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vltty? If/£**&£■ * ' v v * 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