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Un des sytnboles suivants appar^Ttra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon !e cas: le symbole — »> signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper loft hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many framer as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmis d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour etre reproduit en un seul clichd, il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. Trata to pelure, n d 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 J. cui BOOK-B St. Catl /•^ 1- 1 # m 4f I © 6i <-c> DBLIVERID ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS'' > NIAGARA FAL^^S^ CAN AD.. ^ €_ //. JOHN B. GOITGH. ♦ ■♦■♦- PcPLiSHED BY LYGHT & SCOTT, and for sale by JOSEPH LYGHT, BcoKtELLKR. HAMILTON : A. Lawson & Co., PRiNTEiis, KiNO Strmt. 1867. J. Cut BOOE-B St. Catt /- -fp :3 3 ^ O (■ ''■• '.•£ PREFACE^ TwBLVR uoNTHS havo now elapsed Fiace Mu. Gouaii landed on our shores. He came to us with an American reputa- tion. The story of his life was familiar to us all. W% had heard of his English birth — of his residence tht other side of the Atlantic — how intemperance had clouded the morning of his life, and blighted the promise of his spring. We had heard how he had grappled with the enemy — how the slave had burst his fetters and become free — how the drunkard had risen up in all the glory of a man, and how eaved from the bitter thraldom of drink himself, he had devoted to the salvation of others an energy that never tired, and a tongue that never grew cold or dull. We had heard that multitudes listened to his voice, were melted by his entreaties, and reclaimed by his advice ; that bles- sings followed his footsteps — that the cities of the New World hailed him as an Apostle — and that in mr-ny and many a happy home his name was honored and beloved. The friends of Temperance in England, therefore, were anxious that here |hi8 powerful advocacy should be heard, and all available means were employed to obtain in this country the service" of the orator that had been found sa potent amongst our brethren of the great Republic of the West, — happily those means were successful. Mr. Gouqh's first appearance on an English platform was a decided triumph. It was felt that he was worthy of his reputation — that fame for one*; had told the truth— that he was the man for his work, the man for this country and age. At once he became at homc-at once he established his claims — at once his name was a name of power in every corner of our land. The aged and the young, the mechanic and the gentlemen, the educated and the ignorant, the rich and the poor, the maids and wives and sisters, as well at J. Cut BOOE-d St. Cat IV PREFACE. tlie rougher sex, <'lustcred around his path, and hailed him witli delight. lu all our great hives of industry and seats of intolligeuce — in London and Edinburgh, in Liverpool and Leeds, in Manehester and Birmingham — his voice has been raised; nor has his mission been in rain ; the drunk- ard has been reclaimed, the young and hopeful have been brought over to the cause of temperance, and an impulse has been given to the movement >vhich will never die ; the faint-hearted have been encouraged, the weary have been revived ; already the day of triumph seems at hand, already we raise the songs and banners and trophies of our glorious yictory. The Publisher of the present volume hat collected to- gether some few of Mr. Cough's Orations; they have been revised by Mr. Golgii, and been made, as far as possible, his very words. Others, from time to time, will appear. It is hoped they may convey some faint idea of an eloquence which every day wins fresh laurels, and may aid the cause which Mr. Gouqh has so much at heart. The reader is only requested to remember, that the printed word conveys but a poor idea of the spoken one — that you cannot transfer to paper the speaker's eye, or gesture, or tone; that what is true of all orators, and truer of them the better orators they are, is especially true of Mr. Gough — that to be appreciated he must he lieard and not read ; looked at, as he stands in- spired upon the platform, and not as the rf'porter gives a feeble image of him on the printed \mge. CONTENTS. Habit — November 22, 1853 ... 1 The Importance of the Temperance Enter- prise.— -2)ccemZ»er 27 . . . .16 An address to Children -—i>ecemZ>er 28 , 34 An Address to the Working Classes.-— 4p^*'^ 24, 1854 : 4t The Dangerous Drinkincs Customs.— -^d^riV 25. 70 The Evil of Drunkenness. — April 26 . .87 Importance of Female Influknce.— 4p^^^ 28. 103 Address to Young Men. — May \0 . . 118 Our Duty to the Intemperate. — Mm/ 11 . 137 jS re tiiey all Fools who become Drunkards ? — August 3 . , . . .150 Who is my Neighbour ? — August 7 . .165 Prevention better than Cure. — August 8 : 180 The Power of Example. — August 9 . . 194 The Liquor Traffic. — August 10 . . 209 J. Cul BOOE-E St. Cat . 01 1 Wl Assot the with coun speak Engl ian u "back thef( theb upon ing n think the . from ■writi; I pos other come own give such whic refer frien days ing( thou cont We tion own 1» J. B. (iOUGH'S ORATION ON HABIT. Delivered in Exeter Ilall, November^ 22nr?, 1853. When I received the programme of the exercises of this Association for tlie year, I assure you I felt a trem!tling at the heart unusual for me, at seeing my name associated with some of tlio greatest and most gifted men of thia country, and wlion I felt that I had given my consent tu speak before one of the most important Associations in England, I may say in the world, the Young Men's Christ- ian Association, London. I would indeed, have shrunk hack from occui)ying such a position, were it not that I felt the feeblest instrumentality might be made mighty through the blessing of God, to do good. I am to speak to-night upon Habit; but I have never been in the habit of arrang- ing my thoughts previous to meeting an assembly. I did think upon this occasion it was necessary to do so, and, for the past three or four weeks, I have made the attempt, but from speaking five or six times in the week, travelling, writing letters, meeting committees, and other engagements, I positively have had no time, and truly, if it had been otherwise I know not tlKit I should have succeeded. I come, therefore, before you, simply with the resulta of my own experience and observation. I shall not attempt to give you a literary entertainment or an intellectual feast such as you are used to enjoy. I only come to tell you that which I know, and to testify to that which I have seen in reference to the subject under consideration. Time, my friends, is too short, and that great day, for which all other days are made, is too near us for me to spend time in speak- ing of the t rm Habit, which opens in itself a continent of thought. Habit 1 why we can hardly speak of anything in connection with human life without speaking of habit I We will, if you please, treat of habit under two classifica- tions, — good habits and bad habits. I have found by my own experience and by that of others, this difference between J. Cuf BOOK-B St. Cat'. 2 tho two ; tliat a good ljal>lt ia hurdor to attain and easier to give up than a bad one, — iiml this, to my mind, is an evi- dence of the deep depravity of the human lieart. A good habit required manliness, self-dern'al, and lirm principle to acquire ; a bad habit is ju^t to yield to the eurreiit of plea- sure witliout principle, thought, or care. This Association is formed for the purj)<)Si! of exciting an influence to save the souls of men, — and a higher j)()siti()n than that on tho face of the earth it could not occupy. Therefore, in speak- ing of evil habits, let m ; speak of those which, in my opinion, are tending, more than any other, to the destruction of man — soul and body. I hardly know how to begin this subject, unle-^s I bring before you an illustration. Take, then, a young man, coming from a pious home, coming from all the tender, kindly associations wl.ith cluster around that sacred spot — who has been taught to pray at his mother's knee, lier soft warm hand resting g 'utly on his head while he lisped his first prayer ; or take him from that nursery of piety, the Sunday-school, with its priceles.s lessons written on his heart— and bring him into this vast city, where there is so much of good, and so much also of evil. Here he is, between the two — evil intluences and good influences. He goes into one of our shops, and becomes shopman or clerk, or is otherwise engaged in business. I will suppose him to have no i)articular religious principle, but that he has been carefully taught religious truths ; and here I say to you, young men, that the effect of early religious teach- ing is an effect that is, in a great measure, a permanent one — (hear.) I know myself th"c results of my own Sab- bath-school instruction, and I remember the teachings of a praying mother. That mother taught me to pray in early life — ^gave me the habit of praying ; the teachers at tho school strengthened it ; they stored my mind with passages of Scripture ; and these things, I tell you, young men, wo do not entirely forget. They may be buried, they may be hid away for a time in some obscure corner of the heart, but, by-and-by, circumstances will show that we know much more than we thought. After that mother's death, I went out into the world, exposed to its manifold tempta- tions ; I fell. I acquired bad habits. For seven years of my life I wandered over God's beautiful earth like an un- blest spirit, wandering over a barren desert, digging deep wells to quench my thirst, and bringing up the dry, hot sand. The livery of my master had been to me a garment of bu| like with vent years! gin! now the stooi^ and kut)\j hearj consJ consi 3 of burning i)oisoii. Bound with tho fetlorH of ovil liubit, liiio an irorj net cncirclinf; nio in its folf early good habits?" Oh! I stood linic!, I rcMmnilter it well, feeling my own wi-aUness, and thinking tliat the way of the transgressor is liard ; knowing that tli»>' wages of sin was death ; feeling in my heart of hearts nil the l)itteiiiess that arises from the conseioiisuess of [lowcrs waskid and opjioitunities destroyed ; conscious tliiit I had been cha-dng tlic 1 'ibble pleasure ; and gain<'d nothing. There I stood. That mother had passed to Hi aven, but her words came back to my mind. I re- membir'dthat wlnii one night, in our garret, tin' ciindle was f.iiling, and she said, "John, I am giowiug blind and don't mind it mueli, but you are young. It is hard for yon : but never mind, Joim, where I am going thire is no night. There is no ncM-d of Miy candle theie, the Lamb is the light tliereof." She had clK*ngi'd (hat dark gloomy garret to bask in the sunshine of lusr Saviour's suiiles. ]»ut lu r inlluonco was not lost. As I stood feeling my own wi.'akut'ss ; know- ing that I could not resist temi)tation, il seemed as if the very light sin- K ft as shi; jiasst-d had spaniKKl the darli gap of si!ven years of sin and (llssi})ation, and struck the heart and opened it. I frit utterly my own weakness; and the passages of Siripture that were stowed away in my niind, came itS if whispered again by the loving lips of that mother into my ear. This was the infludnce of a mother's teaching — (loud cheers). To the young man I have ima- gin- lace where he would be sure to see it, just this simj)le line, 'No man was ever yet lost on a straight road,' there would be Kss going astray. J. Cul BOOK-B St. Cat'.. it < B!' There is but one right voafl, and ovory other leads out of it." Good liabits are a straight "oad, und all others lead to destruction. I will speak now of one bad habit in particu- lar, unC that is, thinking wrong. Perhaps the young visitor to London, whose (ase I have imagined, may be invited by some friend to go to the theatre. I know some people say that the theatre is not necessarily a school of vice ; but in my experience, young men, 1 have found that in the theatre, piety and religion and virtue are almost always held up to ridicule. You take the praying, consistent Christian; if such an one is represented on the stage, he is represented as the sneak, a mean fellow, as a prying Cant- well, or Mawvvorm, whereas the dushing, reckless, scdnc^ng, high-liver is presented as a gi^ntlenian with every noble quality under the sun. The young jnan f'-esh from home sees thesti representations ; he does not see the grosser vices or hear the bold word of blasphemy — or tiiey w^ould startle him, and he would not go again. But he hears the covert sneer at serious thoughts, and quotations from Scripture in terms of ridicule and contempt. To pray is to cant, to be conscientious is to be a sni ak, and to be consistent is to be ft fool. He sees all this. Perhaps it startles him !it first; but there is music, antl flashing lights, and splendid elocu- tion, or fine dramatic power, and — if of an excitable tem- perament, or fond of eloquent declamation or oratory — it has its charms, and he goes again an I again. What is the effect ? Its first eff"ect is to break up the good habit of prayer — (iiear, hear). I have ever found it so in my own experience, Miid in the experienc(! cf others. I never yet "Went to a theatre and then knelt down to pray that night. No, not <;ver in my exi)erience. Ag. in, it brings liim into the excitement of the world. Ho lives in a world of ex- citement. I often think, as 1 see it inscribed in our tht atres, that they "hold the mirror up to nature;" that mirror is either concave or convex, or a poor piece of plate-glass, for I have seldom seen Nature represented there except very much distorted indeed — (hear). The young man, I say, lives in a world of excitement, and then the services ot the sanctuary and the prayer meeting become to him tame- are not exciting enough. What is the evident consequence of this? I believe, young men, I believe that most of the scepticism, so-called in this land, is produce(^, first, by the deviation from the right way, and then from the conscious- ness that the way is a wrong one, and a desire to get :id of 5 out of it." rs lead to n parti cu- ing visitor "nvited by- he people vice; but at in the t always onsistent figt', he is ng Cant- scdi:c"ng, '7 noble om home vser vices d startle 10 covert 'pturc in nt, to be is to be •''t first ; d clocu- ble tem- itory— it It is the habit of my own -'ver yet t night. Im into 1 of ex- h«atres, lirror is ass, for [)t very I say, of the tame— QUence of the by the scious- iid of the nspon.sibilify. I don't mean that bold, brazen infidelity wbich o])eii]y says tliat God is nir.iter, and that there is nothing else. I don't mean the atheism wliich prompted the poet bhelley to write in the Album at Mount Anv^ra *^ AtheoSj^' but tlie rejection of the religious truth suHicit-nfc to lose a man his soul. Let the young man break the fcJab- bath, or go into our drinking saloons, casinos, or other such places of public amufsement. He kncws he is doing wrong. Now, there is no happiness without perfect security, and we are plac<'d hen; in this world to bo happy. Sources of enjoy- ment are above us, about us, beneath us, 'i'o be happy ! Capacities for enjoyment, worthy of God to give ami man to receive. Young nun ! did you ever, in your life, stand up, and, clapping your hand to your breast, say, "I am a man, and not an animal ?' Tlu-rt- is no loveliness in the flower to the mere animal, but there is? to me ! Tliere is no beauty in the lanr the main in occasion, bany, New 1 to be the said he, "I church for ihillings'' — nd address- your poor oung man, lall be of a of society, Every one me intem- whirlpool, ks to stay, until he is I of danger, in who has 3 excess, is I qualities 5U say you he thought !," as if he be liked, become u >u say, "I jspect," as tn acquire excess, as B between leave off the habit, but won't; he would with all his heart and soul, but cannot. I will put the strength of the habit to the test. You say you can leave it when you pU-ase. Now I know you can, and that tbih is said with regard to the acquiring of this and of all bad habits. A man smoking two or three cigars a day suys, " I can throw it away when I've a mind to." When I hiar young men saying this I almost make up my mind that they nrvtr intend to give it up. This power of habit is gradually increasing and destroying your power of self-control. Samson was bound three times, and when he heard the cry, " The Philistines are upon thee, Samson," three times he burst his bonds. But he fell into Deliliih's bands, he laid his head on her knees and she took off his locks. Tlun came the cry, "The Philistines arc ui)on thee, Samson," and he arose and said, " I will go out and shake myself," but bij^ strength was gone. God pity yo;. young man, if ever you begin to feel the fetters of evil hab." galling you, and you go out to burst them and find ihem welded iron barxis eating into the marrow until you cry in agony of spirit, " W\\o shall deliver me from the slaveiy of evil habit?" A man's power to do a thing is valueless unless he have tlie will to exercise that power. Suppose I lay myself t reality. A man talk about enjoyment in these pursuits ! There is none. It is merely momentary and imaginary. No man ever receiv* d satisfaction enough in wicked pursuits to say, "Ah! now 1 am happy." It is gone from him. All the enjoyments that can he obtained in this world, apart from the enjoyments God has sancticmed, lead ;.o destruction. It is as if a man should start in a chase after a bubble, at- tracted by its bright and gorgeous hues It leads him through vineyards, under tnllist d vines, with grapes hang- ing in all thiir purple glory; it leads him by sparkling fountains with delicious music and the sinking of birds ; it leads him through orchards hanging thick with golden J. Cui BOOK-i St. Cat 12 rii! I ; ifii; '■I fruit. He laughs and dances. It is a merry chase. By- and-hy that excitement becomes intense ; that intensity becomes a passion; that passion a disease. Nov his eye is fixed upon the bubble with fretful earnestness. Now ho leaps with desperation and disappointment. Now it leads him away from all that is bright and beautiful ; from all the tender, clustering, hallowed associations of by-gono days, up the steep, hot sides of a fearful volcano. Now there is pain and anguish in the chase. He leaps and falls, and rises, bruised, scorched and blistered ; but the excite- ment, the power of habit, has the mastery over him ; he forgets all that is past, and in his terrible chase he leaps again. It is gone. He curses, and bites his lips in agony, and shrieks almost the wild shriek of despair. Yet still he pursues his prize. Knee-deep in the hot ashes, he staggers up with limbs torn and bruised, the last semblance of humanity bcbrched out of him. Yet there is his prize. He will have it. With one desperate eilort he makes a sudden leap. Ah I he's got it now ; but he has leaped into the volcano, and with a burst bubble in his hand, goes to his retribution — (great applause). Every man possesses an evil habit who follows and is fascinated by an enjoyment God has not sanctioned. Heaven pity such a man ! He barters away jewels worth all the kingdoms of the erath, and gains for them — a burst bubble! An Indian chief bartered away costly diamonds for a few glass beads and a plate button. Young men are every day bartering away jewels worth all the kingdoms of the earth for less than a plate button. I have for the last few days been visiting various places in your great city in company with a com- mittee. There is one place where young men assemble, and I tell you it was to me a fearful and appalling sight. In an immense room, capable of holding some 1500 persons, was a fine band of music, and fine young men, gentepl in appearance and many of respectable parentage. Some of them were known to my friends. There, they said, is a young man connected with such an establishment, and so on. And what were they doing ? In one room the tables were set out with sparkling wine, but what were the young men doing? I will tell you. Kight before the assembled crowd were many who had no more shame left, than to dance boldly and openly there with women of the town. I said, "But are they not ashamed of it?" "Ah." wa« the answer, "three or four glaisK 'S ct wine acj^troy fsjiauie." 13 ;hase. By- it intensity ^ lii.s i;ye is Now ho ow it leads ; from all of by-gono ano. Now 3S and falls, the excite- ar him ; he so he leaps >s in agony, Yet still he he staggers mblanee of prize. He es a siidden d into the id, goes to lossesses an enjoyment man ! He the earth, adian chief eads and a ;ring away [ess than a icn visiting th a com- lemble, and sight. In )0 persons, gentepl in Some of said, is a 3nt, and so the tables the young assembled ft, than to e town. I ." wa« the )v .sliume." There were young men there who would never have been seen in such society, pride of character alone would have prevented it, if they had not been stimulated by the wine. The habit of drinking is, I believe, more demoralizing than any one o''ier evil habit in the community. There are scenes which I cannot here speak of, but which bear directly for evil upon our young men, and I mourn as I think of the store of bitterness they are laying up for themselves, for if saved, it must be as through fire. Let them mingle with the vile and impure, let them hear the word of blas- phemy or obscenity until they get accustomed to it, and I tell you a lodgement is made in the heart, of influences which he will feel to the day of his death. I was speaking in this way to some children of a Sunday-school, when a clergyman, an old man, too, said to me " You are right, sir. Some gentlemen had been engaged in drawing up statistics of New York ; I went and looked over them, and I assure you, as I am living, that I would give my right hand to forget what I saw." I would give my right hand to-night if I could forget that which I have learned in evil society, if I could tear from my memory the scenes which I have witnessed, the transactions which have taken place before me. You might as well try to take a stain from the snow as to take away the effect of a single impure thought that has lodged and harboured in the heart. You may pray against it, and, by God's grace, conquer it ; but it will alwayi be a thorn in the flesh to you, and will cause you bitterness and anguish. I have been speaking of evil habits in connection with ray theme of intemperance, and I be- lieve the l-emedy of every bad habit is simply to aban- don entirely what produces it. If you have a habit of thinking badly, get a good book and pray over it, and bend your mind down to the study of it. *If you have acquired the habit of using intoxicating liquors as a beverage, then, I say. avoid entirely that which is producing that habit. But some may say, " I use intoxicating liquors but have no habit of it." Let me say to you, not as a teacher, not in the form of dictation, but with all kindliness of feeling, — try a test. You are your own master ; you can take up the bottle as the Indian did, and dash it to pieces, saying, " I am your master," — or, it is your master. Well, then, the next time you feel any desire for stimulants, let them alone. See how much you want it. Go about your busi- ness. You feel something is wanting. You are nervous. J. Cui BOOK-1 St. Cat 14; "I believe T must take just a little." — Let it alone. You fancy you are not iiltogetlier well,' and must take some- thin^r, and j)erhMj)s thu doctor would encourage yon. — Let it alone. What follows ? Wliy, some who say, "I have no haMt" will have to work nigljt and day for a month to OTercome the desire for it. That is but the beginning of the apj)ctite Avhich becomes, in some, the master. I ask you, — Do you not use more now than you did five yearsago? If yon do, — in five years to come what will you be ? — (hear.) Let me say that I est(!em it to be the highest privilege to speak before you to-night, and to have been listened to with such polite attention. My heart is with you all, and my prayers to God shall be, that you may be eminently successful in drawing nnrabers of young men into the fold of Christ. Though you may not see as I do, I do not pretend to say that I am higher than you in the Christian scale : no, by no manner of means. There aremany behind me and before; me this night who drink a glass of wine, who are better, far better, men than I am or ever shall be, and if ever, through God's blessing, I reach Heaven, I shall probably see them there as bright particular stars near the throne. I never have said it is a sin to drink a g?ass of wine, and I hope that I never shall. All that I ask ot you is, to allow me the lawfulness of my principle. You say the Bible permits the sanction ot drink, and I agree with you. I also s<'y that the Bible permits total abstinence. But althoDgh it is lawful for you to drink, it is not lawful for me. Allow me to add that I believe it is more lawful for me to abstain than for you to drink, because, if you bring me a sanction to drink, I bring you a caution ; if you bring me an approval I find you a reproof. Now, I defy you to bring to me a caution or reproof in the Bible against total abstinence. Ours is a merely liuman instrumentality. We do not expect to reform mi'n and make them regenerate through total abstinence. The total abstinence principle must save the drunkard, and I maintain that the sober man is in a fitter state to receive religious instruction than when stultified by the drink — (cheers). Ah! young men, what power you have ! I remember reading in a fairy tale, that a whole city was in one night changed into stone. Here stan^ls a war-horso, with its nostrils distended, caparisoned for the battle ; here stands the warrior with his stony hand upon the cold mane. All is still, lifeless, deathlike, silent. By-and-by, a trumpet sounds, ringing through the clear 16 atmoRphere ; tho warrior leaps upon his R: us. Gori iise« human instrnmtntnlity ; Ictus bow down and thank Hitn if he will use ns as instruments in his hands for further- ing liis jjrcat cause, co-operatintj: with Him and his angels in preventing sin ! I thank you from my heart, young men, for your attention and your courtt'sy. J. Cull BOOK- st. Cni I I t; I i! f f fir I 11 ill n i m h, ■ IMPORTANCE OF TUB TEMPERANCE ENTERPllISE BY J. B. G U G II. Bdivcrcd in Exdcr Iltll, Deccmhcr 27ition riiere IS not >liing belosv do you Ijv^e to-day. you u, you want to become a master. If you have a good business, you look f(M- a bv tier. All men are looking up, and il is right that they should do so. Would that young men woidd look hi.uii 1 than to mere positiou, than t(j grulity [>ride or mere animal pKasurrs, and would look up iu the hig^irst and best sensi' of that term. Otlur young men liave started as you start, and one ut the false arguments used that have brought them to their i)resent position, is this — all who do drink do not b. come inteit peiate, I kuow that; but all who b(!come drunkards do drink — from the liist glass down the sliding scale to the ditch. I once luard a minister, lifting up his Lands, say, — and though it njay sound severe, I rin)eat after it, Auk n — " Would to heaven the lust drop of into.xicaling liquor a miin shoidd rink, produced iu liim, at once, the effect of whole \ ears ot drunkenness !" Then there would Le no more of it. Mothers would not dare to give it to thi ir chibiren, or the fathers present it to their sons, no more than they would dare to put the child's hand in the den ot a rattlesnake. But, it is said, aU do not become druuKards. Is that a fair argument against us? Suppose I was goitig to kill a mad dog, some one were to say— " Don't "kiirthe dog." "But he's mad." " Well, he's not Lit you." "But he may." " Well, never mind, don't kill Lin), be is on.' of God's good creatures if he is a little crazy." " Yes, but be will b'te somebody." "Probably he will, but Le won't bite everybody, will he ? Let him run " Young mi n take the cup in tlieir bauds, and in the midst of evi- den.es ' f the danger, they see men of genius brought by its influ nee to herd with the vilest wretches; but because it hiis not had that elYect upon all, they say, " I shall run the risk." What a r'sk ! Oh I what a risk. Young men are too much in the habit of looking at drunkenness as a little tbiug. We have sometimes laughed at the intoxica- tion of a drunkard, and when we laugh at anything, our cajiaei y f>r appreciating its serious lesson is lowered. If yon laugh at a lunatic, you destroy in a great degree your pow, r to appreciate the terrible nature of his malady. I Lave laughed at the druidvar 1. I could not help it. I rcmiinber seeing a man in a state of intoxication, attempt- ing to wheel anotber in :i similar state tLrough a street in Nr w York. Tlie tipsy gravity — you all know how ludicrous a drunkard hioks when Le tries to appear sober, — with V Lich th-' oj»e held the handles, nnd the other tried to keep Lis balance, looking now one side and now on another, was irresistibly ludicrous. At length tlie barrow turned on 20 ■i i! !'l one side, and out he rolkd. Turning round to his com- panion, he said, " You are drunk " A Mow was struck, and at it they went, hitting the air. If Russia and Turkey never come nearer t'gether than tliose two drunkards did in that hf«ttle, there will not h-," much trouhle in the cftmp. They hit in every direction, until at last one of them put up his liand, and tljat happeni d to Ijit the other, and they fell one upon another. Dr. Johnston must have had such a scene as that in his mind's eye when he dcscrihed <' liiiigledy pi^gledy" to he a " conulomerjited mass of hete- rogenous njatter" We see such sights, and laugh at them Somi! men assuuK^ such ahsnrd attitudes when in drink that wc (■annf)t hut laugh. I rememhcr seeing a caricature of a number of portly, wealthy h)()king merc^hants, standing with their jewelled tlngers spread upon their capacious chests, discussing tli;- propriety of launching a vesi^el that day. OiH' said lie would not incur the responsibility, another said that he wonhi not incur tlie responsibility, and none Ss-emed willing to risk the venture. I?y their side stood a gentleman, drtssed in black, but very seedy ; he ■was (»ut at the ell)()ws, liis c< ai i)iitton«'(l closely round him, making believe ha had a garment oii of which he was eniirc^ly destitute ; nothing above a rusty stock, but a head and a hat jauntily stuck on one side, well [)inched up towards the erown, — he observes, with an air of im- portance, '' You can let that vessel slide, / will take the responsibility." 1 remember very well that a the time the C- a caricature rcliHnts, standing their capacious n^' a vessel fhat Ai responsil.ility^ '.sponsihijity, and By tlieir side t very seedy ; he >scly round liim, I which he was 5tock, but a head Well pinched up 1 an air of ini_ ', / vvill tnke the It a the time the fv' was consider- nost was in the witi wonderful could take a step vhowed any signs of loving me. Why was I. then, such an " impudent fellow?" Because I felt every manVs hand was against me. I. was an Ishmaelite of society} and I verily believe my hand was against every man. This is human nature. Do you expect less of this feeling in the drunkard than you have yourself? Suppose you lost, by some nuans or other, your re>ut, and he, a favonvltg dog, gives This is the the animal a kick, and tells it to " get out." secret of the drunkard's recklessness. I will not attempt to palliate the sin of drunkenness, and say that the drunkard does not deserve all that he feels ; but, nevertheless', I repeat that this is the secret of his reckless- ness. I once associated in the bar rooms with young men who were greatly my superiors in station : the sons of respectable merchants, or professional men, and these, though they would delight there to hear me sing and tell my stories, would not speak to me when they saw me in the street. They were genteel young men : I was not. They walked with ladies, and played the part of accom- plished beau : I did not. One day going through the streets, I saw one of my companions coming from an oppo- site direction with a lady hanging on his arm. I tried to avoid a meeting, and looked for some means of getting out of the way, but somehow could not manage it. The moment he saw me, he made a turn and crossed the street. Seeing this, I immediately went across, and, walking up, addressed him in jovial tone. " How are you ? We had rare fun at the widow's last night, but you got as drunk. as a fool. You are coming to-night, remember, don't disappoint us." I chuckled, because I felt I had power over him ; that although despised, I could make his lip as white as his cheek, and bring the hot blood on the cheek of the lady, at her gallant being recognised by a tavern companion when in her society. The drunkard is reckless ; but there is another point of suffering. The drunkard has not only to bear the scorn and contempt of others, he has to bear the load of self-contempt, A man may bear the scorn of his fellows ; let the concentrated scorn of the communitv be pointed with hissing at you, — you can bear that better than the load of self-contempt,— to feel you are a wretched miserable thing, and from which your better nature would shrink in disgust ; to feel as if you had a dead body bound to your living frame, and that body become a mass of putrefaction, and yet ever with you — when you walk abroad, and when you lie down at home to sleep. Sleep ! The drunkard never sleeps. The that calm sleep sueh as God gives drunkard never knows to his beloved. Stand by hini on liis couch, and say if you can call that stentorious breathing, sleep. Halloo in his ear, build a lire round him, —he stirs not, but it is not wretch, there is no sleep there sleep. 1 He God pity the poor fiindi; Lis teeth, the .A J. c^ book4> St. ch ll :i 3 ;;:i "■it '•I l! ■■':! 26 oath, tlie curse, the- word of bliisiihcmy, escaping his lips; the sw(.tit stuiuliriLC in hir^re drops on liis brow, — is that sleep? (joti save you, young men, from suiTcriiig the only sleep the (hnnkard knows. Wiicrever he is, his self- contemj)t goes witli hiiu. But there is anothir kind of misery whieh he endures. Wo look at tiie drunkard, and have no idea he is a man of like feelings with oursc^lves ; but the faet really '^, that those very faculties whieh drunk- enness cannot kill are his eurs(\ Jlemory to us is pleasant, Y(»u cm nmember some scene of trial, from wliich you have, it may be, eorne out v/ith locks shorn but with face shiniiig, and thi; remembrance of the contest is a comfort, it gives you stn ngth as you go out on the battle- field aeain ! The remembrance of a man unconnected with sin is pleasant. What has the drnnkard to thin^' of? He thinks of tlie past only as a point from which lie has strayed. His memory is a curse. He is like an instrument all out of tune ; with a love for purest harmony. There he stands, and would fain be so secluded tiuit the winds of the morn- ing should not blow a breath, lest they jar upon h's ear. There he stands, an instrument all out of tune ; and by his side stands a weird sister, and her luime is Memory, and she strikes t'very chord with l>er fingers — jarring through him with horii'ble discord, making Inm mad ; and he steeps in diink his soul and senses, that he mav forg(!t the past. He stuns his enemy, but she tears him again like a giant. The 4th of July is as you know, kept as a great holiday throughout the United States. The last speech I made in Araericji was made on that day, and I told my audience that the next would be delivered in England. Well I remember the 4th of July, 1842. It was the most mise- rable day I ever experienced. And, young men, let me say here, it is humiliating to me to thus lay bare the secrets of my own exp ricnce to you, but I have vowed to God that all my faculties, all my energies, all the power He shall give me, and the life He shall grant, shall l)e expended in battling the hard-he;ided, black-hearted iniquity; and if I can, by showing the scars where the iron entered into my soul — by showing how I was hurrjing to the rapids, until Infinite Mercv snatched me from the brink, — if I can save any young man from a similar fate, save him as I was saved, as if by fire, — I will bite the dust before you. I have some- times found the exj crience of a man is sufiflcient to teach a vital truth without the addition of a word. If you go to a ing bis lips ; ow, — is tliat iiig tlic only is, his self- licr kind of unkard, and 1 onrs(!lv('S ; /hich drnnk- y to us is ;' trial, from :s 8horn but contest is a I the ])attle- incftod with n^' of? He ) basstrayod. Kilt all out re ho stands, f the morri- )0U h''s ear. ; and by liis lemory, and ing through id he steeps et the past, like a giant, eat lioliday I made in y audience Well I most mise- let me say e secrets of God that r He shall xpended in ; and if I d into my pids, until 1 can save was saved, lave some- - to teach a ou go to a 27 physician who has just amputated a limb, and hear him descrioo the operation, the rapidity of the movement, the mode of its execution, you may feel astonished at the skill displayed. You may turn away and think it was a very pretty operation. Go to thcs man who lost the limb; bear him describe bow he felt when the flesh was divided, when the knife touched the bone, and you will think it was a hor- rible thing. 6ome say it is egotistical. Now I would not give that (snap[)ing his fingers) for a minister of rcdigion, who was not in this respect egotistical, — who could not tell what be knew of tbedeceitfulness of tbe human lu-art, of the renewing influences of the grace of God. When I tell you what I have known of this bitterness, I can stand up and say that tbe curtain that hung over the drunkard's grave ia lifted ; tbe bright star of ho[)e is beaming upon me, grow- ing brighter and brigliter every day, until tc-uig1it I can feel as it were bathed in a flood of light, and can thank God for His inflnite mercy. I will therefore give tbe experience of that day without hesitation. I had, at that tim^;, no friends, — acquaintances I had, it is true, but no fiit-iids. Ah, young men, it is a bard thing to find yourself thus alone, to feel that you are a waif upon the stream, — not a tear shed for your troubles, or a throb of pleasure frit in your prosperity. I have ha I the feeling of solitude come upon me — never in the wild forest, never in tbe woods, where the singing of the birds and the whisperings of the winds are heard — but among the haunts of iikmi. To walk in the city, street after street, and see no familiar face — to have no home — rambling over God's earth as if over a burning desert — with no resting place for the sole of the foot. I was alone, and I thought as I bad no friends and no money, I would go to work. I did. I am a bookbinder by trade, and I was soon hammering away iii)on the books. Presently I heard some music. Now I am pa>sionately fond of music, and I could not resist the temptation to go out into the street and hear it. Just a'^ I was going out, a gentleman said to me, — " It is a beautiful sight." " It is-— what is it?" " The Temperance Societies at tbe back of the grove on their way to take part in the ceremonies of the day." " Oh !" said I, " I want nothing to do with them," and so saying, I went up stairs, an! began hammeiinj; again. The music came nearer and nearer. I couldn't stand it any longer. «' I don't care," I said, " whether t'lcy be temoerance bands or not, but I must go and hear them." J. Ci BOOKn i.) ■ 28 I went into the street and leaned ftgainst a post. As the teetotallers approached, 1 tried hard, as many do, to put a sneer on my face, and to curl the lip, that passers hy should think that one man was looking on with a great deal of contempt on the proceedings — * a parcel of old women- teetotallers? Pooh." It was certainly a beautiful sight. The banners were fluttering away in the wind, the people looked cheerful and healthy, tlie music was full of spirit. "When the last in the procession had turned the corner, I felt as if a beautiful picture had been hidden. I was much affected, and the tears coursed down my cheeks. I came there to sneer, but it had made me think of the time when 1 was a happy boy ; it made me think of the time when, in the little village of Sandgate, William VVilberforcc gave me a prayer-book ; when I kneeled by my mother's knee, and when her soft, warm hand was laid on my head. In contrast to that — and the contrast thrilled through every nerve — I saw a poor, desolate, despised drunkard. Oh ! how bitterly I felt ! I went to work u itil night. Then I went to the hotel I was accustomed to frequent. " Give me some brandy," I said. I took it and drank it. " Give me some more !" I took that and drank it. " Give me more." " You have had enough." I don't care, 1 will have more." The young men said afterwards I was mad. 1 scared them by my talk. At three o'clock in the morning, I went out of the town, and bathed my brow in the clear air. I went to the graveyard and read of those whom I had known in the days of the past ; I pulled up the grass in my frenzy ; and cursed my own infatu ition. I had a bottle of lauda- num in my pocket, and sat leaning for a little while on a fence bordering on a railroad, and began to think how I wished I could lie there and let the next train of cars cuJJ me in two. I wished to die. Then I thought of men being sometimes found cut in two by a train, with a bottle of liquor by their side, and of its being called an accident instead of the truth, — a suicide with such circumstances as mine for the cause. I took the bottle and drew the cork, but my hand shook, and that saved my life, for the very edge of the glass struck against my teeth, I looked to the city and heard the hum of business. " I was a man who had seen good days, not a poor miserable thing yet. I am as God made me. I am neglected by society." Bitter in spirit, I entered the inn again. " Give me some brandy I Hah ! hah ! who cares ?" — That, young men, is one day in 29 st. As the do, to put a •8 by should reat dual of d women— utiful sight. , the people ill of spirit, le corner, I I was much 6. I came '. time when time when, erforce gave (ther's knee, head. In rough every [ikard. Oh ! It. Then I . " Give me " Give me 'e me more." have more." geared them I went out [lir. I went [I known in 1 my frenzy ; le of lauda- while on a hink how I I of cars cujl f men being a bottle of an accident imstances as ew the cork, 'or the very ooked to the a man who : yet. I am ' Bitter in me brandy I one day in the life of a drunkard. God pity him ! There arc many living like that at this moment in this city — many, many in the low haunts of vice and wretchedness. One of your City Missionaries showed me the other day a miserable cellar in which he found a poor wretch who hud once hung paintings in the Suffolk Gallery. " What brought you to this?" said he, "The bottle, sir, the bottle!" was the reply. Ah I the bottle is bringing men down every day deeper, deeper than any of you have the least imagination. Then, I say, if this be drunkenness, shall we not have some common sense in arguing about it? "VVe know that all who drink do not become drunkards, but I maintain that if in this groat city of London there was but one man who fell into drunkenness in a year, we ought not to take the cup which may lead us there. Drunkenness is a fatal sliding scale, from the first glass down, coming to false conclusions. "I don't intend to injure myself" is one. Dr. Condict told me the case of a young man who was a class-mate with Daniel "Webster, whoso prospects at the time of his marriage to a gifted and beautiful woman could hardly have been exceeded in promise. He then drank in moderation, but the desire for stimulants grew upon him, and he began to drink to excess. Ilis friends saw this, but didn't like to say anything to him about it, lest they should " hurt his feelings." IIow foolish that feeling is. If we saw a man walking on the edge of a precipice, should we abstain from cautioning him, lest he should think that we intimated he did not know how to take care of himself ? The young man grew worse and worse, and his wife became exceedingly affected in her health, and even in her mind, but he saw nothing. At length Mr. Webster camo to the city, and the friends told him of it. " He is ruining him- #fllf," itrey saill, " and his practice — rtho law ; the other day>j when an important case came to bo heard, he was not fit to take a part." " But," said Webster, has nothing been done ? has no one spoken to bim about it ?" They told him no; they wished to spare his feelings. "Feelings, sir ! I must go and see him." He went into the office ; and when the young man rose to greet him, he gave him a look, such as Webster only could give, and said, "Mr, • I tell you plainly, I see j'ou are becoming a drunkard — stop — now sit down quietly, and let me tell you the whole truth." Then he told him of his declining practice, of the failing state of his wife's health; and the result was,, that J. Ci BOOK- St. Ci -( ! ■! % i ir II li'i 30 the younji; man said, " Webster, you have opened my eyes ; I will drink no more." lie did not drink any more intoxi- catinjuj drinks J'or months. He took his wife to watering- phice after waterinjj^-place, and surrounded her with every luxury his increasing practice enabled him to all'ord ; but she did not seem to improve. One evening as slu! was sitting with some ladies in Mrs. Condict's parlour, thejr noticed her manner to be strange. Presently the door opened, and her husband entered with an eager smile upon his face as if about to announce sonit; new [)rovisi(jn for her comfort. i he wife rose to mett him, with the silly iaugh of an idiot! " Oh, my Ood !" he exclaimed, " I could bear to see my wife a maniac; but an idiof, an idiot l-^ never," and lie went away and drank himself to death. Mrs. Condict toUl me that she went afterwards to the house and found the wifi; playing with the children, and lighting with them for their toys — a pirfect idiot 1 You say, young men, you have no intention of doing yourself an injury. Let me tell you that the intluences of drink upon you are injuring you every day. A man is a long time being injured, before he knows it. Intoxicating licpior is dece[)tive in its nature, I may illustrate it by a figure. A serptmt lay in a circle of fire. A man passed by, and the re|)tile entreated his aid. " But you will bite me," " No, I will not." <' lUit I fear you will." "I promise you 1 will not," — and the mau takes tlie fire away. '■ Now," says the serpent, '• I must sting you." "But," urged the mau, "you promised you would not." "Promised! what are promises, when it is in my nature to sting you?" " Look not thou U|)on the wine wlien it moveth itself in the cup, for at la^t it idteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." God forbid, young men, that you should have to look back, as I do, upon a dark gap in your life's liistory, — upon privileges ftbused, opportunities destroyed, energies paralysed. In- toxicating liquor is deceptive in its nature, and it does seem to me, sometimes, as if Satan himself had no power on earth that was doing his work so effectually as this. We might almost fancy him seated upon his high and burning throne in Pan(iemonium, crowned with a circlet of everlasting fire, calling around him his satellites, to show their respective claim for certain privileges, by the power one possessed more than another to bring man to that burning lake. We may imagine Mammon, the meanest of all the Gods, standing up and .lying. " Send me. 31 I my eyes; loro intoxi- ) wutering- witli every Hllurd ; but as hIu! whs rlour, tlioy y tin; door Kiiiilc upon rovisioii for h till! silly (I, " 1 could an idiot /— f to death. ) tliu liouse ud li-^hting . say, young [ an injury, on yi>u are in^^ injured, 'ptive in its ►ent iiiy in a Ic entreated not." " lUit :," — and tlio nt, " I must oniised you R, when it on upon the a^-t it i'iteth God forbid, k, as I do, privileges lysed. In- md it does I no power illy as this, s high and bli a circlet itellites, to I'ges, by the ing man to immon, the <' Send me. I cnn send men from their hom'^s across the burning desert, or tilt; trackless ocean, to li<.'lit and dig in the envtli for yello > elial, liMhiest of all (lie gods, next proclaims bis power. 'J'hiu the DvStioyer ass. rts his claim; he h<»lds Avar, [Ki-tiliiiee, and famini' in his hand, and makes men whosi- tiadi- it shall bo to deface (Jod's image, rank themselves in hostile array, and liurry each other, shrieking, unshronded into another world. While all is silent, wc njay suppi se a mighty rumbling sound, at which all lull (juakes ; an