Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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-