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SPEECH OF T H E Hon. THOM AS F. M A R S H ALL, of Ky. Before the Congressional Total Abstinance Sociely, at a meeting held in the Hall of the House o f Representatives. Feb. 25,1842. “ He has succeeded (Dr. Sewall with ihe Diagrams of the drunkard’s stomach.) in sat isfying me that the conclusion at which he has arrived is certain and irrefutable. He bas demonstrated that alcohol is a substance •which no organ, with which nature has fur nished the human system, is of power suffi cient to appropriate as aliment to the body.— It undergoes no change from the action ofthe gastric juice, the great solvent provided by nature to convett our food into nourishment for our frames. It goes into the system alco hol; it circulates through the system alcohol, irritating, inflaming, and finally gangrening all the delicate surfaces with which it comes in contact, frpm the coals of the stomach to the membrane of the brain, till it is ejected with the breath, through the pores of the skin, and with all the secretions—still alcohol, un changed and retaining its original properties. Its effect i9 always to injure—even in the smallest quantity, to that extent' it is injurious. Its excessive use necessarily and inevitably changes the appearance and prostrates the powers not only of the stomach, but of every part and organ of the human body. W e are some limes told (for oureause, like every thing else that is great and good, has its difficulties and its enemies) that the pledge proposed subjects necessarily the man who takes it to the implied admission that he is himself laboring under the evil in question, and flies to this as a means of escape from it. This is a grossly unjust view of the mailer, and as injurious to out cause as it is untrue. It is to the sober we here appeal. W e call upon them 10 rally to the standard of sobriety; we invite the temperate to guatd the cause of temperance. Shall shame interpose here ? Can the man who loathes the bottle, and sbtinks appalled ftom all the degra lation to which to the bottle leads, blush to profess openly the honorable principles which he practices? You, who are temperate, how can you withhold your aid from us— the aid, simply, of your name and countenance? Temperance men refusing to join a temper ance society!—withholding their name and influence!—nay, throwing, by their refusal, the weight of both against us 1 It is unnat ural, it is unintelligible, it is cruel, it is most ctuel in those untainted by this destroying vice to cast tbe whole weight of their cause upon its wretched victims, writhing and strug gling with the chain whieh darkly binds their strength, nor stretch out the arm, free and anparalized by its weight, to aid in rending its linksasundei. You (Mr. M. here looked steadfastly and earnestly at Mr. Wise—you iucur no risk; you make no sactifice; you brave no painful notoriety; your lives are. as yet unstained. Not a shade darkens the lit.r iield of yoiu unsullied escutcheon. Thete is no room for shame. Nothing hot honor to yourselves and blessings to others ran follow your union with us. Ashamed of pure and perfect temperance! Oh.no; truedigniiysur- rounds her; the diadem of honor sparkies on her hrow; and the flowing robes of virtue en circle and adorn her elastic and graceful form. Mine, sir, was a different case. Mr. Presi dent. we of Ihe “ Total Abstinance and Vig ilance Society,” in our meetings at the other end of the city, are so much in tlte habit of “telling experiences.” lhal T have myself fallen somewhat into it, and am guilty occa sionally of the egotism of sotne.small confes sions, (as small as lean possibly make them.) I had earned a mosl unenviable notoriety ; by excesses which, though bad enough, did nol half reach the reputation they won for me. I never was an habitual drunkard. I was one of your spteeiug gentiy. My sprees however, began to crowd each other; and my best friends feared that they wouitl soon run together. Perhaps my long intervals of entire abstinence—perhaps something pecu liar in my form, constitution or complexion— may have prevented 1 he physical indications so usual, of that terrible disease, which, till temperance societies arose, vvas deemed in curable ami resistless. Perhaps L nourished the vanity to believe that nature bad endow ed me with a versatility which enabled me lo thtow down and take up at pleasure any pursuit, and I chose, to sport with the gill.— If so, I vvas brought to the verge of a fearful punishment. Physicians tells ns that intem perance at last becomes, of itself, not a habit voluntarily indulged, but a disease which its victim cannot resist. 1 had not become fully the subject oft bat fiendish thirst, that horrible yearoingafter the distillation “ from the ulem- bick of bell,” vvhicli is said to scorch in the throat, and consume the vitals of the con firmed drunkard with fires kindled for eter nity. 1 did become alarmed, and for the first time, no matter from what cause, lest the demon’s fangs wete fastening ap.m me, and 1 •was approaching that line which separates the man who fndies, and ean quit, from the lost inebriate whose appetite is disease, and whose will is dead. I joined the society on my own account, and felt that 1 must encoun ter the title of “reformed drunkard,” annoy ing to me. 1 assure you. 1 judged, from the cruel publicity given through the press to my frolics, what I had to bear and brave. But I did il a l l ; and 1 would have dared any thing lo break the chain which I at last dis covered was rivetting on my soul, to unclasp the folds of that serpeni-iiabit whose full iembrace is death. Letters from people I never had heard of, newspaper paragraphs front Boston to New Orleans, were mailed and are still mailing to me, by which I am very distinctly, aud in the most friendly and agreeable manner, apprised that I enjoyed all over the Republic the delectable reputation of a sot with one foot in the grave a'tid an under standing almost totally overthrown. 1 doubt not sir, that the societies who have invited tne to address them at different places iu the Union, expect to find me with an unhealed carbuncle on my nose, and rny body of tiie graceful and manly shape and propoitions of a demijohn. I have dared all iliese annoy ances, all this celebrity. I have nol shrunk ftom being a text for temperance preachers. and a case for the out pouring of tbe sympa thies of people wbo have more philanthropy than politeness, more temperance than taste. 1 signed the pledge on my own account, sir, and tny heart leaped to find that 1 was free. The chain has fallen from my free-born limbs; nol a link or fragment remains to lell lhal I ever wore the badge of servitude. Mi. President, the temperate members of Congress are. exposed, as 1 have said, to no shame or annoyance from the act which vve invite them. It is to rescue others that we summon them. Tbe rescue others—aye, sir, and to place themselves beyond the reach of a danger which none ate exempt. There are men of a stamp which secures them ab solutely ftom every thing which can degrade, save only this one vice. There is no danger that a man of lofty mind, a high-spitiied, well-educated gentleman, vvill stoop to other vices which sink and degrade humanity.— He vvill not lie; he cannot steal; he is in capable of dishonor; Death itself cannot drive him to llie perpetration of baseness. Pov erty, want, starvation, may assail him, he is proof against them all. Tbis alone can drag his virtue down; and against it what gen ius can guard, wliat magnanimity shield us? W h o has not seen the most towering, the most majestic, sink vanquished beneath its powers? Who has not seen genius prostrate, courage disarmed, manhood withered before the march of this fell destroyer of all that is gteat, and bright, and beautiful? It seems, indeed, as if, with tbe cunning malice of tyranny, and this ambitious policy of a con queror, tbe grim king selects the loftiest vic tims, and from those who otherwise are form ed to be the ornament and strength of tlteir land and race. Certain it is, that political am bition or elevation is of itself no safeguard. 1 have been told that the last ghastly specta cle exhibited to us to night—the ruined stom ach nf a dead inebriate, once the living re ceptacle of God’s good and healthful gifts, and so by him intended to remain—was part ofthe frame of a distinguished statesman ami member ot this House, a mat) of genius and of eloquence, whose mind led once the councils of Iiis own State, and whose voice has olien resounded through this hall, while listening thousands hung with rapture upon its accents. Look on lhal picture, and imag ine if you can, the horrors which must have preceded a faie like that. But, sir, this jioi- son stojis not with jihystcal destruction ; it is over the intellectual and moral man that it achieves its greatest triumphs. The eiect form, ihe muscular limb, tlte taper waist— Oh, how they change under the transforming touch of this monster rnagieian ! But it is not the trembling limb, tbe bloated body, the bleared and dimmed eye. the sluggish ear. the blotched and ulcerated skin, the poisoned bieatb, the destruction of strength, and clean liness and beauty, which most effectually at test the terrible power, and mark tbe wreck with which the demon strews his path. It is the overt!)row of tlte mot al principle, the extineiioo of conscience, sensibility to what is vvright and wrong, charity, domestic affec tion—all, all. that makes us men—the utter dispetsion of the moral elements which hold the world together, and the entire implication of the weak anil tlte innocent, the mother, the wife, the infant, in sufi’eting for crime» of which they are the most wretched, yet tlie guiltless victims. These are the proudest trophies, the most splendid fruits of the vic tories of the wine cup. Olher vices, olher crimes, leave the physical, the intellectual, the moral man capable of repentance, of amendment, and of action, but tltis destroys him throughout—body, mind, and conscience, vet leaves the wretch survivor of himself. Would, sir, that some of tbe thrilling con fessions and narratives disclosed in those homelvassociations of on is in a di-tam part of the. citv could be beard by this audience, as I hnvebeard them—tlte confessions and nar ratives of men of whom tlte indefatigable be nevolence of the “ Vigilant Sociely of Total Abstinence” has rescued from the very kennel. They are not your stately, refined, educa ted gentlemen, who quaff their riel) ami cost ly Muderia, old and mild and fragrant .ami sparkling, and redolent of the true flavor ol the eork— nectar fit for gods to sip, taken down bottle after bottle from day to day, till tlteir complexions are purple as the grape whose juice they drain, till their trembling hands can scarce conduct onspilled the fluid 10 their lips, till their feel are swollen and agonized with goo), while untold horrors fill the region whose toin has been to-night laid open to out view—and yet they are tin drunkards! Oh. no no, 110 no. Drunkards? Not they! It is not from sueb men that we hear in onr humble ward meetings. No. They ate the once wretched, but now rescued victims of what in our western world is called “ white faced whiskey”—children of the lowest in temperance who there appear. Tltis tyrant alcohol, like him of whom it is no unapt rep resentative, ran suit its temptations to mefi of every grade of fortune, and to every di versity of hurrian condition. Be holds out - an appropriate lure to every taste, and draws within Itis fatal snare tlieltigh and tbe low, tbe learned and the unlearned, the vulgar and the refitted. It is tothe story ofthe humbler and the poorer who have been reformed b„y means of that society with which I was first connected, that i have listened with keenest interest. It, does appear to me, that if tbe loftiest among the lofty spirits which move and act from day to day in this hall—the proudest, the most gifted, the most fastidious here--? could heat the tales 1 have heard, nnd see the men I have seen, restored by the influence of so simple a thing as this temperance pledge, from a state ofthe most abject, outcast wretch edness to industry, health, comfort; and in tlieir own emphatic language, (0 peace, be could not withhold his countenance aud sup port from a cause fraught with such actual blessings to mankind. I have heard unlettered men trace their own history on this subject through all its stages, describe the progress of their ruin and its consequences, paint without the least dis guise the utmost extent of degradation and suffering, and tlte power of appetite, by facts which astonished me—an appetite which tri umphed overeverv human principle, affection aud motive, yet yielded instantly and forever befote the simple charm of tbis temperance pledge. It is a thing of interest to me to see ami to hear a ftee, bold, strong armed, hard1 fisted mechanic relate, in his own nervous and natural language, the history of his fall and his recovery. And I have heard him relate how the young man was brought up to labor, and expecting by patient toil to support himself and a rising family, had taken to his bosom in bis youth the woman whom he loved—how he was tempted 10 quit ber side and forsake ber society, for the dram shop, the frolic, the midnight brawl—how he had resolved, and broken his resolutions, till bu siness foorsnok him, bis friends deserted him, his furniture seized for debt, bis clothing pawned for drink, his wife broken-hearted, Iiis children statving, his home a desert, and his heart a hell. Atid then in ianguage true to nature, they will exultingly recount the wonders wrought in their condition by this same pledge. “My dear friends have come back—I have good clothes on—I am at work again—I am giving food nnd providing com forts for my children—I am free, I am a man, I am at peace here. My children no longer shrink cowering and huddling together in corners, or under llie bed, for protection frotn tho face of (heir own father. When I return al night they bound into my arms and nestle in my bos am. M y wife no longer with a throbbing heart and agonized ear counts my steps before she sees me to discover whether I am drunk or sober—1 find her now singing and al work.” What a simple but exquisite illustration of a woman’s love, anx iety. and suffering! The fine instinct of a wife's ear detecting from the intervals of his fuot-f'all, before he had yet reached his door, whether it was the drunken or the sober step, whether she was to receive ber husband or an infuriated monster in his likeness. I say, sir, these things have an interest, a mighty interest for me; and I deem them not entirely beneath the regard of the proudest statesmen here. Gn my conscience, sit, I speak the truth when I say that, member of Congtess as I a m —(and no man is prouder of his com mission)—member of -Congress as I am, if, taking this pledge, ir were even probable that it would bring back one human being to hap piness and virtue, no matter what his rank or condition, recall the smile of hope and trust and love 10 the cheek of one wife as she pillowed it in safety, peace, and confidence upon the ransomed bosom of her reclaimed arid natural protector, send one rosy child hounding tn the arms of a parent, frotn whence drunkenness had exiled it long, I wouitl dare all the ridiculeofall the ridiculous per pie in the world, and thank God that 1 11 ad not lived in vain And, sir, I have had tlmt pleasure. 4 Sir, if there be within this Hall an indi vidttal who thinks that his vast dignity and im portance wouhl be lowered, the laurels which l e has heretofore won be tarnished, his glow ing and all-conquering popularity at home lie lessened, by an act designed to redeem any portion of his colleagues or fellow men Irom ruin and shame, all I can say is, that he and I put a very tlffierent estimate upon the matter. I should say. sir, lhal the act was not only the most benevolent, but in the pres ent slate of opinion, the most politic, the must popular, (looking down at Mr. Wise, who sat just tinder the Clerk’s stand, Mr. M. added with a smile,) the very Wisest tiling he ever did in his life. Think not, sir, (said Mi. M., still regarding Mr. W . with great earnestness,) think not that 1 feel myself in a ridulous sit uation, and like the fox in the fable, wish to divide it with others by converting deformity into fashion. But the pledge I have taken renders me secure forever from a fate inevit ably following habits like mine—a fate more terrible than death. That pledge—though confined to myself alone, and with reference to its only effect upon the, my mind, tny heart, my body, I would not exchange for all earth holds of brightest ond of best. No, no, sir; let the banner of tbis temperance cause go forward or go backward—let the world be tescued ftom its degrading and ruinous bond age to alcohol or not—?! for one shall never* never repent what I bave done. I httveofterJ said this, and I fee! it every moment of nty existence, waking or sleeping. Sir, I would nol exchange the physical sensations—the mere sense of animal being whjch belongs to a man who totally tefrains from all that can intoxicate his brain or derange bis ner vous structure—tbe elasticity with wbic-b be bounds from his couch in the morning—the sweet repose it yields him at night—the feeling with which he drinks in through his clear eyes the beauty aud the grandeur of sui rounding nature;—I say, sit, 1 would nol exchange tny conscious being, as a strictly temperate man—the sense ofrenovated youth—the glad play with which my pulses now beat healthful music—rthe bounding vivacity with which the life-blood courses its exulting way through every fibre of my frame—the high commu nion which my healthful ear anti eye now hold with the gorgeous universe of God—tbe splendors of the morning, the softness of the evening sky—the bloom, the beauty, the ver dure of earth, the music of the air aud the waters—with all the grand associations of external nature, re-opened to the fine avenue of sense;—no. sir, though poverty dogged tae—though scotn pointed its stow finger a t tne as I passed—though want and destitution* and every element of earthly misery, save only crime, met rny waking eye from day lr> day ;—not for the brightest and noblest wreath that ever encircled a statesman’s btow—not, if some angel commissioned by heaven, or- some demon rather sent fresh from hell, to lest the resisting strength of virtuous resolu tion, should tempt me back, with all the wealth and all the honors which a world can bestow; nol (or all thal time and all that earth can give, would I cast from me this precious pledge of a liberated mind, this talisman against temptation, and plunge again into the dangers dnd the terrors which once beset my path : So help me heaven, sir, I would spurn beneath my very feet all the gifts the universe could offer, and live and die as I am, poor but sober. T H E COST OF SMALL GLA S S E S . A report recently made by the New Or leans Temperance Society, presents some striking facts relative to the pecuniary as well as the moral cost of practice at the tavern bars- of that city. The general statement will, no doubt, answer more or less, allowing for the differences of population, for other cities, Wo note jt, therefore, that some idea may be formed by comparison of the profligacy of the drinking system. The New Orleans Bee affords an abstract of the Report in question, which enables us to present the results briefly. In tbat city, as elsewhere, it is correctly asserlpd, that tbe most fruitful cause of crime is intemperance. Among the poorer classes, .‘our-fifths of the deaths are traced to ibis mighty evil. The average number of persons daily brought before the. Police Magistrates is twenty-five, or about nine thousand annually. In one hundred and fifty inquests held by the Coroner, the death of one hundred and thirty subjects was ascribed to drink. These state ments will not appear exaggerated when we look, tothe facilities which the tavern license system affords to the tippling portion o f the community to exercise tlieir taste. There are in New Orleans, eight hundred and Ihitty-three drain-shops. Some of the splendid establishments may not like this name, but we know of none other so appro priate to the places where intoxicating liquors are retailed by the glass. Of these S33, five hundred and seventy-four pay a lax of $300, and two hundred and filiy-nine $100a year. These data afford the means of calculating the cost to the community of these worse than worthless establishments, which is approach ed in ihe following figures : Cost ofthe grog shops, $3,196,940. Loss of labor of persons abending in and dependant oil, Loss of labor on 400 persons con fined in j dl, Loss on slaves affected bv illicit trade with coffee-houses, slaves at $40. ‘Administration of criminal police, Coroner’s department. Public cbatiiy, orphan asylum, and municipal giants, 1,520,224 146,000 200,000 100,000 19,000 50,000 Total. $5,223,125 The above we take just as we find it, and if it be an exaggerated statement—even if it exceed about one-third the mark and we call tbe aggregate in round numbers, $3,500,000 —what a startling view docs it present of tbe burden, which the habit of drain drinking imposes on a single community of about ninety or o>.e hundred thousand inhabitants. Three millions five hundred thousand dollars for grog-shops in New Orleans alone!— Philadelphia North American. {£/“ One of our members in telling his experience, says, “ My wife had often threat ened to leave me on account of ill-treatment through intemperance. Oue night I went, home pretty drunk—she was silting by a few coals which were almost extinguished, prying. As I tumbled into a chair she ran to the door, opened it and exclaimed mote in sorrow than in anger—*4 God bless you!— but good bye,\* She left tbe house, and J have never seen her since—and if there are any here who have driven a good wife away broken-hearted 0 * account of drunkenness, they caD sympathisa with tue.”— N. Y. Organ.
