University of Virginia Library

AN HUMBLE ADDRESS TO THE MARRIAGEABLE
LADIES OF THE UNITED STATES.

Note.—The following paper was suggested by seeing it repeatedly
stated in American papers, that Societies had been formed in different
parts of the Union, wherein young ladies pledged themselves to
discourage the addresses of all young men who were known to have
used spirituous liquors; some excluded wine, and I think if they were
right in the one case they were right in the other; for whether a man
absorbs wine or spirits in sufficient quantities to produce intoxication,
is very immaterial. But, indeed, as all wines contain an admixture of
spirit (more or less), they come under both the letter and spirit of the
prohibition.

Amiable young ladies!—Is this thing so? Has
the decree indeed irrevocably gone forth, that
throughout the United States bachelor and brandy-drinker
shall henceforth become synonymous terms;
that the cup of wedded bliss shall never be quaffed
by him who quaffs of any other cup (tea and coffee
excepted)—that an eternal line of separation shall
be drawn between those ancient friends, Hymen

and Bacchus—and that the nursery and the cellar
shall never more be found conjoined under the same
roof? What nest of malevolent spinsters, cut off
themselves from all maternal hopes; or what congregation
of thin, dyspeptic, water-drinking youths
has persuaded you to the adoption of this suicidal
course, destructive alike of your own comfort and
happiness, and the comfort and happiness of numerous
worthy, hearty fellows, I am lost in conjecture.
Can the holders of shares in the Manhattan
and other water companies have any concern in
the getting up and promulgation of this unnatural
resolution—this “sharp, biting statute?” But let
who will be concerned, I will never believe that
such a resolution will or can become universal, or
ever attain to the firm texture of the laws of the
Medes and Persians, which alter not. What! have
all the bright eyes, blooming cheeks, and warm
hearts of the damosels of the western continent, to be
in future monopolized by cold, watery, fish-blooded
young men, incapable of a glass or two, or occasionally
upwards; and has all hilarity, good fellowship,
decent conviviality, with their concomitants,
toasts, songs, and sentiments, to be prohibited under
penalty of being the sole occupant of a four-post or
other bedstead? My dears, you could never have
given the thing a thought when you vowed yourselves
members of such a cruel and barbarous association.
You have been led away by morbid and
exaggerated descriptions of bloated intemperance,
and the madness of intoxication—of neglect and
poverty and misery—of sitting sorrowfully by the
lonely fire, listening to the dull ticking of the
clock, until some brute, whom you have dignified
by the name of husband, reels homeward from his
nightly debauch; and these horrid fancies have
haunted your imaginations until you have come to
the conclusion that there is a much more intimate
connexion between virtue and cold water than
really exists. Trust me, a man may drink seven
tumblers per diem of the pure fluid, and be no
saint; and another may take his social glass, enjoy
his bottle and his friend, and on high festivals get
merry, mellow, comfortable, elevated, sublimated, or
whatever the word is, without at all forfeiting his
general claims to sobriety, or trespassing upon the
duties of a husband or a father. And here is the
radical defect of temperance or abstinence societies
generally; the line of demarcation is too strongly
drawn—there is no neutral ground. It is “touch
not, taste not,” or else a very undeserved opprobrium
(especially in small villages), is attached to
him who either touches or tastes, thus rendering
him careless and reckless from a sense of the severity
and injustice of the stigma attached to perhaps
no very censurable degree of self indulgence.
According to the homely proverb, “a man may as
well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb;” and he that
gets no credit for moderation, is very apt to plunge
into excess.

But you, gentle ladies, have improved upon this
unjustifiable severity. What are the fulminations
of any body of he-creatures to your terrible Malthusian
determination—your fearful resolution to put
a stop either to the consumption of ardent spirits, or
to any increase in the census? The legislature
ought to look to it: the only comfort is, that reasonable
doubts may be entertained of the practicability
of your scheme; for it scarcely “stands within
the prospect of belief” that hearts will be torn asunder
and deep-rooted affections dissevered upon the
discovery of the swain's having incautiously taken
off a tumbler of brandy and water! It is barely
possible that you will have the firmness of nerve to
really discard him for evermore for such a transgression,
giving him mournful occasion to exclaim
with the poet—

Bethink you, too, what a glorious inquisitorial system
you will establish for the amusement of maiden
aunts and bosom friends, who will be for ever on
the alert to crush your schemes of happiness in the
bud by instituting unceasing and unrelenting inquiries
for the purpose of establishing the important
fact of your beloved having swallowed improper
compounds. And what a truly original foundation
you will lay for the exercise of the talents of the
future native novelist, who, in copying real life, will
doubtless frequently have to detail such scenes as
the following:

“Henry unexpectedly entered the room, and to
his utter surprise and dismay found Laura literally
steeped in tears. Her eyes, which were red with
weeping, formed a curious contrast to the ashy paleness
of her cheeks; and, although it was long past
the hour of dinner, she had yet her morning gown
on, her hair was still in paper, and every thing
about her spoke of sorrow and desolation and utter
disregard of personal appearances.

“Henry approached, and by a regular series of
tender solicitations and delicate assiduities, sought
to win from her the cause of her distress. But vain
and fruitless were his manifold endeavors. For a
quarter of an hour she spoke not—listened not, to him
whose every word had heretofore been a charm—a

spell to hang and dwell upon. At length her grief
found vent in an audible torrent of exclamations
and interrogatories—

“ `And can you, Henry—you who are the sole
author of my misery, pretend ignorance?—you,
who have blighted all my young hopes of happiness;—you,
who have betrayed my trusting affection—you
who have—'

“ `Me!' exclaimed the now really alarmed youth,
`what the deuce have I done?'

“ `And do you ask?—you who have created an
insuperable barrier to our union,—you who have
placed a chasm between us that can never be overleapt—a
bar that can never be taken down—a—'

“ `Good heavens! what have I done?'

“ `You have,' sobbed the agitated girl, almost
choked with contending emotions, `you have
drunk a gin-sling!'

“ `I know it; and what of that?'

“ `Unthinking, cruel man! by so doing you have
wrecked my peace of mind for ever, and lost yourself
the most affectionate and devoted of wives. Did
I not tell you—answer me—Saturday fortnight,—
that I had become a member of the Auxiliary
Branch Anti-marrying-young-men-who-drink-ardent-spirits
Society—that I have vowed,' ” &c.

Then what a climax will the reconciliation scene
be—

“ `And you solemnly promise that you will never
hereafter drink a mint julep?

“ `Never!'

“ `Or brandy-punch?'

“ `Never!'

“ `Or whiskey-toddy?'

“ `Never, never!'

“ `Or a gin-sling?'

“ `Oh! never!'

“ `I am satisfied! We may yet be happy!' ”

And seriously, my dears, do you expect that any
rational, sensible, spirited man—any man in fact
worth having, is going to submit to have his judgment
impugned, and his discretion and self-command
rated so low, as to be required to bind himself
by oaths and vows to refrain from what he does not
consider wrong? But I submit it to your candor and
good sense, whether the moderate and occasional
use of stimulating liquors is so dangerous and pernicious
as it is the fashion to think, or affect to
think, they are. I include wine, of course; for the
non-prohibition of wine by temperance societies is
one of their most objectionable features;—it is a
partial and one-sided exemption to gain the countenance
of the wealthy and influential. The rich man

seeks the stimulus within his reach—the poor man
does no more; the aim and end of both is excitement,
and the difference in the means and effect is
so trivial in taking a general view of the subject,
that it is scarcely worthy consideration. But if the
rules and regulations of such societies lean favorably
towards the rich and affluent, there are higher
and more impartial authorities which do not. “It
is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes
strong drink: lest they drink, and forget the law,
and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.
Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish,
and wine unto those who be of heavy hearts.” I
do not here wish to cast the slightest imputation of
hypocrisy, or impute unworthy motives to the friends
and organizers of temperance societies. I believe
many of them to be just and good men, ardently
desirous of promoting the happiness of their fellow-creatures;
but I do think that they in many cases
mistake the means, and in all attempt too much.
At the same time, doubtless, there are many amongst
them, who, from a natural distaste, for wine or spirits,
or from possessing a weak or debilitated constitution,
which imperatively forbids their indulging
therein, make a virtue of necessity, and take credit
to themselves for an enforced forbearance. And it
is a curious feature in human nature, that those
very persons are generally more intolerant than
those who really make a sacrifice by abstaining
from what they relish. But so it is.

Leaving, however, these matters to be debated by
others, let us, ladies, take a quiet, reasonable, worldly,
common-sense view of the question. We will
all, I dare say, agree that there is not under the sun
a more degraded creature than a drunkard—a sot
—a sponge that absorbs indiscriminately all quantities
and qualities of liquors that come in his way;
a fellow like a desert sand, “that drinks, and drinks,
and still is dry”—a bond-slave to a pot and glass.
Neither will we disagree in our estimation of another
very common and unamiable species of animal,
to wit—the noisy, coarse young man who is
continually hanging about taverns drinking juleps,
smoking cigars, canvassing the merits of plays and
players, or wrangling and disputing about southern
nullification—a mixture of ruffianism and puppyism;
the sort of person who is continually enjoying
himself by getting into what he calls “famous
sprees” or “duced good larks,” which means committing
gratuitous impertinences and getting well
kicked, beaten, and put into the watchhouse therefor;
liquor only calls forth and fully developes the
natural rankness of the thoughts and feelings of
such a creature; and the sooner it kills him the

pleasanter for society. But thee is another class
more worthy of your attention, who have not altogether
foresworn the use of stimulants. Men who
from keeping generally sober, are the more keenly
alive to a little pleasurable elevation on particular
occasions, their faculties and capacities for enjoyment
being fresh and unworn—neither starved by
total abstinence nor blunted and cloyed by habitual
indulgence. In this class are to be found some of
the choicest specimens of humanity; the wit, the
poet, and the philosopher, the unobtrusive student
and the gay lively man of the world. Such persons
seldom or never become drunkards—they have
too much good taste; and is it not uncharitable in
you, or any one else, to attempt to affix a stigma on
them because they sometimes, on festive occasions,
seek relief from the wearisome monotony of the
world in a bumper? I take it for granted that
nearly all men like excitement, and women too.
True there are some schemes of quiet and rational
happiness which omit this article entirely; but then
they are generally so very quiet and rational, that
people are apt to fall asleep in the enjoyment of
them. Your sensibilities, ladies, are quicker and
finer than ours, and the desired sensation is more
easily obtained; for instance, company, a cup of
delicate green tea, and a modicum of harmless
scandal, cause your eyes to sparkle, adorn your
cheeks with smiles and dimples, set your tongues
a-going, and induce precisely that state of body
and mind which gentlemen experience after a glass
or so. Suppose, in the midst of your sipping and
chatting, the warm, comfortable tea-urn was to be
removed, and a pitcher of cold water substituted in
its place! “Will you take another cup?” Ah!
how your teeth chatter at the mere thoughts of
such a thing, and what a piece of wanton barbarity
you consider the exchange. Well, ladies, suppose
a few decent, inoffensive gentlemen seated round a
table, each with a glass of sparkling wine, or, why
mince the matter, whiskey-punch before him.
The good liquor begins to do its office; the “flow
of reason and the feast of soul” commence; the
jest, the song, the anecdote go round—the petty
carking cares of business are forgotten, and the
tangible evils of life gradually fade away into thin,
unsubstantial vapors. Their glasses are out—fill them
again. Suppose at this stage of the business some
spare, dissatisfied man conveyed away unobserved
the pleasing liquids which they had been drinking,
replenishing at the same time every glass with the
choicest spring water. “Gentlemen,” says he, “I
will give you a toast—Temperance Societies, and
success to their endeavors.” What is the result?
Why several worthy gentlemen that were about to
be very happy, become suddenly uncomfortable, go
home in a bad humor, and quarrel with their wives
about small domestic grievances. How much is
virtue into pocket by this?

At public dinners (such an one as was given some
time since to our gifted townsman, Washington Irving,)
would you excommunicate wine and spirits?
Would you have all generous toasts and sentiments
washed down with cold water? What an agreeable
fervor would pervade the company! At patriotic
celebrations, too, think, oh think, of the
“immortal memory of George Washington” in pure
spring, or the “American fair,” in a bumper of
the best rock, Manhattan, or other waters of local
notoriety! Is such a scheme feasible; and, if it
were, is it desirable? Have the lords of the creation
to follow the example of the cattle of the fields
and other inferior animals? Then why was a
discriminating palate given to man? Water is
highly commendable and agreeable in many respects.
It is useful in poetry, and poetical in reality.
In a landscape, for instance, what life and animation
does it impart to the prospect; how sweetly it
gurgles and tinkles in a rivulet; and into what a
resplendent blaze of beauty it heightens a fine sunset!
But when presented to the eye on a small

scale,—that is, in a tumbler—it becomes insignificant
and contemptible, and altogether unworthy
the notice of any person pretending to rationality.
Oh ladies, ladies, rescind your resolutions; but at
the same time beware—beware of men that drink
alone, and of those who drink standing at the bars
of taverns; such persons drink for the gross love of
liquor; beware of gluttons, sots and habitual tipplers;
but also beware of unadulterated water-drinkers.