TEMPERANCE IN THE HOME by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Oct 26, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 42.

TEMPERANCE IN THE HOME.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

SURELY there can never be too much said against the dangers that lurk in the wine cup, nor in condemnation of that accursed thing that transforms a loving husband into a fiend, or a kind and tender father into a bloated, fear-inspiring wreck. The direful effects of intemperance are identical, whether they be seen in the cottage or the palace,—its fruit is misery, and misery only. Every evil, every vice in the whole crimson catalogue of sin,—from those of the vagrant who spends his time on the street corners, smoking cheap cigars and drinking beer, to the blacker sins of the hardened villain whose hands are stained with the life-blood of his fellows,—all may be traced to the door of intemperance. Ah, the door of intemperance is the door to the pit; the door of misery unnameable; the door of poverty and wretchedness and disease and damnation. A grinning skeleton, whose name is Death holds the keys, and flaunts them in the face of the poor wretch who enters the dread portal: "Come enter my door," says the skeleton. "I will palsy thy soul and make thee forget thy misery. I will sing the siren song in thine ears till they are deaf to the sweet voices of mother and wife. I will make thee a dread and a curse to her who bore thee, and a derision and a byword to thy friends."

O lookout, young man, for the "worm of the still." Its bite is more deadly than that of the adder or the dreaded scorpion. It sounds no note of warning; its voice is sweet and subtle and alluring. The lights which flash from those dens of death where are its lurking places are beautiful and brilliant, and the music with which it bewitches the senses of him who is devoid of understanding is sweet and sensuous,—but, young man, keep away from those dens of death where the red flag of intemperance is flaunted, for, believe me, "the dead are there."

I have seen a wife and mother, tho the proud possessor of everything which money can buy, sit by my side in an abandon of grief and wretchedness, and weep bitter tears of humiliation and shame at the wreck and the misery and the wo caused by the demon Drink, in her own luxurious home. And I have seen a poor mother sit in her poverty-stricken room and bewail the misery which had come to her from the same cause.

I have followed the guide as he conducted me through one of the largest distilleries on this continent, and listened attentively as he told me the number of bushels of good grain which were daily turned from their legitimate source, and consumed in the never-satisfied maw of the "worm of the still;" listened while I thought of the hundreds of poor, hungry children who could have been fed by this same grain before it was turned into the drink of death; and I said, "No, there have never been any too many temperance sermons preached, nor any too many temperance books written, nor any too many pledges signed, for if there is any way of lessening this hellish traffic, in the name of the suffering Christ, let it be done."

Then I remembered an old proverb, "An ounce of preventive is better than a pound of cure." At some time, at some place, the first small seeds of intemperance are sown. When? Where?—Too often at the home, and in the innocent hours of childhood and youth.

"See here, Mary; you were out so late at the party last night, you must drink this nice glass of mother's currant wine. It will put you to sleep, and be good for you."

"I have a tearing headache, mother," says John. "I guess I'll take another glass of hot sling, such as you made me this morning; I've an idea it will make me feel better."

"Certainly, my son; I haven't a doubt of it." But in a few years that mother will wonder where her John got his taste for strong drink. Strange, isn't it! Now, instead of the grand manhood which she had seen indicated by his brilliant childhood, poor John is breaking his mother's heart.

"O, but you are making the home, and the home life, and the home training—in fact, us mothers and fathers—responsible for about all the evil which is developed in the home life of our children. Is that true?"

True, indeed, with very few exceptions. We all know very well that tea and coffee and rich pastry and puddings too often lay the foundation for the life of a drunkard. I hardly need to discuss it, because the phrase has been so often repeated as almost to have become hackneyed. But we must have "line upon line; here a little, and there a little," before the lessons will all be learned, and, better still, put into practise.

"O," sobs a poor mother, "my Jimmy learned to drink when he was away attending college."

Are you sure? Don't you remember that when Jimmy was at home he had all the cider he wanted to drink—even after it had begun to sparkle?

Said a florist, "This plant is very beautiful and rare; I will give you a slip; but you must put it in plenty of good, rich soil, or the tender roots will not develop and become strong, and, besides, it will not blossom at all, or the flowers will be dwarfed and imperfect."

O, why are parents not as wise in the ordering and planning of the home life of their children?

"But my children will not eat unless the food is daintily prepared."

Please do not mistake my meaning. I would not advise any mother to prepare the food for her family in a less dainty manner—but O, let nothing enter into the composition of it that can, in the remotest manner, create a taste for the cup of death.

But intemperance in eating and drinking is not the only evil we are to guard against. We who would condemn the glutton and the wine-bibber are intemperate in other ways than this. In the hurry of this busy twentieth century, we are tempted to work both brain and body beyond our strength; and, just as surely as we do, we forget to be patient. We are to add to temperance the beautiful grace of patience, and we may rest assured that, whenever we are tempted to give way to impatience, we have first sinned in being intemperate somewhere!

Well, do we not rejoice that this old world, with its specious temptations and trials and vexations, its intemperance in eating and drinking and working, and its sadness and sorrow and sin, are to give place to a better one pretty soon?

Ah, how heartily we shall eat at the marriage supper of the Lamb! Our appetite is poor here, but it is growing keen for a taste of the glorious fruit of the tree of life. We are getting hungry for the wedding feast. We long for a taste of the "new wine" which our Lord will drink with us in our Father's kingdom.

Shall we not haste to don the wedding garment?