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OR, VOL. I.] I THE WASHINGTONIAN. PUBLISHED BY JAMES McCAFFERTY, TWICE EVERY MONTH. Office on Macintosh street — opposite the Post Office. TERMS. For a single copy, for one year, One Dollar; for six copies, to one address. Five Dollars ; for ten copies, to one address, Eight Dollars—and so in proportion. Ctj~ Payment in all cases to he made in advance. . a?* Ail communications by mail, must be post paid, to receive attention. For the Washingtonian. Oakland, Jefferson County, i August 4th, 1842. f Editor Washingtonian: Dear Sir— With this note, I send you a eopv of the Address, delivered before the “ Washing ton Total Abstinence Society of Jefferson Coun ty,” on the first Tuesday in this month—by Robert Nesbitt, Esq. To your request was su peradded the earnest solicitations of the members of the Society, for its publication; and Mr. Nes bitt has, with the spirit of a man , granted the request. The effect of this address was overwhelming, and brought forth fruit on the spot. Our motto is “ Onward." Very Respectfully, J. W. M. BERRIEN. AN ADDRESS, Delivered before the Washington Total Absti ■ nence Society if Jefferson County , Georgia, at their first regular meeting, August '2d, 1842 : BY ROBERT NESBITT. Mr. President, and Gentlemen of the Societv: The cause of Temperance is one, which in its commencement, was looked upon with an eye of distrust and fear. The reformation ofthe drunk ard was considered hopeless, even by the persons most interested in it; and the efforts of those who stood foremost in the cause, were directed, rather to the prevention, than the cure of the disease For a long time there was but little encouragement for them to proceed, and when legislation on the subject was attempted, it ap peared as if the death blow was given to the undertaking. Soon, however, the error of legislators was discovered and corrected, and since that time, the cause has been progressing, more rapidly than the most sanguine expectations of its friends could have hoped for. The fear, in its commencement, that it was originated but to gather more power into the hands of the church, has been dissipated, and most seem now to agree, that its object is but to relieve those bound in the shackles of vice—to ameliorate the condition of those who were indirectly sufferers from its prevalence; and to keep those already pure, free from contamination. Most now agree that it is the cause of democracy, of humanity, of chri tianity. We have assembled together this day, to commence our public labors in this cause; and a> the high honor of being first to raise a voice in its favor, has been conferred on me; and particularly as, on the day of the organization of this soci ty, there was opposition, not boldly and openly, but underhandedly, manifested to us in our praiseworthy undertaking, it may be well for me on this occasion, to notice some of the objec tions which have been urged against us, to show, if possible, the advantages of an association of the kind which we have entered into; and to impress upon the minds of all, temperate and in temperate, that it is their duty, and one which loudly calls upon them, to unite with us, and lend a helping hand in driving from our land, forever, that enemy, which, as has justly been said, “ has caused more injury to the human race, than War, Pestilence, or Famine.” And .vhile I regret, that this duty had not been confided to more able hands, and declare to this assembled people, that in no other cause could I have been induced to appear before them as a public speaker, still my joy at having been released from the slavish bon dage to which I have been subjected for the past eight years, and the interest I feel for those I have left deep in the mire behind me, compelled me whether I would or not, to accept the office, and to do all I could, by precept, to induce others to follow my example, I know that on this account I subject myself to harsh remarks: that it will be said, my reformation will be but of short duration, and that sneers, and jibes, and jests, will be ex pended freely at my cost; but the consciousness of doing" right, will make me superior to them all. “ The world may scorn me if they choose—l care But little for their scoffings. I may sink Awhile: but I will rise again,nor shrink From doing what the faithfnl heart inspires.' 1 TOTAL AIISTINENCE ADVOCATE. Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish none to consid er my remarks as personal; and if any one is offended, before he allows bis passion to carry him too far, 1 desire that he will recollect the old saving, “ l he truth alone hurts;’’ and ask him selt the question—Has he spoken any thing but the truth 1 The drunkard and the dram-seller deserve no mercy from me. Do you ask me, hy - Because the drunkard and the dram seller first led me into dissipation. Because it was the drunkard and dram-seller who first made my widowed mother’s heart to mourn, over one, who was in every way calculated to gladden it— one, who should have been her solace in old age, instead of her disgrace and sorrow. It was tSie drunkard and dram-seller who first destroyed the peace, and then carried pain and anguish into the bosom of that family, where before reigned com fort, and joy, and satisfaction. It was the drunk ard and drain-seller who have caused me to spend sleepless nights and troublesome days. It was the drunkard and dram-seller who spent my for tune and loaded m‘e with debt. It was the drunk ard and dram-seller who destroyed my credit— who blasted my reputation—who tore my friends from me—who weakened my intellect —who prostrated my strength and made me what I am. These are the injuries which they have inflicted upon me, and do they deserve mercy at my hands 1 But, drunkard and dram-seller, your hold upon me is loosened—your influence over me is weak ened, yea, destroyed, and I now stand aloof from you, a redeemed and reformed man ! And now is it, friends, that I speak thus con- j fidently, anil tell you, and the world, that I am a reformed man. I have never done so before—■ I have never felt so before. I have frequently made promises, to myself, when recovering from a debauch, that I would never drink again—but I attempted to deceive myself; for I never telt before that I would abstain entirely. Now, Ido feel so. Now, I know »o. No power upon earth, though care, and sorrow, and trouble, should roll upon me in waves mountain high, could induce me to “ touch, taste, or handle the unclean thing.” I will tell you what gives me confidence in my self. It is no secret—hide it not: let it be known wherever lam known—“ Tell it in Gath, and publish it in the streets of Askalon.” I have signed the Pledge!— That pledge which has restored many a poor inebriate, after long years ot wandering, to his afflicted family ; not to in flict upon them farther injury and insult, but to gladden their bowed spirits and cause them to regain their lost health and elasticity!—That pledge, which has changed the monster into the man!—That pledge, which has changed the dross into pure gold ! What else, upon earth, could have produced the effects which it has done? Temperance has been preached for years, and still little or no good seemed to result from it. The pledge sprung into existence but two short years since, as if by magic, and its workings have been magical. It has reformed the drunkard, and made him the reformer of others—he who was lowest in the scale of human degradation; the master-spirit among those, who before would have treated him with contempt. But, to the ob jections. It has been said, that the society would exist but a short time: that once before a similar at tempt had been made in this county, and failed. This society was never in existence before the 4th day of last July; and if one effort to do good in the county has failed, it is but a greater in ducement to us, to make another and a greater effort. This effort has been, and is now making, and it shall not fail. The jieople are more en lightened on the subject, than they were in for mer days. The drunkard now begins to see the hopelessness of his case, it he does not reform: the moderate drinker, his imminent and immedi ate danger; and the temperate man, begins to feel, anil feel properly too, that it is his duty to unite with those who have raised high the banner of Temperance Reformation, and who have de termined to leave no honorable means untried, to rescue from degradation and woe, those who seek for comfort in intoxicating drinks. This society, I repeat it, shall not fail. There will be strength given us, from on high, to adhere strictly to the promises we have made one another: it will assist us in our endeavors to do good, and though the prospect may for a while be gloomy, soon will its gloom depart and all be cheering, and though “ few the laborers are, yet shall the harvest be great.” Another objection is, that it deprives a man of his liberty and independence, to join a Temperance Society. Deprives a man of his liberty and independence, to promise not to drink that which injures him'? Deprives a man of his liberty and independence, to promise to do that which is certain to continue his freedom to him l What moral, social, or political right, are you requested to yield 1 Are you controlled in any way but for your own good, and the good of your fellow men 1 and that, only, with your AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 1812 own consent. Why not object to your State Laws? Do not they prevent you from doing some things which you have a desire to do?— They do not allow you to kill yourself. They do not allow you to cut the throat of your wife; but, shame on the laws! they do allow you to murder that wife, in a thousand times more bar barous manner, by your base conduct, while under the influence of ardent spirits. Who, but a fool, or a madman, ever considered it liberty, to be allowed to do that, which brings only misery upon yourself and all connected with you 1 But, who is it that thus loudly boasts of liberty 4 From whom does this cry for independence pro ceed"? Is it from one, who reallv* feels free?—!s it from one, who in reality enjoys those sweets of which liberty is the mother !—Or is it not, ra ther, from one, who, if he speaks truth, will can didly acknowledge himself the vilest slave upon the face of the earth—rendered still more vile, because he submits to his bondage willingly: yea, even hugs his master to his bosom 1 lie is a freeman, who, by force of reason and better judgment, proclaims and feels himself no longer bound by vicious habits and desires; who curbs his own passions; who rules himself. Talk not of liberty and independence in connection with the drunkard. He knows nothing of them. They are utter strangers to him. Vice is his companion!—Slavery, the most abject, his doom! Do you wish to sec a freeman 1 There he is— The reformed drunkard: He who has broken asunder the bonds of iniquity which have so long bound him—He, who, in despite of the world’s sneers, has had the resolution to master his own spirit—He who has subdued hisown evil desires. To whom and to what is he the slave ! To sweet sound sleep ! To health of body and vigor of intellect! To the smiles and caresses of his family! To the admiration and respect of the good, the wise, and the virtuous! Alas! Drunk ard, you are the slave of the hardest master that ever exacted servitude. I would that you would acknowledge it. The only other objection which I shall notice, (and I notice it, because it is in very general use: in fact I used it myself, before my eyes were open ed.) is this. If a man desires to be temperate, he can be so, without the restraint of a Temperance Society. Allow one who has served a regular apprenticeship to dram-drinking for eight long years, who has frequently resisted the attempt to reform him, by use of this same objection, and who knows from his own experience the falsity of it, to deny that there is truth in it. Man is weak enough in all his determinations, when he has strength of body combined with strength of mind to assist him in adhering to them. The efleet of ardent spirits, on the physical man, is to ruin his health, destroy his strength, and render him unlit and incapable to perform that labor, which he could otherwise do. So, likewise, 1 know, in a greater degree, does an indulgence in the same means, destroy the strength of his mind, and render him incapable of adhering to resolu tions made in moments of pain, and when recov ering from a spree, (for that is the time most drunkards make fair promises: they think to cheat the blue devils—yes, and the black and red ones too, away from them; for they all appear to him after a glorious frolic.) More particularly difficult is it to keep a resolution, when they have to act in direct opposition to their feelings and bodily desires, and in nine cases out often, their promises are falsified, so soon as a kind provi dence permits them to recover their accustomed health and vigor. Besides all this, they have to war with that accursed appetite for whiskey, which I will not attempt to describe,--It would here require the eloquence of a Marshall To give you some faint idea, how powerful, how un conquerable, by the drunkard’s own exertions, 1 will just say, that I have seen the time, when so great was its mastery over me, that, if it had been necessary, I would have parted with evey cents worth of property I had, and made myself a beg gar on the face of the earth—yea, I believe I would have sold my soul itself, for one gill of the infernal liquor. None know what it is, but those who have experienced it. Drunkard! is not this, or has not this been the case with you 1 From my own experience then, I know the falsity of this objection, and the necessity there is, for every one who drinks, to have restraint placed over him. So much for the objections to Temperance Societies, which are about as groundless, as aie the hearts of those who use them, false to them selves. Os what benefit then are these Associations'! Man is social in his nature. He likes company, no matter in what business he may be engaged. It cheers him in his moments of ease and pleas ure, and relieves his toil, of the wearisome hours attendant upon it. Why this is so, we know not, and cannot account for it, except by saying it is natural. Essential then as friends are to him in his daily occupation, how much more so, when, after a long indulgence in a vicious habit, he sci’ks to relieve himself of its power o\er him; to bo cheered and assisted in his endeavors by those around him; to have tlieir countenance and sup port, and to know that many, like him, are direct ing their race to the same goal. Besides this, there are many who, though desirous of reform ing, have not the moral courage to come out from the world, and say, 1 will not drink. The fact of being associated with men of character and influ ence, gives them strength to pertorm their virtu ous duty, and renders them less prominent, as objects against which, the shafts of ridicule, ma lice, and envy, may be directed. But there is no reason to argue upon this subject. Facts arc more powerful than argument. Every one who will look back to the time, in 1810, when but six mechanics, of intemperate habits, resolved, to form themselves into a Washington Society, with a pledge, exactly, or nearly, similar to our own, and will reflect upon the amount of good, which has resulted from the association of this small number of men, will be convinced ofthe utility of these societies; and 1 am forced to the conclusion, that those who do not see it, arc wilfully blind, and that their objections arise, not so much from a doubt of their benefit, as they do from their love of a brandy toddy, or a gin cocktail. Suffice it to say, that the effect of them has been, and eve ry body may know it who chooses, to reclaim I lie abandoned, to confirm the wavering, and to pre vent those already respectable from becoming the | reverse. Such being their effect, is it not the I duty of every one—drunkard, moderate drinker ! and temperate—to join in this work] To the I drunkard, I would first address myself, and I I would beg him to pause for a while where he is, l and ask himself the question : Am I right in pur suing this course, and wlfpk will he the end of it] Is it calculated to gain me friends] Is it calcu lated to win me the respect an‘l esteem of those lor whom I have a care ] Is it calculated to pro duce me that happiness for which all men strive] We put these selfish questions to you, because we believe you cannot understand and feel others of a different kind. The fountain of your finer feelings is dried up. A guilty conscience answers in thundering tones, No! Drunkard! while the door is open, escape from the infatuation which has so long deluded you! Restore yourself to that stand in society, from which you have been hurled by your own infamous conduct. A vic tory is offered you more splendid than was ever achieved by warriors in arms. The world seeks to rescue you from a thraldom more onerous than Egyptian bondage. Witness the bleeding heart of your wife, and hear the lamentable cries of your worse than orphan children, and if there is the least particle of humanity in you, undrouned, return to them, and be their husband and thtir father! Cause not the grey hairs of those who watched over you in infancy with nothing less than a father’s and a mother’s care, who protect ed you in youth, and shielded you from harm until manhood, to sink in deep and heartfelt sor row to the tomb, carrying with them the bitter reflection—my son will fill the drunkard’s grave! O protect and cherish the sister of your bosom the playmate of your early days—and cause her not to wish the sun had never shone upon her, for then she would never have known the dis grace of an abandoned brother! For what are you kneeling at Prince Alcohol’s feet] His treasury contains nothing great, or good, or glo rious. What claim have you to respectability] What claim have you to the protection of laws, who are in thedaily habit of disregarding them ]’ What claim have you to the privilege of lie bal lot box, who deprive yourself of reason, before using it] What claim have you to any of the benefits derived from our republican institutions who are usingthe whole weight of your influence to overthrow them] Listen to the voice one whose experience, on this subject, is worth some thing, and believe him when he tells you, that your course will bring you, not honor, but dis grace—not wealth, but poverty—not peace but misery—not life, but death. Join the Temper ance Society—throw around you the restraints of the pledge—call yourself a Washingtonian, and the importunities of your drunken associates will cease, the thirst for liquid fire will be satisfied and again will you enjoy those pleasures, which li quor never, never brings. But a short time since, and those of your class, were considered lost, beyond the power of redemption; but thanks to efforts of Washingtonians, although degraded almost beyond conception, recent events have proven, that relief may be afforded you, and that you may again become honorable and useful members of society. Spurn not their invitations: they are your best friends, and the time is soon coming, when you will acknowledge it, if you do not now. As you are, you arc woise than use less,—you are nuisances to any community in which you abide, and no matter how great your capabilities of doing good are, better, far better, would that community be without you, than with you. No society can retain you without being [No. 6.