DUKE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
i * 
 
 A SKKMON 
 
 DELIVERED 
 
 In the Presbyterian Church, 
 
 SABBATH EVENING, NOVEMBER 17th, 185 I 
 
 WILMINGIUN : 
 
 PttlNIW II THE OFFICE OF THE "pJULY HLRi LT". 
 MDCCCLV, 
 
WE FLOWERS COLLECTION 
 
 Wilmington, N. C.,2d Dec, 1354. 
 Dbar Sir:— Having been appointed a Committee, in behalf of quite a respectable number of the 
 Yoilng Men of this town, to make known nnto you the pleasure experienced by them in listening 
 to the very able and instructive Sermon on the subject of Temperance, which you delivered on 
 Sunday Evening the 19th ultimo, and to request of you a copy of the same for publication ; we 
 most earnestly hope thot you will not deny us the gratification that we all anticipate in its perusal. 
 Permit ua to add our personal solicitations to those of the Gentlemen whom we represent. 
 With much respect, we are 
 
 Very Respectfully yours, 
 
 To Rev. M. B. Grier, 
 
 J. II. PLANNER, 
 E. MURRAY, 
 K. M. MURC1IIS0N, 
 THOS. R. CARR, 
 W. P. ELLIOTT, 
 SAML. A. SWANN, 
 WM. A. WALKER, 
 JNO. L. CANTWELL, 
 
 Committee. 
 
 Wilmington, N. C, December 9th, 1854. 
 Gentlemen of the Committee -.—With many thanks for your expressions of kindness, 1 place at 
 your disposal a copy of the Sermon you have asked for publication. I assure you that I will al- 
 ways be ready to lend my aid to any scheme which will promote the happiness, or strengthen the 
 virtuous purposes of young Men. 
 
 Yours most truly. 
 
 M. B. GRIER, 
 
 To Messrs. Flasnkr, Murray, Mi'EChison and others of the Committee. 
 
 / 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2014 
 
 https://archive.org/details/sermontoyoungmen423grie 
 
SERMON. 
 
 Look not then upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it mer ■ 
 e-th itself aright : 
 
 At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Proverb?, 98d ch., 81st and Std 
 
 T'lf. 
 
 The man who reaches to the point in life where the upward 
 step ceases, and the downward step begins — the line midway be- 
 tween the beginning and the close of the three score years and 
 ten which are our allotted portion on the earth, must have his 
 reflections and his memories much shaded by melancholy — by 
 a sadness which comes with every season of serious thought, — 
 This springs sometimes from the startling conviction that our life 
 like a vapour, is stealing silently but surely away ; or that the 
 great and noble purposes which we set before ourselves in the 
 ardour of early youth, have met with but scanty fulfilment in 
 the deeds of our manhood ; or that the world is fixing its stain 
 more deeply upon our character, and hardening hearts that were 
 once tender and unselfish. Often, perhaps, it springs from the 
 fact that the hours we recall and the scenes we review, are as- 
 sociated with those who are gone forever from the earth. It is 
 the thought that there are hands which we once clasped, which 
 we shall clasp no more — that there are lips which once respond- 
 ed to our words of cheer and good will which are now mute — 
 that companionships once dear are forever dissolved, and friend- 
 ships buried in the church yard's dust, that tinges with a melan- 
 choly hue, all our recollections of those who entered with us up- 
 on the dusty and beaten paths of life. One thing more must 
 sometimes be added, throwing still darker shadows around the 
 picture, and deepening the sadness in our hearts. It is the fact 
 that not unfrequently our youthful companions made disastrous 
 shipwreck of character ; sullied quickly their fresh fame ; gave 
 their high hopes and generous purposes to the winds ; enslaved 
 themselves to some vicious and destructive habit, and carried 
 down, it may be, a wasted body to the darkness and dishonour of 
 a drunkard's grave. 
 
 I recall as I speak, the mournful history of one who for a 
 time promised well, and describe his end as a lesson and a warn- 
 ing, disclosing his frailties only so far as to make the lesson im- 
 pressive and useful. He was my youthful companion — my col- 
 lege classmate — my associate in many pleasant scenes. The young- 
 est of the class, save myself, we drew closely together, and for 
 many years he sat upon my right hand at all recitations and 
 lectures. I remember him now as a youth of fair countenance, 
 
e 
 
 and slight but active form, with an eye beaming with intelli- 
 gence — a high spirited, ardent, generous young man. Fluent in 
 speech, and singularly graceful in attitude and gesture, he was 
 acknowledged to be the best speaker of the class, and seemed 
 destined to play the Orator upon the broader stage of Public Life. 
 
 Very soon our paths in life diverged, and we parted to meet 
 no more on earth. Of the various professions which lie before 
 the young man, he chose to be a soldier, and when I next heard 
 of him he was a cadet in the National Military Academy. A 
 faint rumour came also that an insidious habit was weaving its 
 chains around my young friend — a rumour I was very willing to 
 disbelieve. A few years more, and I read his name among the 
 list of the subordinate officers who led our Army in its march 
 from Vera Cruz to the city of Mexico. In that march, and in 
 all the sanguinary battles which were fought during its course, 
 he approved himself, as at once, a skilful officer, and a gallant 
 soldier. Never suspected of want of courage, he had never 
 been guilty of the idle bravado, which some seem to consider the 
 sign of courage, and it was with amazement that his brother of- 
 ficers beheld him, in one of the battles fought before the capi- 
 tal was reached, darting from his place, and spurring his horse 
 right between the contending hosts, ride to and fro, as if court- 
 ing death, or defying it. A thousand voices involuntarily shout- 
 ed to him to come back, but ere the shout reached his ear, the 
 horse and his rider bit the dust. His companions in arms heard 
 his last faint groan as they swept past him to the victorious as- 
 sault, but it was not untii they returned to gather up the dead, 
 that they discerned the reason of his useless courage. The half- 
 emptied flask in the dead man's pocket told the tale. His very 
 daring was thus shown to be the daring of the fool. The brave- 
 ry which he seemed to make manifest, was seen to be, not the 
 courage of the collected, self controlled man, but bravery born 
 of the brandy bottle — the courage, not of one prepared to meet 
 death, but of one insanely reckless of life. They gathered up 
 the cold remains, and brought them back to his native land for 
 burial. And when his friend, and his father's friends, stood 
 around the grave which they opened for him in the soil which 
 his youthful feet had often pressed, their hearts, sad because of 
 his early death, were burdened with a deeper sadness because 
 the grave of the soldier, was, as they well knew, the grave of the 
 drunkard too. 
 
 But this case, alas ! is not singular. You must all have 
 siihilar histories which you can now recall, some it may be, more 
 dark and sad than this. I believe that I may safely appeal to 
 you all, especially to those of mature years, to confirm my words, 
 when I say that one of the chief perils of the young man is the 
 wine cup. I say, the w T ine cup, because this is usually the be- 
 ginning of a course in which more powerful and more destructive 
 
7 
 
 draughts are the sad aud fatal conclusion. I know, too, thai 
 your best wishes will go with me while i warn young men of 
 the imminent peril ; and exhort them, in words which are not of 
 man, but of God, to u look not upon the wine when it is red, 
 when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it inoveth itself aright.' ' 
 For you know full well, from the histories we have iwked you to 
 recall from the wrecks you have seen floating upon the great sea 
 of life, as well as from the word of the omniscient one, that "at 
 the last, it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.'' 
 
 The text, as you will observe, my hearers, is an exhortation, 
 with a reason annexed. It seems to concede the seductiveness 
 of the wine cup. It does not deny that it is pleasant to the eye, 
 and pleasant to the taste. Even when the exhortation to beware 
 of it, is most direct and urgent, the language it uses is signifi- 
 cant of its seductive qualities. It is when it giveth its colour 
 to the cup : when its sparkle and hue are most attractive : when 
 it moveth itself aright — then we are bidden to turn away from 
 it, to look not upon it, And the reason annexed is no ascetiek s 
 reason. It is not the denial of its present pleasantness, or of its 
 exhilarating influence. The reason is simply the end to which it 
 leads, and which it produces. From the present we are com- 
 manded to look to the future. It is just as if the author of the. 
 Proverbs had written — Young Man, if there is a rosy hue w ith 
 in the cup — if there is joy and mirthfulness there — if there 
 exhileration in the drajught, and a pleasant forgetfulness of sad- 
 ness and pain there, remember the end. Be assured that "at the 
 lost it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder." 
 
 We intend simply to illustrate and enforce the thought of the 
 text. We believe that it teaches what daily experience confirms, 
 that the habit of drinking is to every man who forms the habit, 
 in the end, injurious: to many,. positively destructive. 
 
 Most of you who listen to me this evening, are either already 
 men of business, or preparing to become so. We affirm that 
 the text is true of such men, and to prove it, we will trace out 
 one imaginary history, leaving you to determine whether it has 
 ever its counterpart in real life. 
 
 A Young Man starts in the world, we will assume, with a fair 
 character ; with habits of industry ; with a sufficient amount of 
 energy, and with a competent knowledge of the rules and mys- 
 teries of trade. He solicits men's confidence, and, pointing to 
 an unspotted name, and to industrious habits, claims their trust 
 and aid. And men answer his claim by giving him their con- 
 fidence, and by placing important interests in his hands. Thus 
 he enters, with purposes that are all honest, and thoughts which 
 are tainted by nothing dishonourable or base, upon a life of ac- 
 tive business. 
 
 Let us pass over a few years. The young man has grown more 
 dexterous in his calling. He is better prepared to conduct a large 
 
8 
 
 and extensive trade. He has a wkler acquaintance with men 
 aAd tilings, and has standing as a merchant has been definitely 
 ascertained and settled. All these things claim for him increas- 
 ed confidence, and should strengthen and multiply his business 
 relations. But a rumour has slowly been gaining currency — a ru- 
 mour which men reluctantly breathe to each other, but which 
 <n*ows more distinct as it passes from mouth to mouth — a rumour 
 that the young merchant loves the bar room better than his 
 counting room ; that the wine party has taken time which should 
 have been given to his Ledger, and that important interests have 
 suffered because he was away at the revel. It does not destroy 
 his business at once, but it shakes its stability, and stops its rap- 
 id growth. He is not stranded yet, but the breakers whiten the 
 shore along which he is skirting. 
 
 Pass over another series of years. The faint rumor has be- 
 come a well known and saddening certainty. The end foreseen 
 and foretold, has been reached. The habits which seemed, at 
 first, like the filaments of the spiders web, woven around a strong 
 man, have now become fetters of iron, clasped around unre- 
 sisting weakness. Failure has been predicted, and has come. — 
 Distrust succeeded to confidence. Gradually business diminish- 
 ed, until the very men who helped him downward — who drank 
 and revelled with him— withdraw in fear, and leave him to 
 stand if he can, or to sink if he must. From the place of the 
 principal, he descends to that of a subordinate. Here awaken- 
 ed suspicion follows him, and he is soon found unfit to be a trusty 
 subordinate. He is thrown forth upon the community which 
 once trusted him, and of which he was then, an honoured and 
 useful member, and catches despairingly at the smallest and the 
 meanest occupations, to give him bread, or to procure the ac- 
 cursed poison which has made him what he is. Pitied by all 
 good men : wept over by those who stand near to him : helped 
 only by those whose hopes concerning him are not altogether 
 gone, he is honoured, trusted and employed by none* The re- 
 membrance of what he once was, and the perpetual contrast 
 with what he now is, which in his better moments he cannot re- 
 frain from making — the k£en sense of degradation, which can 
 be blunted only by deeper draughts from his cups, conjoin to 
 make life a burden, which he resolves to cast away as fast and 
 as soon as he can. He has reached the end, my hearers — the 
 end of which the sparkling wine cup was the beginning. He 
 has made the grand experiment, and he has found, that though 
 it was pleasant to "look upon the wine when it was red" — pleas- 
 ant to drain the goblet amidst the gaiety of the feast — pleasant 
 to meet with boon companions, and chase the weary hours of 
 night away with song and mirth, yet, "at the last it biteth like 
 a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.* 
 
9 
 
 Take, as another iilual rat ion, the educated liouftg Man, and 
 let us view the effect of this habit upon his intellect. 
 
 He comes from the place of his pupilage with his mind awak- 
 ened, quickened, and trained. Perhaps the honours of the Uni- 
 versity are resting upon him, and the pride of his parents hearts 
 has been stirred by the news that their boy was first among his 
 youthful fellows — the finest scholar or the most promising speak- 
 er of his class. He chooses his profession and sits down to its la- 
 borius study. Dreaming of greatness, or, in the more practi- 
 cal spirit of our age, anticipating the golden rewards which ac- 
 company, and to many, constitute success, he works, for a time, 
 ardently and well. The difficulties which surrounded the maste- 
 ry of the elementary principles of his science begin to disappear, 
 and its complete and harmonious proportions to rise upon his 
 view. His preceptor prognosticates his future eminence, and 
 looks forward to the time when his old age shall be brightened 
 by the reflection of his pupils fame. 
 
 Soon, however, the companions of early youth, from whom he 
 has been, for a time, separated, gather again around the Young 
 Man. Some have fallen : others are falling ; all are ignorant of 
 the blandishments of vice and the perils of life. With them 
 he meets occasionally, at the wine party, or the luxurious supper. 
 His cultivated mind makes him, without purpose on his part or 
 theirs, their leader, and the wine cup stimulates the wit, which 
 is repaired by ready applause. And thus the way downward is 
 opened — a way smooth and easy, and surrounded at first by the 
 tones of music and the fragrance of flowers, by melody and 
 laughter and good cheer. 
 
 He may be years, my hearers, in making the gradual descent. 
 He may enter upon the duties of his profession. He may not 
 be seemingly injured as to his prospects. He may make for 
 himself something of a reputation. But if he walk on in the 
 course which he has begun, his potations will just as surely ruin his 
 intellect, as they will destroy his body, and damn his soul. His 
 mind will come at last to work only under the influence of strong 
 drink, and then with a diseased and unregulated force. His 
 quick and keen perceptions will be blunted ; his memory refuse 
 to do its office ; his imagination lose its vividness and brilliancy, 
 and even his speech become thick and ungovernable. Business 
 will leave him for more sober and diligent men, and the poor 
 man linger around the place which might have been the scene 
 of his successes, only to see others preferred and triumphant. — 
 Descending from thence he may become the oracle of some bar 
 room, or the leader of a band of noisy politicians. In such 
 places and among such men, you will now find the young man 
 who was once of brilliant promise — who once aspired to great- 
 ness and seemed destined to reach it. The brilliancy alas ! is 
 clouded. His fine wit has all degenerated into vulgar obsconitvv 
 
10 
 
 The fires of appetite have burned into his bright and cultivated 
 intellect, and physically, mentally, professionally, he is a wreck. 
 A daily deepening obscurity hides him from the busy world, but 
 as he sinks into it, Oh ! think you not, that if there ever come 
 moments of sobriety — moments when he can bear to compare 
 the past and the present, that he feels, and feels most keenly, 
 that if the wine cup was enchanting at the first, "at the last it bit- 
 eth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." 
 
 Is it needful now that we speak of the effect of this evil habit 
 upon the moral part of the man ? For is not this the part of 
 the man on which the habit of constant drinking does its mos- 
 destructive work ? When business habits are preserved suffi- 
 ciently at the least, to retain the confidence of the customer — 
 when the intellect works with vigour enough to meet the de- 
 mands upon it, and sometimes with a fitful energy, astonishing 
 to those who know how much has been done to weaken its pow- 
 er and dim its brilliancy, does not the moral power of the man 
 constantly diminish? Is he not every day less ready to do good, 
 and more ready to do evil ? Is he not less prepared to serve 
 his fellow men? Will you trust the drunkards word as readily 
 as the word of a sober man? Will you commit your* property 
 to him with as firm a reliance upon his honesty as upon the hon- 
 esty of a sober man ? Will you put him without reluctance, into 
 offices of profit and trust ? Does not every one feel, that while 
 there may have been no past great moral delinquency, yet in re- 
 gard to the man upon whom this evil habit of drinking is fasten- 
 ing itself, there can be nothing felt but dread, and that to lean 
 upon him is to lean upon a broken reed ? Does not every one 
 stand in inward fear, lest the defences weakened by long indul- 
 gence, should suddenly give way, and a strong temptation sweep 
 tne poor man away from his anchorage — to float for a little while 
 upon the sea of Life, a helpless and hopeless wreck, and sink at 
 last in the dark and troubled waters ? 
 
 But some one of you may say to us, that all these instances of 
 the destructive effects of the wine cup are merely sketches drawn 
 by the imagination, and have few counterparts in real life. We 
 would that this were so, and that our illustrations had no exist- 
 ence out of the imagination which conceived them. We would 
 that all of you, reviewing past scenes, and recalling past associa- 
 tions, could discern no history as sad as those we have pictured 
 forth. But suffer us to justify ourselves to those who still doubt 
 by one example—one illustration borrowed from the history of 
 our own times. 
 
 It is a good maxim, or at least a charitable one to say nothing 
 of the dead save that which is good. But some names (as we 
 have elsewhere said) must be lifted up as a beacon. The moral 
 world must have its light houses. Thousands of young men are 
 running down upon the same rocks, on which brilliant men, and 
 
if 
 
 men of renown were east away. If the light of their genius 
 then has made them conspicuous, let us use their conspicnity,and 
 throw a ray from them, as from a beacon, far out upon the dim 
 and perilous sea. 
 
 "There were two men," says Macauley, in one of his most 
 admired essays, "who lived in the first quarter of the nineteenth 
 century, who, before the time when men are usually completing 
 their education, had reached each in his own department, the 
 eummit of human glory. The one died at Longwood, the other 
 at Missolonghi." Those of you who have read any thing of the 
 history of your own times, will remember that one of these was 
 Bonaparte, the other Byron. Of the latter, it is now well known 
 that in his voluntary exile, he shattered his splendid intellect (to 
 borrow the words of the essayist) by midnight draughts of ar- 
 dent spirits and Rhenish wines. There is much ot his later 
 poetry which smacks rather of the inspiration of gin, than of the 
 inspiration of genius. But what we wish you specially to ob- 
 serve, is how literally the text was fulfilled in the history of that 
 great but unhappy man. He "looked upon the wine when it 
 was red," "when it gave his colour in the cup." He used his 
 wonderful genius to throw fascination around the intoxicating 
 bowl. Hear but two strains of one of 4ns Bachanalian songs, 
 written ere he had seen or felt aught but the pleasures of wine. 
 
 "Fill the goblet again : for I never before 
 
 Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core. 
 
 Let us drink — who would not ? since through life's varied round. 
 
 In the goblet alone no deception is found." 
 
 "In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring 
 And dreams that affection can never take wing, 
 I Had friends, who has not ? but what tongue will avow 
 That friends, rosy wine, are so faithful as thou." 
 
 But ere you quote those words, Young Man, as true — ere you 
 believe them, turn over the leaves of the volume to the last page. 
 Bead the poem, dated at Missolonghi, three months before his 
 untimely death. We select again two verses. 
 
 "My days are in the yellow leaf, 
 The flowers and fruits of love are gone, 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief 
 Are mine alone." 
 
 "The fire that on my bosom preys, 
 rs lone as some volcanic isle, 
 No torch is kindled at its blaze — 
 A funeral pile.', 
 
 Was there no deception in the "goblet?" Were there no 
 friends to that unhappy man so true as the "rosy wine?" Did 
 he not feeWfeel with a bitterness which few could realize, be- 
 
ta 
 
 cftuse fear oouid feel so intensely — that the fruit which outward- 
 ly looked so fair, was inwardly ashes and dust, and, thnt how- 
 ever tempting the wine cup might be at the first — however se- 
 ductively it might give its ruby colour through thegobiet then, 
 ''at the last it biteth like a sSfpeat, and stingeth like an adder." 
 
 Xow here is a peril to which all are exposed. To some it is 
 an imminent peril — to others, it may be, a peril not so near or 
 so threatening. But to all, especially to all young men, there is 
 always, danger from this quarter. This danger can be certain- 
 lv avoided only by obedience to the exhortation of the text. — 
 if you would escape, wholly and surely, "look not upon the wine 
 when it is red." I do not say that one draught will work your, 
 ruin, or that one glass will seal your fate. -We preach no ex- 
 travagances upon this subject. Tto simply say that there is no 
 absolute safety for you this side the most entire abstinence — no 
 deliverance certainly to be counted on, but in implicit obedience 
 to the command of God, which enjoins us * ; to lookixot upon the 
 wine when it is red." 
 
 Or if your standing, my youthful hearer, is so secure, that 
 you may venture somewhat, and yet not fall — if your hand is 
 ko strong, and your eye so steady, and your heart so brave, that 
 you may let your barl#drift oarelessly down the rapids sure that 
 you can, at your will, save it from the fearful plunge over the 
 cataract — oh remember those who are weaker and more sorely 
 tempted. If you need not act for yourself, act for others. In 
 the spirit of a large benevolence, deny yourself the tempting 
 cup that others may be strengthened by your example, to resist 
 also. If custom bids you drink, break in upon the custom. If 
 fashion orders it, defy her power. If it gleams from the crys- 
 tal bottles upon your fathers dining table, resist its fascination. 
 If the drinking usages of society continue to be, as they now 
 are, the young man's greatest tempters, cast off their trammels, 
 and pass far away from you the Circean cup. So doing, you 
 may save yourself, perhaps a brother, from that which u at the 
 last, biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." 
 
 You will not, we hope consider it as out of place, if we add, 
 in conclusion, that in addition to personal abstinence, there does 
 seem to be a call upon every good man to stand in his place, and 
 endeavor to stem the flood of Intemperance which threatens to 
 sweep over the land, and to sweep away from us the brightest 
 and best of its sons. I would that this call might ring clearly 
 and loudly upon the ear of every young man. For I do most 
 firmly believe, that if those who in the course of the next ten 
 years shall pass from the age of twenty to the age of thirty, 
 would only bind themselves together in a solemn league and 
 covenant against the mighty evil, the crisis which now impends 
 would be past, and victory be with the cause of temperace and 
 goodness. I care not about the form in which the war might 
 
be Gamed on. You may employ your "Maine laws," or your 
 "Carson leagues" if you please, or better weapons if you can 
 devise them. But what we mainly want is effort, the effort ot 
 many banded hearts and hands — the energy supplied by the 
 hopefulness, the activity, the irrepressible ardour of the young man. 
 
 Kor do we suppose that when you have done all, this vice 
 will' no more be seen, and the drunkards die altogether out of 
 the land. We look for no Such result until the millenium begins 
 to dawn upon the earth . Bat your determined energy, and wise, 
 well tempered zeal may banish the temptation from our wharves 
 and public places, back to the obscurity in which it ought to 
 dwell. You may force it from the daylight, into corners where 
 the drunkard will find it hard to get, and still the constable, we 
 hope, find it easy to seize. You may drive it out into secret 
 places, where its flaunting signs, will be hid from the sight of 
 the young and the unwary, and where none who values reputa- 
 tion or respects himself will go to hunt it. At the very least, 
 you may place what has now the protection of the Law, under 
 its ban. 
 
 To this, young men, many voices call us. Our own possible 
 dangers — the positive, actual dangers of others — -call loudly and 
 urgently. The mother calls us, beseeching us thai he: hild 
 may not be cast away upon these frightful reef 
 The tair bride c? lis us, lest, in our inactivity, she oec >rtle 
 
 the'sorrowing widow. Our country calls us, trembling for the 
 fate of many of her sons. Yea Heaven above ns, bids us be 
 up, and be brave, and active, in this great contest between the 
 Right and the Wrong. 
 
 "For deeper than thunder of summers loud showers, 
 On the dome of the sk)', God is striking the hour 
 Shall we falter before what we've prayed for so long 
 When the Wrong is so weak, and the Right is so strong." 
 
N -° , 975 ' 6 1841-59 
 
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