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THliTw ASHING TON IAN.
AUGUSTA, JANUARY 4th, 1845.
EDITORIAL COMMITTEE.
Rev. W. T. Braxtly, Dr. D. Hook,
“ W. J. Hard, Jambs Harpkr, Esq.
'< C. S. Don, A. W. Nqel, Esq.
“ Geo. F. Pierce,
517- To Dotast ScsicnißEßt. — Post Master* are au
thorized by law to remit maoey to the publishers of
newuppperf snd periodical*, in payment of *ubscrip
tion*. Subscriber* (0 the Washingtonian can therefore
pay for their papers without subjecting themselves or !
the publisher to the expense of postage, by handing the
amount to the Post Master, with a request to remit it.
The New Year.
It is very customary among all class
es of persons on the entrance of a new
year, to make pledges upon some new
course of conduct for the future, either
in resy-aint of follies or vices, previgus
; ly indulged in, or in the active pursuit of
some virtuous inclinations, often felt, but
seldom carried out in practice. These
pledges are made with a view to regulate
life, by a principle, whatever it may be,
and as a failure is often met with and con
fessed, we submit to those who may
make, or have made such pledges, a few
remarks which we think may not be un
worthy their consideration.
First of all—don’t think of knocking
out our brains because we may differ in
opinion from you. It would be as rea
sonable to knock your own out now, be
cause you differ from yourself ten years
ago; and if you do not know your own
weaknesses, be assued you are of a very
high rank, or a fool. Again, there is
more true nobleness of nature, more true
greatness in openly and generously con
fessing a fault, and making proper ro
paration for it, by reform in yourself, or
to whom a wrong has been done, than in
obstinutely defending such wrong con
duct. But retreat, in quitting your pur
pose, rather like tho lion than the cow
ardly cur. Reform yourself first, then
use your efforts in behalf of others who j
need it; let no pretence of friendship j
mislead you; for he is not your friend
who aims to do so.
While you are young and bad habits
are yet weak in y6u, if you have
not the strength of mind and virtue to
resist them, how will you be able to do it
when they are strengthened by length of
I time, and a steady practice. If you are
disinclined now to look into yourself, and
to repent and reform, while there is not
so much wrong, how will you bring
yourself in future tp enter into self-ex
animation, when all is confusion within,
and rottenness and nothing fit to be look
ed into? Or, how will you bring your
self to repent and reform, when there
will be so much to be done that you will
not know where to begin ?
It is quite easy to keep aloof from ma
ny of the follies and all the vices of the
times. To do so, you have only to lay
down a firm resolution, and encourage a
steady aversion to them. When once
your mind is known, no one will long
trouble you. You may be called, per
haps, a queer fellow, by your thoughtless
companions, because you refuse to act
with them on such occasions, but they in
turn will soon learn to respect you for
what they effect to disapprove. Those
perhaps who cannot live without the bot
tie, may gradually drop you’, and then
you may with advantage seek the society
of those whose amusements are not
founded in sensual indulgences. It you
have the esteem of the wise and good,
don’t trouble yourtelf about tho rest.—
And if you have not even that, let the
approbation of your own conscience
make you happy and easy in the mean
while. The time will likely soon come
when you shall have both. That bad
habits are not unconquerable is proved
from the lives of Demosthenes and Cicero,
even if we had not living examples in
abundance before us.
Whatever resolutions then you make
for a reform in these, be assured you
have only to put your resolutions in prac
tice and sacredly adhere to them, and
like others before you, a triumph awaits
you. You will soon find that the ways
of virtue are far preferable to those of
vice. This is evident, for we do not
find people in old age, sickness, or on a
death-bed, repenting that they have lived
too virtuously ; but the contrary. This
confession comes too at a time when
there can be no motive for insincerity.
Then adhere to the good resolutions you j
have made, or if you have not made any, I
begin then with the year—the present
year, and let them end only with life it
self. Begin by cultivating the substan
tial virtues which are the true ornaments
of a worthy character and which alone
can fit you for happiness to come. Be
gin by imitating the good and wise. Ne- j
ver cast your eyes upon a good man \
without resolving to imitate his life.—
Whenever you see an instance of vice or;
folly in another, let it be a warning to
you to avoid them. In pursuing such
course, you will be strengthened in your
determination to search for truth and vir
tue. And in this search, remember that
to discover your own weaknesses, your
follies and your vices, set your own con
duct at a distance from yourself, and
view it with the eye of a stranger; find
out some one who has the same faults,
and view them in him ; or regard your
character as drawn by your enemy, es
pecially if several agree, and these will
help you to find out yourself, particularly
as enemies will expose what friends will
conceal. In all this be honest and begin
the reform; begin at once, and you have
every assurance that yon will be a far
better man, a more dutiful Christian, and
a nobler example of the dignity of human
nature.
Southern Medical and Surgical Jour
nal, Vol. 1. No. 1., New Scries. —This!
work has just been issued from the press*
of James McCnfferty, and is published
Monthly by P. C. Guieu, and edited by
Drs. Paul F. Eve and I. P. Garvin, Pro
fessors in the Medical College of this
city, nt tho low price of $3 per annum.
Wo do not see why a work of this
kind, conducted by the able and scien
tific professors at its head, should not be
a peculiar favorite with the profession
throughout the South, and particularly
of those engaged in the active duties
of the physician. A profession which
stands so deservedly high for learn,
ing and science, and upon which so
much depends, cannot but be deeply
interested in every such enterprise. Nor
ought such interest to be felt by the
medical faculty alone, for all are inter
ested in any such work, so well calcula
ted ns these periodicals are, to awaken
inquiry by seeking out the surest, safest
and newest sourcesof relief for the various
and complicated diseases, to which we are
all, more or less, the subject. We hear
tily wish the work will more than real
ize the wishes of the gentlemen at its
head, and furnish another instance of
Southern talent and enterprise; and be
another means also of elevating the pro
fession above the reach of the Empiric,
and the sneers of the ignorant. Such a
periodical as the one in question, has been
long wanting among us, and we have
every reason to believe will be properly
appreciated, and well received wherever
it shall be known.
“Southern Medical and Surgical Jour
nal.—The first number of tho new series
of this Journal, from the press of Mr. Jas.
McCafferty, has been laid on our table.
Os its intrinsic merits as a work devoted
to the science of Medicine, we cannot of
course be expected to speak. We deem
it sufficient to remark in this regard, that
it is under the editorial conduct of Prof.
P. F. Eve and I. P. Garvin, of the Med
ical College of Georgia,—and the entire
Faculty are numbered among its contrib
utors.
“The enterprize addresses itself to the
members of the profession at the South,
and to them we deem it unnecessary to
dilate upon the advantages, with which
they are so familiar, of a work devoted
to the diseases peculiar to the Southern
climate and constitutions. The great
want of such a medium of communication
has been long felt, and should, now that
it is undertaken under favorable auspices,
be liberally sustained by the profession.
“The number before us, for January, is
a neat octavo volume of 48 pages, of me
dium sized type, reflecting credit upon
the Printer. It is furnished to subscri
bers at Three Dollars per annum.”—
Chronicle if Sentinel.
The Ladies’ Fair.
Judging from appearances, whjeli we
know sometimes deceive, though we hope
not in this case, the Fair on Wednesday
night last, we think, was such in its re
sults as to meet tho anticipations of the
benevolent and kind ladies who were in-
I strumental in getting it up. The whole
was a tasty and well arranged affair, re
fleeting much credit on those charged
with its direction. Every thing was well
calculated to appeal to the sympathies
for the sufferings of the poor, and we be
lieve these feelings were responded to by
our citizens in a proper manner. Never do
we recollect to have seen the ladies of
Augusta look better, brighter and lovelier
than when presiding on this occasion;
• or lending their aid, and giving their mite
Ito charity. This, however, is the pecu*
j liar sphere of woman, in which she always
shines. God speed them on, in all such
undertakings. May they live long to
enjoy the fruits of their benevolence.
The last number of the S. C. Tem
perance Advocate announced the retire
ment of Mr. Arthur from (he editorial
department of the paper, and contained,
also, his parting address to its patrons.—
His successor, he stated, had not then
been selected.
For the Washingtonian.
Messrs. Editors. —l am an attentive
reader of your valuable little paper, and in
the course of its publication have deri
ved much pleasure as well as profit from
its perusal. In no other way, however,
have I been more deeply interested, than
in the occasional efforts of your philan
thropic corps, to reform the dissipations,
and to elevate the morals of the young
men of Augusta. The disinterestedness
of your labors in this respect must be
apparent to all; may they never fail of
a just and signal reward. From various
circumstances in my life, there are per
haps few, if any, of this class of persons
in our community, who can appreciate
more than myself the wholesomeness of
the advice embodied in those articles;
and in every admonition and reproof, my
own experience furnishes ample testimo
ny to the sacredness of your views. .It
may not be improper to state that I am
one of that large number of young men
in this city, whoso ordinary occupation
it is to delve in a subordinate capacity,
amidst the goods and wares of the mer
cantile world. Such as are in common
i parlance yclept “ clerks.”
Like many others of my calling, I left
the parentalroof in early life, to embrace
an enterprise which promised a favora
ble opportunity at once of seeing the
world, and improving my fortune. Du
ring a few months residence here, the
salutary restraints of home continued to
exert their proper influence upon my
life; and often when tempted by the at
tractions of the bar-room, or urged by
the persuasions of companions, I have
been nerved to virtuous resolution, by the
remembrance of that paternal advice,
which to my folly and misery, has been
since too often and sadly neglected. To
be brief, however, I soon arrived at that
age when jolliness and conviviality pre
sented an aspect peculiarly flattering and
inviting. The importunities of persons
whom I had unfortunately chosen as as
sociates and friends, also became stron
ger, as my determination waxed weaker;
until at last the counsel of parents and
admonitions of friends were alike for
gotten, and I took the first step in the
highway to iniquity and rum, by indul
ging in ardent spirits. At this unfortu
nate period of my life my habits of so
briety underwent a change, as radical as
it was sudden.
It seemed that the removal of the re
straints under which I had lived, was im
mediately followed by a flood of dissipa
tion and vice, like the mighty rush of
swollen and escaping waters, overwlelm
ing and sweeping to destruction all that
was valued and cherished in life. Night
after night have I contributed to swell
the ranks of that numerous class of un
suspected young men in our community,
whose chief delight consists in disturbing
the quiet of orderly citizens, and in caus
ing the streets to resopnd with their mid
night revelries. I might still farther task
your patience with a detailed account of
my life, as step by step, I became more
I and more confirmed in my habits of in
temperance ; but suffice it to say, that
little more than a year since, ere the
“damnable doom” of a drunkard had ir
i recoverabfy fallen upon me, the good ge
nius of Temperance hovered about my
path. Reflection awoke—the smothered
fires of old resolutions burst out anew—
the recollection of kindred and friends
again came over me, silently and slowly,
like the dream of the stranger in the far
off land. A noble resolve fired my bo
som with a spirit of strong determination,
and by the blessingof God, I subscribed
to your excellent pledge—cut my old
companions, and became the very image
of my former self—regenerated and re
deemed from vice. God biess the cause
which can effect a change so wondrous
and complete, where before all was dark
ly ominous and foreboding. And now,
sirs, having tested the deceptive joys of
dissipation, and experienced all the plea
sures (so miscalled) which they could ev
er afford, and after being fdlly initiated
into all the mysteries of the Bachanali
an rites—no possible consideration would
induce me to forego the delights of tem
perance, or to sacrifice at the unhallow
ed shrine of Bacchus, that sense of in
ward satisfaction and self-approval which
formed the first step to reformation, and !
which I still enjoy. But the object cf|
this communication is accomplished; I
stand a living witness to the great and !
growing evils of drinking even in a res-;
pectablc way; it wasted much of my
valuable time, which might have been
otherwise profitably employed ; it affect
ed my health, reputation and morals, and j
aimed a deadly blow at my prosperity in
the very morning of my life. I would 1
therefore admonish my old friends, and
all my compeers both in life and occupa- j
tion, that as they regard the culture of
the immortal spark within them, or their
prospects either in this life or in that
which is to come, to avoid even an op- j
portunity of contact with this detestable '
vice, which like a moral sirocco, is tra- j
versing the land, sweeping annually by
thousands, the brightest, the best, and the i
most promising of our number, from sta
tions of usefulness, honor and profit, to
tho lowest depths of poverty, misery
and crime. Commerce.
28fh Dec., 1844.
From the Middlesex Washingtonian.
Parental Example
The habit of drinking intoxicating li
quors is, as is well known, not natural,
but acquired. Children see their fathers,
and mothers, and friends drink certain
liquors, and drink them in a manner that
conveys the idea of their being pleasant ;
and agreeable. They find that these
liquors are drank most freely on birth- j
days, and holidays, and at seasons when j
their parents wish to make themselves
and their guests more comfortable than
usual. Children perceive this; and as
they attach a high value to the enjoy
ments of sense, is it strange that they j
watch the glasses every time they go to
the lips of the guests, and give evident <
tokens of their desire to partake of the
beverage which produces so agreeable an
effect ? The parents and the visitors un
derstand these looks and tokens, and one
gives little Mary a glass of wine, and
master Henry a sip of bran
dy and water. The good mother per
haps, remonstrates: “Oh, mv dear sir,
how can you think of giving that child so
much brandy? I declare you’ll make
the little fellow quite tipsy. But the re
joinder is always ready ; “Oh, no, bless
him, it will do him good.” And the re
mark, from uncle, or from aunt: “See
how he loves it!” silences the mother —
causes the child to fancy it is very good—
and induces the kind visitor to adminis
ter another small portion. Thus the ap
petite for strong drink is formed, and the
children naturally look for a little drop
as often as their friends partake of these
liquors.
We could furnish some very affecting j
instances of the baneful influences exert
ed on the habits and conduct of after life j
by these mistaken indulgencies. The
following, extracted from a volume pub
lished a few years since by Basil Hall,
entitled, “Some inquiries into the effects
of fermented liquors,” is to the point. It
forms a small portion of an affecting let
ter, on the origin and progress of drunk
enness.
“ I am now on the verge of the grave.
At the age of forty, extreme feebleness of
body and mind, give me the appearance
of sixty; and at a period of life when
thousands of my fellow beings are stout
and hale, enjoying existence, I am in a
state of such bodily and mental decay,
; that I looked forward to my death, as to
freedom from a painful bondage. I was
the third child and an only son. The
first thing that made an impression on my
memory was, when about four years of
age, my being brought down from the
nursery after dinner, to the eating room,
where a large party of gentlemen had
met to celebrate my father’s birthdav. I
was placed on my father’s knee, a glass
:of wine was put to my lips, and I was
told to drink my father health. I had
never tasted wine before, and I was rath
ler refractory in doing so now; I was
patted on the head, and coaxed in vain,
till my father to give me courage, drank
off the bumper. ‘See, Frank, see how
; boldly father drinks,’ said one of the com
pany, ‘ Always do what your father does,
that’s a good boy,’ said my mother. I
at last ventured to sip the wine. I found
it nauseous, but thus urged, thus encour
aged, I heroically drank the whole glass,
j‘That’s a fine fellow! That’s a brave
lad!’ echoed from all the room; and
sweetmeats, cakes, and every luxury
which the table afforded, was lavished on
me byway of reward.
I had olten seen the companions of my
father clap him on the shoulder, and call
him mv fine fellow. I longed to be call
ed 4 my fine fellow,’ too ; but I could nev
!cr tell what he did that caused this
cheering appellation. I had now found
! the solution of the riddle. To drink
wine was to be a fine fellow. I had ob
! tained the honored phrase. I was like
; my father, and from that hour I secretly
resolved to drink all the wine I could get,
; that I might excel him if possible, in be
ing called a fine fellow.
Ihe glass of wine soon mounted into
my head. I chatted—l laughed—l sung
I played a thousand antics; the com
pany and my father were delighted.—
The ice was now broken ; the custom
was begun. I was regularly brought
down every day to drink my glass of
wine, and be a fine fellow. As I grew
older, whenever there was company, I
was suffered to continue, after the ladies
had retired, with my father and the gen
tlemen. Here I saw glass after glass
quaffed; bottle after bottle uncorked; I
heard the roar of laughter—the gay song
—the witty toast. I saw mirth seated
on every face; and nothing I thought
could equal their happiness.”
The whole history of this gentleman’s
life is most affecting. We cannot detail
his whole career ; but we must add the
following: •
“ For a few years I followed my pro
fession with considerable success, and my
careworn heart began to taste of comfort
in an approving conscience, but my con
stitution was so dreadfully impaired by
my carlv excesses, that I was very soon
obliged to relinquish so arduous a pro
fession. A violent liver complaint has
been daily undermining my life. I feel
my memory decayed and all my powers
for action gone. I shall shortly drop in
to the grave, the martyr of Inebriety.”
“The history of my life, my youn?
friend, is only a common picture, and I
have no doubt, but that if parents would
strictly forbear to let their children taste
wine, and never permit them to be pres
ent when others do so, that the vice of
drunkenness would considerably de
crease.”
What parents would not shudder, if
told that their son would one day become
a drunkard ? that his future health would
be sacrificed to his habits of intemper
ance? Yet how can they expect that it
should be otherwise, if they suffer the
plastic mind of their child to be impress
ed with scenes of convival riot and in
temperance? If they suffer him to see
the glass circulate from hand to hand,
and witness the bacchanalian roar and
apparent independence and happiness of
drinking men ; if they permit him to sip
the intoxicating and fascinating bever
age, and feel his spirits elated by the
draught; if the child hears himself com
mended and called a fine fellow and oth
er such names for his courage in drink
ing the inflammatory liquor, can any fa
father expect that his son will fail in
time to become a drunkard and a spend
thrift, and most probably guilty of many
other vices, equally destructive and hor
rible ?
The Moderate Drinker’s Peep at Him
self ten years ahead.
4 Its a miserable piece of business,’
said Neddy Brown; ‘living is a misera
ble piece of business—and man’s mind is
a miserable dog. I’ve threatened to re
form any time these ten years, because,
though I love liquor, I hate intoxication,
and yet here I am the same old two-and
sixpence, I was last night, and every
night in the year, which I remember.—
I’m pretty tol-rol for an old man every
night about twelve o’clock. Now to
morrow morning I’ll be for passing the
reform bill, for the benefit of my consti
tution ; but at night the reform bill will
be laid under the table. ’Sposing I was
to join the temperance society, byway
of a slant, and taper off with a quart or
two of cider ? But what’s the use when