Black locks, whose ends were crisp and brown,

Hung over his brow's perpetual ft-own,

And his fire seamed cheeks so sharp and thin

Were tortured into a dismal grin.

Small, rough and keen, like the face of a rasp,

He looked, as he gave my hand a grasp,

" Ha! ha! " said the fellow, " my little chuck Stephen,

I am glad to see you ; how are you this even ?

My lad, I believe you're a right true blue ;

At least, I have heard such stories of you ;

For they tell me, wherever I stop to inquire,

You're * smart as a steel trap ' and * keen as a brier; *

Now come, my*ducky, let's just take a clinch

At wrestle, and plague on the one who'll flinch.**



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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER. . 157



"No, no," said I; ** you're alone and a stranger,

And I fear you are putting yourself in danger;

Besides, I reckon that men have enough ill

On earth, without breaking their necks in a scuffle." —

"You damn%** said he ; "you're a coward, that's flat."—

" No, not by a great sight ; you needn't talk that." —

" I can throw you," said he- " No, you can't," I replied.

He louder asserted, but still I denied.

" What is more," said he, ** if you recollect right,

I have thrown you before, and have done it to- night."—

" Tbtt'^e thrown me ? " said I j " what devil are you ? " —

" At your service," said he, and his breath turned blue.

ye powers I 'twas Old Nick, as the cloven hoof,
Just seen in the smoking grass, gave proof;
And I marked liis horns in the curls of his hair.
Standing out IVom the straggling locks half bare,
And plainly perceived, by a thick, heavy wale
On the seat of his breeches, the kink of his tail!

Now for life or death, — no room to pause.
For Tie seized me firm with his vice-like claws.

1 planted my heel and pressed my lip,

And quick closed in with an answering grip.

I laid one hand on his shoulder, hard,

Bony, and ridged, and lightning-scarred ;

Bent over his right, and my left arm plied,

Like a tough oak withe, to his burning side ;

And we bowed, and tugged, and writhed, and wrung.

And harder and harder we hugged and clung;

Till the smoke of his nostrils rose like a mist.

And the sweat of my brow on his hot brow hissed I

My heels tore up the green grass sod, .

But it blackened and withered wherevet Ae trod.



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158 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAIvER.



The struggle was stern and the struggle was long ;

The flend grew fierce, and my arm grew strong ;

And we wheeled and bent, till by chance a root

Was colled round the demon's cloven foot,

When I bore him down with a furious shock

*Twixt a fallen oak and a jagged rock.

So swift he fell, that the sudden stroke

Peeled off the bark from the tough black oak,

And made the moss on the rough rock smoke.

Oh, then the old devil so ready to curse a

Poor fellow before it, cried stoutly for mercy :

" Let me up I fair play ! 'twas the root which threw;

Let me up I my fall is no credit to you." —

" No, not till you'll: swear by the heat of your den

That you never will offer to throW me again."

But the fellow was spunky and gave no pledge;

So I held him snug to the log and ledge ;

And he yelled and roared, and rdared and yelled;

But the louder he shouted the harder I held ;

Till, woe for the thought ! his wits came back,

(For the devil has wit, though his servants may lack).

And as a last hope, to escape from his jam.

He began to cry out for his old friend Ham.

" Ben Ham ! Ben Ham ! " did the old rip yell,

** Come quick, or this Steve will make orphans In hell

I have stood by you through thin and through thfbk,

Now just lend a hand to your dear Old Nick."

The voice went forth to the ears of Ben,

And out he rushed from his blood-red den;

His grateful bosom all worked to a flutter

As on he sped over field and gutter,

And rock, and wall, and fence, to lend

A' helping'hand to his *' good old friend."



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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER. 159



I caught one glimpse of the coming foe
As I bowed to hold the demon low.
"And now," thought I, " I tad better be off,
For one of these chaps^ at a time, is enough.
I can stand my hand with a dozen of de'ils,
But you ! good faith, I must take to my heels."
So I seized the log with all my strength,
And rolled it over the fiend at length.
And left him writhing beneath its weight,
As I ran from the fear of a far worse fate.

On came poor Ham, in filial wrath,
Foaming and cursing along his path;
And the last I saw, as I glanced o'er the track,
He was rolling the log from the devil's back.

STBPHEBT*



Vm Too Young.

Character^. — Jane and GEORas.

Jane, I think, George, I'm too young to be a teetCH
taler; it's a very good thing for you, but I'm too young,"
said Jane "Wright to her cousin, who was spending the
Christmas holidays at her parents' house.

George, Are you too young to know right from
wrong, Jane ?

Jane, Why, now I think you are laughing at me,
George! Why, I'm in the second class at school. I
shall be ten next birthday, and you ask me if I know
right from wrong I

George, Well, Jane, don't be angry. Tou complained
of being too young just now 5 but if you know right from



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160 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER.



wrong, why, you know total abstinence from strong
drinks is right, and. drinking them is wrong. And if you
are not too young to know, you can't be too young to do
what is right. '

Jane. I never do drink, George, only a sip of wine,
when Invited out, or there should be a party at the
house, and a little taste of punch with Uncle John, when
I go to see him ; that's all.

George. Are you in the habit of often seeing people
drink these drinks ?

Jane. Oh, no, George; my parents don't use them
except when they have a party ; and it is not often I go
to Uncle John's or go out.

George. Why, Jane, in that case, you take them as
often as you can get them ; and the drunkard does no
more.

Jane. Dear me I how harshly you speak, — comparing
me to a drunkard ! Who ever heard of a little girl being
a drunkard?

George. Little girls grow to be women ; and women
are sometimes so lost as to be drunkards. I have read
In the works of a great poet these words, ** The child is ^
father to the man ; " meaning that the habits we get in
childhood grow with us. Do you think the strip of
muslin you are hemming would ever be done by you.
If you never began it?

Jane. What a simple question I Why, to be sure it
would not.

George, Well, simple as it is, the* case of poor lost
drunkards is like that strip of maslin. Every drop they
took, ftbm the very first beginning, helped on to the com-
pletion of their bad habits, as surely as every stitch you
take helps on till the whole is completed. Is not that
plain?

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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER 161



Jane. Why, yes, it seems so.

George, Everything, Jane, both good and evil, mast
have a beginning ; and the habits we get in childhood
are often so strong, we can never throw them off. You
mentioned just now Uncle John and his punch ; and you
know he learned to take strong drink in his youth in the
navy, and now he is quite disabled with gout. What is
the reason he does not become a teetotaler?

Jane. Oh! he says he is too old, and that he learned
to drink in his youth.

George. He was not too young to learn to drink 1
You think yourself too young to learn to abstain.

Jane. Oh ! if I ever thought for a moment I should be
a drunkard, I would not think myself too young.

George. And do you suppose any one ever does think
of becoming a drunkard?

Jane. Why, no ! I dare say they get into a bad habit
before they are at all aware of it. But, George, how
could I refuse to take wine at a party, or when at
uncle's ? I should be laughed at.

George, And would you do wrong for fear of being
laughed at ? Oh I that Is not like a child that reads her
Bible. You know you should do your duty, through good
report and through evil report. Some wicked people
laugh at religion ; would you be ashamed of religion on
that account ?

Jane. Oh ! no ; for our Lord has said, " Whosoever
Is ashamed of me before men, of him I will be ashamed."

George. Well, then, why be ashamed of teetotalism,
which is a plain carrying out of our Lord's command,
" Do good, as ye have opportunity, to all men " ?

Jane. Well, I think I have been wrong.

George. I think you have, Jane. You are not too
young to read the Bible, and to understand parts of it;
11

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162 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER.



neither are you too young to be a Christian. How^ then,
can you be too young to understand this plain fact that,
if you would forever avoid the snare of intemperance
yourself, and set a good example ©f perfect sobriety to
others, you must abstain from drinks that cause intem-
perance ?

Jane, Well, George, I thought it did not much matter
about children being abstainers ; but you have taught me
better. I see that we are never too young to do that
which is right.

BBY. J. B. DUNN.



Go, Feel what I have JFeU.

Go, feel what I have felt ;

Go, bear what I have borne ;
Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt.

And the cold, proud world's scorn.
Thus struggle on from year to year,
Thy sole relief the scalding tear.

Go, weep as I have wept,

O'er & loved father's fall ;
See every cherished promise swept, —

Youth's sweetness turned to gall ;

Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way
That led me up to manhood's day.

Go, kneel as I have knelt.

Implore, beseech, and pray;
Strive the besotted heart to melt.

The downward course to stay,—



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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER. 163



Be cast with bitter corse aside —

Thy prayers burlesqued — thy tears defled.

Go, stand where I have stood,

And see the strong man bow ;
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in bloodf

And cold and livid brow ;
Go, catch his wandering glance, atid see
There mirrored his soul's misery.

Go, hear what I have heard, —

The sobs of sad despair,
As memory feeling's fount hath stirred^

And its revealings there
Have told him what he might have been.
Had he the drnnkard's fate foreseen.

Go to thy mother's side.

And her crushed spirit cheer, ^—
Thine own deep anguish hide, —

Wipe from her cheek the tear.
Mark her dimmed eye, — her ftirrowed broWy -
The gray that streaks her dark hair now, —
Her toil-worn Arame, — her trembling limb,—
And trace the ruin back to him
Whose plighted faith, in early youth,
Promised eternal love and truth;
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
This promise to the deadly cup ;
And let her down, ftom love and light,
From all that made her pathway bright.
And chained her there, 'mid want and strife,
That lowly thing, — a drunkard's wife !
And stamped on childhood's brow so mild,
That withering blight, ^ a drunkard's child.



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164 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKEB.



Go, hear and see, and feel and know,"
All that my soul hath felt or known;

Then look within the wine-cup's glow» -
See if its brightness can atone :

Think if its flavor you would try,

If all proclaimed, 'tis drink and die.

Tell me I hate the bowl, —

Hate is a feeble word, —
I loathe,— abhor, — my very soul

By strong disgust is stirred
Whene'er I se^, or hear, or tell,
Of that dark beverage of helL



Temperate DHnhera*

It is said that very many drink moderately and gaard-
edly through a long course of years, preserving to old
age a sound constitution and vigorous intellect, which
could not be the case if the natural effects of alcoholic
drinks were such as have been depicted.

Now, that some men live long in spite of moderate
drinking no more proves that practice safe and healthful
than the fact that some soldiers who fought through all
Napoleon's wars are still alive proves fighting a vocation
conducive to longevity. That some persist in drinking
without drinking immoderately is true ; but the natura*
tendency of drinking at all is nevertheless from less to
more, and from more to indisputable excess. There are
many vices of which the natural, obvious penalty is not
Inflicted on every one who commits them, yet no man
doubts the connection between the sin and the punish-

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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER. 165



ment. Some men steal so moderately and slyly that
they are never detected by man ; yet no one doubts that
stealing is a crime, and that every crime meets its proper
punishment. That some men drink liquors yet do not
die drunkards is true, as it also is that some habitual
drunkards live to old age ; yet it is none the less true
that drinking leads to drunkenness, and drunkenness
shortens life. The laws of the universe are vindicated
alike by their usual consequences and the apparent ex-
ceptions. Thousands die prematurely every year in
consequence of drinking who never were thoroughly
drunk In their lives. One man drinks three glasses and
loses his reason ; another drinks six, or even ten, and
seems wholly unaffected. Men say of the latter, ** He
Las a strong head;" and cigar-pufllng, wine-bibbing
youngsters are apt to envy him ; yet he is far more likely
to die in consequence of drinking than his neighbor
whom three glasses knock over. The former retains the
poison in his system, and it silently preys upon him; in
the latter. Nature, revolting at the deadly potion, makes
a convulsive effort and throws it off. He is damaged by
the liquor, not by its ejectment, whatever he may fancy.
Intoxication is a kindly though ungentle ministration,
whose object is relief and recovery. Drinking is not
evil because it produces intoxication, but intoxication Is
ordained to limit the physical evils of drinking. Let no
firee drinker, therefore, glory in his ability to drink much
without intoxication ; for, in the natural course of events,
he will need his coffin much sooner than if liquor easily
overcame him.

Banish, if you can. all thought of God and his judg-
ments, — forget or deny your immortality, — deride the
idea of restricting or qualifying your own gratification
for the sake of kindred, friends, country or race,— regard

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166 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER.



yourself merely as an animal that has happened here to
sport a brief summer, then utterly perish, — and still Is
It not a palpable mistake to drinic anything that Intoxi-
cates? Why should it intoxicate if it be not essentially
a poison ? Is there any other substance claimed to be
innocent and wholesome in moderate quantities which
drowns the reason if the amount taken be increased?
Why seek enjoyment in such a perilous and dabious way,
— a path paved with the bones of millions after millions
who have fallen in pursuing it — when innocent and
healthful pleasures everywhere surround and invite you?
Lived there ever a human being, who regretted at death
that he had through life refrained from the use of stim-
ulating drinks? and how countless the millions who have
with reason deplored such use as the primary, fatal mis-
take of their lives I Surely, from the radiant heavens
above us, the dust once quickened beneath us, comes to
the attentive ear a voice, which impressively admon*

IsheS, " BE WISE WHILE IT IS CALLED TO-DaY.

nORACB 6RBELBT.



A Modem JOrinking Song*

Fill high the bowl with Fusil Oil I

With Tannin let your cup3 be crowned!
If Strychnine gives relief to toil.

Let Strychnine's generous juice abound!
Let Oil of Vitriol cool your brains,

Or animated atoms brew, —
And fill your arteries, hearts, and veins,

With glee, — and infusorial Glue I

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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKEB. 167



Vine ! That died out in 'h^, —

What fool would have it back? And how?
I'he " cup that iioill inebriate

And never cheer," they sell us now.
" The conscious water saw its God

And blushed." — What of it? Don't you feel
That water knows the dragger's rod,

And blushes now -— with Cochineal I

Ah-h ! Fragrant fUme of Kreosote I

Bewitching bowl of Prussian Blue I
Who would not soothe his parching throat

With your mild oflfspring *' Mountain Dew"?
Stronger than aught that racked the frame

And shook the mighty brain of Burns,
Surely ye*ll set our heads aflame,

Whene'er his festal day returns !

Bring on the Beer, — fresh Copperas foam!

With Alum mixed in powder fin^
How could my foolish fancy roam

In search of whiter froth than thine?
Thy Indian Berry's Essence spread

Through amber wavelets, sparkling clear,
Benumbs dull care, — strikes Feeling dead, —

And narcotizes Shame and Fear I

Far down thy bubbling depths. Champagne I

Drowned Honor, Love, and Beauty lie, —
They fought the unequal fight in vain, —

Shall we, too, merely drink, -— and die?
Sweet Acetate of Lead, forbid !

Fill every drink with pangs, — and tell
What tortures could — and always did —

Anticipate the stings of Hell I



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168 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER.



Then drink, hoys ! drink ! We never can

Drink younger ! And we never will
Be men — or aught reserabiing man,

While poisoners have the power to kill 1
Amen I — From Frenzy's screech of mirth

To maudlin Sorrow's drivelling flow,
We'll rave, through scenes unmatched on earth,

And not to be surpassed below.

BOSTON POST.



When may a Scotchman he called JDrnnk*

AS TOLD BY ALEX. SIMPSON.

" Well, doctor, pray give us a definition of what you
consider being fou, that we may know In future when a
cannie Scot may, wtth propriety, be termed drunk/*

** Well, gentlemen," said the doctor, " that is rather a
kittle question to answer, for you must know there is a
great diversity of opinion on that subject. Some say
that a man is sober so long as he can stand upon his
legs. An Irish fWend of mine, a fire-eating, hard-drink-
ing oaptain of dragoons, once declared to me on his
honor as a soldier and a gentleman, that he would never
allow any Mend of his to be called drunk till he saw him
trying to light his pipe at the pump. And others there
be, men of learning and respectability too, who are of
opinion that a man has a right to consider himself sober
as long as he can lie fiat on his back without holding on
by the ground. For my own part, I am a man of moder-
ate opinions, and would allow that a man was fou with-
out being just so far gone as any of these. But with
your leave, gentlemen, I'll tell you a <tory about the



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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER. 169



Laird of Bonniemoon, that will be a good illustration of
what I call being fou.

" The Laird of Bonn|emoon was gae fond of hlsbot-
tle, — in short, just a poor drunken body, as I said
afore. On one occasion he was asked to dine with Lord

R , a neighbor of his, and his lordship, being well

acquainted with the laird's dislike to small drinks, or- *
dered a bottle of cherry brandy to be set before him
after dinner, Instead of port, which he always drank in
preference to claret, when nothing better was to be got.
The laird thought this flne, heartsome stuff, and on he
went filling his glass like the rest, and telling his cracks,
and ever the more he praised his lordship's port. It was
a fine, full-bodied wine, and lay well on the stomach,
not like that poisonous stuff, claret, that made a body
feel ^s if he had swallowed a nest of puddocks. Well,
gentlemen, the laird had finished one bottle of cherry
brandy, or, as his lordship called it, *his particular
port,' and had just tossed off a glass of the second bot-
tle, which he declared to be even better than the first,
when his old confidential servant, Watty, came staving
into the room, and, making his best bow, announced
that the laird's horse was at^the door. * Get out of that,
ye fause loon,' cried the laird, pulling off his wig and
flinging it at Watty's head. * Do na ye see, ye blether-
ing cuddle, that Pm just beginning my second bottle ?*
* But, maister,' says Watty, scratching his head, * it's
maist twaV o'clock.' — * Well, what though it be ? * said
the laird, turning up his glass with drunken gravity,
while the rest of the company were like to split their
sides with laughing at him and Watty. * It canna be
ony later, my man, so just reach me my wig, and let the
naig bide a wee.* Well, gentlemen, it was a cold, frosty
Dight, and Watty soon tired kicking his heels at the



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170 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER-



dooi.'; so, in a little while, back he comes, and says he,
*Malster, maister, its amaist one o'clock!* * Well,
Watty,* says the laird, with a hiccup, — for he was far
gone by this time, — *it will never be any earlier,
Watty, my man, and that's a comfort, so you may just
rest yoursel' a wee while langer, till I finish my bottled
A ftiU belly makes a stiff back, you know, Watty.* Watty
was by this time, dancing mad ; so, after waiting another
half hour, back he comes, and says he, * Laird, laird, as
true as death the sun's rising.- * Weel, Watty,* says the
laird, looking awful wise, and trying with both hands to
fill his glass, < let him rise, my man, he has farther to
gang the day than either you or me, Watty.*

This answer fairly durafounded poor Watty, and he
gave it up in despair. But at last the bottle was fin-
ished; the laird was lifted into the saddle, and off he
rode in high glee, thinking all the time the moon was
the sun, and that he had fine daylight for his journey.
*Hech, Watty, my man,' says the laird, patting his
stomach and speaking awftil thick, * we were nane the
worse for that second bottle this frosty momin*.*

" * Faith,' says Watty, blowing his fingers, and looking
as blue as a bilberry, ' your honor is maybe nane the
worse for it, but I'm nane the better ; I wish I was.'
Well, on they rode fu' cannily, the laird gripping hard at
the horse's mane, and rolling about like a sack of meal ;
for the cold air was beginning to make the spirits tell on
him. At last they came to a bit of a brook that crossed
the road, and the laird's horse, being pretty well used to
have his own way, stopped short, and put down his
head to take a drink. This had the effect to make the
poor laird lose his balance, and away he went over the
horse's ears into the very middle of the brook. The
laird, hom.>st man, had just sense enough to hear the

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THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER. 171

splash, and knew that something was wrong; but he was
that drunk that he did not In the least suspect that it
was himself. * Watty,' says he, sitting up in the middle
of the stream, and stammering out the words with great
difficulty, * Watty, ray man, there is surely something
tumbled into the brook, Watty.* — * Faith, you may say
that,' replied Watty, like to fall off his horse with laugh-
ing, * for it's just yourself, laird ! ' — * Hout, fle ; no,
Watty,* cried the laird, with a hiccup between every
word, * it surely canna be me, Watty, for Vm here!***

"Now. gentlemen," continued the doctor, "here is a
case in which I would allow a man to be drunk, although
he had neither lost his speech, nor the use of his limbs.**



Onward*



Onward, soldiers, in the l^tcle

i« ought by temperance armies strong;
Onward, be not faint or weary.

Right shall conquer over wrong.
Onward, gird afresh thine armor,

Never rest and never yield ;
Onward, though dark clouds may hov</

Round the bloodless battle -field.
Onward, nobly stem the current,

Stay the source of vice and crime?
Onward, win the lost and erring

To the heights of bliss sublime.
Onward, heroes gone before thee

Shout the great inspiring cail ;
Onward cry, let all men hear tnee ;

Perhaps thy voice ncdiy save a fa-<'

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172 THE TEMPERANCE SPEAKER-



Onward, multitudes are crying,

Rugged, bleeding, bruised, and sore;
Onward, thousands now are dying,

Followed by ten thousand more.
Onward, for thy God is mighty,

He will help thee in the strife ;
Onward, for the angels cheer thee,

Never ground thy arms with life.
Onward, in thy Saviour's footsteps,

Tread each hoary evil down ;
Onward, tliough ten thousands mock tikes^

Never heed the jeer or frown.
Onward, for the day is breaking.

Round thee beams of light appear;
Onward, every fortress storming,

Till the way of truth is clear.
Onward, see the foe is faltering.

Push the battle to the gate ;
Onward, shout the watchword cheerlag^

Seal the sinAil tyrant's fate.
Onward, for thy life is passing,

Soon the time for labor ends.
Onward, for the heaven of glory

For all toil will make amends.
Onward, upward, higher rising,

Till the Master's voice you hear;
Onward, till in endless glory,

In his presence you appear.