform— sign the Pledge and be a man again. Allen —No, air 1 I can't do it. Rum and the devil have got such a strong grasp on me, that if I should try to reform, they'd pull me back again. It's qo use, I tell you ; as long as whiskey's made, and men licensed to sell it, there'll bo plenty of drunkards. [ To his w»/c.] Come along, Susan. ITakea a bottle from his pocket and goes out drinking.'] Susie. — Laura — Nettie — I hear that you are both to stand before the altar to-morrow night. May God grant you a happier lot than mine ! [Goes outdowlj/y weeping.'] Nettie. — Poor Susie ! hers is Indeed a sad fate. Morris. — I am rejoiced to know that on the occasion of the double bridal^ which will to-morrow night crown our foud hopes with blissful reality, there will be no JiparkliDg ruby wine to tempt our friends to ruin and death. BuRNSiDE. — But as we go through life with our chosen partners beside us — [each clasps the waist and hand of hii intended'] — we will warn the tempted, raise the fallen, and frighten the homes made desolate by the Demon of la- temperance. ■ Laura. — And we will still keep our Pledge-book open, ind continue to labor for the cause of Total Abstinence. Nettie. — And we shall never forget to warn our lady firiends; solemnly and earnestly L. and N. — To marry no man if he drinks ! [Curtain falls.] 20 STAETING IN LIFE. €l)aractcr0. Mrs. Mordaunt. Theodore. Mrs. Mordaunt sewing. Mrs. Mordaunt. — It is almoBt time that Theodore was home from school. His last day ! Next week he must start ioto a man's life^ leaving behind him these school-hoy days that he has found so pleasant. Ah, I hear his step! Enter Theodore. Theodore. — Well, mother, here I am. My school- days are oyer at last 1 Mrs. Mordaunt. — You have had a pleasant day, I hope? Theodore. — Yes, the teachers were all very kind, and gave me their best wishes for success in business-life. •^ Mrs. Mordaunt. — Are you going out again ? Theodore. — There is no temptation to go out. The rain pours down in perfect torrents. We have a full hour before dinner-time. Talk to me ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — Imperative case, present tense ! Theodore. — {Bowing.) Will you graciously con- descend to converFe with your obedient servant? Mrs. Mordaunt.— Willingly. What shall we talk about? • . ' . Theodore. — About myself. Modest, am I not ? But I would like to have a little talk about the future, and you were always my father- confessor, you know ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — Mother-oonfessor, you mean. ■V,v STARTING IN LIFE. 21 Theodore. — Many a oat-killing, orchard-robbing, sign- destroying expedition has lost one of its members, by the thought of your gentle reproof, or sorrowful eyes, overpowering his love of mischief at the last moment before starting. Mas. MoBDAUNT. — It makes me very happy to hear you say that, my dear boy. Yet you are almost too old for a lecture, since you look over my head now, with per- fect ease. Theodore. — "Well, good advice need not be a lecture. Mrs. Mordaunt. — I must confess there are some points where there is room for improvement in your course of conduct. Theodore. — I know that well. Take the little sins first, mother, and then attack the big ones. Mrs. Mordaunt. — The first little sin, then, Is the utter waste of your powers of conversation. You are a boy with more than the average amount of brains, of some talent, and have received a good education, and among your gentlemen friends you may use your advantages — of that I cannot judge — but ai&ong your lady friends, you are only one degree removed from an empty-headed coxcomb. Theodore. — Mother ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — It is an undeniable fact. Once among ladies, you talk the most arrant nonsense, by the hour together. Theodore. — Oh mother, not always ! I do talk sense sometimes, I am sure. Mrs. Mordaunt. — When ? Recall your conversation last evening in a roomful of clever, sensible girls, and repeat, if you can, one single sentence that you would oare to have quoted as a specimen of yout conversational powers. Was it not from beginning to end, the smallest of all small talK ? The merest twaddle, about wcatheri opera, and dress, not even rising to the current topics of the day ? Come, now, Theodore, be candid. i : ; i ' Ml i" 22 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. Theodore.— But; mother^ I don't want the girls to set me down for a pedantic, conceited fellow, anxious to dis- play his own learning. Girls like small talk ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — Do they ? Pray upon what foun- dation do you form that opinion ? Theodore. — They never talk of anything else but weather, opera, and such subjects. Mrs. Mordaunt.«-Do you ever give them a chance ? Did you ever try to lead any of your young lady friends into a sensible, rational conversation, upon some topic that might interest both of you ? Theodore.— I confess I never did. I thought they liked small talk and flattery. Mrs. Mordaunt.— Nonsense I If you will confine your remarks entirely to the regions of nonsense, of course the young ladies can do nothing but follow your lead. Do you talk so among gentlemen ? Theodore. — No ; not when we really converse. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Yet if you were really conversing upon subjects of interest and importance, science, art, politics or literaturoj what would you do if a party of young ladies entered the room ? Theodore. — We should all do the same thing. Mrs. Mordaunt. — And that would first be, to look as guilty as if you were plotting a murder, or as silly as if you had been reading Mother Goose, and then each one of you would turn to your favorite companion among the invaders, compliment her dress and appearance, and set in motion a perfect tide of empty words and phrases. Theodore. — I am afraid I must plead guilty ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — Very complimentary to our sex, is it not? Theodore. — Having displayed the fault, now for the advice. Mrs. Mordaunt. — The advice is that the next time you converse with a young lady, you try to confine your conversation within the regions of common sense and ii'i i i: STARTING IN LIFE. 23 interest, and see if she will not follow you as readily as into the flowery paths of flattery and compliment. Theodore. — I'll try it ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — Next, Theodore, I would cease to make a chimney of my mouth. Theodore. — Oh, mother, a cigar now and then will not hurt any one ! Mrs. Mordaunt. —I am not so sure of that ; and hosides, who can be sure it will be only a cigar now and then ? Theodore.«»I do not chew tobacco. Mrs. Mordaunt. — I hope no^ I should be sorry to see a son of mine indulging in so disgusting a habit. Chewing tobacco is not only poisonous to the constitution, but it is an ungentlemanly, filthy habit, that is offensiye to every person of refinement. Theodore. — I quite agree with you. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Smoking is not much better, even if indulged in but moderately^ and who can say modera- tion in any vice will not lead to excess. Kcmember the love for tobacco increases with the indulgence in its use. Theodore. — I think two cigars a week will cover all the indulgence I allow myself in that way. That will not harm any one. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Perhaps not. But remember great vices take root in little faults. Two cigars a week may lead to four next week, then one each day, two, three, till what was but a scarcely indulged luxurious taste, becomes a positive necessity; you will never feel contented unless you have a cigar between your lips. Then will follow in- dolence, a torpid drowsiness, and the want of stimulus may lead you into a love for drink. Theodore. — I never craved ihatj mother. It is but rarely I touch even a glass of wine. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Like the occasional cigar, Theo- dore, the wine now and.then is a dangerous beginning. Theodore.— You advise, then, total abstinence from liquor and tobacco. ? fi 24. TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. m !i m Mrs. MordAunt. — It is the only real safeguard. You • can never be certain of yourself, if you once permit the love for either to grow upon you. Now, it is easy to give them up, a year from now, the cessation may entail posi- tive suffering, later may be almost impossible. Theodore. — I will consider your words, mother. Mrs. Mordaunt. — If there were no moral objection, Theodore, drinking and smoking are such vulgar yices. I would have my son a gentlemani Theodore. — What is a gentleman ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — Are you in earnest ? Theodore. — Yes. ppinions are so divided. Some of my friends will not wear a coat of last year's cut, because they are afraid of being mistaken for ungentlemanly fel- lows, yet have no objection to running in debt, and shirk- ing payment for the same. Now can swindling be gentle- manly ? Debt contracted without any prospect of payment looks to me like cheating. One man will not swear be- cause it is ungentlejianly, while another will tell you of an oath that it is such a gentlemanly way of swearing ; the term seems to me to involve a perfect maze of contradictions, so I ask you again, what is a gentleman ? Mrs. Mordaunt. Pass me the dictionary from th« table. Theodore. — Now you are laughing at me? Mrs. Mordaunt. — Not at all. Did you ever look for it in the dictionary ? Theodore. — Never. [^Fasses dictionary to Mrs. Mordaunt. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Here we have a variety of defini- tions. Sidney pronounces a gentleman ^< A man of birth ; a man of extraction, though not noble." :- ' ,- • Theodore. — That will scarcely answer for our new country. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Shakespeare informs us that it is '^ A man raised above the vulgar by his character or post," and again, that " It is used of any man, however high." 8"a of an iheterm ionS; so )in ih% r look DAUNT. defini- birth ; ir new it it is post," high." ^ Theodore. — That is better. ■ "' • ■ Mrs. Mordaunt.— Addison says, <' It is a term of complaisance; sometimes ironical." Theodore. — It is more than that in this age. ■ Mrs. Mordaunt.— And Camden says it is : " The servant who waits about the person of a man of rank."^ Theodore. — But none of those definitions will describe a Canadian gentleman of the present day, which I sup- pose is what you want me to be. Tell me what must /do in the arena of my new life, to deserve the title of a true gentleman ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — A true Christian gentleman is the liighest moral position a man may attain in this country. First, my son, you must take the golden rule for your con- stant guide. Theodore. — " Do unto others as you would others should do unto you/' you mean ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — For unselfishness is the first rule of courtesy. From this spring benevolence and gentlenesSj and these lay the foundation for the thousand acts of po- liteness, that in a true gentleman are but the outward symbols of a nobility of soul. Theodore. — Christianity, then, is the foundation. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Undoubtedly. To reach this high- est grade of earthly perfection, a thorough Christian gen- eman, a man must unite in himself all that is noble and ood in the human character. I think it is Buskin who ys, ^* A gentleman's first characteristic is that firmness structure in the body, which renders it capable of the most delicate sensation, and of structure in the mind which fenders it capable of the most delicate sympathies — one ly simply say, fineness of nature." Theodore. — But that is reducing the whole to simple efinement. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Refinement in every sense, moral, thysioal and mental. How oan you go higher ? Refined onor can never tolerate a dishonorable action, therefore a 26 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. |i < refined gentleman must be tlie soul of honor. Eefiaement of body will make necessary neatness, and propriety in dress, while it will curb the vulgar display of wealth or ex- treme fashion. Theodore. — Do you class courage among the qa%Iitiee necessary to form a gentleman ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — True courage, yes. Theodore. — You mean moral courage ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — Guiding and directing mere physi. cal brayery. It has been remarked by observers, durin; many wars, both of late years and in olden times, how far apart were the courage of the gentleman, and that of the ruffian. The latter, displaying mere physical disregard of danger, was made furious by the excitement of battle, and dared everything in a fierce animal love of f%hting, and oommitting injury upon his foes. He threw aside mercy, discipline and self-control, and became a mere sanguinary, revengeful animal, murderer^and savage. But the gentle- man soldier, fired by the noble -enthusiasm of aiding in a good cause, recollecting and fully appreciating his perso- nal danger, accepts the risk, and with his life in his hand, dares as much, and fights as bravely as the most furious ruffian, yet regards discipline, tempers duty with mercy, and keeps his self-command in his most daring onslaught. Theodore. — I have often heard people say, they can recognize a gentleman as soon as they see one. Can you do so, mother ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — No. I frankly confess that I have been deceived more than once in such decisions. There are many men who have all the polish of manner, all the grace and courtesy of a Chesterfield, yet who are at heart cruel and rude, only deferring to outward observances to shine in society. Others with no knowledge of the eti- ouette of that society, yet with a heart full of gentle aeference to age, weakness or merit, are gentlemen at heart, though they may appear clowns in manner. Theodore. — Then it is not well to decide hastily. STARTING IN LIFE. 27 ire physi. Bf daring , how far it of the regard of attle, and Angf and le mercy, iguinary, le gentle- ding in a is perso- tiis hand, 1 furious h mercy, islaught. hey can Can you it I have There r, all the at heart ranees to the eti- ■ gentle lemen at Mrs. Mordaunt.— No. Observation of manner is a rood test, because a gentleman at heart will have that in lis tone and actions that will shine above all the mere sur- [face polish of mere society airs. Thiodore. — It is carious how the authorities vary. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Some authors define a gentleman as dxnply one who lives without work. Theodore.— But saperannuated residents of the alms- iJioase live without work. Mrs. Mordaunt.— Others define it as one who is able |o live in cemfbrt without work, one possessing fortune. Theodore. — Mere money cannot make yowr gentle- man, mother ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — Never, because I consider idleness 18 a vice. Honorable employment is not derogatory to a l^entleman, because it paves the way to independence. Theodore. — But if a man already possesses a fortune ? Mrs. Mordaunt. — Then he can find ample employ- ment for his time in works of philanthropy and charity. Theodore. — Well, I shall have to make my fortune, >efore I spend it ! t Mrs. Mordaunt. — Another fault against which I irould warn you, Theodore, is a tendency to over-dress. What is vulgarly called ^as^-dressing is becoming a vice Imly too common among our young men. Gay neckties, jewelry in profusion, smart waistcoats, and conspicuous gloves. Theodore, (lau(/hing.) — A gentleman may not have ,^e scope allowed the fair sex, then ? t Mrb. Mordaunt. — No. Custom has decided that ouiet colors, and a modest style of dress are m^re becom- &g to your sex, so I beg you will not appear again in the ^ry gay waistcoat and necktie with which you dazzled my lyes last evening. Theodore.— To hear is to obey* Mrs. Mordaunt. — Lounging abou^ the streets is an- Ither evil. I will not mention whose son it was, I saw 28 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. last weekj loaning against a tree-box, talking to fire other boyS; apparently as idle as himself. Theodore, (laughing.') — I am afraid you must owj him. Mrs. Mordaunt. — And that is another of the litti; sinS| against which I would warn you as paths to grea; vices. Idleness can be cultivated^ till it rules soul, mini and body with a rod of iron. Find something to do. Theodore. — But father told me I might take a mont'a to look about me. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Look about you, then. Do no waste one day of your month, but gain something in that time that will help you in your future life. And in th^ train of idleness, you will find wasteful •xtravaganoe. Theodore. — I know what you mean now. My drive last week, cost me more than I could afford, yet I could not avoid the expense without appearing mean. Mrs. Mordaunt.— Do not be a slave to the opinions of a set of brainless fellows who want to enjoy themselyes at your expense. It is not mean to keep within the lim- ita of your purse. Your character will not stand anj higher among sensible people, for wearing clothes [more expensive than you can afford; running in debt for suppers you ought not to give j smoking, drinking, gam* bling, to pass away time you ought to employ in usefiil labor. You must scorn the ridicule that would lead you to useless extravagance, not fear it. Theodore. — Fear is scarcely the word. Mrs. Mordaunt. — Fear is exactly the word. It is a want of moral courage that leads to half the evils that be- set young men, when starting in life. Theodore. — ^There's the sun ! Mrs. Mordaunt. — And you think you have had enough good advice for one day ? Theodore. — I did not mean that. You have given me subjects for many an hour of thought. MBS. Mordaunt. — And prayer, my son. Bemembei kvail I * m STABTINO IN LIFE. 29 P the littl; fis to great soul, mis^ to do. ke a mom'a( I. Do no: ing in tha: Lnd in th: gance. My drive ^et I could mj counsels and jour good resolutions will be of no brail; unless you ask for strength and guidance from your leayeoly Father. He only can keep your feet in Ihe Sght path. TnEODORE. — I will remember I Mrs. Mordaunt. — And now you must go. I am oblig- ' to go out at this hour to take Clara to the dentist's. IBoth go out A opinions of themselyeg 1 the lim- stand anj >thefi [more debt for ting, gam. in usefiil d lead yon 1. It is a Is that be- id enou(;li giyen me »emembei I i 7 i s AMBIT ION. €l)ara(Ur0. LAWRENCE. CHARLES. PAUL. HENRY. FRANK. A «tudy. Frank seated at a table, with an open book before hiin. Ueeide the book vpon the table, are pen, paper, ink and a glob'U Frank, {sighing.) — My head feels fairly dizzy over thctje problems, yet I am resolved to conquer them. It will bo a disappointment to my dear father, if I do not take the prize at this examination, for I resolved to compensate him for last year's disappointment, by being very studi- ous. My history, geography, and grammar I have but little fear about, but mathematics are so hard for me, and Latin is terrible. . • Enter Henry, Pauj., Charles, and Lawrence. Henrt. — Come, Frank, we are going up to Turtle Rock for a boat race, and want you ! Frank, {eagerly >^ — A boat race ! What boat's? Charles. — The Undine and Serpent. Frank. — It will bo a close match ! Lawrence. — Yes, the best regatta of the season. Come, we are in a hurry ! Frank,(W8iw^.) — ril be ready in five minutes. No I \_Re%umei his seat.'\ I cannot go. Lawrenje. — Oh, nonsense ! You must go ! Frank. — I cannot, I have set myself a task to do first ChablbS; (Jooking at books.) — Conio seotiona ! Ughl AMBITION. 31 cjore him, I a globe. ' over theae It will be I take tlie lompensate ery studi- have but br me, and urtle Bock D. Come, «s. No! 9 do first. I Ughl Lawrence. — Oh, bother conic sections ! Frank. — I wish I could, for they certainly bother me I Paul. — Must you stay, Frank ? Frank. — Yes, IJaul. Father wants mo to try for the prize, this year. Lawrence. — You are ambitious, then ? [Laughs snceringly. Frank. — Is that a crime, Larry ? Lawrence— That is a very nice question, Frank. Henry. — We can spare a little time, and Frank evi- Idently wants a rest from his conic sections. Come, we lulli have an important debating club. I propose the ques- lion. Is ambition a vice or a virtue ? [^All take seats, Lawrence. — Were there no ambitious men, it appears to inc that progress must bo ended, science would come to ft standstill, and the world stagnate. What truly great Bian ever left the world a benefactor to his fellow-man, ho was not spurred from height to height by ambition ? Charles. — Yet an ambitious man in history is con- idered a vicious man by many writers. We find the i|uality classed with pride and uoscrupulous conduct, while Ipcripture condemns it^ in more than one place. I Frank. — Ambition led Watt to the highest rounds of the ladder of science. I Paul. — Ambition caused Satan to be cast from heaven! ^ Lawrence. — Like every quality given to man, ambition nay lead him cither to perfection or ruin. True ambition •ppears to me the pure honest desire to excel in whatever ,ire undertake, provided always that we do not suffer our ^elfish desire to rise, to lead us into doing wrong to our Ibllow-men, or violating the commands of God. Every ftlwyer should enter the bar with the aim and hope of becom- g a judge; every poet should aspire to being a second akespeare; every scientific scholar should hope to dis- ver power as great as steam or magnetism ; every soldier ould look forward to becoming a general ; and every hoolboy should aim at the head of his class, for only that 14 TEMPERANCE DIALOOUES. N J /\ desire and hope of rising, can make us aim at perfeoiioo in the condition of life we occupy at starting. The man who is content to plod along in the lowest ranks, will be found to be indolent, sluggish, and wo^^hless. Paul. — Yet Bacon sam '< Ambition is like anger which makes men full of alacrity if it is not oheoked| bat if it is checked in any manner, and not able to have its own way, it becomes malign and 'venomous/' Now if Bacon is right, we can scarcely consider ambition as a virtue, since it may lead to such disastrous results, and if not a virtue, it must be a vice. Frank. — Yet, without ambition, how much of man's natural dignity would be lost, since it spurs to exertion all his highest intellectual powers ? Without it, man would be content to be a poor, debased creature, allowing the powers of his brain to rust for want of energy to cultivate and apply them ; he could never rise in his profession, having no ambition to reach its highest point. Like every other good gift it is the abuse and not the use of ambition's fire, that leads to sin. Kept within proper bounds, is a noble quality, leading to perfection. Charles. — But the trouble is, how to limit it I A good man looks upon content as a virtue ; yet an ambitious man never knows content ! However powerful he may be, his insatiable passion, ambition, spurs him forward to grasp higher powers, unheeding whom he may overthrow in his selfish progress, often letting desire usurp the place of justice, and in the end, dying with an unsatisfied craving for heights life was not long enough to scale. Lawrence. — No one can deny that the grades of am- bition vary with each nature, and that in somo the passion becomes a dangerous and sinful striving for mere wordly advantage. Yet because ungoverned minds become weak- ened by their own unlimited desires, it docs not follow that ambition itself becomes a vice. We might as well say that fire is an evil, because sometimes it destroys, in- stead of ministering to our own comfort. Ambition is the AMBITION. 83 etrongcst incentive (o perjcvrance, and difficulties will sink before it, where they had appeared mountain high. Take, for instance, our great travellers, explorers and dis- coverers, where could they have gained the energy that led them through heat and cold, exposure and danger, doubt and difficulty, had not ambition kept alive their hope and courage '( Paul. — Yet inordinate ambition is but the sin of covet- ousness under another name, for what is coveting, save desiring that which does not belong to us ? It leads to avarice, after stimulating to the pursuit of wealth ; to tyranny, after power is gained ; to disappointment when the glittering bubble we pursue turns to tinsel in our grasp. Frank. — Without ambition no great deed was ever accomplished. It is a guiding-star to the wise and good, only a snare to the vain and foolish. CiiARLE?.— Ambition caused Napoleon to deluge Europe with blood ! Lawrence. — Ambition led Benjamin Franklin to the most wonderful discoveries in Electricity. Paul. — Ambition made Richard the Third a murderer. Frank. — And Washington a father to his country. Henry. — Very well argued on both sides. Frank, have you Lilly's Midas? Frank. — Not here, Henry. — Then I must trust to memory. He says, " Ambition hath but two steps J tho lowest 13lood; the highest envy." while Crown on the other hand 6ay3 : " Ambition is a spirit in the world, That causes all the ebbs and flows of nations. Keeps mankind sweet by action ; without that, The world would be a filthy settled mud." So we close the debate by deciding that : Ambition ruled by Religion and Keason is a virtue : unchecked and mad- dened by Vanity and Covetonsness it is a vice ! 34 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. v Charles. — It is time for us to be off now, boys. Frank, are you sure you cauDot join us ? Frank. — I will work hard till I have conquered my appointed tcsk, and then, if it is not too late, will come after you. Lawrence. — Good-bye, then, we will not detain you any longer from your work. All. — Good-bye! [^ All go out, excqH Yra.sk. Frank. — I think I may trust my ambition, since its aim now is to gratify my father, and prove myself worthy of the pains he is taking to make me a good scholar. I must go to my room for another slate, and then to work again. [^Goesout. m 35 THE ILLS OF DRAM-DRINKING. FOR THRBK MALES. \Tke Drunkard, Tou, mtnt be dre8$ed rather $habb{ly, and hit note muit be reddened ; Jc/ON, a» a respwiable xcorkivg-man, ondLovE- DROr, xcith a cigar.) John. — WeJl,Tom, bow are you ? I have not seen you for a long time. Tom. — I am not very well. John. — What is the matter with you ? Tom. — Why, I don't exactly know. I feel very weak and languid, as well as thirsty and miserable. 1 suppose I must go and get another pint or two to set mc all right. John. — A pint or two of what ? Tom. — Of the very best beer. John. — Can you tell me what your beer is made of? Tom.— No. John. — Water, treacle; poison, and a little putrefied vegetable matter. Tom, — I don't care ; it's the best medicine that over was invented, for I have tried it before. John. — How much did you take ? Tom. — About half a dozen pints, more or less. John. — That must be a very queer way of taking medi- cine; six pints in a day! But please tell mo hoir you felt after this large dose. , Tom. — I felt as if everything was upsida down, myself included ; and every now and then the ground would seem to jump up and hit me on the head. I felt as if I could fight anybody, and was very proud of trying to walk both sides of the path at once. John. — Your medicine operated very curiously j bat did* it cure you ? Tom. — Yes, that it did for the time. John. — But how did you feel the next morning ? Tom. — This is the next morning, and it was only last 36 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. night I tried the experiment, and I have already told you how I feel ; but I omitted to tell you that I shall not be able to get my full dose to-day, because I am very light in three places. John. — Where are they ? toM. — My stomach, my head, and my pocket. John. — So, after you have tried your miraculous medi- cine, you find the ufifects are, firstly — it removed your malady for the time, only for it to return l^th increased violence; secondly — it rendered you incap^Ie of govern- ing yourself j in plain terms, you were drunk; thirdly — it created a desire to return again to the so-called medi- cine ; fourthly — it made you light in the three pla'3es you have mentioned. Now I want to have a word with you about this drink. You were at one time fond of argu- ment. Tom.— Well, talk away then, only don^t be long over it, for I am as thirsty as a herring. John. — You don't seem to care much about the matter ; but first ask me some question, fori can't knock anything down before it's built up. Tom. — Did not Solomon say a pint of beer was a good thing for a working-man ? John. — No. Tom. — Then didn't somebody tell Timothy to take a drop of gin for his stomach's sake ? John. — Not exactly that either ; but is there anything the matter with your stomach ? Tom — It's rather empty, that's all. John. — Then what do you think is the best thing to fill it with ? Tom. — Why, some beer, to be sure. John. — Can you tell me what becomes of the beer after you have drank it ? Tom. — It fills up my stomach, and answers the purpone of a good dinner. John. — How much do you think your stomach is capable of holding ? N THE ILLS OF DEAM-DUINKING. 37 lOb IB Tom. — I have read in some books, when I was young, about two pints. John. — Then what a foolish man you must bo, to try and get six pints into a two-pint measure. Tom. — I never thought of that before. ^ John. — Do you not see that a pound of bread would usefully fill yojutyktomach, while the injurious beer is .immediateljiflHH into your system ? ^ To»f. — ^H^^^^ use talking to you ; you've been better educa^j^ftn I have ; but when I have been to the Half Moon and got primed, I will come back and talk to you. But in the mean time, here is Mr. Lovedrop — he will soon settle you. (^Exit.) {Eater Lovedrop.) Lovedrop. — Well, friend John, how are you ? John. — In the very best of health. How are you ? Lovedrop. — Oh, pretty well, except a light bilious headache ; but say, I have heard you are a teetotaler ! John. — I am a teetotaler, and I am proud of it. Lovedrop. — The more fool you to join such a set of. enthusiasts ; you may as well condemn the whole system of navigation, b':'cause some get drowned in the practice of it. John. — All great men were enthusiasts in the particular branch of science or ait that they excelled in ; Newton, Hunter, Davy, and others. The proper meaning of the word is *' man in earnest." The case you state about navigation docs not apply to the subject ; drinking intoxi- cating drinks is not necessary, may be done without alto- gether, and their use is highly dangerous to the commu- nity; while navigation is both necessary and useful. Lovedrop. — 1 contend that the little drop I take does me no harm. John. — Define your term ; how much is a little drop ? Lovedrop. — Three glasses in a day. John. — That would amount to above one thousand glasses a year ; rather a large drop. W I 38 TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES. 1^ LovEDROP. — Did not Christ make wine at the marriage feast in Can a ? John. — Yes; but* you cannot prove that it was intoxi- eating wine ; on the contrary, we have evidence to prove th^ it was not so. I heard a very good answer to that in a meeting once. A little boy was making a speech, and occasionally quoted texts of tScripturc^jifina crusty old bachelor got up and inquired sneefl^^H||^the boy, if Christ did not make wine at the malHUHBt ; the boy replied that he was too young and the^BJMnan was too old, as well as too ugly, to get married ; that if they only drank wine at their marriage-feasts, there would not be much danger of their ever becoming sots. LovEDROP. — Did not Noah get drunk ? John. — And do you believe he was any the better for it? on the contrary, he was much the worse, and if a wise and good man like Noah could;notwithstand the temptation, how much more likely are you to be borne down before it ? LovEDROP. — There is no danger of my falling into the temptation. John. — Yes there is, a very great danger ; do you know a single drunkard who at one time had the remotest idea of ever becoming what he is ? LovEDROP. — You are assuming that I associate with drunkards, which is not the case. I drink in moderation, because it helps to support the government, you see. John. — It must be a poor government which cannot get along without that drink which causes such crime, pov- erty, and wretchedness as is everywhere visible. Both government and society lose by it in the end, for if the sale of strong drinks were utterly and forever prohibited by law, three-fourths of the jails iind work-houses would perish with them. LovEDROP. — But what would become of the distillers and saloon proprietors ? John. — What do they deserve to be done with, who sell out that liquid curse which destroys sixty thousand men in a year ? i THE ILLS OF DRAM-DHINKINO. 39 LovEDROP. — But they are respectable members of so- ciety, and must be done something with. John. — Let them turn farmers and cultivate the ground, and learn to use its products to a better purpose than to make drinks which proves ihe curse of the country. LovEDROP. — The teetotalers don't go the right waj to work, trying to get a Maine Law, and prohibit the sale; they oughtJ|tfBfe|feet individuals to give up, and in time the ^i^^^^Hl^nity would become moderate. JoHN.--^miilK't you join us then, and show us a more excellent way, instead of swelling the ranks of the enemy ? Your argument would apply wiih equal force to the law against stealing and other vices. LovEDROP. — When I get into company they will have me drink, and besides I like it and it seems to do me good; I ian't give it up. John. — Can't ! You ought to be ashamed to say sc», I have given it up, and if you can't I am a better mao than you. As to the drink seeming to do you good, your bilious headache is a case in point. Half the ills that flesh is heir to may be traced, directly or indirectly, to the use and abuse of stimulants. LovEDRor. — Why, my dear sir, you would not cer- tainly deny that liquor does good in some cases ? John. — Very few cases indeed can be cited where it does good. You know that the medical profes.-ion is now rapidly discarding its use as a medicinal agent; and as a beverage it is now pronounced hurtful, debilitating and full of misery in the future to every man who imbibes the accursed thirst for ardent spirits. LovEDROP. — I will think upon what you have said, but I am afraid it'B no use at my time of life. John. — It's never too late to mend ; but I see you arc like many other moderates ; your judgment says, abstain, but your palate says, I like a little drop. LovEDROP. — Well, I can't stop any longer, so gooi-bye. John. — Good-bye; but think of what I have told you, and attend our meetiD:'S. 40 CHOOSINU A TKADE. (!II)araclcrflf. MR. MORGAN. CHARLES. EDWARD. ALFRED. DAVID. FRANK. GODFREY. ISAAC. MARK. Mr. Morgan read'n^-, Charles reading; Edward anc/ Alfred p^a; -•.