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Temperance in the Home

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 14, 1909

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 86, No. 2.

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Temperance in the Home

By Augusta C. Bainbridge

AUGUSTA C. BAINBRIDGE
“How’s this for a temperance quotation, mother? ‘O God, that men should put an enemy into their mouths, to steal away their brains!’”
“That is good, but what are you going to do with it?”
“A temperance lecturer is going to address the freshmen in the assembly room this morning, and Professor Willis asked ten of us to get quotations ready. We are to recite them as a sort of welcome to him. He asked us to select from some standard author. I found this in our ‘Temperance Lesson Manual.’ It is from Shakespeare’s ‘Othello.’ Will it be suitable?”
“Indeed it will. Suppose you should be asked some question about it, are you ready to answer?”
“I think I am, mother dear. I can tell of the enemy, alcohol, and how it acts upon the blood and the nerves and the brain. You and father gave us a good drill on that when we were studying the ‘Manual.’”
“Yes, I think you are well prepared, and don’t forget that it is because it steals that it is such a dangerous enemy.”
“I’ll try; good-by.” And he was away down the path, and out of the gate before Mrs. Ayers took her eyes from him.
“Father, I’m trusting thee to keep my darling from all the snares and pitfalls in the way,” was her prayer as she turned from the door, his good-by caress still warm on her cheek, to take up one by one the duties of the home she loved.
“The bread will be late this morning,” she mused aloud. Then drawing out the molding-board, she went to work with a will, not noticing that little Henry had left his blocks, and was watching her. So busy was she planning her work to fit the hours that would come speeding along until noon, that she hardly saw the boyish figure by the table until a little voice said, “Mama, who steals brains?”
She had been on such a long thought-journey since Walter left, that the stealing of brains seemed very far away.
“Why, dear, what do you mean?” she asked.
“Wallie said it,” was the answer; then the earnest question, “Who steals brains, mama?” showed that somebody else had been on a thought-journey, too, and had come to a high-barred gate. He knew who could help him over.
“What is your body like, Henry?”
“A workshop.”
“And who is the manager?”
“The brain.”
“That is right. Now what keeps the manager strong, and able to work, and also to plan the work for the whole shop?”
“The blood; and God made it go that way to keep us well.”
“Yes. Suppose I put a poison in my blood, what will it do to my brain, my manager?”
“It will make it sick, so that it can not work.”
“That is it; and if I know it is a poison, then I know that my brain will be sick, or stupefied, or suffer in some way.”
“But we don’t take poison, mama.”
“No, not often, dear. But suppose some one should tell me that this poison was good for me, sometimes, and talk to me about it until I was ready to think that he was right, and then I should drink something that had this poison in it, would it hurt me?”
“Yes, mama, if it was true poison, it surely would.”
“You are right, Henry; it would poison my blood and my brain, and take away my power to think; but if I did not know or believe that it would take away my power to think, and it took it away when I did not know it, what would it be doing? What do we call it if people take things when we do not know it?”
“We call it stealing.”
“Yes, and alcohol in any form, in any drink, whether there is just a little in it, or more, steals away our brains, because it takes away our thoughts, and we do not know it. Now, do you see what Wallie meant?”
“Yes, mama; but God gave us our bodies to take care of; you said so in the lesson.”
“That is right, Henry, and we are not taking care of them when we injure them. If we defile them in any way, they are not going to last us so well or so long.”
“That makes us study lessons to learn.”
“Indeed it does. Mama studies how to make your body strong; for God has told us just what to do to keep this body-temple a fit place for his Spirit to dwell in. And I hope to teach you to love these lessons so well that when you are a man, you will study them for yourself, and not let any enemy steal your brains, or your strength, or hurt you in any way.”
“First, I’ll build my block house,” said Henry, turning back to his play, his puzzling question answered.
“It seems to me that we have taken the block-house time for talking. See, my bread is all in the pans. Put your blocks away now, please, and sweep the porch, while I sweep the kitchen. That will be building our body-houses.”
San Francisco, Cal.