But again, perhaps you say, No one is obliged to use the spirit that is made. But remember, that you make it only to be used. You make it with the desire, with the hope, with the expectation that it will be used. You know it has been used by thousands—by millions—and has strewed the land with desolation, and peopled hell with its victims; and you cannot but acknowledge that you would at once cease to make the liquor, did you not hope it would continue to be used. Indeed, you must see that just in proportion to your success will be the amount of mischief done to your fellow-men.
It seems hardly needful to say that the foregoing considerations are all strictly applicable to such as furnish the materials for the distiller. Were these withheld, his degrading occupation would of course cease. By suffering, then, the fruits of your industry to pass into his hands, you perpetuate his work of death. You share all his guilt, and shame, and curse. And remember, too, that the bushel of grain, the barrel of cider, the hogshead of molasses, for which you thus gain a pittance, may be returned from the fiery process only to hasten the infamy and endless ruin of a beloved son, or brother, or friend.
Nor is the crime of the retailer of ardent spirit essentially different. He takes the poison from the distiller, and insidiously deals it out to his fellow-men. It is truly stirring to one’s indignation to notice his variety of artifice for rendering it enticing. His occupation is one which the civil authorities have, in some places, with a noble consistency, ceased to tolerate; and one which must soon be put down by the loud voice of public sentiment.
Indeed, the retailer, the distiller, and he who furnishes the materials, must be looked upon as forming a triple league, dangerous alike to private and social happiness, and to the very liberties of the nation. And an awakened people cannot rest till the deadly compact is sundered. Why not, then, anticipate a little the verdict and the vengeance of a rising tone of public sentiment, and at once proclaim the unholy alliance dissolved? Why not anticipate the verdict of an infinitely higher tribunal—why not believe God’s threatening, and escape the eternal tempest that lowers for him who putteth the cup to his neighbor’s lips? Why not coöperate promptly in a public reform that is regarded with intense interest in heaven, on earth, and in hell?
O review, as men of reason, and conscience, and immortality, this whole business. And if you have no ambition to benefit your fellow-men—if you can consent to ruin many for both worlds—if you can persist in wasting and perverting the bounties of a kind Providence—if you can outrage the feelings of the most enlightened and virtuous—if you can pursue a work of darkness amid noonday light—if you can sacrifice a good name, and entail odium on all you leave—and if you can deliberately offend God, and jeopard your immortal interests for paltry gain, then go on—go on a little longer; but, “O my soul, come not thou into their secret; unto their assembly, mine honor, be not thou united.”
Note.—A premium, offered by a friend of temperance, was awarded to the author of this Tract.
PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.