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I know,/ never drank any wine in New-York.
But if it does exist is it right ? And if there are
temperate gentlemen here to-night, who drink a
little wine, and refuse to give it up, and still pre
tend to be the friends of tempera nee, ought they
not to change this fashion 1 I do’nt known
what the fashion is here. But in certain parts
of my lift'l believe I have—at least I have the
authority of certain prints for it, though I suppose
it must have been perfectly accidental-—but I
hire been in what is called ‘good society and I
know that it was then a fashion of the first im
|«>rtance: it was a chief part of jxditeness and
manners, when a gentleman went to another’s
table, his host must, ex necessitate and by the
eternal relations of good breeding, not only offer
him a bottle of wine, but he must drink it. or it
was considered vulgar and insulting. Ami no
gentleman could possibly be considered either
rich, or refined, or dignified, or even social, un
less he could bring out from his cellar a bottle of
old Bouth side Madeira, or something equally
good, and provide his guest at least with the
means of getting most lordly drunk. Now, is
this founded in reason 1 Is it necessary that this
should he part ofthe social system? If thesame
thing should he tried with any thing else, you
would see at once how foolish and impolite it
would be esteemed to do it, even if that thing
were not half so injurious. Now, some fine fel
low who is in the habit of drinking may say, if
asked to sign the pledge, ‘ O, 1 don’t love liquor :
I’m none of your drunken fellows: not I! I don’t
care any thing about it: I can give it up when I
please, and I’m not going to put down my name
to that pledge. 7 ] Well, that’s not the thing I’m
speaking of notv, nor what I am attacking. It
is that system which makes it necessary to good
manners not only that you drink yourself but
that you offer it to others; and which, if you
don’t do so, subjects you tobccalled a clown —or a
Washingtonian ; which, until lately, was not a
much better term, [Laughter.] No, indeed,
rather worse : for it was equivalent to calling you
u ‘ Reformed Drunkard.’
But predicate this same custom of any thing
else in society: of tobacco, for instance. Take
one who chews and is very fond of good tobacco—
and good Virginia tobacco is a very good thing,
I conless. He likes it and will chew it, notwith
standing it corrupts his breath, dirties his mouth,
sjioils his teeth, and makes him an annoyance to
all tire ladies of his acquaintance by spitting on
their carpets and disturbing all their notions of
household neatness. (Now, the fact is, I'm a
tobacco chewer, so no one need consider any
tiling 1 say very personal; for, whatever I say
that is severe comes straight home here.) Well,
I’m very fond of tobacco. My nature is used to
it, and nature is very accommodating in allowing
us to form any vile, dirty habit wo choose; but
is’nt it a littlo hard that, according to this fash
ion, I can’t lie content with chewing it myself?
But in comes a friond, and out oomrsmy tobacco
box ; and I tell hitn, “ Here, my dear sir, chew
this! I have destroyed the natural tone and
functions of my stomach: I have dirtied my
mouth: Ihavosoiled my clothes, with this thing;
now it’s only fair for you to the same thing.
Here’s some tobareo." Or suppose, instead of
this, that you had been unwell; you were very
sick, and it waa necessary to lake some rhubarb
and aloes, if you please. Well, now what sort
of a system would it be which should make it
necessary for you, whenever you meet a friend,
to take out your box and say, “My dear sir, be
so good as to swallow these Pills (Laughter.)
Can you predicate this thing of any other practice
under heaven than drinking? And its all be
cause the laws of fashion require it.
There is a good story told of Davy Crockett,
though I think it considerably older than
Davy Crockett. It is this. It happened to a
fellow dining at the President’s table, when a
new fashion was introduced (which I consider a
very good, and a very cleanly, and a very harm
less) of bringing bowls of tepid water to the
guests after dinner, to dip their lingers in.
Well, there was a Western member at the table,
one of thoso who had probably been accustomed
to wash his hands once a day, and probably then
in cold spring water, and who hail such a cleanly
way of eating, that it was not necessary for him
to wash his hands after dinner, for those were
the times when they used to eat with common
knives and forks, and not with a great four
pronged fork in one hand, and the fingers ofthe
other. (Laughter.) Well, after dinner, the
servant, as is the custom, brought round the
bowls of tepid water, and brought one to this per
son. He hail never been in the habit of using
it, but as he wish to appear so vulgar as to
* inquire what it was for, he looked at the servant
a minute but asks no questions; and as he did
not know what else to do with it, he takes the
bowl from the servant, and after eyeing first the
servant and then the bowl, down he chucks the
water! (Laughter.) Well, the servant twigg
ed the fellow in a moment, and thought heil
make a capital joke of it; so lie walks out and
fills the bowl again, presents it to the astonished
member, who looks blank enough at this, and
after staring round, and not wishing to be consid
ered ungenteel, he takes the second glass, and
as he did not know where else to put it, why he
sent it after the other. ( Hearty laughter.) This
was the second bowl, and the servant, who
thought he would see how far he couid carry the
joke,starts off and brings in athirilbowl.
But by this time nature was asserting her own
rights, and gave notice that she had as much as
* was convenient. (Laughter.) He took the
third bowl, however, looked at the servant with
perfect dismay, and finally plucked him by the
tappel of his eoat and said: “ I say, my dear
fellow, that man over there has not hail any; do
lake it to him." (Loud and long laughter.)
Well, now, warm water is net one half, nor any
thing like as had as alcohol; in fact it is inromc
cases very beneficial and even healthy. But
supjmse 3ome fashionable individnal was to get
into the habit of drinking a bowl of warm water,
and was to drink it so much that it should lie
come necessary for him to take a glass of tepid
#ater every day after dinner; and suppose that
he was to invite a number of his frirnds to dine
with him, and after dinner he was to have a bowl
of tepid water brought in for himself and each of
his guests, anil was to insist upon their drinking
it because he himself hod become so accustomed to
it, and therefore they must drink it too. Suppose,
farther, that this should happen to lie a gentleman
both rich and noble—one who wasconsideiod a
standard of excellence—a kind of glass for |>eo
ple to dress by; one looked up to by those who,
being poorer and lower in the scale of society,
looked to him as a model for their imitation; one
whom those who acquired property, and raised
themselves a little higher in society, looked up to,
and considered if they wished to be thought f»h
ionable—if they wished to liecome of importance
in the fashionable world —in short, if they desired
to be considered gentlemen and nabobs, they
must follow his example, Suppssc these should
lie his guests, and he should ofer this howl of
tepid water to them, would it therefore become
fashionable and genteel? Why I am sure I
should consider it the most uncivil thing in na
ture. There is no foundation whatever for such
a custom in nature, and it would not become
fashionable. Now the time has come when we
have experienced a change ofthe same kind in
relation to a state of manners that cannot be
looked on as less ridiculous than this—ridicu
lous! ay, worse than ridiculous. And when the
future philosopher, in his inquiries, shall look
back into the past history of the societies of man,
when he finds a [>eriod in which the rich, the
great, the learned, with all the power and influ
ence and talents given them by Heaven to he
used for the best of purposes, who in their day
and generation were held up as glasies in which
others were to dress and array themselves; pos
sessed of wealth, given them by Heaven for the
benefit ofthe human race; when they shall find
that, by the indulgence of a pernicious custom
like wine-drinking, they had widened and deep
ened a practice that had brought more destruc
tion and vice upon past ages than had flowed
from all the wars anil pestilences combined—
when they shall look back ujwn this state of
things and its consequent miseries and ruin, a
wiser age shall visit the thunders of indignant
posterity upon their hgads who are answerable,
by their example, for the crimes, miseries and
misfortunes of others. [Cheers ] Th«t this
thing will be altered all of a sudden, I do not
believe —for the reason that has been assigned l
do not believe it. Gentlemen say, when you ask
them to join you and take the pledge—“ Why
should I join your society ? — l’m no drunkard, 1
don’t care any thing about wine; I take a glass
now and then, but I’m sober and temperate, and
I can quit it just when I think proper. I’m no
drunkard; let the inebriate, miserable wretch
who has lost his character, ruined his health,
beggared his children, buiied ms wife —let Aim
doit; he is the man to join it—not me.” Ah,
but wc tell him we want the benefit of his el am
ple. Oh, no, that he can’t afford to give us; he
won’t sign any of our pledges —not he; and the
only reason is, that he don’t care any thing about
wine at all, and can quit it when lie pleases; and
yet won’t do it, because he dislikes to give up a
privilege. Now, it’s a strange sort of a thir.g to
me, that the reason why a man won’t give up
drinking wine is because he don’t care any Iking
about it ! [Laughter.] And I can’t help think
ing in my mind, that those very gentlemen, who
say so earnestly they don’t care any thing about
it, have a lurking appetite for the ‘critter,’ after
all. It strikes mo tnat such a tnan has got his
toes plumb up to the very line where he is soon
about to become an intemperate drinker.
Still, I apprehend the system will fall. Indeed
these Washingtonians nave made a great im
pression on it already. I will tell a story which
will show that the time has come at least when
it is no longer considered vulgar or ungentcri to
be known as a Washingtonian, that has taken
the pledge. [Cheers.] And it was at one time
thought to be very ungenteel; but this is what
happened to me. A short time since I met a
gentleman —a real gentleman—and there’s al
ways something in the real gentleman that
impresses itself on him, by which he can easily
be known; and by these marks I knew him to be
areal gentleman. He and I met accidentally in
travelling at a tavern. He seemed to have a
great desire to converse with and font an ac
quaintance with me. So after the dinner was
over, he told the landlord to bring in a bottle of
wine. Well, I felt just then, not quite so good a
Washingtonian as I thought I was. [Laughter
and cheers.] Not that I wanted to drink, for I
did not at all. But a little of the old feeling
seemed crawling over me, and I thought that if I
said I was a Washingtonian, he’d think that I
was a tulgar sort of a fellow who had never been
used to drinking wine, and did’nt know what
good wine and good society was. However, I
sat still and said nothing; and I thought to my
self, let it come —if the worst comes to th« worst
I’ve got ray certificate in my pocket any how.
[Laughter andebeering.] Well, the wine came
' in, and the gentleman, with the peculiar ele
fancc, grace, finish, and delicacy of touch and
exterity with which your real gentlemen knows
how to draw a cork out of a bottle of wine,
(laughter)— drew the cork■ 1 Come, sir,' said he,
‘wine with you.’ 1 VVhy s my dear fir,’ said I,
‘the fact is, they got me down here in one ol
these temperance societies, and if 1 was to drink
with you, they’d make a fuss about it, and so
you’ll excuse me, if you please.’ [Cheers.] The
blood mounted to his very hair; ami he blushed
just exactly as a gentleman ought to blush. —
[Laughter and cheering.] And, now, the time
has been when to have done that, I should have
been thought a low vulgar fellow. So we're sot
that fa rat least! Vice is compelled so far to pay
tribute to virtue, that if it finds virtue, then it
blushes to the eyes to think that it has dared to
offer temptation to it! [Loud cheering.]
We have proved then, both by science and
philosophy, that this custom of wine-drinking is
not only useless ; but worse—it is absolutely in
jurious whenever, and wherever it is emjloved.
Now, as to the means to be employed to stop it.
They say, if you have resolved not to drink any
more, why sign the pledge 1 If you have resolv
ed tn your mind, what's the use of a pledge 1 I
don’t know what science and philosophy would
answer here if you prefer them to simple experi
ence. I think that they’ve been brought to a full
halt. But I know wliat truth and experience
say. I know that the resolutions in a man’s own
breast arc of no use: but that this pledge given to
his fellow man by him, has a power over his feel
ings and his actions that nothing else on eartli
possesses. [Cheers.] That 1 knowl 1 know
that this fashion of wine drinking is the parent of
vice and misery. [Cheers.] I was raised a tee
totaler by a mother, who was always a tee-totaler.
I acquired the habit of drinking, not because 1
loved it, for I hated the taste of liquor; not because
nature craved it—for God has not been sounjnst
as to implant this appetite in any creature; but I
know that I was tempted to drink by the society
in which I mingled, and in order to show that I
was’nt under the influence of a fanatical, presby
terian, tee total mother—l took the liquor and
drank it with as good a grace as any—although I
hated it, just to show that I was as fine and as el
egant a gentlemen as any of them. I know that
—and I know that a large part of the youth of
this country, of high and noble spirit and who
might be the ho|ic and the htuior of the nation,
are dragged down to the grave in the hopeless
ness of guilt jnd misery by this fashior, and who
but for this might be the prop of their country
anil the ornament of their race. [Cheers.]
I say, this pledge has a charm that nothing
else on earth is found to have. [Cheers.] How
it is or why it is I know not. 1 said at the time
1 had the honor of addressing the crowd assem
bled on Wednesday evening, that there arc indi
cations in this great moral revolution which show
that a power higher than man has something to
do with it. And the grandest results in the his
tory of this earth have marked the influence of
the same power, as effected by the insignificance
of the agents employed in effecting them. And
it may be that this is above man, that so simple a
thing as this pledge is ma'ked out to root out and
remedy all these evils, 1 know there is a charm
about this pledge which no resolution, month even
taken by yoursclfcanbring. Doyou ask why or
how 7 In my case, 1 might answer as the siek
young man in the Scripture, nick from his blind
ness, did. When He who went about doing
good—He who spoke as never man spake before
—when He who threw clear up and opened wide,
and lifted on high the precious doctrine of the im
mortality of man —and brought life to light—
when by the touch of His Almighty finger the
scales were torn away from the eyes of the blind,
and sight was restored, the persecuting priests
and thcSadducces, who sought grounds for ac
cusation against this Jesus of Nazareth, went to
the parents to see if there was any pretext in
the cure by which they could charge this high
and holy one as claiming to be equal to the God
of the Jews, the parents, shrinking from the text,
replied, ‘‘He is of age—ask him:’’ when they
asked the son when it was done and how it was
done, all lie could reply was, “ I only know that
I was blind ; he laid his finger on my eyes, and
now I see!” So I can only say that whereas
once I was blind ; I put my hand to that pledge;
the cloud de|iarted, and my eye is as bright to-day
as when I was fifteen years of age, (Loud and
repeated cheers.)
I have alluded so much to my own case, that un
der other circumstances perhaps I might be liable
to a charge of egotism; but it had not been left
for me to do it! But if it had been thus left—if
there had been no reference personally to me,
from any quarter, after signing that pledge and
experiencing from it the benefits 1 have experi
enced, 1 should have been a very coward, a very
dastard in my soul, if 1 had shrunk from making
the acknowledgment I have made, if that ac
knowledgment brought the blessings to others
which its practice has to me. [Cheers.] But it
has been done by others who have not left the
task for me. And (pardon me, if you please, for
speaking of this) there lingers still —lingers did I
say—l was going to say lingers, but there clings
around my heart something of that pride—that
anxiety of which all men must have more or
less—to stand well with my fellow men; not to
be made out worse even in my past history than
I really was, nor to be held up to contempt in low
and degrading terms. Now mark me if you
please. Here is an extract from a paper which
contains the announcement that “ Mr. Marshall,
the reformed drunkard, had addressed the audi
ence at the Tabernacle, and that the curiosity
was so great to see him that the place was crowd
ed.” A most comfortable annunciation this to
an Honorable Member of Congress on his first
entree into the proud city of New-York, that
curiosity was so great to see a reformed drunk
ard, that he drew quite an audience! Then
there was a certain other print in this city, which
announced my coming in still coarser terms : I
shall not trouble you with reading the article,
but I give you the words when it said that this
certain man, (Mr. Marshall.) “during all the
speeches he had made on the floor of Congress
had been in a state of beastlv intoxication and a
disgrace to the country .” Now these arc harsh
terms! These are harsh terms! Eat, thank
God, they have not wounded me ae deeply as they
icere intended to wound me, Ido not say this to
hide any of my real feelings from the person Who
aimed that shaft which was rankKngin my breast
and drawing the life htnod from my heart, 1 do
not say thi.-Tto induce that person to believ'e that
he had not wounded my feelings. But I say this
because those who know me, and for whose re
gard I care, have known me long enough am!
well enough not tojudge of me by what newspa
pers, here or any where, may say of me. [Cheers, *|
And whether fbe a disgrace to the body among
whom I am enrolled, or not—when I plant my
foot on the floor, raise my head or lift my voice
among the assembled representatives of this great
Empire, they who have observed me from infan
cy td age, and tried and proved me with all my
faults, habits and faculties, know full well
[Cheering.] And knowing me thus, and in
sioht of every failing and weakness I possess, and
every faculty and all those habits, they have
dared to trust me with the highest of all possible
trusts on this earth; the rights and lilierties of a
great people. [Loud cheering.] Excuse me if
you please, 1 will make but few remarks of those
I represent. 1 represent the 10 ih Congressional
District of Kentucky, and ASHLA ND is in that
District! [Here the cheering was loud and long
continued ] Earth—Earth does not bear a no
bler yeomanry than iliose who sent me to those
Halls. [Cheers.] For worth, talent, spirit, cn
ergy. enterprise, goodness of heart, intellectual
capacities, nobleness of soul, sterling indepen
dence of character, and all great qualities of
manhood. I defy this republic, within all its
broad bounds, to find a set of men with qualities
reaching over those that sent there. [Tremen
dous cheering.] And it was not the first time
they have trustrd me either by many. [Cheers. J
1 had represented them for years, and they
knew all my habits of which so much is said—
which then clung around me. They had tried
and trusted me over and oft. [Cheers.] And
when they hear and see these things of Die--and
: Kentucky full well knows me ami all my habit;-,
and feelings—they must look with surprise, and
imagine that a vast change has come over the
chasacter of their representative, ere he could
present himself in the midst of that high chivalry
to offer himself to the collisions of eloquence or
intellect—to grapple with such great men as are
on that floor without taking some painstn li.iaW"
i his body and his intellect in a little better trim
i than he has represented to have in that paper.—
1 [Loud eheers.| But let it pass. It may be un
worthy this vast assemblage. Let it pass. I
draw from it an additional moral; let the young,
the proud, the talented, btware how he stains
even the hem of bis garment, (and mine was
stained deeper than the hem l admit,) when he
secs to what enormous lengths those who are so
disposed by envy, hatred er malice, will go to
blacken their good name. [Cheers.] Ne man
may even touch it and be sale. But perhaps it
is only a just penalty which 1 ought to pay for the
follies I have been guilty of. I bow to it as just
and deserved.
Time was when this thing would have wound
ed me to the quick. It was not the first time it
was done; but it did when first done, wound me
to the very quick; not on account of myself, but
on account of others whom I love. That’s gone,
ami thank God it can wound me no longer.
[ Cheers.] And that sacred and holy pledge of the
Washingtonians is the blessed shield that pre
serves me harmless from these poisoned arrows.
[Cheers.] I had relations and connections in
Kentucky, and there was clinging around my
heart all those tendcrest, dearest feelings and ail
the hopes that are connected with the relations of
brother and of son. These arrows, poisoned and
barbed, aimed as they were at me alone, (for I
cannot believe, the man demon enough to have
intended them for others,) these arrows glanced
all scatheless from my heart, buLlodgcd in the
heart ofthosedcar connections where they quiv
ered and rankled in dreadful agony. It’s a terri
ble thing lor a son six hundred miles from his
mother, who clings with all a mother’s fondness
to him, to see all those paragraphs, and to know
that they will all go to that mother. When she
is looking out anxiously for every thing that will
say aught of that son’s career at a distance, when
the sound of the rolling mail is listened to with fe
verish eagerness, that she may hear something?*
glorious or useful which that darling son has a
chieved, it is a terrible thing that such oil and
such balm as this should be all that is poured into
her fond heart to reward her for all her care and
holy love. Then even the drunkard’s heart can
feel—that can feel nothing else—the agony that,
nothing known on earth can equal. [A silence
as of death through that great hall attended the ;
delivery of these remarks—which were responded
to by tears from almost every one in the house.]
But that time has gone by, and I feel this no
longer. That pledge is my shield. That pledge
is a shield which can convert even calumny into
defence. (Cheers.) Do you ail sign that pledge!
Let every man who drinks and who does not
drink—signit. I dare any man to try it. (Laugh
ter and cheers.) Try it to-night, and then see
to-morrow: if there is any such thing here in
Ncw-York, I don’t know anything about it, as
“ grog time-o’-day,' when that comes round and
you feel like going to take a drink and are tempt-