A unique and ingenious feature of the essay is the author's "Moral and Physical Thermometer," which forms its frontispiece. On the ascending scale, "Strong Beer" is placed in the lowest and "Water" at the highest degree, with remarks indicating improving mental and physical conditions in the rising course. On the descending scale, "Punch" occupies the highest while "Rum day and night" is found at the lowest place, accompanied between points by a fearfully intensifying array of vices, diseases and penalties.
In this connection might be quoted the author's interpretation of a familiar myth:
"The fable of Prometheus, on whose liver a vulture was said to prey constantly, as a punishment for his stealing fire from heaven, was intended to illustrate the painful effects of ardent spirits upon that organ of the body."
Here is a curious anticipation of the modern gold cure, as it took form in the fertile intellect of Dr. Rush:
"The association of the idea of ardent spirits, with a painful or disagreeable impression upon some part of the body, has sometimes cured the love of strong drink. . . . This appeal to that operation of the human mind, which obliges it to associate ideas, accidentally or otherwise combined, for the cure of vice, is very ancient. It was resorted to by Moses when he compelled the Children of Israel to drink the solution of the golden calf (which they had idolized) in water. This solution if made, as it most probably was, by means of what is called hepar sulphuris, was extremely bitter, and nauseous, and could never be recollected afterwards, without bringing into equal detestation, the sin which subjected them to the necessity of drinking it."
In this pamphlet was sounded the first effective call for a combined movement against the evil of intemperance—a trumpet call which reverberated in the soul of Dr. Clark until, nobly responding, he stood forth alone before the world, having inscribed upon his banner the word, Organization. For Dr. Rush had said:
"Let good men of every class unite and besiege the general and state governments, with petitions to limit the number of taverns, to impose heavy duties upon ardent spirits, to inflict a mark of disgrace, or a temporary abridgment of some civil right upon every man convicted of drunkenness. . . . To aid the operation of these laws, would it not be extremely useful for the rulers of the different denominations of Christian churches to unite and render the sale and consumption of ardent spirits a subject of ecclesiastical jurisdiction?"
Such are a few of the characteristic portions of Dr. Rush's famous essay, a work which revived, not only the moral sense of this country, but also of England, where it was republished in the following year. But the giant of intemperance exhibited no signs of weakness, though he had been undoubtedly pierced in a vital part. The weapon of Dr. Rush had been slim, but keen—a highly tempered rapier, more effective than in after years was the broad sword of Lyman Beecher's "Sermons on Temperance." With an amiable exterior, the skillful reforming fencer had managed to keep his antagonist off his guard while he transfixed and permanently crippled him. But another mode of attack was necessary in order to bring him under control. To indulge yet further in figurative speech: Dr. Rush had manufactured the ammunition but who was to fire the gun?
It is always a pleasure to visit the homes of eminent persons who long since have died. To look upon the scenes that they once beheld; to walk in the paths that they once trod, is like coming into familiar intercourse with the intimate friend of the honored dead, and we go from the places hallowed by such associations with a sense of having gained almost a personal acquaintance with the great who there have had a habitation. The native town of Dr. Billy James Clark was beautiful old Northampton, in Massachusetts. Primitively Nonotuck of the Indians, it was venerable even on his birthday, January 4, 1778, and then, as now, it was foremost in culture and intelligence. Here, Jonathan Edwards had lived and labored, leaving upon the town an ineradicable impress of his saintly character and heavenly doctrines. Here, David Brainerd the zealous missionary to the Indians, broken in health, had died under the roof of Edwards, who had extended to him the loving hand of hospitality. It was eminently fitting that a life destined to exercise so profoundly beneficial an influence in promoting the higher estate of the race should have its beginning in a town so distinguished for its enlightenment and piety.