AUTOBIOGRAPH- 
BY
J  H N  B. G 0 U G H' Raging drink I thou'lt not enslave me;
Sparkling bowl! thou now art dim;
Angel Temperance stooped to save me
From the death within thy brim.'
WILLIAM B. TAPPAT.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED  BY  J.:B. GOUGI,
GOULD, KENDALL & LINCOLNT,
1848.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1845A
BY JOHN B. GOUGH,
In the Clork's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
MM5 0F 0. A. RAND AND 00.




DEDICATION.
TO JESSE W. GOODRICH,
Of Worcester,
WHOSE KINDNEESS  C   EERED AND SUI'PORTED MS
/hen days.ree darc afnd friends wee fma;'
A 7D TO
Md  S E S G R A N T,
Of Boston,
OF WHOM IT.AY WITH TRUTH BE SAID, THAT.To re'ieti ehe wrevhsd Is his prFide,
THIS  NA  RATIVE             OF ONE,
0HO WILL EVESR WITH AFFECTIONATE ORATITUDE, BMEHMSB!IMi
THEM BOTH,
IS INSCRIBED.








AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
BY JOHN B. GOUGH.
PART FIRST.
Ir may be asked by many individuals, whose eyes will
fall on these pages, why I have thought it requisite to add
one to the already numerous autobiographies extant? I
answer, that justice to myself, in some measure, demands
an explicit statement of the principal incidents in an hitherto
eventful life; those incidents, or, at least, many of them,
having, in frequent instances, been erroneously described
by the press generally. Besides this, many who have heard
my verbal narrations, have intimated a desire to become
more fully acquainted with a career, which, although it has
extended but little beyond a quarter of a century, has
been fruitful of adventure. To gratify others, rather than
myself, has been my object in reducing to a permanent
form my somewhat eventful history. I make no pretensions
to literary merit, and trust this candid avowal will disarm
criticism. Mine is, indeed, a' short and simple annal of the
poor i' and if the perusal of these pages should cheer some
fainting wanderer on the world's highway, and lead him
far from the haunts of evil, by the still waters of temperance,
my labor will have been well repaid. Truth constituteq the
1




2              AUTOBIOGRAPIHY.
merit of my tale, if it possess any merit; and most of us
know that real life often furnishes stranger stories than
romance ever dreamed of; and that facts are frequently
more startling than fiction.
I was born on the twenty-second of August, 1817, at
a romantic little watering-place, named Sandgate, in the
county of Kent, England. My father had been a soldier
in the fortieth and fifty-second regiment of foot, and was
in the enjoyment of a pension of ~ 20 per annum, having
frequently fought during the Peninsular war, and been
wounded in the neck. I remember as well as if it had been
but yesterday, how he would go through military exercises
with me, my mimic weapon being a broom, and my
martial equipments some of his faded trappings. I was
not destined, however, to see how fields were won. With
what intense interest have I often listened to his descriptions
of battle-fields, and how have I shuddered at contemplating
the dreadful scenes which he so graphically portrayed.
He was present at the memorable battle of Corunna, and
witnessed its hero, Sir John Moore, carried from that fatal
field.' Here,' he would say,' was such a regiment, - there
such a battalion; in this situation was the enemy, -and
yonder was the position of the general and his staff.' And
then he would go on to describe the death of the hero, -
his looks, and his burial near the ramparts, until my young
heart would leap with excitement. Apart from such attractions as these, my father possessed few for a child. His militarv habits had become as a second nature with him. Stern
discipline had. been taught him in a severe school, and it
being impossible for him to cast off old associations, he was
not calculated to win the deep affections of a child, although,
in every respect, he deserved and possessed my love. He
received his discharge from the army in the year 1823.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                      3
My mother's character was cast in a gentler mould. Her
heart was a fountain, whence the pure waters of affection
never ceased to flow. Her very being seemed twined with
mine, and ardently did I return her love. For the long
space of twenty years she had occupied the then prominent
position of schoolmistress in the village, and frequently
planted the first principles of knowledge in the minds of
children, whose parents had, years before, been benefited by
her early instructions. And well qualified by nature and
acquirements was she for the interesting but humble office
she filled, if a kindly heart and a well-stored mind be the
requisites. Of course, I received my first lessons at home;
but as I advanced in years, it became advisable that I should
be sent to a school, and to one I was accordingly sent.
There was a free school in the village, but my father possessed too much independence to allow him to send me to
a charity school, and, though he could ill afford it, paid a
weekly sum for my instruction at the seminary of Mr. Davis,
of Folkstone. I progressed rapidly in my limited education, and became a teacher in the school; two classes, as
was the custom, were placed under my care; the children
of one of them I initiated into the art and mystery of
spelling words of two syllables, and taught the Rule of
Three to a class more advanced.
As most boys will, I sometimes got into petty scrapes,
and once narrowly escaped a serious disgrace. I occasionally gave the reins to a temper which was naturally
passionate, and on a certain occasion, when the order of'Teachers to your classes' was given, I exclaimed,' I wish
the classes were at the devil!' One of the boys reported
my remark to the master, saying,' Please, sir, I heard him.'
He called me to him. I denied that I had uttered such
words; but one boy, and another, and another asserting that




4             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
I did, with'Please, sir, I heard him, too,' my falsehood wag
discovered. I then could deny no longer; and my master
sternly ordered me, when the school closed, to take my
slate and books home with me. and never return to the
school. I sat down moodily in my place, pondering on
what had occurred, and revolving within my mind what
course I should pursue; for I justly dreaded my father's
anger, and felt convinced that he would not pass my offence
by lightly. After mature consideration, I went to my
master, admitted my fault: reasoned with him, and stated
how much I feared my father's anger, should I be discharged from the school. Nor were my entreaties without the
desired effect; for the good man relented, and I was pardoned, my father never knowing any thing of the matter.
I was now about eight years of age, and having a keen
taste for the beauties of nature, was often to be found
roaming on Sandgate beach, gazing with wonder on the
great deep, and, as I listened to its everlasting moan, little
dreaming that three thousand miles beyond was a land in
which my lot would one day be cast. There was an old
castle, too, in the vicinity, which had been built years ago,
— ages to my boyish mind, —by Henry the Eighth. I
became a great favorite of the keeper of this ancient place,
and having acquired some knowledge of the history of the
bluff king Hal, I used to wander through the desolate courtyards where the rank grass grew; sit in deserted, windowless
chambers, where the bat nestled and the owl screamed, or
gaze from turret and battlement on the surrounding scenery.
And I would in fancy people the place with its old inhabitants, and see plumed cavaliers and ruffled dames pacing
the corridors or surrounding the groaning board. Katherine
of Arragon, and Ann Boleyn, with Henry's other wives,
litted by me. I lived, as it were, in the past; and thus,




AUTOBIO GRAPHY.                    5
almost unconsciously, my imagination was cultured, and
my mind imbued with a love of history and poetry.
My father belonged to the Methodist persuasion, and
my mother was a Baptist, but the differences in doctrine
existing between them never affected their happiness. As
all in such cases should do, they agreed to differ. Among
other circumstances connected with this period of my life,
I well remember one which much impressed me. The
venerable and devoted William Wilberforce resided, during
a few of the summer months, at Sandgfate, for the benefit of
his health. I had heard much of the great philanthropist,
and was not a little delighted when my father took me to
his lodgings, where a prayer-meeting was held. How it
was, I know not, but I attracted Mr. Wilberforce's attention.
He patted me on my head, said many kind things, and expressed wishes for my welfare. He also presented me with a
book, and wrote with his own hand my name on the fly-leaf.
Having acquired some reputation as a good reader, he
requested me to read to him. I did so, and he expressed
himself as much pleased. The book presented to me, I long
since lost, but never shall I forget the kindly words of the
venerable giver.
I have remarked, that I was considered to be a good reader.
Often, whilst I have been sitting reading to my mother, as
she sat working by our cottage-door, which faced the sea,
have strangers stayed to listen, attracted by my proficiency
in this art. There was a library in the village, kept by M-.
Purday, and to this place many of the visitors at our watering-place resorted, to learn the news. Very frequently I
was sent for to read to ladies and gentlemen; and the schoolmistress's son became a general purveyor of the gossip of
the day, in return for which I was rewarded pretty liberally.
On,-:one occasion, a gentleman, to whom I had read some




6             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
portions of a newspaper, was so pleased, that he took me to
the library, fronting the reading-room, in the same building,
and asked me what book I would like to take. Showing
me a volume which contained hieroglyphical pictures, and a
common prayer-book, he offered me either I might choose.
Now, with all the love of a lad for pictures, I ardently desired the hieroglyphical designs, but, thinking I should be
considered more favorably of if I decided on accepting the
prayer-book, I chose, much against my will, the latter. My
choice was applauded; and a bright half crown into the
bargain, consoled me for the self-mortification my vanity
had imposed.
About this time I experienced a very narrow escape from
death. I went to school, at Folkstone, and was returning
from that place, one day, accompanied by some other boys,
playing at wagon and horses, four boys personating quadrupeds, which I was driving at rather a rapid rate. It
happened that a man, who was engaged in digging a trench
by the side of the road, did not perceive the four lads I was
driving, they having stooped as they passed; he threw up a
spadeful of clay, for the purpose of tossing it to some little
distance, and the sharp edge of the implement was driven
with great force against my head. I instantly sunk down
insensible and deluged with blood. I was carried home by
the boys, who in reality became animals of burden, still unconscious, to my terrified parents, and for days my life was
despaired of. Even when recovery seemed probable, few
hopes of my returning reason were entertained, although,
by the providence of God, I recovered; yet, to this day, I
feel the effects of that blow. When excited in speaking, I
am frequently compelled to press my hands on my head, to
ease the pricking and darting sensation I experience; and
never, I suppose, shall I be entirely free from inconvenience




AUTOBIOGRAPHYT.                      7
from this source. My father had a tender heart, notwitllstanding his habitual sternness, and he never reverted to
this circumstance in after days without tears.
During my father's absence in the wars, my mother's
circumstances were very straitened, although, in addition to school-keeping, she worked industriously at making a kind of lace, then very fashionable, and in the
manufacture of which article she greatly excelled. On one
occasion, when our necessities absolutely required extra
exertion, she took her basket of work, and travelled eight
and a half weary miles, to the town of Dover. Arrived
there, foot-sore and heart-weary, she threaded the streets
and lanes with her lace, seecking for customers, but not one
did she find; and, after reluctantly abandoning the pursuit,
she once more turned her face towards her home - a home
desolate indeed. Painful, bitterly painful, were my mother's
reflections as she drew near her door, and when she rested
her dreadfully tired frame, she had nothing in the house
with which to recruit her strength. During her absence, a
gentleman had sent for me to the Library, and was so
pleased with my reading, that he made me a present of five
shillings; and Mr. Purday, in addition, gave me sixpence.
0! how rich I was. Never had I possessed so vast an
amount of money before, and all imaginable modes of
spending it flitted before my fancy. I went to play with
some other boys until my mother's return from Dover;
and, soon afterwards, on entering our house, I found her
sitting in her chair, bathed in tears. I asked her what was
the matter? when she drew me close to her, and looking
in my face, with a mournful expression which I shall never
forget, informed me that all her weary journey had been
fruitless —she had sold nothing. 0! -with what joy I
drew the crown-piece and the sixpence from my pocket,




8             B iT AUTOBIOGRAPIIY.
and placed them in her hand; and with what delightful
feelings we knelt down, whilst she poured out her heart in
thankfulness to God, for the relief so seasonably provided.
My mother gave me a halfpenny for myself, and I felt far
happier then than I did when I received the shining silver
crown-piece: it was all my own, to do as I liked with - to
keep or spend. What an inestimable privilege! I can, in
all sincerity, say, that never have I received money since
then, which has afforded me such solid satisfaction; and
some of my most pleasant reminiscences are circumstances
connected with that boyish incident.
I ought, before this, to have mentioned that I had a sister, two years younger than myself, of whom I thought a
great deal. She was my chief playmate. I used to frequently personate a clergyman, being then very fond of
imitation; and having rigged up a chair into something as
much resembling a pulpit as possible, I would secure her
services in the way of dressing up rag, dolls, which constituted my congregation, for whose especial benefit I used to
pour forth my mimic oratory, very much to my own amusement, if not to the edification of my dumb friends, who sat
stiff and starched, perfect patterns of propriety. Then, as
a diversion, I manufactured, from an old bottomless chair,
a very respectable Punch and Judy box; and many a laugh
have I raised among my young companions by my performances in this line. My puppets were of home manufacture, but they passed muster well enough, especially with
the boys and girls, who had never been fortunate enough to
have seen the genuine personifications of these remarkable
characters.
About this time, my father returned home, and soon
afterwards entered the service of the Rev. J. D. Glennie, a
clergyman of the Church of England, and chaplain to Lord




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                     9
Darmley; and here I cannot but pay a passing tribute of
respect to this pious and kind-hearted man, who always
treated me with much consideration. His wife sent for
me, and presented me with'Doddridge's Rise and Progress
of Relioion in the Soul,''The Economy of Human Life,'
and' Todd's Lectures to the Young;' works which shortly
afterwards I perused at sea, lwhen voyaging to America,
they having been given to me the day before I left Sandgate.
A very important change in my fortunes now occurred.
I was 12 years of age; and my father, foreseeing the difficulty of procuring me a trade, made an agreement with a
family of our village, who were about emigrating to America, that they, in consideration of the sum of ten guineas,
paid by him, should take me with them, teach me a trade,
and provide for me until I was 21 years of age. After
much hesitation, my mother, from a sense of duty, yielded
to this arrangement. I, boy like, felt in high glee, at the
prospects before me. My little arrangements having been
completed, on the 4th of June, 1829, I took a last view of
my native village. The evening I was about to depart, a
neighbor invited me to take tea at his house, which I did.
My mother remarked to me afterwards:'I wish you had
taken tea with your mother, John;' and this little circumstance was a source of much pain to me in after years.
The parting with my beloved parents was bitter. My
poor mother folded me to her bosom, then she would hold
me off at arm's length, and gaze fondly on my face, through
her tearful eyes, reading, only as a mother could, the book of
futurity for me. She hung up, on the accustomed peg, my
old cap and jacket, and my school-bag, and there they remained until, years after, she quitted the house. At length
the parting words were spoken, and I quitted the home of
my childhood, perhaps forever.




10            A UTOBI  O   RA: PH Y
A touching scene it was, as I went through flhe village
towards the coach-office that evening. As I passed through
the streets, many a kind hand waved a farewell, and not a
few familiar voices sounded out a hearty' God bless you.'
There was one old dame, of whom I had frequently bouht
sweetmeats at her green grocery, named familiarly Granny
Hogben; she called me into her shop, and loaded me with
good wishes, bulls' eyes, cakes, and candies, although, poor
affectionate soul, she could ill afford it. The inn was
reached, and, in company with another lad, who was going
out with our family to meet a relative, I mounted the roof
of the London night coach, and was quitting the village,
when, on turning round to take a last look at it, I saw a
crouching female form, by a low wall, near the bathingmachines. MAy heart told me at once that it was my
mother, who had taken advantage of half an hour's delay,
at the inn door, to proceed a little distance, in order to have
one more glance at her departing child. I never felt I -was
loved so much, as I did from that time. When we arrived
at Ashford, we were placed inside the vehicle. Amongst
many things which impressed me on my journey, was the
circumstance of a poor, shivering woman begging alms at
the coach door, at midnight, for whom I keenly felt. At
Footscray, I again was placed outside the coach. On arriving near the metropolis, objects of interest increased every
moment, and, when fairly in the great city, of which I had
heard so much, I was almost bewildered with the crowds,
and the multiplicity of attractive objects. A fight between
two bellicose individuals was almost my first town entertainment.
Whilst I remained in London, I saw some of the great
gratuitous attractions, such as St.-Paul's, the Tower, the
Royal Exchange, the Mansion House, and the Monument




AUTOBIOGR APHY.                    11
to the summit of which I ascended, and surveyed from
thence the'mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping.' On the 10th day of June, every thing being arranged,
I sailed from the Thames, in the ship Helen. Passing
Dover, we arrived off Sandgate, on Sunday, when it fell a
dead calm, and the ship's anchors were dropped. I afforded
some amusement to those around me, by the eagerness
with which I seized a telescope, and the certainty with
which I averred that I saw my old home. During that
day, boat after boat came off to us from the shore, and
fiiends of the family I was with paid them visits; but I
was unnoticed - my relatives did not come. After long and
wearily watching, I at last saw a man, standing up in a
boat, with a white band round his hat.' That's him i that's
my father!' I shouted. He soon got on deck, and almost
smothered me with his kisses, from which I somewhat
shrank, as lhis beard made very decided impressions on my
smooth skin. I heard that my mother and sister had gone
to a place of worship, at some distance from Sandgate,
which I regretted much. When evening came on, our
visitors from the shore repaired to their boats, which, when
a few yards from the ship, formed in a half circle. Our
friends stood up in them, and, o'er the calm waters sounded
our blended voices, as we sang:-'Blest be the dear uniting love,
Which will not let us part;
Out bodies may far hence remove,
We still are one in heart.'
Boat after boat then vanished in the gloomy distance, and
I went to my bed. About midnight, I heard my name
called.. 2rid going on deck, I there found my beloved mother
and sistcr, who, hearing, on their return home, that I was




12             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
in the offing, had paid half a guinea (money hardly earned,
and with difficulty procured, but readily and cheerfully expended) to a boatman, to row them to the ship. They
spent an hour (0, how short it seemed!) with me, and
then departed, with many tears. Having strained my eyes,
until their boat was no longer discernible, I went back to
my bed, to sob away the rest of the morning. I felt this to
be my first real sorrow. Grief, however, will wear itself
out; and, having slept somewhat, when I awoke in the
morning, a breeze having sprung up, we were far out at
sea. I never experienced any sea-sickness; and, had my
expectations with respect to the family I was with been realized, I should have been comparatively happy. Occasionally, on looking over my little stock of worldly goods, I
would find little billets, or papers, containing texts of
Scripture, pinned to the different articles. In my Bible,
texts of Scripture were marked for me to commit to memory; amongst them, I remember, were the 2d, 3d, 4th, and
5th chapters of Proverbs. As we voyaged on, I soon began
to feel a difference in my new situation; and often did I
bitterly contrast the treatment I received, with that to
which I had been accustomed at home. I wished myself
back again; but the die was cast, and so I put up with disagreeables as well as I could. On the morning of the 3d
of August, fifty-four days from the time of sailing, we
arrived off Sandy Hook; and, 0 how I longed, as we
sailed up the Narrows, to be on deck, and survey the
scenery of the New lWorld! I was not permitted to do
this; for, whilst I could hear the shouts of delighted surprise which burst from  the lips of the passengers who
crowded the vessel's sides, I was confined below, occupied
in blaclking the boots and shoes of the family, in order that
that they might be landed'sound, and in good order.' We




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                        13
made the land at three in the morning, and were moored
at the wharf, in New York, at three in the afternoon, rather
an unusual thing, as ships are generally detained some
time at Staten Island.
I had got so tired of biscuit,* that I most ardently
longed for some' soft Tommy,' and was already munching
it in imagination, when my guardians went on shore, leaving me behind. I had anticipated purchasing some dainties immediately, for, having received a little money for a
cabbage-net I had made on board, I possessed the requisite
funds. My capital was, however, not so large as it might
have been, for I had, like other capitalists, negotiated a
loan with the black cook, to whom I advanced an English
crown. The principal and interest, to this day, remain unpaid, not an uncommon occurrence, I have been since told,
in regard to foreign loans. To return. I was left on board
all night, as my acquaintances did not return; and, during
their absence, I sought for amusement in gazing from the
vessel on the crowded wharfs. I well, remember my surprise, at seeing a boy, about my own age, inserting a plug
of tobacco in his mouth; but I soon became accustomed to
such things as these, and many, too, of a far stranger nature.' I would here state, that the family I travelled with had provided a quantity of fine white pilot bread for the voyage. I suppose
I at first ate very heartily, and that fears were entertained of my
diniunishing the stock; for when we arrived at Portsmouth, the head
of the family went on shore, and brought back with him a bag of
the most suspicious-looking biscuit I ever laid eyes on. On this
I was exclusively fed during the remainder of the voyage. To do
Mr. -   justice, I do not think he was altogether to blame in this
matter, for I believe him to have been naturally a kind-hearted man;
but it is not always that husbands can do exactly as they please in
this world




14             AU IT OB IO GR  P IHY.
When I did get an opportunity, I laid in a good stock of
bread; and having stayed about two months in York City,
during which time I often strolled about the streets, we
started for Western New York. I was greatly delighted with
the scenery on the Hudson river, which far surpassed any 1
had ever before witnessed. We went to a farm in Oneida
county, where I remained two years, during which period
I was never sent to either a Sabbath or day school. I felt
this much, as I had an ardent desire to acquire knowledge;
and, tiring of so unprofitable a life, and perceiving, also, that
no chance existed of my being taught a trade, I sold a knife
for the purpose of paying the postage of a letter to my
father, in which I asked his permission to go to New York,
and learn a trade. I sent off this letter clandestinely, because, hitherto, allmy letters home had been perused by my
guardians before they were despatched, and I did not wish
their interference in this matter. In due course, I received a
reply to my letter. My father said that as I was old enough
now to judge for myself, I might act according to the dictates of my own judgment. Glad enough was I to have
my fate in my own hands, as it were, and on the 12th of
December, 1831, I quitted Oneida county for New York
city. It may easily be imagined, that I left my situation
with but very little regret, for, although by some of themembers I was treated with consideration and kindness,
yet.from those to whom I naturally looked for comfort and
solace, I experienced treatment far different from  that
which my father anticipated when he intrusted me to their
guardianship. In all conscientiousness, I can aver, that my
situation, when I left this family, was worse than it was
when I entered it. Here, I beg to make a remark, which
is rendered necessary from the fact of it having been stated
that I have represented the family as dissipated_ and




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                      15
drunken. Such a report never was made by me at any
time, or in any place; nor did there exist foundation for
such a rumor. Whisky and cider were used by the family,
but not to excess, that I knew of. In pure self-defence I
make this statement.@
Whilst with the family referred to, a revival of religion
occurred in our neighborhood. My mind wasa much impressed, and I was admitted a member of the Methodist
Episcopal Church. On my arrival in New York, I had
half a dollar only in my pocket, and all the goods I possessed in the world were contained in a little trunk, which
I carried. I stood at the foot of Courtland street, after I
left the boat. Hundreds of people went by, on busy feet,
heedless of me, and I felt desolate indeed. But, amidst all
my lonely sorrow, the religious impressions I have just referred to, and, more especially, those which I had derived
from the lips of my beloved mother, afforded some rays ot
consolation which glimmered through the gloom. Whilst I
was standing, pondering whither I should bend my steps, a
man came up to me, and asked where he should carry my
trunk. Then, indeed, the strong sense of my forlornness
came to me, and I scarcely ever remember to have experienced more bitterness of spirit than on that occasion.
Fancy me, reader! a boy, just fourteen years of age, a
stranger, in a strange city, with no one to guide him, none
to advise, and not a single soul to love, or be loved by.
There I was, three thousand miles distant from home and
friends; a waif:on, life's wave, solitary in the midst of thou~ I never should have referred to this subject, had not a meddlesome fellow-in New York city busied himself about my affairs, impeached my veracity, and imputed to me motives which I never
entertained. Verbum, sat.




16            AITOBI OG R  PHY.
sands, and with a heart yearning for kindly sympathy, but
finding none. Whilst musing on my fortunes, all at once
the following passage entered my mind, and afforded me
consolation:'Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt
thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.'
Shouldering my trunk, I entered the city; and, having left
my load in charge of a person, I repaired to the Brown
Jug, public-house, in Pearl street, in which place I remained until the Monday morning following, when I was
recommended to apply to the venerable Mr. Dando, who
was then the agent of the Christian Advocate and Journal.
To this gentleman I told my story, after hearing which, he
went with me to the Methodist book concern (then situated
in Crosby street), where, after some conversation, I was engaged, to attend on the next Wednesday, as errand boy, and
to learn the book-binding business; and, for my services, to
receive two dollars and twenty-five cents per week, and to
board myself. Mr. Dando recommended me, as a boarder,
to a Mrs. M-, in William street, at the rate of two dollars
weekly; and, low as were the terms, the reader will presently agree with me in thinking, that it was far too much
for the accommodation I received. To my surprise, I
found, when the hour of rest approached, that I was to
share a bed with an Irishman, who was lying very sick of a
fever and ague. The poor fellow told me his little history;
and I experienced the truth of the saying, that'Poverty
makes us acquainted with strange bed-fellows.' He had
emigrated to America, been attacked with the disease I
have mentioned, and now was out of money, but daily in
the expectation of receiving some. from his friends. My
companion shivered so much, and was so restless during
the night, that I was wretchedly disturbed; and, next day,
I told my landlady that I could not possibly sleep in the




AU TO BIOGRAP HY.                 17
same bed with the Irishman again. Accordingly, the next
night, she made me up a wretched couch, in the same
room, under the rafters. It was hard enough, and what is
called a cat's-tail bed; and so wretchedly situated was it,
that when I stretched my hand out, to pull up the scanty
supply of bed-clothes, my fingers would encounter the half
glutinous webs of spiders, a species of insect to which I
have had, from childhood, and still have, an unaccountable, but deeply-rooted, antipathy. Weary as I was, from
want of sleep on the preceding night, I soon fell asleep in
my uneasy bed, but was awoke, in the dead of the night,
by frightful groans, uttered by my sick companion. I
started, and found, to my surprise, that the man was up.
I was dreadfully frightened, more especially, as he informed
me that he feared he was going to die. I asked him to let
me call assistance; but he positively forbade it, and then
went and sat on the side of the bed. 0! never have i
heard such agonizing exclamations, as broke from the lips
of that dying man, as he called, with terrible earnestness;
on Christ to save him, and on God to be merciful to himn.
He seemed anxious to know the hour. I told him  I
thought it was near morning, as the cock had crowed.
After some more moaning noises, he suddenly fell back on
the bed. I heard a rattling, gurgling sound, and then all
was silent. I felt the man was dead, although I could: not
see him, and knew that I was alone with Death, for the
first time. 0! how slowly dragged on the hours until:
dawn; and, when the faint light struggled through a little
window in the roof, and gradually brought out thie walls
and furniture from the gloom, there lay the dead man on.
his back, his mouth wide open, and his eyes glazed, but
staring only as dead eyes can. With a desperate effort, I
started from my bed, gathered my clothes in a bundle,
2




s8            A UT OB IOGRA         IY.
dressed myself outside the room door, and roused the
woman of the house. She received the intelligence with
about as much composure as if Death had paid her house
an expected and customary visit, and only remarked,' Well,
dear soul! he was very patient, and is gone to glory.'
After the poor man's death, his expected funds arrived;
but, alas! too late.
I soon afterwards went to my work, and my business
was to pack up bundles of books for Cincinnati. As I was
working, I fell into a train of thought respecting my desolate situation, and, as I mused, the scalding tears fell, in
large drops, on the paper I was using. Into the very
depths of my sorrow a kind heart looked; for, whilst I was
weeping, a young lady came to me, and asked me what
was the matter? Her tone of kindness, and look of sympathy, won my confidence, and I informed her of the particulars of my little history. When I had finished my tale,
she said,'Poor distressed child! you shall go home with
me to-night.' I did so; and, when I arrived at her house,
I saw her mother, who was engaged in frying cakes on the
stove. The young girl took her mother aside into an inner
room, and, presently, the latter came out, and said to me,'Poor boy! I will be a mother to you.' These words fell
like refreshing dew on my young heart; and mother and
sister, indeed, did the benevolent Mrs. Egbert and her
daughter prove to me. Soon after this, I joined the church
in Allen street; and, after remaining with the Egberts some
months, I removed, and boarded with my class-leader, Mr.
Anson Willis. I afterwards boarded with a Mrs. Ketchum;
but frequently wished that I had remained with Mrs. Egbert.
During this period of my life, circumstances induced me to
leave the church, and also my place of employment; and I
became exposed to temptation, and too soon grew thought



AUTOBIOGRAPH Y.                   19
less of religious things. I now worked at N. and J. White's,
corner of William and Pearl streets, and, as my prospects
were somewhat improving, I sent for my father, mother,
and sister, to join me in this country. On Saturday afternoon, in August, 1833, a small note was brought, which informed me that my mother and sister were on board the
ship President, then lying in the stream. I immediately
left my work, intending to go to them, and was on my way
down Fulton street, when the sole of my shoe got loose,
and I stepped into the bindery of Burlock and Wilbur,
where I had directed my relatives to call on their arrival,
to get a knife to cut it off, when I learned that my mother
had called at the store, a short time before, and had left to
go to William street. I turned into that thoroughfare, and
saw a little woman, rapidly walking, whom I recognized as
her of whom I was in search. She looked every now and
then at a slip of paper which she held in her hand, and frequently glanced from it to the fronts of the houses, as if to
ascertain some particular number. Much as I desired to
speak to her, I thought I would try whether she would recognize me or not; so I went behind her, passed on a little
way, then turned, and met her; but she did not observe
who I was. I again went behind her, and exclaimed,'Mother!' At the well-known sound she turned in a moment, and in an instant she had clasped me in her arms,
and embraced me in a very maternal manner, heedless of
the staring passers-by, who were very little used to have
such public displays of affection got up for their amusement. I returned with my mother to the barge, in order to
get her luggage, and, when there, was surprised by a great
girl jumping into my arms, who was so altered from the
time I saw her last, that I had some difficulty in recognizing my sister. My father did not accompany his wife and




20            AUTO BI OGRAPIY.
daughter, for he was loth to lose his hard-earned pension,
and was in hopes to effect a commutation with the government, and receive a certain sum, in lieu of an annual payment.
At that time I was in the receipt of three dollars a week,
wherewith to support myself; and, with the few articles my
mother brought over, we went to housekeeping. 0! how
happy did I feel that evening, when my parent first made
tea, in our own home. Our three cups and saucers made
quite a grand show, and, in imagination, we were rich in
viands, although our meal was frugal enough. Thus we
lived comfortably together, nothing of note occurring, until
the November following, when, owing to a want of business, and the general pressure of the times, I was dismissed
from my place of work. This was a severe blow to us all,
and its force was increased by my sister who was a strawbonnet maker, also losing her employment. Our rent was
a dollar and a quarter per week; but, finding it necessary to
retrench in our expenditure, we gave up our two rooms,
and made one answer our purpose, by dividing it into two
compartments at night, by hanging up a temporary curtain.
Our rent was now reduced to fifty cents a week, and all our
goods and chattels were contained in the garret, which we
continued to occupy until my mother's death. Things
gradually grew worse and worse. Winter, in all its terrors, was coming on us, who were ill prepared for it. To
add to our troubles, wood, during that season, was very
high in price, and, in addition to want, we suffered dreadfully from cold. I obtained employment only at uncertain
intervals, and for short periods, as errand-boy in a bookstore, in Nassau street, and in a bindery; but, even with
this aid, we were sorely off, and painfully pinched. Thus
was the whole of that dreary winter one continued scene




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    21
of privation. Our sorrows were aggravated by my poor
mother's sickness, and our' apparel began to grow wretchedly
scanty. I remember my mother once wishing for some
broth, made from mutton. Not being able to bear that she
should want any thing she required, I took my best coat,
and having pawned it, procured her some meat, and thus
supplied her wants, so far as practicable. Often and often
have 1, when we were destitute of wood, and had no money
to procure any, gone a mile or two into the country, and
dragged home such pieces as I might find lying about the
sides of the road. Food, too, was sometimes wanting; and
once, seeing my mother in tears, I ascertained that we had
no bread in the house. I could not bear the sight of such
distress, and wandered down a street, sobbing as I went
A stranger accosted me, and asked me what was the matter?'I'm hungry,' said I;' and so is my mother.'' Well,'
said the stranger;'I can't do much; but I'll get you a
loaf;' and when I took this three cent piece of bread home,
my mother placed the Bible on our old ricketty pine table,
and, having opened it, read a portion of Scripture, and then
we knelt down, thanking God for his goodness, and asking
his blessing on what we were about to partake of. All
these sufferings and privations my poor mother bore with
Christian resignation, and never did she repine through all
that dreary season.
As the spring came on, both my sister and myself got
employment again, and our situation was bettered for a time.
I now earned four dollars and a half a week; and was enabled to redeem my coat. A happy day was that, when I
went in it with my sister to a place of worship. I would
here mention, that, during all that hard winter, we received
no charitable assistance from any source. Once, and only
once, my mother spoke of some wood which was to be




22            AUTOBIOGR APHY.
given away to the poor, at the City Hall; but I refused to
allow her to apply for relief there, knowing well that she
would be subjected to the insulting questions of hardhearted officials, who took advantage of their office to insult
the unfortunate children of penury. Pity it is, that kind
actions cannot always be performed in a kindly spirit; but,
too often, such is not the case, in this cold-hearted world.
Glad to this day am I, that I prevented her from being
mortified by a contumely, which I cannot bear to think she
should have borne.
And now comes one of the most terrible events of my
history, an event which almost bowed me to the dust. The
summer of 1834 was exceedingly hot; and as our room
was immediately under the roof, which had but one small
window in it, the heat was almost intolerable, and my
mother suffered much from this cause. On the eighth of
July, a day more than usually warm, she complained of
debility, but as she had before suffered from weakness, I
was not apprehensive of danger, and saying I would go and
bathe, asked her to provide me some rice and milk against
seven or eight o'clock, when I should return. That day
my spirits were unusually exuberant. I laughed and sung
with my young companions, as' if not a cloud was to be
seen in all my sky, when one was then gathering which was
shortly to burst in fatal thunder over my head. About
eight o'clock I returned home, and was going up the steps,
whistling as I went, when my sister met me at the threshold,
and seizing me by the hand, exclaimed,' John, mother's dead!'
What I did, what I said, I cannot remember; but they told
me, afterwards, I grasped my sister's arm, laughed frantically in her face, and then for some minutes seemed stunned
by the dreadful intelligence. As soon as they permitted




AUTOBIOGRAPIHY.                   23
me, I visited our garret, now a chamber of death, and there,
on the floor, lay all that remained of her whom I had loved
so well, and who had been a friend when all others had
forsaken me. There she lay, with her face tied up with a
handkerchief;-'By foreign hands her aged eyes were closed;
By foreign hands her decent limbs composed.'
O! how vividly came then to my mind, as I took her
cold hand in mine and gazed earnestly in her quiet face, all
her meek, enduring love, her uncomplaining spirit, her
devotedness to her husband and children. All was now
over; and yet, as through the livelong night I sat at her
side, a solitary watcher by the dead, I felt somewhat resigned
at the dispensation of Providence, and was almost thankful
that she was taken from the' evil to come.' Sorrow and
suffering had been her lot through life; now she was freed
from both; and loving her as I did, I found consolation in
thinking that she was 6not lost, but gone before.'
I have intimated, that I sat all night watching my mother's cold remains; such was literally the fact; and none
but myself and God can tell what a night of agony that
was. The people of the house accommodated my sister
below. When the morning dawned in my desolate chamber, I tenderly placed the passive hand by my mother's
side, and wandered out into the as yet almost quiet streets.
I turned my face towards the wharf, and, arrived there, sat
down by the dock, gazing with melancholy thoughts upon
the glancing waters. All that had passed seemed to me
like a fearful dream, and with difficulty could I at certain
intervals convince myself that my mother's death was a
fearful reality. An hour or two passed away in this dreamy,
half-delirious state of mind, and then I involuntarily pro



24            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
ceeded slowly towards my wretched home. I had eaten
nothing since the preceding afternoon, but hunger seemed
like my other senses to have become torpid. On my arival
at our lodgings, I found that a coroner's inquest had been
held on my rmother's corpse, and a note had been left by the
official, which stated that it must be interred by noon of the
following day. What was I to do? I had no money, no
friends, and what was perhaps worse than all, none to sympathize with myself and my sister, but the people about us,
who could afford the occasional exclamation,' poor things!'
Again I wandered into the streets, without any definite
object in view. I had a vague idea that my mother was
dead, and must be buried, and little feeling beyond that.
At times, I even forgot this sad reality. Weary and dispirited, I at last once more sought my lodgings, where my
sister had been anxiously watching for me. I learned from
her, that, during my absence, some persons had been and
brought a pine box to the house, into which they had placed
my mother's body, and taken it off in a cart, for interment.
They had but just gone, she said. I told her that we must
go and see mother buried; and we hastened after the
vehicle, which we soon overtook.
There was no'pomp and circumstance' about that
humble funeral; but never went a mortal to the grave who
had been more truly loved, and was then more sincerely
lamented, than the silent traveller towards Potter's Field,
the place of her interment. Only two lacerated and bleeding hearts mourned for her; but as the almost unnoticed
procession passed through the streets, tears of more genuine
sorrow were shed, than frequently fall when' Some proud child of earth returns to dust.'




AUT OBIOGRAPHY.                    25
We soon reached the burying-ground. In the same cart
with my mother was another mortal whose spirit had put
on immortality. A little child's coffin lay beside that of
her who had been a sorrowful pilgrim for many years, and
both now were about to lie side by side in the'narrow
house.' When the infant's coffin was taken from the cart.
my sister burst into tears, and the driver, a rough-looking
fellow, with a kindness of manner that touched us, remarked
to her,'Poor little thing;'t is better off where't is.' I undeceived him in his idea as to this supposed relationship of
the child, and informed him that it was not a child but our
mother for whom we mourned. My mother's coffin was
then taken out and placed in a trench, and a little dirt was
thinly sprinkled over it. So was she buried!
There was no burial-service read,- none. My mother
was one of God's creatures, but she had lived —died
amongst the poor. She had bequeathed no legacies to
charitable institutions, and how could the church afford
one of its self-denying men to pray over her pauper-grave?
She had only been an affectionate wife, a devoted mother,.
and a poor Christian; so how could a bell toll with any
propriety as she drew near to her final resting-place? No
prim undertaker, who measured yards of woe on his face
according to the number of hatbands and gloves ordered
for the funeral, was there, and what need, then, of surpliced!
priest  Well, it was some comfort to me, that my poor
mother's body could'rest in hope,' without the hired services of either; and I could not help feeling and rejoicing'
that he who wept at the grave of Lazarus, was watching
the sleeping dust of his servant. O! miserable indeed is
the lot of the poor;- a weary, struggling, self-denying life,
and then a solitary death and an unblessed grave!




~6           BAUTOBIOGRIAPHY.
From that great Golgotha we went forth together; and,
unheeded by the bustling crowd, proceeded sadly to our
now desolate chamber, where we sat down and gazed vacantly around the cheerless room. One by one the old familiar
objects attracted our notice. Among other articles, a little
saucepan remained on the extinguished embers in the grate,
with rice and milk burned to its bottom! This was what
my mother was preparing for me against my return from')athing, and the sight renewed my remembrances of her
care, which it so happened was exercised for me in her latest
moments. I afterwards was informed that she was found
lying cold on the floor, by a young man who passed our
rran-door, on the way to his own, and saw her lying there.
She seemed to have been engaged in splitting a piece of
pine-wood with a knife, and it is supposed that, whilst
stooping over it and forcing down the knife, she was seized
with apoplexy, and immediately expired.
Whilst we were sadly contemplating our situation and
circumstances, and calling to mind many sayings and
doings of our lost mother, I began to think about our future
course, and said to my sister,'Now, Mary, what shall we
do i' She remarked something, I forget what; and I, ~,,
turn, made an observation, to the effect, as well as I can
remember, that we could take all our furniture on our backs!
when we, both of us, broke out into a violent fit of laughter,
which lasted for several minutes; and I never, either before
or since, remember to have been so entirely unable to control myself. It was a strange thing to hear that hitherto
silent chamber, in which, for hours, we had scarcely spoken
above a whisper, echoing such unaccustomed sounds, but
so it was  and I am unable to explain why, unless it be on
the principle of reaction. And yet it was not the laugh of
joy, but more like the fearfully hysterical mirth of sad




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                     27
dened hearts, in which, for the time, all the feelings of
youth had been imprisoned, but by one wild effort had
broken forth, shouting with natural but unbidden glee.
On that Wednesday night, I could not bear to remain in
the house, so I sauntered out, and passed the long hours of
darkness in the streets;- to lie down I felt was impossible,
so great was my weight of woe. The next day I passed
wearily enough, and at night I procured a little sleep; but
Prom the afternoon of my mother's death, not a morsel of
food had passed my lips. I loathed food, and it was not
until the Friday evening that I was persuaded to take any.
Every thing about us so forcibly and painfully reminded us
of her we had lost, that my sister and myself determined
to remove from our lodgings; and, having disposed of our
feather-bed and a few little matters to the woman of the
house, we paid a week's board in advance at a house in
Spring street. I now began to feel the effects of my
night-watchings and neglect of food, and was taken so sick,
that a city physician attended me for three or four days.
As soon as I recovered, I inquired for my old and kind
friends, the Egberts. They were in the city, and I proceeded to their house, in Suffolk street, where I was received
cordially, and kindly nursed, with all the care of a mother
and sister, during the weak time which followed my indisposition. My sister and I had separated, as she boarded
where she worked, in the upper part of the city.
As soon as I had sufficiently recovered, I scraped together
what money I could, and went on a visit to the family with
whom I left England. With them I remained two months,
and received many condolences on the subject of my mother's death and my lonely situation; but after, and, indeed,
during this time, I could not help feeling that my absence
would not be regretted, so I made preparations for quitting




28           AAUTOBIOGlRAPHY.
them. Whilst in the country, I spent a few days with AMr.
Elijah Hunt, who, together with Mrs. Hunt, were extremely
kind to me. As my wearing apparel was getting shabby,
Mr. Hunt, in the kindest manner, provided me with a twenty-five dollar suit, trusting to my honor for repayment when
it lay in my power. Never shall I forget the kindness of
him and his family to me at that time. I started for New
York about September, and there went to work for M-r.
John Gladding, who always behaved kindly towards me. I
boarded in Grand street; and about this time laid the foundation of many of my future sorrows.
I possessed a tolerably good voice, and sang pretty well,
having also the faculty of imitation rather strongly developed; and, being well stocked with amusing stories, I got
introduced into the society of thoughtless and dissipated
young men, to whom my talents made me welcome. These
companions were what is termed respectable, but they drank.
I now began to attend the theatres frequently, and felt ambitious of strutting my hour upon the stage. By slow but sure
degrees I forgot the lessons of wisdom which my mother
had taught me, lost all relish for the great truths of religion,
neglected my devotions, and considered an actor's situation
to be the ne plus ultra of greatness. I well remember, in my
early days, having entertained, through the influence of my
mother, a horror of theatres; and once, as I walked up the
Bowery, and watched the multitudes passing to and fro
from the steps of the play-house there, which I had mounted
for the sake of a better view of the busy scene, this passage
of Scripture came to my recollection,'The glory of the
Lord shall cover the face of the earth as the waters cover
the sea;' and I mentally offered up a prayer that that time
might speedily arrive. Not very long afterwards, so low had
I fallen and so desperately had I backslidden, that at the very




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                     29
door of that same theatre, which I had, five years before,
wished destroyed, as a temple of sin, I stood applying for a
situation as actor and comic singer! No longer did I wish
a church should be built on the site of the theatre; that very
place of entertainment had become at first a chosen, and now,
to support excitement, an almost necessary, place of resort.
I afterwards performed at the Franklin Theatre, under the
assumed name of Gilbert, which my mother bore before she
married, when a comic song of mine was so encored that
I was encouraged to pursue the course I entered on, but I
did not at that time.
During this period, I worked pretty steadily at my business, but such were my growing habits of dissipation, that,
although receiving five dollars a week, I squandered every
cent away, and was continually in debt. My proceedings,
too, became characterized by a -hitherto unfelt recklessness.
One morning a young man came to me and informed me
that a great fire had broken out down the street. (I had
belonged to a volunteer fire-engine company, and also to a
dramatic society, which held their meetings at the corner
of Anthony street and Broadway, and which had greatly
tended to increase my habits of irregularity.) I passed by
the information lightly and selfishly, saying,'Let it burn
on, it wont hurt me.' When I had finished my breakfast,
some one informed me the fire was in the neighborhood of
the shop where I worked. This alarmed me; and I proceeded towards my place of business, where I arrived just
in time to see the flames bursting through the workshop
windows. By this disaster, although I had so little anticipated it, I lost what I could ill afford, an overcoat and some
books; and worse than this, I was thrown out of employment; sothat I was injured by the fire, which I had so
confidently thought'could not hurt me.'




30            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
Mr. Gladding, after the fi'e, determining to remove to
Bristol, Rhode Island, and set up in business there, invited
me to accompany him. I therefore left New York, and remained in his employ for about a year, during which time
nothing of importance transpired. In February or March,
1837, however, Mr. Gladding failed, and as I was again
obliged to seek for occupation, I proceeded to Providence,
and there continued my drinking habits. I succeeded in
procuring work at Mr. Brown's, in Market Row, and experienced much kindness at his hands. Here I might, and
ought, to have done well, but for my unfortunate habits of
dissipation, which gradually increased, and which were
every day treasuring up misery for me.
It happened that, at this time, a company of actors were
performing at Providence. I got acquainted with them,
and being strongly advised by them to make an essay on
the stage, I acceded to their wishes and followed my
own inclinations with respect to the matter. It could not
be expected that, connected with the stage, I could follow
steadily a more sober occupation. Nor did I; for I worked
only at uncertain intervals, fiequently was absent for days
together, and, as a necessary consequence, incurred the displeasure of my employer, who soon after discharged me
from his shop, on the ground of inattention to my business,
although I was acknowledged by him to be an excellent
workman. I now entirely gave myself up to the stage, and
gained some reputation for the manner in which I performed a low line of character. Brilliant, however, as I
thought my prospects to be, I was doomed to disappointment; for, before long, the theatre came to a close, and I, in
common with the other members of the company, failed to
receive remuneration for my services. Thus was I again
thrown on my own resources, and, with a tarnished reputa




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    31
tion, my situation was far worse than it had hitherto been,
I tried to obtain employment, but none could I obtain; and
although I wished to get out of the town, I was unable to
do so from want of funds. My clothes had grown shabby,
and I was guiltless of wearing more than one suit. Worse
than this, my appetite for strong drink was increasing, and
becoming a confirmed habit —the effect of almost unlimited indulgence. I was now reduced to absolute want.
My boarding-house account had assumed an unpleasant
aspect, and, more than once, had I received threatening
notices to quit. One night I was reduced to extremities, and
so poorly was I off, that I was compelled to wander about
the streets, from night until almost morning, in order to
keep myself warm. In pure desperation, I repaired to one
of the very lowest class of hotels, where I obtained a miserable lodging. It happened, at this time, that a person
visited Providence who wanted to engage some performers
for a theatre which was to open, for a short season, in Boston. To this person, whose name was Barry (and who,
afterwards, was lost, with his whole stock company, whilst
going to Texas), I was introduced; and he was, at the same
time, informed of my necessity. Mr. Barry, with a kindness, which was well meant, said he would take me to Boston with him, on his own responsibility, and use his influence in my behalf. I left Providence, on a Sunday morning, and succeeded in getting an engagement in Boston.
During this time, my sister was working at her trade in
Providence. I performed low comedy parts, until the
theatre closed, in 1837, when I-was again deprived of pay,
and once more thrown, like a football, on the world's great
highway, at the mercy of every passing foot. My appearance was now shabby enough, as that of a strolling player
generally is. All my little stock of moaey was spent as




S2            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
fast as I received it; arid, once more, I was absolutely in
want. Like many others, similarly circumstanced to myself, I experienced, in my adversity, kindness from woman.
A Mrs. Fox, with whom I boarded, was quite aware of my
destitute situation, and benevolently afforded me a home
and subsistence until I could once more obtain work. This
I at last did, at Mr. Benjamin Bi-adley's, and in his employ
I continued until the month of January, 1838, when I was
discharged. The reason assigned by Mr. Bradley, for my
dismissal, was what might have been expected from a
knowledge of my habits. He said I was too shabby in appearance for a shop, and it was his opinion, as well as that
of others, that I drank too much. I had paid my board at
Mrs. Fox's up to that time, but was now again without a
cent, and was in the depths of trouble, until I accidentally
*heard that a person at Newburyport was in want of a binder,
to whom he was willing to give six dollars a week wages.
Small as was this remuneration, I need scarcely say that I
eagerly accepted the offered salary, and travelling, partly
by stages, and partly in cars, entered Newburyport late in
the evening of the 30th of January. The next morning I
commenced work in my new situation, and, for a few weeks,
by a desperate effort, I managed to keep free from the intoxicating cup. I was now comparatively steady, and gave
satisfaction to my employer; but this state of things, unhappily did not last long, for, I regret to say, I had a longing for society, and soon formed an acquaintance with companions who were calculated to destroy any resolutions of
amendment which I had formed. I joined a fire-engine
company, and, before long, I was again on the high-road of
dissipation, neglecting my business, destroying my reputation, which was already damaged, and injuring my health.
Work grzw slack towards the July of that year, and, as




AUTOBIOGRPIIHY.                   33
I could not earn sufficient to support myself at my trade, I
embraced another occupation, and entered into an arrangement, with the captain of a fishing-boat, to go a voyage
with him down Chaleur bay. My sea experiences were
somewhat severe, as will presently be seen; but as there
was no rum on board, I was forced to keep sober, and that
at least, saved me a considerable amount of suffering.
When, however, I went on shore, I made up for my forced
abstinence by pottle-deep potations, and my visit to another
vessel was generally accompanied by a carousal, if rum was
by any means to be obtained. In consequence of what is
commonly called a'spree,' my life was, at one time, placed
in considerable jeopardy. Several of our crew, with myself, had been on board a neighbouring vessel, and, on
our return at night, I was, as might be expected, very
drunk. The boat was rowed to the side of our craft, and I
was so much intoxicated, that, unnoticed, I lay at the bottom of the boat. As customary, when the rest of the crew
got on board, the hook was fastened in the bow of the boat,
which was drawn up. In consequence of this, as the bow
was hoisted with a jerk, I was flung violently, from where
I was lying, to the stern, and the force of the blow effectually awakened me. I called out, and alarmed my companions, just in time to prevent being thrown overboard; and
was soon rescued from my perilous position. It seemed
that they had not noticed me in the boat when they left it,
and supposed, in the dark scramble, I had got safely on
board. So was my life again saved by an all-wise Providence; but I was so closely wrapped up in my garb of
thoughtlessness, that I passed by the matter with little
thought or thankfulness.
And yet, at this time, I did not consider myself to be what
in reality I was - a drunkard. Well enough did I know,
3




34             AUTOBIOGR AP.H Y
from bitter experience, that character, situations, and
health, had been periled, in consequence of my love of
ardent spirits. I felt, too, an aching void in my breast, and
conscience frequently told me that I was on the broad road
to ruin; but that I was what all men despised, and TL
among them, detested, I could not bring myself to believe.
I would frame many excuses for myself-plead my own
cause before myself, as judge and jury, until I obtained, at
my own hands, a willing acquittal. 0! how little does the
young man dream that he is deceiving himself, though not
others, whilst pursuing so fatal a course as was mine. He,
as I did, abhors the name of'drunkard,' whilst no other
word so aptly and accurately defines his position.
The purpose of our voyage having been answered we
prepared for our homeward sail, and were making for port
when a violent storm burst over us. It was a Southeaster,
and in our perilous position off Cape Sable none of us expected to weather it. For hours we expected to go to the
bottom, and scarce a hope remained to cheer us, the captain having given up every thing for lost. We could
discern the sea breaking violently over the Brazil rock
four miles and a half off from  us, and we were rapidly
drifting to the coast; but in that dreadful season, strange
to tell, I suffered but very little, if any thing, from alarm or
anxiety. What to attribute this feeling, or rather absence
of feeling to, I know not; but so it was, that owing to callousness or some other cause, I felt not the slightest fear,
although some old'Salts' were dreadfully anxious, and
prayed in agonizing accents for deliverance. I sat as
calmly as ever I remember to have done in my life whilst
wave after wave dashed over the frail vessel, making every
timber creak, and her whole frame to quiver as if with
mortal agony. By the mercy of God, however, the wind




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    35
shifted to the westward, and by means of the only rag of a
sail which remained to us we managed to crawl off. Next
morning at daylight having discovered land we made towards it, and about noon anchored in Shelburne bay, Nova
Scotia, where we remained long enough to replace a lost
sail, and repair our damaged vessel. We soon set sail
once more, and I arrived in Newburyport on the first Sunday in November. glad enough to be freed from my imprisonment for three and a half months in a small vessel of
fifty tons burden.
Once more on land I engaged to work at my own business, and did so for some time with Mr. Tilton. Not long
afterwards I entered into the matrimonial state, and commenced housekeeping, having earned money sufficient by
my fishing voyage to purchase some neat furniture. In
my new condition I might have done well, for I had every
prospect of success, had it not been for my craving after
society, which in spite of having a home of my own I still
felt. Alas! forgetful of a husband's home duties I again
became involved in a dissipated social network, whose fatal
meshes too surely entangled me, and unfitted me for that
active exertion which was now rendered doubly necessary.
I continued at my work until the month of June, when
business becoming slack, I again went on a fishing excursion with my wife's brother, the captain of the boat, into
the Bay of Fundy. We were away this time for only six
weeks, and returned in safety, without having encountered
any thing worthy of note.
During my residence at Newburyport, my early serious
impressions on one occasion in a measure revived, and I
felt some stingings of conscience for my neglect of the
Sabbath and  religious observances.  I recommenced
attending a place of worship, and for a short time I




36            AU TOnIOGRiAPHY.
attended the Rev. Mir. Campbell's church, by whom, as
well as by several of his members, I was treated with much
Christian kindness. I was often'nvited to Mr. Camlpbell's
house, as well as to those of some of his hearers, and it
seemed as if a favorable turning-point or crisis in my fortunes had arrived. Mr. Campbell was good enough to
manifest a very great interest in my welfare, and frequently
experienced a hope that I should be enabled, although late
in life, to obtain an education. And this I might have
acquired had not my evil genius prevented my making any
efforts to obtain so desirable an end. My desire for strong
liquors and company seemed to present an insuperable
barrier against all improvement;-and, after a few weeks,
every aspiration after better things had ceased, every bud
of promised comfort was crushed. Again I grieved the
Spirit which had been striving with my spirit, and ere long
became even more addicted to the use of the infernal
draughts which had already wrought me so much woe,
than at any previous period of my existence.
And now my circumstances began to be desperate indeed.
In vain we:) all my efforts to obtain work, and at last I
became so reduced, that at times I did not know, when one
Ineal was ended, where on the face of the broad earth I
should find another. Further mortification awaited me,
and by slow degrees I became aware of it. The young
men with whom I had associated in bar-rooms and parlors,
and who wore a little better clothing than I could afford to
put on, one after another began to drop my acquaintance.
If I walked in the public streets I too quickly perceived
the cold look, the averted eye, the half recognition, —and to
a sensitive spirit, such as I possessed, such treatment was
almost past endurance. To add to the mortification,
caused by such treatment, it happened that those who had




A U TOBI O G R A PI Y.            37
laugned the loudest at my songs and stories, and who had
been social enough with me in the bar-room, were the very
individuals who seemed most ashamed of my acquaintance.
I felt that I was shunned by the respectable portion of the
community also, and once, on asking a lad to accompany
me in a walk, he informed me that his father had cautioned him against associating with me. This was a cutting reproof, and I felt it more deeply than words can
express. And could I wonder at it? No. Although I
may have used bitter words against that parent, my conscience told me that he had done no more than his duty in
preventing his son being influenced by my dissipated habits.
Oh! how often have I laid down and bitterly remembered
many who had hailed my arrival in their company as a
joyous event. Then plaudits would ring in my ears, and
peals of laughter ring again in my deserted chamber;
then would succeed stillness only broken by the beatings of
my agonized heart, which felt that the gloss of respectability had worn off and exposed my threadbare condition.
To drown these reflections I would drink, not from love of
the taste of the liquor, but to become so stupefied by its
fumes as to steep my sorrows in a half oblivion; and from
this miserable stupor I would wake to a fuller consciousness of my situation, and again would I banish my reflections by liquor.
It has been said, that no one is ever utterly forlorn and
friendless. Whether this be the case or not, it is not for
me to decide. In my own case, and in what seemed my
last extremity, I obtained some assistance. There resided
in Newburyport a countryman of mine, named Low. He
was an Englishman, and perhaps felt some interest in me
as an old-countryman. MAI. Low was a warm-hearted and
generous-minded man, and perceiving that I possessed




38            AUTO B I OG tAP H Y.
some abilities, which he regretted to see thrown away, he
very kindly manifested a desire to afford me assistance. He
was a rum-seller, and I had spent many a shilling at his
bar, so that he had frequent opportunities of becoming acquainted with my'ways and means.' It occurred to me,
that if I could get some tools, it was just possible I might
get into business, and, by perseverance and sobriety, succeed-in redeeming myself from the fallen state I was in,
and, in some measure, at least, retrieve my fallen, ruined
fortunes. Mr. Low assisted me very materially in my endeavors to regain a respectable position in society, by furnishing me with sufficient funds for procuring tools, so that
I. might work on my own account.
Despite of all that had occurred, my good name was not
so far gone, but that I might have succeeded, by the aid of
common industry and attention, in my business. I was a
good workman, found no difficulty in procuring employment, and, I have not the slightest doubt, should have succeeded in my endeavors to get on in the world, but for
my unhappy love of stimulating drinks, and my craving for
society. I was now my own master -all restraint was removed, and, as might be expected, I did as I pleased in my
own shop. I became careless, was often in the bar-room,
or carousing in the parlor, when I should have been at my
bindery; and, instead of spending my evenings at home,
in reading or conversation, they were, almost invariably,
passed in the company of the rum bottle, which became almost my sole household deity. Five months only did I remain in business, and, during that short period, I gradually
sunk deeper and deeper in the scale of degradation. I was
now the slave of a habit which had become completely my
master, and which fastened its remorseless fangs in my very
vitals  Thought was a torturing thing. When I looked




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    39
back, Memory drew fearful pictures, in lines of lurid flame;
and, whenever I dared anticipate the future, Hope refused
to illumine my onward path. I dwelt in one awful present.
Nothing to solace me - nothing to beckon me onwards to a
better state. I knew, full well, that I was proceeding on a
downward course, and crossing the sea of Time, as it were,
on a bridge perilous as that over which Mahomet's followers are said to enter Paradise. A terrible feeling was ever
present, that some evil was impending, which would soon
fall on my devoted head; and I would shudder, as if the
sword of Damocles, suspended by its single hair, was about
to fall, and utterly destroy me.
Warnings were not wanting; but they had no voice of
terror for me. I was intimately acquainted with a young
man in the town, and well remember his coming to my
shop one morning, and asking the loan of ninepence, with
which to buy rum. I let him have the money, and the
spirit was soon consumed. He begged me to lend him a
second ninepence, but I refused; yet, during my temporary
absence, he drank some spirit of wine, which was in a bottle
in the shop, and used by me in my business. He went
away, and the next I heard of him was, that he had died
shortly afterwards. Such an awful circumstance as this
might well have impressed me; but habitual indulgence
had almost rendered me proof against salutary impressions.
I was, to tell the truth, at this time, deeper in degradation
than at any period, before or since, which I can remember.
My custom now was, to purchase my brandy, which, in
consequence of my limited means, was of the very worst
description, and keep it at the shop, where, by little and
little, I drank it, and continually kept myself in a state of
excitement. This course of proceeding entirely unfitted
me for business, and it not unfrequently happened. when I




40             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
had books to bind, that I would, instead of attending to
business, keep my customers waiting, whilst in the company of dissolute companions. I drank during the whole
day, to the complete ruin of my prospects in life. So entirely did I give myself up to the bottle, that those of my
companions who fancied they still possessed some claims
to respectability, gradually withdrew from my company.
At my house, too, I used to keep a bottle of gin, which was
in constant requisition. Indeed, go where I would, stimuli
I must, and did, have. Such a slave was I to the bottle,
that I resorted to it continually, and in vain was every
effort, which I occasionally made, to conquer the debasing
habit. I had become a father; but God, in his mercy, removed my little one at so early an age, that I did not feel
the loss as much as if it had lived longer, to engage my
affections.
A circumstance now transpired, which attracted my attention, and led me to consider my situation, and whither I
was hurrying. A lecture was advertised, to be delivered by
the first reformed drunkard, Mr. J. J. Johnson, who visited
Newburyport, and I was invited by some friends, who
seemed to feel an interest, to attend, and hear what he
had to say. I determined, after some consideration, to go,
and hear what was to be said on the subject. The meeting
was held at the Reverend Mr. Campbell's church, which
was greatly crowded. I went, and heard the speaker depict, in forcible and graphic terms, the misery of the drunkard, and the awful consequences of his conduct, both as
they affected himself, and those connected with him. My
conscience told me that the truth was spoken by the lecturer,
for what had I not suffered from intemperance? I remained only about ten minutes, and, as I left the chapel, a
young man offered me the pledge to sign. I actually tinned




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    41
to sign it, but, at that critical moment, the appetite for
strong drink, as if determined to have the mastery over
me, came in all its force, and remembering, too, just then,
that I had a pint of brandy at home, I deferred signing,
and put off, to a'more convenient season,' a proceeding
which might have saved me so much after sorrow. I however compromised the matter with my conscience, by inwardly resolving that I would drink up what spirit I had
by me, and then think of leaving off the use of the accursed
liquid altogether.' Think of it!' O! had I then acted, what misery would
have been spared me in after days. One would have imagined that I had had my fill of misery, and been glad to
have hailed and grasp any saving hand which might be
held out. But, O! such was the dominion which rum had
over me, that I was led captive by it, as at will. It had
impaired every energy, and almost destroyed the desire to
be better than I was. I was debased in my own eyes, and,
having lost my self-respect, became a poor, abject being,
scarcely worth attempting to reform. Did I think of it 
O, no. I forgot the impressions made upon me by the
speaker at the meeting I have alluded to. Still I madly
drained the inebriating cup, and speedily my state was
worse than ever. 0, no, I soon ceased to think about it,
for my master passion, like Aaron's rod, swallowed up
every thought and feeling, opposed to it, which I possessed.
My business grew gradually worse, and, at length, my
constitution became so impaired, that, even when I had the
will, I did not possess the power to provide for my daily
wants. My hands would, at times, tremble so, that I could
not perform  the finer operations of my business —the
finishing and gilding. How could I lette straight with a




42             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
hand burning and shaking, from the effects of a debauch?
Sometimes, when it was absolutely necessary to finish off
some work, I have entered the shop with a stern determination not to drink a single drop until I completed it. I
have bitterly felt, that my failing was a matter of common
conversation in the town, and a burning sense of shame
would flush my fevered brow, at the conviction that I was
scorned by the respectable portion of the community. But
these feelings passed away, like the morning cloud or the
early dew, and I pursued my old course.
To what shifts was I reduced, in order to conceal my
habit of using intoxicating drinks!  Frequently have I
taken a pitcher, with a pint of new rum in it, purchased at
some obscure groggery, and put about one third as nuch
water as there was spirit in it, at the town pump, in the
Market square, in order to induce persons to think that I
drank water alone. This mixture I would take to my shop,
and, for days and days together, it would be my only beverage. In consequence of this habit, I would frequently fall
asleep, or, if awake, be in so half torpid a state, that work,
or exertion of any kind, was quite out of the question; and,
after an indulgence in this practice for some time, I was
compelled to remain at home, from sheer inability to enter
on active duty. I grew, of course, poorer and poorer, and
my days dragged wearily on. At times, I almost wished
that my life, and its miseries, would close.
The reader will remember, that I have before referred to
my sister. She had been for some time married, and was
then residing at Providence, Rhoae Island. One day, I received a letter from her, in which she stated that she was
severely afflicted with salt rheum, and requested my wife.
would visit her, for the purpose of nursing her and her infant. My wife deciding on going. I accompanied her to the




AUTOBIOGRAP HY.                   43
cars, and then returned home. It was the first time, since our
marriage, that we had ever been separated, and the house to
me looked lonely and desolate. I thought I would not go
to work, and a great inducement, to remain at home, existed in the shape of my enemy, West India rum, of which
I had nearly a gallon in the house. Although the morning
was by no means far advanced, I sat down, intending to do
nothing until dinner time. I could not sit alone, without
rum, and I drank, glass after glass, until I became so stupefied, that I was compelled to lie down on the bed, where I
soon fell asleep. When I awoke, it was late in the afternoon, and then, as I persuaded myself, too late to make a
bad day's work good. I invited a neighbor, who, like
myself, was a man of intemperate habits, to spend the
evening with me. He came, and we sat down to our rum,
and drank together freely, until late that night, when he
staggered home; and so intoxicated was I, that, in moving
to go to bed, I fell over the table, broke a lamp, and lay on
the floor for some time, unable to rise. At last, I managed
to get to bed; but, 0! I did not sleep, for the drunkard
never knows the blessings of undisturbed repose. I awoke
in the night, with a raging thirst. My mouth was parched,
and my throat was burning; and I anxiously groped about
the room, trying to find more rum, in which I sought to
quench my dreadful thirst. No sooner was one draught
taken, than the horrible dry feeling returned; and so I
went on, swallowing repeated glassfuls of the spirit, until,
at last, I had drained the very last drop which the jar contained.' My appetite grew by what it fed on; and, having
a little money by me, I with difficulty got up, made myself
look as tidy as possible, and then went out to buy more
rums with which I returned to the house. The fact will.
perhaps, seem incredible, but so it was, that I drankli spirits




44             AU TOBIOGRAPHY.
continually, without tasting a morsel of food, for the nest
three days. This could not last long; a constitution of iron
strength could not endure such treatment, and mine was
partially broken down by previous dissipation.
I began to experience a feeling, hitherto unknown to me.
After the three days drinking, to which I have just referred,
I felt, one night, as I lay on my bed, an awful sense of
somethinog dreadful coming upon me. It was as if I had
been partially stunned, and now, in an interval of consciousness, was about to have the fearful blow, which had
prostrated me, repeated. There was a craving for sleep,
sleep, blessed sleep! but my eyelids were as if they could
not close. Every object around me, I beheld with startling
distinctness, and my hearing became unnaturally acute.
Then, to the singing and roaring in my ears, would suddenly succeed a silence, so awful, that only the stillness of
the grave might be compared with it. At other times,
strange voices would whisper unintelligible words, and the
slightest noise would make me start, like a guilty thing. But
the horrible, burning thirst was insupportable, and, to quench
it, and induce sleep, I clutched, again and again, the rumbottle, hugged my enemy, and poured the infernal fluid down
my parched throat. But it was of no use - none. I could not
sleep. Then I bethought me of tobacco; and, staggering
from my bed to a shelf near, with great difficulty I managed to procure a pipe and some matches. I could not
stand to light the latter, so I lay again on the bed, and
scraped one against the wall. I began to smoke, and the
narcotic leaf produced a stupefaction. I dosed a little; but,
feeling a warmth on my face, I awoke, and discovered my
pillow to be on fire! I had dropped a lighted match on
the bed. By a desperate effort, I threw the pillow from the
bed, and, too exhausted to feel annoyed by the burning




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    45
feathers, I sank again into a state of somnolency. How
long I lay, I do not exactly know, but I was roused from
my lethargy by the neighbors, who, alarmed by a smell of
fire, came to my room to ascertain the cause. When they
took me from my bed, the under part of the straw with
which it was stuffed was smouldering, and, in a quarter of
an hour more, must have burst into a flame. Had such
been the case, how horrible would have been my fate, for it
is more than probable that, in my half-senseless condition,
I should have been suffocated, or burned to death. The
fright produced by this accident, and very narrow escape,
in some degree sobered me; but what I felt more than any
thing else, was the exposure. Now, all would be known,
and I feared my name would become, more than ever, a
by-word and a reproach.
Will it be believed that I again sought refuge in rum?
Scarcely had I recovered from the fright than I sent out,
procured a pint of rum, and drank it all in less than half an
hour  Yet so it was. And now came upon me many
terrible sensations. Cramps attacked me in my limbs
which racked me with agony, and my temples throbbed as
if they would burst. So ill was I, that I became seriously
alarmed and begged the people of the house to send for a
physician. They did so, but I immediately repented having
summoned him, and endeavored, but ineffectually, to get
out of his way when he arrived. He saw at a glance what
was the matter with me, ordered the persons about me to
watch me carefully, and on no account to let me have any
spirituous liquors. Every thing stimulating was rigorously
denied me, and then came on the drunkard's remorseless
Torturer - delirium tremens, in all its terrors, attacked me.
For three days I endured more agony than pen could
describe, even were it guided by the mind of a Dantd.




46             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
Who can tell the horrors of that horrible malady, aggra.
vated as it is by the almost ever-abiding consciousness that
it is self-sought. Hideous faces appeared on the walls, and
on the ceiling, and on the floors; foul things crept along
the bed-clothes, and glaring eyes peered into mine. I was
at one time surrounded by millions of monstrous spiders,
who crawled slowly; slowly over every limb, whilst the
beaded drops of persperation would start to my brow, and
my limbs would shiver until the bed rattled again. Strange
lights would dance before my eyes, and then suddenly the
very blackness of darkness would appal me by its dense
gloom. All at once, whilst gazing at a frightful creation
of my distempered mind, I seemed struck with sudden
blindness. I knew a candle was burning in the room, but
I could not see it. All was so pitchy dark. I lost the
sense of feeling too, for I endeavored to grasp my arm in
one hand, but consciousness was gone. I put my hand to
my side, my head, but felt nothing, and still I knew my
limbs and frame were there. And then the scene would
change. I was falling - falling swiftly as an arrow far down
into some terrible abyss, and so like reality was it that as I
fell I could see the rocky sides of the horrible shaft, where
mocking, jibing, mowing, fiendlike forms were perched
and I could feel the air rushing past me making m i;:
stream out by the force of the unwholesome blast.  Csthe paroxysm sometimes ceased for a few moments tnd i
would sink back on my pallet drenched with perspiration,
utterly exhausted, and feeling a dreadful certainty of the
renewal of my torments.
By the mercy of God I survived this awful seizure; and
when I rose a weak, broken-down man, and surveyed my
ghastly features in a glass, I thought of my mother, and
asked myself how I had obeyed the instructions I had re



A UTOBIOGRAPHY.                    47
ceived from her lips, and to what advantage I had turned the.
lessons she taught me. I remembered her countless prayers
and tears, thought of what I had been but a few short
months before, and contrasted my situation with what it then
was. Oh! how keen were my own rebukes; and in the
excitement of the moment I resolved to lead a better life,
and abstain from  the accursed wine-cup. For about a
month, terrified by what I had suffered, I adhered to my
resolution; then my wife came home, and in my joy at
her return, I flung my good resolutions to the wind, and
foolishly fancying that I could now restrain my appetite,
which had for a whole month remained in subjection, I took
glass of brandy.
That glass aroused the slumbering demon, who would
not be satisfied by so tiny a libation. Another, and another
succeeded, until I was again far advanced in the career of
intemperance. The night of my wife's return I went to
bed intoxicated. I will not detain the reader by the par.
ticulars of my every-day life at this time; they may easily
be imagined from what has already been stated. My pre.
vious bitter experience, one would think, may have operated
as a warning, but none save the inebriate can tell the al.
most resistless strength of the temptations which assail
him.
I did not, however, make quite so deep a plunge as
before. My tools I had given into the hands of Mr. Gray,
for whom I worked, and received at the rate of five dollars
a week. My wages were paid me every night, for I was
not to be trusted with much money at a time, so certain
was I to spend a great portion of it in drink. As it was, I
regularly got rid of one third of what I daily received for
rum. I soon lzft Mr. Gray, under the following circumstances. There was an exhibition of the Battle of Bunker




48            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
1ill to be opened in the town, and the manager knowing
that I had a good voice and sung pretty well, thought my
comic singing would constitute an attraction; so he engaged
me to give songs every evening, and to assist in the general business of the Diorama. In this occupation I continued about three weeks or a month, and when the exhibition closed in Newburyport, by invitation, I remained
with the proprietor and proceeded with him to Lowell.
As it was uncertain when I should return, the manager
wishing me to travel with him, I sold off what few articles
of furniture yet remained in my possession, and my wife
arranged to stay, during my absence, with her sister. I
stayed in the town of Lowell for the space of three months,
my habits of intemperance increasing, as might be expected, for in a wandering life my outbreaks were not so
much noticed as when I was residing at home. As had
been the case often before, rum claimed nearly all my attention, and consequently the business I was called upon
to perform was entirely neglected or carelessly attended to.
On several occasions when I repaired to the place where
the Diorama was exhibited, I was in such a state that I
could do nothing required of me, and severe were the rebukes I received in consequence from my employer.
These remarks incensed me highly, and only made me
drink more, so that ere long my name and that of an
incorrigible drunkard were synonymous. We next proceeded to Worcester, and there remained a fortnight
I experienced great difficulty in procuring the meagre salary which was promised me, and many privations had I to endure in consequence; my stock of wearing
apparel was scanty enough, and hardly fit to appear in
the street. This was in the month of October, and as the
winterwaas drawing on fast, I miserably contemplated what




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    49
my situation would be through the approaching severe
season. Want and cold appeared before me in all their
frightful realities, and I again resolved to abstain from the
maddening influences which governed me with despotic
uale.
I sent to my wife, requesting her to return, and transmitted her three dollars, for her expenses to Worcester, being
the first money I had sent to her for four months, except five
dollars which I received as part of the proceeds of a concert
I gave at Lowell. I adhered, in a great measure, to my
resolution not to become intoxicated, and had written to mywife, telling her of my determination to reform. On the dayI expected her to return home, I met with an acquaintance,
who asked me to stroll about with him, in order that he might
see the town. We drank together; and our walk ended
by my getting drunk, and forgetting the good resolutions
which I had made. In the evening, when I was, reeling
along from the hotel towards the exhibition, I chanced to
see a stage, and approached it, in order to see if my wife
was there. She had arrived; and I took her with me to the
hotel, where she discovered I had been drinking, and when
she reminded me of the promise I had made her to abandon
the destructive habit, I felt thoroughly ashamed of my weakness. I then went to the performance, and managed to get
through my work. Soon after this, I quitted the service
of the proprietor of the D)iorama; and, putting as sober a
face upon matters as I could, I applied to Messrs. Hutchinson and Crosby for employment. These gentlemen agreed
to take me on trial, stating that, if they were satisfied with
my work, they would engage me. My work was approved
of; and, once more installed in a good ~situation, I had a
chance of pushing my fortune.
4




50            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
My wife now began to exhibit symptoms of declining
health, and my prospects as before were none of the brightest. I managed to keep my situation, and fancied that my
intemperate habits were known only to myself, as I carefully
avoided any open or flagrant violation of propriety. -but
Drnmkenness, more than any other vice, cannot long be hidden. It seems as if the very walls whispered it; and there
is scarcely an action of the drinking man which does not
betray him. I did not, however, long remain cautious; for
one morning, after having drank freely the evening before,
I felt unable to work, and was compelled to remain at home
during that day and the next. All my property, which I
could by any means render available, I had disposed of,
in order to procure money for purchasing drink; and the
man in whose house I boarded, having watched my proceedings with a very vigilant and interested eye, became,
I suppose, fearful that I should not be able to pay for my
board, and informed my employers, Messrs. IIutchin'on and
Crosby, that I was detained at home in consequence of what
is called a drunken spree. I do not think the information
was given from any motive of kindness towards myself,
but believe it was a selfish motive which prompted the
interference.
I felt wretched enough when I proceeded to the shop to
resume my work. Mr. Hutchinson was a man of great
moral purity of character, but he had a strong hatred of
intemperance, and looked not very lightly on my transgression. As soon as he saw me, he sternly informed me that
he did not want anymen in his employ who were in the
habit of beingsthemworse for liquor; and threatened me with
ir ]ant dismissal, should I ever again neglect my business
f the bottle. I assured him that he should not again have
~, casion to complain of my inebriety, and I inwardly resolv



AUlTOBIOGRAPHY.                   51
ed to profit by the warning I had received. Having a sick
wife, and being almost utterly destitute of means, reflection
would force itself upon me. I was startled at the idea of
her and myself coming to want, entirely in consequence of,
my evil habit, and I resolved again to attempt the work of
reformation.
In order to render myself less liable to temptation, and to
avoid the dissipated society which I was constantly falling
into at the hotel, where I lived, I left it, and engaged board
at the house of a gentleman, who happened to be the president of a temperance society. Here I attempted to restrain
my appetite for drink, but the struggle was terrible; so
mighty a power would not be conquered without contesting
every inch of his dominion; and I, trusting to my own
strength, assailed it with but a feeble weapon. I felt as if I
could not do without the draughts which I had been so long
accustomed to, and yet I was ashamed to display the weakness which prompted me to indulge in them. To procure
liquor, I was compelled to resort to every kind of stratagem,
and the services of my inventive faculties were in constant
requisition. Many a time would I steal out, when no one
noticed me, and proceed, with a'bottle in my pocket, to the
farthest extremity of the town, where I would purchase a
supply of rum, which I would take home with me. Occasionally I would procure spirit at the apothecary's shop,
alleging, as an excuse, that it was required in a case of
sickness; and the pint I would generally divide into three
portions, one of which I took in the morning, another at
noon, and the remainder I disposed of in the evening. My
habits were not naturally of a deceptive character, and I
always felt degraded in my own esteem, whenever I had
occasion to resort to the expedients I have mentioned, -
but what will not a drunkard do, in order to procure the




52            AUTOBIOGRAPHY
stimulus he so ardently desires? IHave it I would, and get
it I did; and I always seemed to desire it the more when
the difficulty of procuring it was increased.
My wardrobe, as had, indeed, been nearly always the
case with me whilst I drank to excess, was now exceedingly shabby, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I
could manage to procure the necessaries of life. My wife
became very ill. 0! how miserable I became. Some of
the females who were in attendance on my wife, told me to
get two quarts of rum. I procured it, and as it was in the
house, and I did not anticipate serious consequences, I
could not withstand the strong temptation to drink. I did
drink, and so freely, that the usual effect was produced.
How much I swallowed, I cannot tell, but the quantity,
judging from the effects it produced, must have been considerable.
Ten long, weary days of suspense passed, at the end of
which my wife and her infant both died. Then came the
terribly oppressive feeling, that I was utterly alone in the
world; and it seemed, almost, that I was forgotten of God,
as well as abandoned by man. All the consciousness of my
dreadful situation pressed heavily indeed upon me, and
keenly as a sensitive mind could, did I feel the loss I had
experienced. I drank, now, to dispel my gloom, or to
drown it in the maddening cup; and soon was it whispered,
from one to another, until the whole town became aware
of it, that my wife and child were lying dead, and that I
was drunk! But if ever I was cursed with the faculty of
thought, in all its intensity, it was then. And this was the
degraded condition of one who had been nursed on the lap
of piety, and whose infant tongue had been taught to utter
a prayer against being led into temptation. There, in the
room where all who had loved me were lying in the uncon



AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    53
scious slumber of death, was I gazing, with a maudlin melancholy imprinted on my features, on the dead forms of
those who were flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone.
During the miserable hours of darkness, I would steal from
my lonely bed to the place where my dead wife and child
lay, and, in agony of soul, pass my shaking hand over their
cold faces, and then return to my bed, after a draught of
rum, which I had obtained, and hidden under the pillow of
my wretched couch. At such times, all the events of the
past would return, with terrible distinctness, to my recollection, and many a time did I wish to die, for Hope had well
nigh deserted me, both with respect to this world and the
next. I had apostatized from those pure principles which
once I embraced, and was now -
A wandering, wretched, worn, and weary thing,
Ashamed to ask, and yet I needed help.'
I will not dwell on this painful portion of my career, but
simply remark, that all the horrors, which I believe man
could bear, were endured by me at that dreary time. My
frame was enervated, my reputation gone; all my prospects were blighted, and misery seemed to have poured out
all her vials on my devoted head. The funerals of my
wife and child being over, I knew not what course to pursue,
for, wherever I went, I failed not to see the slow moving
finger of scorn pointed at me, and I writhed in agony, under
the sense of shame which it produced. Every one looked
coldly at me, and but few hesitated to sneer at my despicable condition. What had I done to deserve all this
torturing treatment? I was naturally of a kind and humane
disposition, and would turn aside from an unwillingness to
hurt a worm: frequently have I reasoned with boys who
inflicted cruelty on dumb animals. I would have hugged the




54            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
dog that licked my hand, and taken to my bosom, even a
reptile, if I thought it loved me. What had I done, to make
me so shunned and execrated by my kind? Conscience
gave me back an answer -I drank! and in those two
words lay the whole secret of my miserable condition.
It was not to be expected that, whilst I persisted in
my drinking habits, I should attend to my work. My
employers perceived that I neglected their interests, as well
as my own, and I was informed by them that they were no
longer in need of my services. What was I to do? I had
incurred some debts, which I wished to discharge, and I
expressed a desire to that effect. After some hesitation, I
was reengaged, on the understanding that I should receive
not one farthing of money for my labors, lest it should be
spent in liquor. My employers said they would purchase
me tobacco, and take my letters from the post-office for
me; and, under these stipulations, I went to work again.
I kept, in a great degree, sober for a few days; but felt,
all the time, indescribably miserable, from the consciousness that all confidence in me had been lost, and that I was
a suspected man. This impression nettled me to the quick,
and, ere long, I began to feel indignant of the control exercised over me. I thought that as I had battled with the
world, single-handed, for twelve years, and had received
nothing (with one or two exceptions) but unkindness and
misery, I had a right to do as I chose, without being
watched wherever I went. My proud spirit would not
brook this system of espionage, so I speedily made up my
mind to do as I pleased. If I wanted drink, I considered
I had a perfect right to gratify my inclinations, and drink
I determined to have.
Have it I did, though secretly, and to my employers it
was a matter of wonder how I managed to get drunk so




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                      55
often. My funds, as I said, were all expended, and I was
driven by my ravenous appetite to a course which, at any
other time and under any other circumstances, I should have
shrunk in horror from. I had in my possession some books
which I once had valued, some of them presents; and I also
retained a few articles, the once highly valued mementos
of dear and departed friends. As I looked eagerly over these
frail remnants of what I once possessed, my all-absorbing
passion for drink exercised its tyrannizing power, and one
by one, until none remained, every relic was disposed of,
and the proceeds arising from the sale of them spent for
rum. Could there be a more striking instance of the debasing influence which alcohol exerts? Why, at one time,
I would almost as sooin have parted with my life as with
those precious remembrancers of'The loved, the lost, the distant, and the dead.'
Now, however, all fine feeling was nearly obliterated from
the tablet of my affections, and if I felt any pang in parting
with articles I once so prized, the glass was my universal
panacea. At length nothing remained on which I could
raise a single cent, and I found in the lowest depths of
poverty'a lower still.'
I have, in several parts of this narrative, referred to my
vocal talents and my ventriloquial acquirements. After
every other resource had failed me, in my utmost need, I
was compelled, as the only means of getting a little rum,
to avail myself of these aids. Accordingly, my custom
was to repair to the lowest gogshops, and there I might
usually be found, night after night, telling facetious stories,
singing comic songs, or turning books upside down and
reading them whilst they were moving round, to the great
delight and wonder of a set of loafers who supplied me with




56             AUTO B IO   GRAPHY.
drink in return. Who would have recognized in the gibing
mountebank, the circle of a laughing, drunken crowd, the
son of religious parents, one who had been devoted and
affectionate not so very long before; one, too, who had felt
and appreciated the pleasures which religion alone can
bestow? At times my former condition would flash across
my mind, when, in the midst of riot and revelry, conviction would fasten its quivering arrow in my heart, making
it bleed again, although I was forced to hide the wound.
And through the mists of memory, my mother's face would
often appear, just as it was when I stood by her knee and
listened to lessons of wisdom and goodness, from her loving
lips. I would see her mild reproving face, and seem to hear
her warning voice; and, surrounded by my riotous companions, at certain seasons, reason would struggle for the
throne whence she had been driven, and I would, whilst
enjoying the loud plaudits of sots,
See a hand they could not see,
Which beckoned me away.'
Sabbaths which, from my childhood, I had been taught
to reverence, were now disregarded. Seldom did I enter
God's house, where prayer was wont to be made, as I had
done during a portion of the time I resided in New York.
The day of rest was no Sabbath to me, and my usual way
of spending it was to stroll into the country, where I might
be alone, with a bottle of intoxicating liquid in my possession. When this was empty, I would crawl back to the
town, under cover of the darkness, and close the sacred
hours in some obscure groggery, in the society of those
who, like myself. disregarded the command of the Almighty
to keep holy the Sabbath day.
Again the dreary winter was about to resume its rigorous
reign, and with horror I anticipated its approach. My stock




UTO B I OG R A P H Y              57
of clothing was failing fast. I had no flannels or woollen
socks, no extra coats, and no means of procuring those
absolutely necessary preservatives against the severities of
an American winter. I had no hope of ever becoming a
respectable man again, - not the slightest, - for it appeared
to me that every chance of restoration to decent society,
and of reformation, was gone forever. I wished, and fully
expected, soon to die. Hope had abandoned me here, and
beyond the grave nothing appeared calculated to cheer my
desponding spirit. O, what a deep and stinging sense I
had of my own degraded position, for my feelings were
keenly alive to the ridicule and contempt which never
ceased to be heaped on me. Utterly wretched and abandoned, I have stood by the railway track with a vague wish
to lie across it, drink myself into oblivion, and let the cars
go over me. Once I stood by the rails, with a bottle of
laudanum clattering against my lips, and had nearly been
a suicide; but the mercy of God interposed, and I dashed
the poison on the ground, and escaped the sin of self-murder. All night long have I lain on the damp grass which
covered my wife's grave, steeped to the very lips in poverty,
degradation, and misery; and yet I was a young man,
whose energies, had they been rightly directed, might have
enabled me to surmount difficulty, and command respect.
I had long since ceased to correspond with my sister,
and so careless had I become, that I never thought of
communicating again with the only relative I had remaining. Frequently was I tempted to take my life, and
yet I clung instinctively to existence. Sleep was often a
stranger to my eyelids, and many a night would I spend
in the open air, sometimes in a miserable state of inebriation, and, at other times, in a half-sober condition. All
this time I often resolved that I would drink no more -




58            A AUTOBIOGR AP HY.
that I would break the chain which bound me, but I still
continued in the same course, breaking every promise
made to myself and others, and continuing an object of
scorn and contempt. I felt that very few, if any, pitied
me, and that any should love me was entirely out of the
question. Yet was I yearning intensely for sympathy; for,
as I have before stated, my affections were naturally
strong and deep; and often, as I lay in my solitary chamber, feeling how low I had sunk, and that no one eye
ever dropped a tear of pity over my state, or would grow
dim if I were laid in the grave, I have ardently wished that
I might never see the morning light. Fancy, reader, what
my agony must have been, when, with the assurance that
no drunkard could enter the kingdom of Heaven, I was
willing, nay, anxious, for the sake of escaping the tortures
to which I was subjected in this life, to risk the awful realities of the unseen world. My punishment here was
greater than I could bear. I had made a whip of scorpions, which perpetually lashed me. My name was a byeword. No man seemed to care for my soul. I was joined,
like Israel of old, unto idols, and it seemed as if the Lord
had said respecting me,'Let him alone.'
Before I conclude this portion of my history, let me
urge on every young man, whose eye may glance over
these pages, to learn from my miserable state a lesson of
wisdom. Let him beware of the liquor that intoxicates.
Poets may sing of the Circean cup - praise in glowing terms
the garlands which wreathe it —wit may lend its brilliant
aid to celebrate it, and even learning invest it with a charm;
but when the poet's song shall have died, and the garlands have all withered; when wit shall have ceased to
sparkle, and the lore of ages be an unremembered thing;
the baneful effects of the intoxicating draught will be felt;




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    59
and then will the words of wisdom be awfully verified in
the miserable doom of the drunkard —' Wine is a mocker - strong drink is raging.'
6 Who hath woe? who hath sorrow i who hath conten.
tions? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness
of eyes?' They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek
mixed wine.'Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it
giveth its color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright.' At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder








AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
BY JOHN B. GOUGH.
PART SECOND.
IhTHnERTO my career had been one of almost unmiti.
gated woe; for, with the exception of the days of my childhood, my whole life had been one perpetual struggle
against poverty and misery, in its worst forms. Thrown at
a tender age upon the world, I was soon taught its hard
lessons. Death had robbed me of my best earthly protector, and Providence cast my lot in a land thousands
of miles from the place of my birth. Temptation had assailed me, and trusting to my own strength for support, I
had fallen, 0, how low! In the very depths of my
desolation, wife and children had been torn from my side.
In the midst of thousands I was lonely, and, abandoning
hope, the only refuge which seemed open for me was the
grave. A dark pall overhung that gloomy abode, which
shut out every ray of hope; and although death to me
would have been a'leap in the dark,' I was willing to
peril my immortal soul and blindly rush into the presence
of my Maker. Like a stricken deer, I had no communion
with my kind. Over every door of admission into the society
of my fellow-men, the words,' No Hope,' seemed to be in



62            AUTOBIOGnAPHY.
scribed. Despair was my companion, and perpetual de.
gradation appeared to be my allotted doom. I was ino
tensely wretched; and this dreadful state of things was
of my own bringing about. I had no one but myself to
blame for the sufferings which I endured; and when I
thought of what I might have been, these inflictions were
awful beyond conception. Lower in the scale of mental
and moral degradation I could not well sink. Despised by
all, I despised and hated in my turn, and doggedly flung
back to the world the contempt and scorn which it so. profusely heaped on my head.
Such was my pitiable state at this period - a state
apparently beyond the hope of redemption. But a change
was about to take place - a circumstance which eventual..
ly turned the whole current of my life into a new and
unhoped for channel.
The month of October had nearly drawn to a close, and
on its last Sunday evening I wandered out into the streets,
pondering as well as I was able to do, for I was somewhat
intoxicated, on my lone and friendless condition.  My
frame was much weakened by habitual indulgence in
intoxicating liquor, and little fitted to bear the cold of
winter, which had already begun to come on. But I had
no means of protecting myself against the bitter blast,
and as I anticipated my coming misery, I staggered along,
houseless, aimless, and all but hopeless.
Some one tapped me on the shoulder. An unusual
thing that, to occur to me; for no one now cared to come
in contact with the wretched, shabby-looking drunkard. I
was a disgrace -'a living, walking disgrace.' I could
scarcely believe my own senses when I turned and met a
kind look; the thing was so unusual and so entirely unexpected, that I questioned the reality of it - but so it was.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY,                    63
It was the first touch of kindness which I had known for
months; and simple, and trifling as the circumstance may
appear to many, it went right to my heart, and like the
wing of an angel troubled the waters in that stagnant pool
of affection, and made them once more reflect a little of
the light of human love.
The person who touched my shoulder was an entire
stranger. I looked at him, wondering what his business
was with me. Regarding me very earnestly, and apparently with much interest, he exclaimed:' 1r. Gough, I believe?''That is my name,' I replied, and was passing on.'You have been drinking to-day,' said the stranger, in a
kind voice, which arrested my attention, and quite dispelled any anger at what I might otherwise have considered an officious interference in my affairs.'Yes, sir,' I replied,'I have.''Why do you not sign the pledgel' was the next query.
I considered for a minute or two, and then informed
the strange friend, who had so unexpectedly interested
himself in my behalf, that I had no hope of ever again
becoming a sober man; that I was without a single friend
in the world who cared for me, or what became of me —
that I fully expected to die very soon - I cared not how
soon - nor whether I died drunk or sober - and, in fact,
that I was in a condition of utter recklessness.
The stranger regarded me with a benevolent look -
took me by the arm, and asked me how I should like to be as
I once was, respectable and esteemed, well clad, and sitting as I used to in a place of worship, enabled to meet
my friends as in old times, and receive from them the
pleasant nod of recognition as formerly-in fact, become a useful member of society l




64             AUTOBIO GR APH   P H Y.' Oh!' replied I,' I should like all these things first rate;
but I have no expectation that such a thing will ever happen. Such a change cannot be possible.''Only sign our pledge,' remarked my friend,' and I will
warrant that it shall be so. Sign it, and I will introduce
you myself to good friends, who will feel an interest in
your welfare and take a pleasure in helping you to keep
your good resolutions. Only, Mr. Gough, sign the pledge,
and all will be as I have said; ay, and more too.'
Oh! how pleasantly fell these words of kindness and
promise on my crushed and bruised heart. I had long been
a stranger to feelings such as now awoke in my bosom.
A chord had been touched which vibrated to the tone of
love. Hope once more dawned, and I began to think,
strange as it appeared, that such things as my friend promised me might come to pass. On the instant I resolved to
try, at least, and said to the stranger:'Well, I will sign it.''Wllen l' he asked.'I cannot do so to-night,' I replied,' for I must have some
more drink presently; but I certainlywill to-morrow.''We have a temperance meeting to-morrow evening,'
he said;' Will you sign it then''I will.''That is right,' said he, grasping my hand,' I will be
there to see you.'' You shall,' I remarked; and we parted.
I went on my way much touched by the kind interest
which, at last, some one had taken in my welfare. I said
to myself,'If it should be the last act of my life, I will
perform my promise, and sign it even though I die in the
attempt, for that man has placed confidence in me, and
on that account I love him.' I then proceeded to a low




AUTOBIOGRAPH Y.                   65
groggery in Lincoln square hotel, and in the space of half
an hour, drank four glasses of brandy; this, in addition to
what I had taken before, made me very drunk, and I staggered home as well as I could. Arrived there, I threw
myself on the bed and lay in a state of drunken insensibility
until morning
The first thing which occurred to my mind on awaking
was the promise I had made on the evening before, to sign
the pledge; and feeling, as I usually did on the morning
succeeding a drunken bout, wretched, and desolate, I was
almost sorry that I had agreed to do so. My tongue was
dry, my throat parched — my temples throbbed as if they
would burst, and I had a horrible burning feeling in my
stomach which almost maddened me and I felt that I must
have some bitters or I should die. So I yielded to my
appetite, which would not be appeased, and repaired to the
same hotel, where I had squandered away so many shillings before; there I drank three or four times, until my
nerves were a little strung, and then I went to work.
All that day, the coming event of the evening was continually before my mind's eye, and it seemed to me as if thQ
appetite which had so long controlled me, exerted more
power over me than ever. It grew stronger than I had at
any time known it, now that I was about to rid myself of
it. Until noon I struggled against its cravings, and then,
unable to endure my misery any longer, I made some excuse for leaving the shop, and went nearly a mile from it
in order to procure one more glass wherewith to appease
the demon who so tortured me.
The day wore wearily away, and when evening came, I
determined, in spite of many a hesitation, to perform the
promise I had made to the stranger the night before. The
meeting was to be held at the lower Town Hall, Worcester,
5




66            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
and thither, clad in an old brown surtout, closely buttoned
up to my chin, that my ragged habiliments beneath might
not be visible, I repaired. I took a place among the rest,
and when an opportunity of speaking presented itself, I
requested permission to be heard, which was readily
granted.
When I stood up to relate my story, I was invited to
the stand, to which I repaired; and, on turning to face the
audience, I recognized my acquaintance who had asked me
to sign. It was Mr. Joel Stratton. He greeted me with a
smile of approbation, which nerved and strengthened me
for my task, as I tremblingly observed every eye fixed
upon me. I lifted my quivering hand, and then and there
told what rum had done for me. I related how I was once
respectable and happy, and had a home; but that now I
was a houseless, miserable, scathed, diseased, and blighted
outcast from society. I said, scarce a hope remained to me
of ever becoming that which I once was; but having, promised to sign the pledge, I had determined not to break
my word, and would now affix my name to it. In my
palsied hand Iwith difficulty grasped the pen, and, in characters almost as crooked as those of old Stephen Hopkins,
I signed the total abstinence pledge, and resolved to free
myself from the inexorable tyrant - rum.
Although still desponding and hopeless, I felt that I was
relieved from a part of my heavy load.'It was not because
I deemed there was any supernatural power in the pledge,
which would prevent my ever again falling into such depths
of woe as I had already become acquainted with, but the
feeling of relief arose from the honest desire I entertained
to keep a good resolution. I had exerted a moral power,
which had long remained lying by, perfectly useless. The
vely idea of what I had done, strengthened and encouraged




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    67
me. Nor was this the only impulse given me to proceed
in my new pathway; for many who witnessed my signing,
and heard my simple statement, came forward kindly,
grasped my hand, and expressed their satisfaction at the
step I had taken. A new and better day seemed to have
dawned upon me.
As I left the hall, agitated and enervated, I remember
chuckling to myself, with great gratification,'I have done
it —I have done it.' There was a degree of pleasure in
having put my foot on the head of the tyrant who had so
long led me captive at his will; but, though I had'scotched' the snake, I had not killed him, for every inch
of his frame was full of venomous vitality, and I felt that
all my caution was necessary to prevent his stinging me
afresh.
I went home, retired to bed; but in vain did I try to
sleep. I pondered upon the step I had taken, and
passed a restless night. Knowing that I had voluntarily
renounced drink, I endeavored to support my sufferings,
and resist the incessant craving of my remorseless appetite
as well as I could; but the struggle to overcome it was insupportably painful. When I got up in the morning, my
brain seemed as though it would burst with the intensity of
its agony, my throat appeared as if it were on fire, and in my
stomach I experienced a dreadful burning sensation, as if
the fires of the pit had been kindled there. My hands trembled so, that to raise water to my feverish lips was almost
impossible. I craved, literally gasped, for my accustomed
stimulus, and felt that I should die if I did not have it;
but I persevered in my resolve, and withstood the temptations which assailed me on every hand.
Still, during all this frightful time, I experienced a feeling, somewhat akin to satisfaction, at the position I had




68            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
taken. I had made at least one step towards reformation.
I began to think that it was barely possible that I might see
better days, and once more hold up my head in society. Such
feelings as these would alternate with gloomy forebodings,
and'thick coming fancies' of approaching ill. At one
time hope, and at another fear, would predominate; but
the raging, dreadful, continued thirst was always present,
to torture and tempt me.
After breakfast, I proceeded to the shop where I was employed, feeling dreadfully ill. I determined, however, to put
a bold face on the matter, and, in spite of the cloud which
seemed to hang over me, to attempt work. I was exceed
ingly weak, and fancied, as I almost reeled about the shop,
that every eye was fixed upon me suspiciously, although I
exerted myself to the utmost to conceal my agitation. How
I got through that day, I cannot now tell, but its length
seemed interminable, and as if it would never come to an
end. I felt I was undeserving of confidence after I had so
often broken my promises of amendment; but I determined
to make another effort to procure the respect of my em
ployers, and going to one of the gentlemen in the shop, I
informed him that I had signed the pledge.
He looked at me very earnestly, and said,' I know you
have.''And,' I added,'I mean to keep it.''So they all say,' he replied;' and I hope you will.'
As he spoke doubtingly, I reiterated my determination
to abide by the resolution I had made, never more to touch
intoxicating liquors, and said to him,' You have no confidence in me, sir.'None, whatever,' he repliedi'but I hope you will keep
your pledge.'




AUTOIBIOGRAPHY.                  69
I turned to work again, saddened in mind and subdued
in spirit; for the conversation I had just held with my employer showed me how low i had sunk in the esteem of
prudent and sober-minded men. Whilst brooding over my
misfortunes, I heard my name mentioned, and, turning
round, saw a gentleman, who had entered unobserved by
me. He said,'Good morning, Mr. Gough. I was very
glad to see you take the position you did last night, and so
were many of our temperance friends. It is just such men
as you that we want, and I have no doubt but you will be
the means of doing the cause a great deal of good.'
This greatly encouraged me; and the gentleman, whose
name was Mr. Jesse W. Goodrich, then and now practising
as an attorney and counsellor at law in Worcester, added,
in a very kindly tone,' My office is at the Exchange, Mr.
Gough, and I shall be very happy to see you, whenever you
like to call in, - very happy.
It would be impossible to describe how this act, trifling
as it appeared, cheered me. With the exception of Mr.
Joel Stratton, who was a waiter at the temperance hotel,
and who had asked me to sign the pledge, no one had accosted me for months in a manner which would lead me to
think any one cared for me, or what might be my fate.
Now, however, I was not altogether alone in the world; there
weas a probability of my being rescued from the slough of
despond, where I had so long been floundering. I saw that
the fountain of human kindness was not utterly sealed up;
and again a green spot, an oasis, small, indeed, but cheering,
appeared in the desert of life. I had something now to live
for. A new desire for life seemed suddenly to spring up 
the universal boundary of human sympathy included even
my wiretched self in its cheering circle. And all these sensations were generated by a few kind words.




70            AU TOBIOGR APH Y.
WVhat a lesson of love should not this teach us? How
know we, but some trifling sacrifice, some little act of kindness, some, it may be, unconsidered word, may heal a
bruised heart, or cheer a drooping spirit. Never shall I
forget the exquisite delight which I felt when fn-st asked to
call and see Mr. Goodrich; and how did I love him from
my very heart for the pleasure he afforded me in the knowledge that some one on the broad face of the earth cared for
me, - for me, who had given myself up as a castaway; who,
two days before, had been friendless in the widest signification of the word, and willing, nay, wishing, to die. Any
man who has suddenly broken off a habit, such as mine was,
may imagine what my sufferings were during the week which
followed my abandoning the use of alcohol. Any attempt
to describe my feelings would inevitably fall far short of the
reality, and I shall mention only one or two circumstances
in connection with this eventful period of my life.
On the evening of the day following that on which I
signed the pledge, I went straight home from my workshop,
with a dreadful feeling of some impending calamity haunting me. In spite of the encouragement I had received, the
presentiment of coming evil was so strong, that it bowed
me almost to the dust with apprehension. The unslakable
thirst still clung to me, and water instead of allaying it,
seemed only to increase its intensity. I feared another
attack of delirium tremens, and not without reason; for, on
that very evening, when I took the iron pin to screw up the
binding-press, it seemed to turn to a writhing, creeping
snake in my hands. I dropped it in horror, and it was
nothing( but a bar of iron! These and similar illusions
terrified me, and ere long my worst apprehensions were
realized. I was fated to encounter one struggle more with.
my enemy before I became free




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    71
Fearful was that struggle. God, in his mercy, forbid that
any other young man should endure but a tenth part of the
torture which racked my frame and agonized my heart.
As, in the former attack, horrible faces glared upon me
from the walls, - faces ever changing, and displaying new
and still more horrible features,-black, bloated insects
crawled over my face, and myriads of burning, concentric
rings were revolving incessantly. At one moment the
chamber appeared as red as blood, and in a twinkling it was
dark as the charnel-house. I seemed to have a knife with
hundreds of blades in my hand, every blade driven through
the flesh of my hands, and all were so inextricably bent and
tangled together, that I could not withdraw them for some
time; and when I did, from my lacerated fingers the bloody
fibres would stretch out all quivering with life. After a
frightful paroxysm of this kind, I would start like a maniac
from my bed, and beg for life, life! What I of late thought
so worthless, seemed now to be of unappreciable value. I
dreaded to die, and clung to existence, as feeling that my
soul's salvation depended on a little more of life. A great
portion of this time I spent alone; no mother's hand was
near to wipe the big drops of perspiration from my brow;
no kind voice cheered me in my solitude. Alone I encountered all the host of demoniac forms which crowded my
chamber. No one witnessed my agonies, or counted my
woes, and yet I recovered; how, still remains a mystery to
myself, and still more mysterious was the fact of my concealing my sufferings from every mortal eye.
In about a week, I gained, in a great degree, the mastery
over my accursed appetite; but the strife had made me
dreadfully weak. Gradually my health improved, my
spirits recovered, and I ceased to despair. Once more was
I enabled to crawl into the sunshine; but, 0! how chang




72            AUTOBIO G RP  Y.
Wan cheeks and hollow eyes, feeble limbs, and almost
powerless hands, plainly enough indicated that, between
me and death, there had indeed been but a step.
A great change now took place in my condition for the
better, and it appeared likely enough that the anticipations
of my friend, Mr. Stratton, who induced me to sign the
pledge, as to my becoming once more a respectable man,
were about to be realized. For a long period, of late, I
had ceased to take any care with respect to my personal
appearance, for the intemperate man is seldom neat; but I
now began to feel a little more pride on this head, and endeavored to make my scanty wardrobe appear to the best
advantage. I also applied myself more diligently to business, and became enabled to purchase articles which I had
long needed, and assume a more respectable appearance.
Unfortunately, however, work soon began to slacken, and
my circumstances, in consequence, were but poor.
I, generally, regularly attended the weekly temperance
meetings, and my case being well known, I was at length
invited to speak on the subject. After some hesitation, I
consented to do so, and addressed an audience for about
fifteen minutes, stating what my course had been, and what
temperance had effected for me, and also expressing my
firm determination to adhere to the total abstinence pledge.
I well remember the individual who first engaged me for a
regular speech. It was a good man, and devoted friend of
the cause, Mr. Hiram Fowler, of Upton.  He heard my
address at one of the temperance meetings, and thinking I
should do good, was very anxious to secure my humble
services.
One afternoon, not long after I joined the society, a gentleman invited me to speak on temperance, in the schoolhouse, on Bumrcoat plain   That evening I shall never




AtJTOBIOG   AP HY.                7M
forget. I was not, from scarcity of funds, enabled to procure fitting habiliments in which to appear before a respectable audience, and so I was compelled to wear an old over,
coat, which the state of my under clothing obliged me to
button closely up to my chin. The place assigned to me was
very near a large and well-heated stove. As I spoke, I grew
warm, and after using a little exertion, the heat became so
insufferable, that I was drenched in perspiration. My situation was ludicrous in the extreme. I could not, in con
sequence of the crowd, retreat from the tremendous fire,
and unbuttoning my coat was out of the question altogether. What with the warmth imparted by my subject,
and that which proceeded from the stove, I was fairly between two fires. When I had done my speech, I was all
but done myself, for my body contained a greater quantity
of caloric than it had ever possessed before or since. I
question whether Monsieur Chabert, the fire king, was ever
subjected to a more'fiery trial.'
Not long after this, it began to be whispered about that I
had some talents for public speaking; and my career, as an
intemperate man, having been notorious, a little curiosity
as to my addresses was excited. I was invited to visit Milbury, and deliver an address there. I went, in company
with Doctor Hunting, of Worcester. Mr. Van Wagner,
better known, perhaps, as the Poughkeepsie blacksmith,
was also to speak. I spoke, for the first time, from a pulpit
at this place; and my address, which was listened to very
attentively, occupied about a quarter of an hour or twenty
minutes. At this time, nothing was farther from my intentions than becoming a public speaker. In my wildest
flights, I never dreamed of this. I can sincerely say that
I was urged to give these early addresses solely by a hope
that good. through my instrumentality, might be done to
the temperance cause, to which I owed my redemption.




74             AUTOBIO GRAPHY.
Prior to delivering this address at Milbury, I had pur.
chased a new suit of clothes, the first which I had been
able to get for a long period. They came home on the day
fixed for my speaking. Now, I had been so long accustomed to my old garments, that they had become, as it
were, a part and parcel of myself, and seemed to belong to
me, and feel as natural as my skin did. My new suit was
very fashionably cut, and as I put on the articles, one by
one, I felt more awkwardness than, I verily believe, I ever
exhibited, before or since, in the course of my life. The
pantaloons were strapped down, over feet which had long
been used to freedom, and I feared to walk in my usual
manner, lest they should go at the knee. I feared, too, lest
a strap should give, and make me lop-sided for life. The
vest certainly set off my waist to the best advantage; but
it did not seem, on a first acquaintance, half so comfortable
as my ancient friend, although the latter had long been
threadbare, and minus a few buttons. And, then, the
smartly cut coat was so neatly and closely fitted to the
arms, and the shoulders, and the back, that, when it was
on, I felt in a fix as well as a fit. I was fearful of any thing
but a mincing motion, and my arms had a cataleptic
appearance. Every step I took was a matter of anxiety,
lest an unlucky rip should derange my smartness. How I
tried the pockets, over and over again, and stared at myself
in the glass! Verily I felt more awkward, for some time,
in my new suit, than I did whilst roasting before the fire in
my old one.
On the evening following my visit to Milbury, I delivered
a second address, in another church there, which was
well attended. Invitations now began to pour in on
nme from many quarters, and I had been asked. several
times, -to go to the same old school-house, on Burncoat




AUTOBIOGRAPH I.                    75
plain, where I had before spoken; when, on the 26th of
December, 1842, Dr. Kendall, of Stirling, applied for some
person to deliver a temperance address. I was recommended as a suitable person, and went with him, occupying the
whole of the evening, for the first time. Mr. Van Wagner
spoke the next night, and I was detained until the Sufilay
morning. On my return to Worcester, I found that several
applications for my services had been made from other
towns. Mr. Genery Twichell was desirous that I should go
with him to Barre, where a New Year's Day celebration, or
temperance jubilee, consisting of singing and addresses, was
to be held. In compliance with Mr. Twichell's wish, I
attended the anniversary, and felt much gratification; after
which I again returned to Worcester.
I now, finding that my engagements were increasing
fast, applied to my employers for leave of absence for a
week or two, in order to enable me to perform them. The
required permission I obtained. When I went away, I left
a pile of Bibles on my bench unfinished, promising to finish
them on my return; hut unforeseen circumstances occurred,
and I never returned to complete them.
IlMy time was now almost entirely employed in lecturing
on the temperance cause; and, as good appeared to be
effected by my labors, I was encouraged to proceed. I
visited, about this time, in succession, the towns of Grafton.
Webster, Leicester, Milbury, West Boylston, Berlin, Bolton, Upton, Hopkinton, and Mendon, together with many
other places in Worcester county, the names of which it is
not necessary to record. My audiences gradually increased in numbers, and, as I acquired more confidence in
speaking, my labors were rendered the more useful and
acceptable.
I must now refer to a circumstance which occurred about




76            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
five months after I signed the pledge, and which caused infinite pain to myself, and uneasiness to the fiiends of the
cause. I allude to a fact, notorious at the time —my violation of the pledge. This narrative purports to be a verib
table record of my history, and God forbid that I should
conceal or misstate any material circumstance connected
with it. If the former portion of this Autobiography be
calculated to operate as a warning against the use of alcoholic liquors, the event which I am now about to record
may not be without its use, in convincing many who have
flung away the maddening draught, that theyneed a strength,
not their own, to enable them to adhere to the vows they
make. Well, and wisely, has it been said by the inspired
penman,' Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest
he fall;' for unassisted human strength is utterly unable to
afford adequate support in the hour of weakness or tempt
ation. We are only so far safe when we depend on a
mightier arm than our own for support. Our very strength
lies in our sense of weakness, and this was to be demonstrated in my experience.
I had known all the misery which intoxication produces,
and, remembering it, could fervently offer up a prayer, such
as the following, which, although first breathed by other
lips than mine, aptly expressed my feelings:-'ALMIGHTY GOD, if it be thy will that man should
suffer, whatever seemeth good in thy sight impose on
me. Let the bread of affliction be given me to eat. Take
from me the friends of my confidence. Let the cold hut of
poverty be my dwelling-place, and the wasting hand of disease inflict its painful torments. Let me sow in the whirlwind, and reap in the storm. Let those have me in derision who are younger than I. Let the passing away of




AUTOBIOG RAPHY.                    77
my welfare be like the fleeting of a cloud, and the. shouts of
my enemies be like the rushing of waters. When I anticipate good, let evil annoy me; when I look for light, let
darkness come upon me. Let the terrors of death be ever
before me. Do all this, but save me, merciful God, save
me from the fate of a Drunkard. Amen.'
I loved the temperance pledge. No one could value it
more than I; for, standing, as I did, a redeemed man, enabled to hold up my head in society, I owed every thing to
it. Painful as -I said this event of my life was in the act,
and humiliating in the contemplation, I proceed to state
every particular respecting it.
I was, at this time, delivering addresses in the town of
Charlton,'Worcester county. Laboring so indefatigably,
and indeed unceasingly, almost immediately, and for some
time, after suddenly breaking off the use of a stimulus to
which I had been accustomed for years, I became very
weak in health; and, being of an extremely nervous temperament, I suffered much more than I otherwise should
have done. I had an almost constant htemorrhage from
my stomach, and gradually became so excited, and nervously irritable, that I entirely lost my appetite, and could
neither eat nor sleep. The engagements that I had made at
Charlton came to a termination on Fast day, and in order
to prepare for an address the next evening at Sutton, that
town being the next on my list of appointments (numbering now more than thirty in succession), I returned to Worcester. Whilst there, and on my way there from Charlton,
I felt sensations to which I had before been a stranger. It
was a most distressing feeling, but one impossible to define.
It will be remembered that, in a former page, I have given
an account of an accident which I received when a boy,




78             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
my head having been wounded by a spade. In the neighbor.
hood of this old injury I experienced considerable pain. A
restlessness, too, accompanied these symptoms, for which I
could not account, and which I could not by any effort
subdue. It was noticed, with some uneasiness, by my
friends, that I acted and talked very strangely; but I was
not at all conscious that, in my every day habits, there was
any thing to excite or attract more than ordinary attention.
I boarded with a Mrs. Chamberlain, as good, kind, and
considerate a woman as I ever knew. She observed my
illness, and strongly urged me to remain at home, and go
to bed. But I was in so nervous a state, that to remairn
still for five minutes together was a thing utterly impossible.
I could neither sit in one position long, or remain standing;
and this restless feeling was far more distressing to myself
than can be imagined by those who have not suffered in a
similar way. It appeared to me that I must be going somewhere, I knew not, and cared not whither, but there was a
certain impulsive feeling which I could not restrain, any
more than an automaton can remain motionless when its
machinery is wound up. I left Mrs. Chamberlain's house,
much against her wish, saying I should return shortly, and
intending to do so; but when I had wandered about for a
little time, I heard the fifteen-minute bell, at the depot, announce that the train was about to start for Boston, and
almost without thinking of what I was about to do, I proceeded to the station, entered the cars, and, without any
earthly aim or object, set out for Boston; all I felt was an
irresistible inclination to move on, I cared not where.
Several gentlemen, into whose company I fell, noticed
the extreme strangeness of my deportment and conversation whilst in the cars. On arriving in Boston, I strolled
for some time about the streets, uncertain how to employ




A UTOBIOGRAPHY.                     79
or amuse myself. Evening drew on, and it occurred to me
that I might dissipate my melancholy, and quiet myself
down, by going to the theatre; I resolved to pursue this
course, and accordingly entered the playhouse. I had not
been there long before I fell in with some old companions,
with whom I had been intimate many years before. We
talked together of old times; and, at last, observing my
manner, and noticing that I talked strangely and incoherently, they inquired what ailed me. I told them that I felt
as if I wanted to move on, that move on I must, but cared
not whither, -in fact that I was very ill.  After being
pressed to accompany them and take some oysters, I consented, and we all repaired to an oyster-room. It was
during the time of taking this refreshment that a glass of
wine or brandy was offered me. Without thought, I drank
it off. And then, suddenly, the terrible thought flashed
across my mind that I had violated my pledge. The
horror I felt at the moment, it would be impossible for me
to describe. Ruin, inevitable ruin, stared me in the face. By
one rash and inconsiderate act, I had undone the work of
months, betrayed the confidence reposed in me by friends,
and blasted every hope for the future. To say that I felt
miserable, would only give a faint idea of my state. For
five months I had battled with my enemy, and defied him
when he appeared armed with all his terrors; but now, when
I fondly fancied him a conquered foe, and had sung in the
broad face of day my prans of victory, to hundreds and
thousands of listeners, he had craftily wrought my downfall.
I was like some bark,'Which stood the storm when winds were rough,
But in a sunny hour, fell off;
Like ships that have gone. down at sea
When heaven was all tranquillity.'




80            AUTOBIOGRAPHT.
My accursed appetite, too, which I deemed eradicated, I
found had only slept; the single glass I had taken roused
my powerful and now successful enemy. I argued with
myself that as I had made one false step, matters could not
be made worse by taking a few more. So, yielding to
temptation, I swallowed three or four more potations, and
slept that night at the hotel. With the morning reflection
came; and fearful, indeed, appeared to me my situation.
Without drinking again, I started in the cars for Newburyport, painfully feeling but not exhibiting any signs of
having indulged in the intemperate cup on the previous
evening. At Newburyport an unlooked for trial awaited
me, —I was invited to speak for the temperance society
there. I felt that I had no claim now to be heard, although
I bitterly repented my retrograde movement; but at length
I consented to speak, and did so, both on the Sunday and the
following Monday. To Worcester I dreaded returning, so
agonized was I in mind. It was there I came forward as a
redeemed drunkard, had there, time and again, solemnly
vowed that the intoxicating cup should never press my lips
again, had there been received by the kind and the good
with open arms, and encouraged to proceed; but, alas! how
had I fallen! and with what countenance could I meet those
to whose respect and sympathy I felt I had now no longer
claim?
I returned, in consequence of entertaining such sentiments
as these, again to Boston, there intending to remain until I
should decide as to what my future course should be. I
became faint, hungry, and sick; and my heart remained'ill
at ease.' Again I drank, although not to excess, and at
length resolved, at all hazards, to return to Worcester,
which place I reached on Saturday, where, as might be




AU-T OB I 0 GRAPHY.               81
expected from my conduct previous to leaving, my friends
were very much alarmed at my absence.
On my arrival home, I immediately sent for my friend,
Mr. Jesse W. Goodrich, the same gentleman, it will be remembered, who kindly invited me to call on him the day
after I signed the pledge. I also sent for Dr. Hunting, who
hlad greatly interested himself in my welfare. When these
gentlemen came to see me, I at once made them acquainted
with what had transpired in Boston, and my violation of
the pledge, and then expressed to them my determination
to leave the town, county, and State, never more to return
to it. I then re-signed the pledge, and commenced packing
up my books and clothes, with the full determination of
leaving Worcester the following Monday.
My friends, who did not desert me, even in these dark
hours of my existence, again rallied round me, and persuaded me to remain, in order to attend the temperance
meeting on the Monday I had fixed as the day of my departure. My candid statement had, in a measure, revived
their confidence in me. In accordance with their desires,
I did remain. and went, at the time mentioned, to the upper
Town Hall, where a very large audience was assembled,
who appeared to feel a great interest in the proceedings. I
was almost broken-hearted, and felt as if I were insane:
but I humbly trust that I sincerely repented of the false
step I had taken, and, cheered by the considerate kindness
of my friends, I determined, God helping me, to be more
than ever an uncompromising foe to alcohol.
As this portion of my history is of some importance, I
shall, instead of entering into any detailed description of
the meeting I have just spoken of myself, quote in this
place the report of the proceedings which appeared at the
time in the public journals.
6




82             AUTOBIOG RAPHY.
The following article appeared in the'Cataract and
Washingtonian:'-'Mr. John B. Gougoh, as soon as he was known to be in
the hall, was called for in all directions, and received in a
manner which showed the true spirit of Washingtonian
sympathy, kindness, and charity, to be still predominant in
the bosom of this great Washingtonian fraternity. Feeble
in health, and with an utterance half choked by the intensity of his feelings, he briefly alluded to, and promptly acknowledged his late misfortune, saying that he had, within
a few days past, deemed himself a crushed and a ruined
man; but that the enemies of the great cause he had attempted to advocate need not rejoice. That he had rallied,
had re-signed the pledge, and then felt, and should prove
himself, a more uncompromising foe to alcohol than he had
ever been before; and, after invoking, in tones that came
freJm and went to the heart, the blessing of Heaven upon his
friends, this society, and the cause, attended by his physician and some friends, retired from the hall, subdued,
even to tears, by the trying ordeal through which he had
been passing.'
The following is extracted from a more extended report
in the same journal: -'The Washingtonian Society of Westhoro' met at the
Town Hall, on Thursday evening, April 20, 1843. The
hall was full to overflowing. The meeting was called to
order by the President of the Society, and opened with
prayer by the Rev. Mr. Harvey; after which the President
introduced Mir. J. B. Gough, the well-known, eloquent, and
successful advocate of temperance, who, in a very feeling




AUTOB IOGRAPY.                    88
and appropriate manner, stated that, within a short time,
he had broken his pledge, but he had signed it again, again
risen up to combat King Alcohol, and that he appeared
before them the uncompromising foe to alcohol in all its
forms, willing to devote all the energies of his body and
mind to the noble cause of temperance; and, with all humility, threw himself upon the kindness of his friends, stating it was for them to say whether or not he should proceed, and have their kindness and support, when the following resolutions were offered, and unanimously adopted,
almost by acclamation:-'" Resolved, That as intemperance is the cause of most of
the misery and suffering that affect our fellow-men, drying
up and poisoning the streams of domestic happiness, it is
therefore our imperative duty to exert our united efforts
against the monster, and stand, shoulder to shoulder, until
the evil is banished from the land.
"'Resolved, That we highly appreciate the former services of Mr. J. B. Gough, as a Washingtonian lecturer, and,
notwithstanding the unhappy circumstances which have
lately occurred, we do most cordially greet him in the
Washingtonian spirit of kindness and sympathy, and most
cheerfully do we give him our countenance and support in
the glorious cause of temperance."' Mi. Gough again rose, evidently much embarrassed, and
was received by the audience with decided marks of approbation. He stated, that to be thus received was more than
he felt able to bear. Scorn and contumely he should be
enabled to endure, but to kindness he had not always been
accustomed, and he was completely unmanned. Recovering his self-possession, he went on, and most eloquently
warned all, particularly the young men, who had become
Washingtonians, to abandon their old associates, and not place




84              AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
themselves in the way of temptation. He portrayed, in most
glowing colors, the criminality of those who endeavor,
whatever may be their motive, to induce any one to violate
his pledge, leaving them to their own consciences and
their God. After holding the undivided attention of his
audience for near an hour, he concluded with a most powerful appeal to all to come out and sign the pledge, hoping that
no one would offer as an excuse, that the speaker had violated
his, but come out, and, each and all, give their support to a
cause which is worthy of the best effort of our powers.'
A similar resolution was passed at Sutton It was as
follows:-'Resolved, That we deeply sympathize with Mr. Gough
in his misfortune, in having violated his pledge, and heartily
express our satisfaction with his apology, and highly approve of his determination to continue his labors in the
temperance cause.'
Never shall I forget the kindness shown me at this
time by my friends, amongst whom  I would especially
mention Mr. Goodrich, Dr. Hunting, and Mr. George M.
Rice, of Worcester.* It would be impossible for me to
enumerate here all from whom I received the most considerate attentions, but they are not forgotten by me, and
never will be.
Although  freely and fully forgiven by the Society, I
still felt keenly on the subject of my lapse; but my inten* Although by the generosity of my friends I was kindly forgiven,
yet by some few I was, and still am, regarded in no very favorable
light. I regret this, but do not blame them for not recognizing me
on the true Washingtonian principles; they have my good will and
wishes, whatever may be their disposition towards me.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                     85
tion of leaving the town was not carried into effect; as my
friends, one and all, urging me to remain, I felt it mny duty
to accede to their wishes. I was waited upon in Worcester by Mr. Ellsworth Childs, of Westborough, with a request from the good friends of that place that I should
visit them, and I felt it to be a duty to go to the different
towns where I had made engagements, and to which I
had been reinvited, freely and frankly to confess the circumstances which led me to break my appointments, and
solicit their forgiveness, which was willingly accorded in
every case.
I trust that I now had a full sense of my own insufficiency to keep myself from sinking. Hitherto I had relied
too implicitly on my own strength for support, and my
utter weakness had been painfully exemplified in my violation of a sacred promise. It was a humiliating blow, but
it taught me that I derived my strength from on high, and
that when He withdrew it I was utterly powerless to think
of myself any good thing. Whatever my future situation
in life may be, I hope ever to possess a strong sense of my
utter weakness, and cherish a humble dependence on Him
who is able to keep me from falling, and render my labors
honorable and useful.
This account of my violation of the pledge will, I doubt
not, be entirely new to many of my readers, although in
my own neighborhood the fact was notorious enough. It
is my earnest wish to send forth this narrative to the world
in as complete and perfect a manner as practicable; omitting nothing, nor adding to any thing, so that it may be as
faithful a record of my life as can be presented. I have
not shrunk froml depicting the dark days of my life, because I wished to warn my fellow-men against the winecup, and to strip the false and fading flowers from the




86            AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
manacles which amuse the inebriate whilst they cripple
his energies; and in referring, as I shall have occasion to
do, in the remaining pages, to the time since the dark pall
was lifted up, I trast, forever, and hope's brilliant star shed
on me its lustre, I hope I shall not be deemed egotistical -
than this nothing can be more foreign to my views and sentiments. My readers must take the picture as it is, remembering that I have not adopted the style of any academy or school, but endeavored to present to the mind's
eye a graphic delineation of what may be often met with in
our daily paths - a painting of human nature FROM THE
LIFE.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
BY JOHN B. GOUGH.
PART THIRD.
WITH the exception of about three or four weeks of the
summer of 1843, I have labored since that year in behalf
of the temperance cause, having, I trust, sought and obtained assistance from on High, and rested all my hopes
for success on the right foundation.
The sphere of my operations soon became extended, and
I delivered lectures in the counties of Worcester, Norfolk,
AMiddlesex, and sometimes in the border towns of Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, and as far as Providence, Rhode Island. During this period I had received
repeated invitations from a gentleman well known in Boston, Moses Grant, Esq., to go to that city and deliver addresses there. I felt, however, no disposition to accept his
offer at this time; but sometime afterward, on the 23d of
August, 1843. happening to be at a celebration at the village
of Hoplkinton, Massachusetts, Mr. Grant came to me and
requested a sight of my book of appointments. I showed
him what he required, and he immediately placed his finger
on the sixteenth, twenty-first, twenty-second, and twentythh'd days of September, and told me I must consider




88            A IS AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
myself engaged by him for those days. Mr. Grant then
very kindly told me to come to his house, and divest inyself of all fear, for a good opportunity should be given me.
I accordingly agreed with Mr. Grant to visit Boston, and
on Saturday, the sixteenth of September, proceeded to that
city, and went at once to Mr. Grant's house, where I was
very kindly received.
I felt rather apprehensive m view of speaking in Boston,
for I had heard it spoken of as the modern Athens, and
knew that as to intelligence it stood very high amongst the
cities of the Union. It was of no use, however, to look
back; and as I was announced to speak that same evening
at the Tremont Chapel, under the Museum, I determined
to pluck up my courage. As I walked towards the Chapel
I really felt half inclined to run away. On entering the
house I found it about half full. I had frequently stood up
before much larger audiences, but I never experienced so
much hesitation and nervous sensibility as then.  My
courage, like that of Bob Acres, seemed to be oozing out at
the palms of my hands, and my heart palpitated with apprehension. But I managed to get through the ordeal, for
such in reality it was, without my trepidation having been
much observed.
On the four next following days I spoke at Roxbury, and
on the twenty-first I delivered an address again in Boston,
at the Rev. Mrli. Turnbull's church, in Harrison avenue.
On each of the two next days I spoke in Marlboro' Chapel;
although I had heard much of temperance meetings being
frequently held there, I had never seen them. On the first
night I spoke there it was about half full, and on the next
the audience filled the building.
I then left Boston, and travelled through the various
towns in the vicinity, delivering addresses, until the follow



AUTOBBIOGRAPHY.                     89
ing third of November, when I returned to the city, and
spoke three or four times at Marlboro' Chapel, and, on five
or six occasions, at the Odeon. I felt some diffidence about
speaking at the latter place, fearing it was too large for me,
but, to my surprise, on Sunday night it was very full, and
on the Monday evening crowded to excess. This reception
encouraged me, and I continued to give addresses in Boston,
with very few exceptions, until the second of December,
when I went to Portland, Maine, and again returned to
Boston, speaking in the course of the month, sometimes for
the Washingtonians, and at others for the Ladies' Benevolent Society, but principally under the direction of my
friend, Deacon Grant, and the Boston Temperance Society,
then under the judicious management of that gentleman,
who acted and still acts as its President. My services were
now in requisition at Concord, N. H., New Bedford, Nashua,
Gloucester, Marblehead, Rockport; and I made a trip into
the Old Colony of Plymouth, where the Pilgrim  Fathers
Landed, ancd visited also the towns of Newburyport, Newport,
R. I., and many other places, returning occasionally to the
city, and speaking to large audiences there.
I was married at Worcester, on the 24th of November,
1843, by the Rev. Mr. Smally, a gentleman who, from the
first, had been my friend. After this, I went to reside at
Roxbury, where we boarded with Mrs. Fuller, a warm.
hearted Washingtonian, one ever ready to assist the reformed man; in consequence of which, her house somewhat
resembled a hospital, or place of refuge for the destitute.
Mrs. Fuller evinced her love to the cause, by often being
out of pocket, through her endeavors to promote it.
Through Deacon Grant and other gentlemen, I received
applications for my services from the cities of New York,
Philadelphia, Richmond, Va., Charleston, S. C., Cincinnati,




90            AUTOBIOGRAPH Y.
Bangor, and many other distant places. After mature
consideration, it was decided by my friends that I should
first visit New York, accompanied by Deacon Grant, as the
anniversary of the American Temperance Union was to be
held in that city. We left Boston on the 8th of May, 1844,
and I delivered an address in New York at the anniversary
on the ninth; and on the tenth and twelfth of the same
month I spoke in two of the churches. I also paid a visit
to Newark and to the city of Brooklyn, and on the 16th of
May started for Philadelphia, in which city, although arrangements had been made for my speaking, it was not
deemed advisable to hold meetings, in consequence of the
riots. which had recently occurred there. I then proceeded
to Baltimore, in which city I spoke for five nights; thence
I went to Washington, where I delivered addresses in the
morning and evening, and, returning, gave four lectures in
Philadelphia, and two in New York. Whilst proceeding
to Boston, in order to be present at the grand temperance
celebration on the thirtieth of May, I delivered an address
on board the steamer Massachusetts, in company with Dr.
Patton, the Rev. John Marsh, and many other friends of
the cause.
Before I allude to the magnificent demonstration, just
referred to, I would mention, that I have received several
testimonials of the approbation and good-will of kind
friends. Let it be perfectly understood, that I do not
make any mention of them from a feeling of pride, or in a
spirit of self-satisfied egotism. It is rather in acknowledgment of the kindness of the respected donors that I take
any notice of these mementos here. I extract the following
from the Boston Bee: —'The exercises at the Tremont Temple, on Thursday
evening, on occasion of Mr. Gough's farewell address,




A U TOBIOG RA PHY.                91
[previous to leaving with Deacon Grant for Philadelphia,]
were highly interesting, and attended by a large audience.
The singing by the Euterpeans, Quartette Club, and
others, was excellent, and Mr. Gough's address exceeded in
interest all his former efforts. An elegant silver medal was
presented to Mr. Gough, accompanied by some eloquent
remarks by the Rev. E. H. Chapin, which called forth from
Mr. Gough an off-hand expression of gratitude, sincere,
warm, and gushing. We have been favored with an inspection of the medal which is certainly very beautiful.
The workmanship is equal to any thing of the kind we
ever saw, and was executed by Dennison, Adams & Co.,
*67 Washington street. On one side of the medal are the
following words: —
PRESENTED
TO
JOHN B. GOUGH,
BY THE
BOSTON QUARTETTE CLUB,
AT THE
TREMONT TEMPLE,
_MAY 2, 1844.
On the reverse is a fountain playing from a shell, beneath
which is inscribed,'THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE.'
This is enclosed with very tastefully designed and executed
scroll-work, and around the edge is engraved the names of
the donors,
F. A. LYDSTON,     W. H. BURBECK,
S. P. CURRIER,    J. B. HECTOR.'
The edge of the medal is massive, and elegantly chased,
Its value we presume to be somewhere between fifteen and




92             AUTOBIOGRAP HY.
twenty dollars intrinsically, but we cannot calculate its
worth to the recipient, who has so well deserved such a
compliment by his untiring, and successful efforts in the
cause of temperance.'
I returned to Boston early on the morning of the 30th
of May, Mr. Samuel A. Walker having made arrangements
for me to take a part in the exercises of the day, -a day
which will long be remembered as one of the most interesting that ever occurred in the capital of Massachusetts. To
my great surprise, I found on my arrival, that a barouche
and four white horses had been prepared to convey me into
the city. I experienced immense difficulty in getting to
the State House, so dense was the crowd of persons in the
various streets; and the whole population of the city, seemed
almost to a man, to have risen up and hailed the celebration
of the Genius of Temperance.
It was a brilliant day, in the most beautiful of the
months; and all heaven and earth seemed to conspire in
order to do honor to a cause whose object was the promotion of the happiness of God's creatures. The sun shone
from a sky of cloudless azure, and the young May flowers
rejoiced in his beams. The river sparkled as it flowed
along, bearing on its broad bosom majestic barks, decorated,
from trucks to main-chains, with gay flags and streamers.
Every now and then, a light cloud of white smoke would
float upward, and then the thunder of cannonading would
reverberate amongst the distant hills. Music sent forth its
glad tones upon the air, and as one band ceased its melody,
another and another: would burst forth, until the whole air
was vocal with sweet sounds.
The city was dressed in gay attire, as we may suppose
Venice was clad in her bright and palmy days. The shops




AT OBIOG GRAP HY.                  93
were closed, for innocent pleasure ruled in the marts of
commerce for a few short hours.  The Custom House
doors no more afforded egress and ingress to the busy sons
of traffic; and at the banks was heard no silver sounds proceeding from the money-changers. The counting-house
was still, for the merchant and his clerks had closed the
ledger, and determined to balance accounts with temperance for once in the year, at least. From many a warehouse
window, high up, hung gayly-colored fancy goods; and in
some streets, lines of banners stretched across the streets
from end to end, and hundreds of emblematic bottles were
displayed, suspended, bottom upward, from lines, with the
corks out.
From every window which commanded a view of the
procession, gazed hundreds of old and young, grave and
gay. Those in Washington street were crowded with
ladies; and never did brighter eyes rest on a fairer scene
than was presented to the view that day. It was a great
day for the women.
Yes; for the women! They were more interested in
such a demonstration than at first glance might be supposed. If ever an angel conveyed to them'good tidings,'
surely it must have been the heavenly visitant who bore
temperance to their homes. Weak, delicate women may
well bless a cause so pregnant with household blessings
and domestic affections. How many bright eyes have
grown dim, and light hearts heavy, and delicate frames
bowed down to the dust-and what young hopes have
been blighted, and strong affections crushed, and fair prospects blasted, during the absence of temperance from the
hearthside. Ay, that hearth itself has become a desolate
place, a domestic desert, barren and unprofitable; for,
where the mother sang to her girl, and the father proudly




94             AU T OBIOGRAP HY.
gazed on his boy — where husband and wife'took sweet
counsel together,' and sister and mother formed the social
ring, scarcely a link of the shivered chain is left to tell
where happiness once had been. Families become scattered
whenever intemperance plants his burning foot on the
threshold, and that which was once -' A little heaven below,'
a sanctuary from the toil and turmoil of this working-day
world, becomes but a cage of unclean birds -a very Pandemonium. Home! the magic of that word is dispelled forever, and they who dwelt under the family roof tree -'Who grew in beauty, side by side,
Who filled one house with glee,
From each are severed far and wide,
By stream, and mount, and sea.'
0! has not woman reason to bless the temperance cause?
But to the procession; for, as no record of it, except the
ephemeral reports of the newspapers, exists, I have been
induced to notice it here.
I had witnessed many great gatherings, of various descriptions; but none ever affected me as this did. I could
scarcely speak, and to describe my feelings would be impossible. Such a day I never, in my most sanguine dreams,
imagined would have dawned on earth.
On it came, a dense, gayly-adorned, moving multitude,
all in perfect order — every eye beaming with gladness,
and every lip wreathed with smiles. The Boston Brigade
Band came first, pealing forth strains of triumphant music.
The Washington Light Infantry, clad in the trappings of
war, next marched to celebrate the peaceful triumphs of
temperance; and then a magnificent prize-banner displayed




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                     T9O
its gorgeous folds to the breeze. [This flag was afterwards awarded, by Moses Kimball, Esq., of the Museum,
to the county having the largest number in the procession,
according to its population.]
Then came a four-horse barouche, with two marshals,
one on either side, in which was that truly great and good
man, Governor Briggs, the President of the day, accompanied by the President of the Washingtonian Temperance Society. High as was his situation as Governor of
the Bay State, never stood he in a prouder position than on
that day. 0! it was a noble thing, to see one who possessed such influence, exerting it in so noble a cause, and
there, by his presence, encouraging the progress of a reform, the blessings resulting from which will only be known
in that day when all secrets shall be revealed. A far
nobler and more imposing sight was it than fields of martial
glory could ever exhibit -fields where heroes stood, and
received their laurels of triumph. The Governor of Massachusetts headed an army, which only pressed on to
achieve bloodless victories, and proclaim' peace on earth.'
Such men constitute the true nobility. Universal benevolence is emblazoned on their escutcheons. The happiness
of mankind, temporal and eternal, form their mottoes; and
the gratitude and admiration of their kind, the rich seals
to their patents of nobility.
In the carriage with the Governor were the Rev. John
Marsh, W. K. Mitchell, and Wm. R. Stacy, Esq. The
Vice-President of the day came next, and then followed
a Reverend band of men, who, whilst they labored in their
vocation for the interests of religion, acknowledged temperance as its handmaid. A large band of invited guests
then formed its portion of the procession.
Next came the different societies of Suffolk county, with




96            AIUTOBIOGRXAPHY.
banners streaming in the air, and music pealing from the
Washingtonian Temperance Band, who honored the proceedings of the day by appearing for the first time in a new
and splendid uniform. The band preceded the Parent Washingtonian Total Abstinence Society, which was incorporated with the North End Temperance Association, the
West Boston Hancock Washingtonian Temperance
Society, and the Fort Hill Washingtonian Temperance
Society. After these came, in long and noble array, the
Boston Temperance Society. Then, the South Boston
Washington  Total Abstinence Society.  This body
having conspicuously in their midst a Well of pure cold
water, drawn by horses. The Chelsea Temperance Union
next made its cheerful appearance; and then the St. Mary's Temperance Society, and the South End Washingtonian Benevolent Total Abstinence Society, preceded by
the magnificent Band of the United States ship of the line
Ohio. The Boston Marine Total Abstinence Society next
followed, composed of hale, joyous-looking tars, who belied in appearance the assertion that grog was necessary
for sailors. These bore in their ranks a splendid model
of the United States Frigate Constitution, behind which
came the crew of the United States ship Ohio.
That interesting body, the Boston Young Men's Total
Abstinence Society, together with the West Boston Young
Men's Total Abstinence Society, marched proudly on, followed by the Hibernian Total Abstinence Society. The
Father Mathew Total Abstinence Society, the South Boston Catholic Total Abstinence Society, the South End
Young Men's Benevolent Total Abstinence Society, the
North End Youth's Total Abstinence Society; and then
came a joyous band of children, forming the South End




AUTO3BIOGRAPHoY.                  97
Cold Water Army, and another legion of little ones - the
Cold Water Army from Fort Hill.
A pleasant sight it was - that array of children, as with
tiny feet they marched along the crowded streets, looking
up to the -vast multitude who gazed on them, with sparkling eyes, and delighted smiles. Some were there who had
once known the misery of having a drunken parent, who
had long been strangers to the kind word and approving
smile, but who now felt all the blessed influences which
temperance spread around. And happily the little things
trooped on, waving mimic banners, and shouting for very
joy. Some had fathers and brothers in that long line of
procession, who never saw their little darlings so happy
before. O! it was a happy sight.
This Cold WVater Army had a leader, who ably'Marshalled them the way that they should go.'
It was Deacon Grant, the friend of children. He had not,
like many commanders of great armies, cannon at his
beck, and bayonets to perform his bidding. He did not
issue bulletins or general orders; but he was well supplied (as, by the way, he generally is, with tracts, and
pamphlets, and handbills, in such vast and incredible
numbers, all on the subject of temperance, that it is almost a mystery how he stows them away in his many
pockets. Look at him, now that he is wound up to a
pitch of enthusiasm, seldom equalled, and which it would
seem never can be surpassed, waving, not a marshall's
baton, but a beaver hat, the capacious interior of which,
has, by an ingenicas device, been converted into a teetotal
library- a circulating one too, for see how the printed
sheets- are flying in all directions! Hurrah! shout the
children in ecstasy -all of them are delighted and pleased
7




98             AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
with Deacon Grant's care of and for them; and as pleased
and happy as any one of his little battalion is Deacon Grant
himself.
The Fireman's Total Abstinence Association follow,
as also other societies, according to the date of their formations. Glittering regalia announce the presence of the
Independent Order of Rechabites, whilst loudly around
them the Providence Brass Band echoes its exciting music.
Following the band comes a delegation from Rhode
Island; then, another band of music; then, a delegation
from  Mlaine, and embassies of peace from  other States,
which concludes the Suffolk county portion of the procession.
Middlesex sends forth its multitudes of total abstainers.
Essex swells the triumphal throng, and the President and
Vice-President of the County Temperance Society march
in its midst. Worcester county is not behindhand - nor
Hampshire-nor Hampden —nor Berkshire.  Bristol
county is up and doing, and, preceded by the New Bedford
Brass Band, comes a Washingtonian whaleboat, on wheels,
fully manned by stalwart looking fellows, who have taken
up the harpoon of temperance with which to transfix the
monster alcohol. Following Barnstable, Nantucket, and
Dukes county, comes Norfolk, a small county, &c., then
the Boston Brass Band finely playing. The Roxbury
Artillery form an escort, and the different total abstinence societies and associations of the county bring up
the rear.
It would be an idle thing to attempt a description or
enumeration of the many devices which appeared on the
banners and flags displayed in the procession, which consisted, at a moderate computation, of forty or fifty thousand persons. It was altogether a magnificent sight,'and




AUI rOBIOGRAPH Y                  9J
one which had never been paralleled. I saw one man in
the long line who called up emotions of thankful interest
in my heart. Some time before, that person came to me
%t my house in Roxbury, a wretched, drunken, brokendown creature, and signed the pledge. When he had
done so, the poor fellow clasped his hands, and said,'O!
MrI. Gough, do you think I can keep it - do you think I
shall be able to perform my promise?' I assured him
that he could, and he expressed his earnest intention to
adhere to his pledge. I now saw that very man, with a
firm step and a flash of honest pride in his eye, bearing
aloft a mottoed banner. He was a free man, and rejoiced
in his emancipation. 0! my heart thrilled with joy as I
gazed, and knew and felt that hundreds such as he were
joining in the festival of the day. Men who had been redeemed from a worse than Egyptian thraldom, and were
restored to their homes, to their families, and to society.
As banner after banner, with their various mottoes, passed
by me, my feelings were strung to an almost painful degree of tension; for I remembered all the past, and could
not help contrasting my present situation with what it had
been.
The good city of Boston never witnessed a prouder array
in her streets, than on that day. As the procession passed
through the various streets, it was hailed with joyous acclamations; and, in many places, bouquets and garlands of
flowers were showered from the windows by their fair occupants. When it arrived at the entrance to the spacious
Common, the little great Cold Water Army filed off in two
parallel lines, and between them went the long train of living
beings to the place of appointment.
The old Common was all alive that day; from the dome
of the State House floated the stars and stripes, the.gorgeous




100           A-UTOBIOGRAAPHTY
folds of the national flag appearing in full relief against a
sky of dazzling azure. Banners appeared in every direction, and the deep boom of the drum resounded from all
quarters. During the intervals of music there was almost
a Sabbath stillness, although from sixty to seventy thousand
persons were present. The most perfect order was preserved, and -nothing tended to mar the peaceful proceedings
of the time. The mighty mass assembled around stands
which had been erected on the Common, and a prayer
having been offered up, in which blessings were implored
on the great cause of temperance, the united voices of the
vast assemblage, a noble band of freemen, arose to heaven,
in a shout of,'We're a band of freemen! We're a band
of freemen!'
When the voices had ceased, Governor Briggs arose, and
expressed in eloquent terms his high gratification at the
spectacle before him; such an one, he hesitated not to say,
as had: never been witnessed in the world before. His
Excellency spoke for more than half an hour, and his
remarks elicited loud and frequent plaudits. The Governor
was followed by other speakers, whose addresses were
listened to with deep interest. It was a glorious thing to
see men who stood in high places, and enjoying the confidence of the wise and good, taking conspicuous parts in
such proceedings; and if angels ever rejoice over earthly
scenes, surely it might have been whilst contemplating
such a great moral spectacle.
As I was much fatigued by my labors during the past
few weeks, I did not take any part in the proceedings of
the- day, at least in the open air. Indeed, I do not think I
could have spoken at that time; my heart was too full. An
engagement, however, had been made:for me to speak in
the Tremcnt Temple in the evening, to which place an




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    iol
admission fee of twenty-five cents was demanded, for the
purpose of defraying expenses. The house was filled to
overflowing, as soon as the doors were opened. The Governor, myself, and several others there delivered addresses,
which closed the exercises of the day.
I cannot conclude this sketch of the proceedings of this
memorable time, without paying a passing and welldeserved tribute to the chief-marshal, Samuel A. Walker,
Esq., who so efficiently superintended the complicated
arrangements of the procession, and by his liberal expenditure, conduced so much to its successful issue. From me
however, no commendation of one-who has always been
ready and willing to assist the cause of temperance, and
who- has frequently shown me personal kindness, is needed.
RHaving concluded arrangements with the Rev. John
$Marsh, of New York, secretary of the Am. Temp. Union,
to travel with him  to various towns -and States of the
Union, and deliver temperance addresses; after visiting Concord, Manchester, and Providence, we- started, on the 24th
of June, for western New York. I left Boston, for-Hudson,
on the 24th of June, and remained absent until the following third of August, having had a delightful tour, during
which I enjoyed the high gratification of seeing the Falls
of Niagara; which wonder of the world I-will -not venture
to describe, for the very prudent reason that, as many have
attempted to, and miserably failed, it would be of little use
for me to add one to the list of incapables in this respect.
After my return to Boston, I spoke on Sunday, August
4th, at the Tremont Temple; and then, finding that my
continued labors were somewhat exhausting my physical
powers, which were not naturally of -a powerful cast, I
rested for six days, to recruit my energies.
I now paid visits to several of the surrounding towns, until




102           AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
the 11th of September, when I started again for Gardiner,
Hallowell, Augusta, Bath, and Bangor. At the latter
place, temperance prayer-meetings were held, at which,
ministers of all denominations attended, and appeared to
feel great interest in the welfare of the glorious cause. A
blessing seemed to follow these exercises; for, after I had
delivered eleven addresses, seventeen hundred persons
signed the total abstinence pledge. I shall never forget
the many kindnesses I experienced from friends at Bangor.
Whilst there, I remained at the house of Mr. F. Temple
Wheeler, who, together with his excellent and amiable
lady, secured to me every comfort; indeed, I do not remember having spent a week so pleasantly in every respect
since I have been laboring in the temperance cause, as at
this place. I believe much profit resulted to the mission
and myself from the visit to Bangor. I must not forget to
add, that Mr. William Dow, Mr. Duren, Mrs. Ingraham,
and indeed a host of others, manifested a deep interest in
my welfare and that of the great cause, of which I am a
humble advocate.
At Bangor, I was presented with an elegant annual. The
following report I extract from a Bangor paper: -'MR. GouGH AND THE LADIES.'We huve before stated, that the ladies made Mr. Gough,
on Friday afternoon last, at the close of his address at the
Hammond street church, two beautiful presents, as "mementoes of their affectionate regard." Mrs. F. T. Wheeler
was selected to make the presentation address, which she
did with a lady-like grace, peculiarly her own. The ladies
most active in setting the matter on' foot are entitled to
much praise, and we do not believe their generous affection
could have selected, had they ransacked the country through,
a more worthy individual than Mr. Gough as the recipient




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                   103
of their favors. We should like to call the names of
several of the ladies we wot of, who have taken a very great
interest in the present temperance movement, some of
whom, we know, have been the means of doing much good,
had we permission to do so. They may rest assured there
are those who will never think of their names but with
gratitude and affection. If it be not presumptuous, we will
say to them persevere, - persevere.' The following is Mrs. Wheeler's excellent and touching
address, with which we have been kindly favored. To
which Mr. Gough replied in a most feeling manner; stating, what is an honor to the ladies of Bangor, that from
their hands he had received the first testimonial of the
kind:"MRi. GOUGH, —The ladies of Bangor, from  a deep
sense 6f gratitude for the great and unparalleled good
which has been effected by your eloquent and energetic
appeals, and desirous that you should possess some testimony of their high estimation of your worth, do, through
me, their representative, request your acceptance of this
Annual, and that you will retain it as a memento of
their affectionate regard; and when you shall hereafter
open it, and your eyes fall upon its pages, may it remind
you how signally-how wonderfully —it has pleased God
to bless your labors in Bangor; and may it elevate your
thoughts and feelings to Him  who has made you the
honored instrument of saving so many from the miseries
of intemperance, and inducing our beloved young men to
dash the maddening cup from their lips, and retarn to
the more quiet scenes of happiness and peace.
"' The ladies have not been unmindful of the great sacrifice of domestic happiness, consequent upon your devotion to the cause of temperance and humanity, nor of the




f104          AU T.OBI 0   RA PH Y.
amiable, the Christian companion, who must share the
honors to which you so eminently entitle yourself; they
therefore request you, on your return, to present her this
Basket; that she may be reminded by the gift, bestowed
mutually on you both, that, in your future absence from
her, she must be contented to share her blessings with her
country; happy in the assurance that your efforts will be
crowned with the blessings of Heaven, and the approbation
of the Society which surrounds you; while the poor and
perishing, saved by your exertions, shall rise up and bless
you, and be stars in your crown of rejoicing, for ever and
ever."''The Annual bears the following inscription:PRESENTED
TO
NM. J. B. GOUGH, BY THE LADIES OF BANGOR,
AS A
MEMENTO OF THEIR GRATITUDE
For his faithful perseverance in the Cause of Temperance.
The centre of the silver basket is engraved thus:MR. AND MIRS. J. B. GOUGH.
FROM THE LADIES OF BANGOR.   September 28, 1844.'A very beautiful gold pencil-case was also forwarded to
Mr. Gough, on the 30th ult., by some young ladies of this
city, who are not pledged to the cause of temperance.
Many other tokens of respect were received by Mr. Gough
from gentlemen of the city.'
Returning through Portland, I returned to the city of
Boston, where I delivered several addresses; after which I




A-UTOBIOGRAPH Y.                 105
again visited Taunton. Here a grand temperance gathering took place, at which, addresses were delivered by Mr.
Stanton, Dr. Jewett, and myself. Of one circumstance,
connected with this celebration, the Taunton''NewDrop' gives the following account:-'An elegant Bible, purchased by the Ladies' Total Abstinence Society of this town, was then, on their behalf,
presented to Mr. Gough, by Samuel L. Crocker, Esq., accompanied with the following neat and pertinent address:-''MY KIND FRIEND,- The ladies have honored me
with the office of presenting to you, my dear sir, this
beautiful token of their regard.
"' I trust I need not say, that, personally, I most fully
sympathize with them in the feeling that prompted the
gift; and that no one, more highly than myself, appreciates
and loves the precious treasure that constitutes the gift.
"'The ability, earnestness, and feeling with which you
have advocated the great and good cause of temperance
amongst us, has enlisted in your behalf universal admiration and esteem, and has induced, on the part of the
ladies, this offering - an offering, of comparatively trifling
pecuniary cost, and yet, in itself, a treasure of priceless
value.
"' To the truths contained in this book are we mainly
indebted for all that makes our life here upon earth agreeable and happy —to these truths alone, for all we hope for
in the world beyond the grave, which endureth forever,
and whither we are all hastening.'" The great work to which you have devoted yourself,
is peculiarly a Christian enterprise, based upon the principles of this book. So far as our action is in accordance




.06          AUTOBIOGRAPHY
with these principles —so far as we seek and follow the
direction of its Divine Author, so far will our cause be
furthered by his continued help, and blessed by his most
gracious favor. And, on the contrary, whenever we depart
from those principles, or fail to give them due prominence,
we may be sure that we shall endanger, if we do not
utterly destroy, the fair fabric we have raised.
"' In all your doings, but especially in the glorious cause
of temperance, I beg you will take this blessed book for
your guide -make it your counsellor and friend, and you
can never err; but it will lead you safely through all your
trials, temptations, and difficulties, enable you triumphantly
to overcome them all, and finally point out to you the way
to happiness and heaven."'Mr. Gough replied in his usually happy manner. ITe
most heartily thanked the ladies for this expression of their
regard for him as a humble advocate of temperance. He
alluded to the lessons which his good mother had taught
him from that blessed book. Many of those passages he
had treasured up in his memory; he had never forgotten
them. In his very worst days, some of them would be fresh
in his mind. After finishing his remarks to Mr. Crockel
and thanking the ladies again, he placed the Bible on the
table, and proceeded with his remarks to the audience.'
I also visited Marblehead, Providence, and Worcester;
and, on the twenty-first of November, I started for New York
city, and lectured occasionally in that city and its vicinity.
Whilst in that quarter, I remained at the house of the Rev.
John Marsh, at Brooklyn, about a fortnight; and I cannot
but bear my willing testimony to the uniform kindness I
have always received from this gentleman; who, I have
already stated, ably fills- the highly responsible office of




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                    107
secretary to the American Temperance Union. To- Mr
Marsh I owe much, for the judicious manner in which he
arranged meetings which I was to address. Whilst at
Brooklyn, I became acquainted with Mr. Hurlbut and Mr.
Ripley, two gentlemen, than whom none have the cause of
temperance more entirely at heart. Myself and my wife
visited at Mr. Hurlbut's during a fortnight of our stay in
Brooklyn, and received many proofs of their Christian
kindness. Would there were many more such devoted
friends of temperance, then indeed would'the work go
bravely on.' Before I left these valued friends, arrangements were made by them for holding meetings on Long
Island.
Before I proceed further with my narrative, I would
mention that, in addition to the testimonials I have already
alluded to, I received from the Cold Water Army of Gardiner, a present of a Bible, and from the Young Ladies'
Temperance Society of Boston, a Silver Cup. The following extract from the'Fountain' journal, refers to the gift
of the children:Acting upon the suggestion of some two or three thorough
going temperance young ladies of this village, the Cold
Water Army of Gardiner, which by the way numbers more
than a thousand, determined to express their good feelings
by presenting him with a splendid copy of the Bible. Accordingly a meeting was called, and the little ones came
together in great numbers, bringing with them their little
contributions, which altogether made quite a respectable
sum. With a part of this, the committee of the Army,
Misses M. Dennis and E. Holman, purchased the present
designed for Mr. Gough, and a portfolio for Deacon Grant.
Mr. Gough was invited to meet the Army at the Methodist




108            AU TOBXIOGRAPHY.
chapel. Notwithstanding the storm, a large number of
children and friends of the cause were present. After a
prayer by the Rev. Mr. Smarrt, Mr. J. Winnett, principal of
the Lyceum, in behalf of the enthusiastic donors, presented Mr. Gough with the (if rightly esteemed) invaluable
donation, accompanied with the following very appropriate
adhdress: —
"Br. GoUGH, —In behalf of the children of the Cold
Water Army of Gardiner, I present you this Bible, as a
small token of that sincere esteem and gratitude which they
so fondly cherish towards you, for your faithful and untiring exertions in their behalf, during your recent -visit
among them.
"Please, Sir, to accept it; and while turning over.and
reading its sacred pages, remember that the most holy
feelings have prompted the gift, and that it will be with the
deepest joy that they will learn of your success in raising the
inebriate from his sufferings and degradation, and throwing
around the rising generation that mantle of peace and
security, which should guard, shield, and protect them
against all the evils that follow in the train of intemperance.
"And, further, remember, when your eyes shall rest upon
this precious book, how many hearts are rejoicing in consequence of your faithful exertions in the cause of benevolence
andhumanity; and may the thought inspire you to persevere to the end. And, when God, in his providence, shall
call you from this scene of your labors and the world, that
you may rest in those blissful regions where there are joys
unspeakable and full of glory, is the heartfelt wish of this
little army."
Mr. Gough replied in a most interesting speech of three
quarters of an hour's length. He thanked the children for
this manifestation of their good-will, spoke of his own




A U T OB IOGR APHY.              109
redemption from the pit into which- a depraved appetite
had cast him, contrasted the state of the drunkard with the
prospective condition of the members of the different cold
water armies in the country; related' briefly to them his
movements and success since he was in Gardiner before;
spoke of the pleasure he anticipated in being the bearer of
the present to Deacon Grant; again tendered his thanks;
invoked the blessing of heaven upon the Cold Water Army,
and then bade them a kind farewell.'
The' Boston~ Mail' thus notices the presentation of the
Cup:-'On Thursday evening, the ceremony of presenting to
Mr Gough a Silver Cup, was performed at the Tremont
Temple. This honor was conferred upon him by the
Young Ladies' Temperance Society of Boston, and he received it with becoming grace, and made a very effective
speech on the occasion.'
A Bible was also presented me, by three ladies of Phila.
delphia; and two volumes of'Notes,' by the Reverend Albert Barnes, of Philadelphia —the author. I might mention many other marks of kindness which have been shown
me; but, feeling that enoughhas been said on this subject,
I forbear, again assuring the reader that nothing but a
sense of grateful feeling towards the donors: induced me to
record them in this form.
At the request of a lady, named Sanderson, I was induced to visit that dreary abode of misery and crime -the
Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island, near New York. Mrs.
Sanderson, like the celebrated Mrs.:Fry, of England, and
Miss Dix,: of America, devotes: much of her time to, what
would appear to some, the almost hopeless task of reforming the wretched beings who are consigned. to: this fearful




0             AU TO B IO G R A PHY.
place. In the language of the Superintendent of the
Prison,'she does more good than fifty men.' My object in
going was to hold a temperance meeting. Soon after my
arrival, the doors of the different cells, which are built in
tiers, one over another, were opened, and the convicts, male
and female (some eight hundred in number), were led into
the large chapel of the Penitentiary, and informed by the
keeper of the object of the meeting. His Honor, the
Mayor, James Harper, Esq., occupied the pulpit, and one
or two clergymen, and some other gentlemen, were present
The Boston Quartette Club attended, and performed several appropriate pieces of music.
It was a striking sight, that assemblage of men and.women, of all ages and descriptions. There was the hardened
criminal. and the youth who had only just commenced the
career of crime - women who retained little of womanhood
in their swollen and bloated features, and young girls,
on whose countenances traces of beauty yet lingered, sat
side by side: all had committed offences against the laws,
and were enduring its punishment. Such an audience I
never before stood up to address; the spectacle was fearfully interesting.
In noticing the service, the New York' Sun' said: —' At the early part of the meeting, the prisoners seemed
rather indifferent to what was going on; but the first
sound of Mr. Gough's voice had scarcely died away, ere
their hardened countenances began to relax, and, in a few
moments, every eye was riveted on the speaker, with an
expression of the deepest interest. As he proceeded with
his touching appeals, many a rough cheek was moistened
with tears, and the words'that's tike truth' were often
nodded about the room, as plainly as if they had been




AUTOBXOGRAPHY.o                  11
spoken. The women, particularly, seemed much affected:
and manifested less anxiety to conceal their feelings than
the men. It may not be improper to mention, too, that the
optics of our worthy chief magistrate were, at intervals, unusually red; but this might have been owing to the rough
wind he had encountered in crossing the river, or to an improper adjustment of the spectacles on his benevolent
lnose.'
At the close of my address, His Honor requested those
of the prisoners, who would like to have another temperance meeting held there some Sunday, to manifest it by
raising their hands. Every hand in the room, apparently
was instantly shown, and one poor fellow ventured to bawl
out,'Let's have one every Sunday.' I am informed, that,
after I left the Penitentiary, several of the prisoners applied
to the Superintendent, and requested permission to sign
the pledge.
Principally through the suggestion and exertions of my
kind and valued friends, Mr. Hurlbut and Mr. Ripley, of
Brooklyn, a benefit was got up for me, on Christmas even~
ing, at the Tabernacle, in Broadway, New York. The
New York press took the matter in hand, and, almost without exception, did all in their power to promote the object
in view. The attendance at the Tabernacle was very large,
and fully answered its intended object. At its close, a
series of resolutions were passed, which expressed approval
of my efforts in the temperance cause, and a desire that I
should again visit the city.
I again left New York for Boston; and, on the 29th of December, delivered another address, at the Tremont Temple,
in that city, after which I proceeded to Taunton, where a
meeting was held, at which I spoke, for the benefit of Mr.




112           AU T O B IO( aG tAPH Y.
Williams, editor of the Taunton'Dew Drop,' a deserving
little sheet, devoted to the interests of the temperance
cause.
The year was now drawing to a close, and it was arranged
that: a grand meeting, in Faneuil Hall, should be held on its
last evening. I was present, and delivered an address on
the interesting occasion. The old' Cradle of Liberty' contained a vast assemblage, and hundreds who were present
felt that, since the dying year commenced, they had thrown
off fetters which had long galled them, and were now blessed with freedom, in its noblest sense. Minds which had
long bowed down in blind idolatry to the monster -rum,
had been emancipated from its tyrannic rule, and now saw
the old year, as it passed away, bearing with it the record
of their liberty. Many were there, too, who had welcomed
in that year with song and wine -who had wreatked about
its young temples the garland which dissipation loves to
twine, and sent it, as it were, reeling on its pathway towards the future; but who now watched it, departing forever, laden with ardent hopes, high resolves, arid, better
than either, fulfilled purposes. During that year, what
changes had taken place. WVhen the keen blasts of January howled round yonder dwelling, in the outskirts of this
populous city, a pale, wan woman might have been sitting'Plying her needle and thread,'
and as she pondered on the new year, just entered upon its
existence, she looked forward to its months with no hope,
and reverted to the past with no pleasure. The past!
what had it written on the page of memory, to cheer her?
He to whom her young vows were given - who had promised to love and cherish her, had all but deserted her - and
had buried feeling and affection in the intoxicating cup.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                     113
One by one, every slender thread of comfort had snapped,: and with them some fine heartstrings cracked too.
Earth to her appeared but a long dreary desert, over
which a miserable caravan was passing, from which each
after the other, the wretched pilgrims turned away and
died, far from the refreshing fountains for which they
pined. And the partner of that lone woman was away
bidding farewell to the old year, and welcoming the new
with the poisonous cup, and the thoughtless toast, forgeting that every moment which floated by bore its record
with it. That midnight scene might have been in the eye
of the writer, who, in portraying such a scene of sorrow,
says: --
6 Within a chamber pale and dim,
A pale wan woman waits in vain,
Through the long anxious hours for him,
Away: — In want, and wasting pain,
A bahe upon her knee is pining,
Its winning smiles all scared away;
She almost hopes the sun's next ray
May on its calm cold corse be shining.
Poor watcher! He comes not; she dreams
Perchance of her old home; and now
Upstarting with a livid brow,
Clasps the babe closer to her breast;
That dying child, yet loved the best.'
But, lo! a marvellous change has been effected. One
evening when she was thus wasting and watching, her husband came home, in a miserable state of intoxication. She
bore all his ill-humor, ay, even his brutality; and she
tended him, and cared for him, as only a woman can.
Morning came, and still the half-stupefied drunkard lay on
his bed; but that day, salvation, in a temporal, if not in a
higher and better sense, came to his house. The white8




114            AUTOBIOGRAPHYo
robed  angel- temperance — went there an  unbidden
guest; kind words were spoken - encouragement was afforded-the pledge was signed -the fetters were broken.
0! what a change! Smiles once more beamed on the
wife's brow, and the home became a home indeed.
Look at that man there in the crowd, who is shouting
with all his might, after the speaker has uttered some remark which makes the old' Cradle' ring again with applause; his eye is bright-his complexion is clear - his
step is firm, and his hand is steady. A cheerful-looking
woman is leaning on his arm, and well-dressed, cleanly
children are by them (the youngest is in its father's arms,
crowing and bawling with the best of them). Can that
be the man who heralded in the year with intemperate
glee? and that the woman who sat desolate indeed in her
wretched garret? and those the children who were ragged.
and miserable   Yes! and  temperance wrought the
change. 0! there were many such trophies of its peaceful conquests in Faneuil Hall that night!
And I had my recollections, too, as I st6od on that
platform. What had I been, two or three years before?
Why a houseless, homeless, inebriate! Penniless, friendless, and almost hopeless. Little recked I how the days,
months, and years rolled on; I seized the winged moments
as they passed and plunged them into the maddening
bowl. A comic song was my Christmas carol. The old
year was despatched with a Bacchanalian glee, and the
new one hailed with uproarious mirth. I scarcely took'note of time,' even from its loss; but by the grace of God
a change had been effected, and there I stood, on the last
evening of eighteen hundred and forty-four, a humble
monument of his mercy, feeling, as I trust I ever shall
feel, that out of my utter weakness He had in me perfected




AUTOBI O GE AP HY.               115
strength to stand up and be privileged. to warn others of the
dangers of indulging in that which intoxicates. Unto His
name would I ascribe all the glory.
With the new year I continued my exertions in the
temperance cause; but before I proceed further with this
narrative, which now draws near to a conclusion, I perhaps may be allowed to mention the result of my labors
up to this time. I do not refer to the matter for the purpose of seeking praise from man, which so far as it is unaccompanied by the blessing which cometh from on high,
is to me utterly valueless, but merely as statistical facts
which to many friends of the cause may not be without
interest.
I find, from notes which I have kept ever since I commenced the work of temperance reform, that, from the 15th
of May, 1843, to the 1st of January, 1845, I travelled more
than twelve thousand miles, by land and water; delivered
six hundred and five public addresses, in churches, halls,
public buildings, and in the open air, one hundred and
ten of which were in the city of Boston alone; and obtained thirty-one thousand seven hundred and sixty signatures to the total abstinence pledge.
In the commencement of the present year, I again
visited New York, and from thence proceeded to Philadelphia. It will be remembered, that I was prevented from
delivering addresses in the' City of Brotherly Love,' on my
first visit to it, by the occurrence of the disastrous riots there,
but quiet had now been long restored.
I delivered my first address, on- Sunday evening, the 5th
of January, at the Rev. Mr. Ides, First Baptist church, to a
large audience: several placed their names to the pledge.
On the Monday, I spoke at the Rev. Mr. Stockton's church,
but felt great difficulty in doing so, having taken a severe




116             UTOBIOG RA P H Y o
cold on my journey. My next address was given at the
Rev. Albert Barnes's church, Washington square, the
largest in Philadelphia: it was crowded. Dr. Ely's church,
in Buttonwood street, was open for me next evening: here
again was a crowded congregation. My cold had now become so troublesome, that I announced I should not speak
on the morrow; but, when the next evening arrived, sev-.eral gentlemen so earnestly desired me to attend at Dr.
Wiley's church, that I complied with their request, and, although suffering much from cold, spoke for about an hour.
On the following Sunday evening, I addressed the medical
students who were in Philadelphia attending lectures at the
various medical schools, at the Rev. Mr. Lord's church.
In the afternoon of the day, I spoke to a large concourse
of Sabbath-school children, in Mr. Barnes's church, which,
as well as Mr. Lord's church in the evening, was crowded
to excess.
On Monday evening, the 13th, there was an immense
meeting in the saloon of the Chinese Museum. Some idea
of the enthusiasm, which the cause excited, may be formed
from a knowledge of the fact, that two thousand three hundred tickets of admission, at twenty-five.cents each, were
sold, and that hundreds were unable to obtain admission.
I spoke at this meeting, and much good seemed to be
effected. The next day, I addressed a very large audience
at the Rev. Mr. Mason's, Methodist church. On Wednesday afternoon, as many aged persons and invalids, who
could not get out in the evening, had expressed a desire to
hear me, I gave an address, in Dr. McDowell's church,
which was so crowded, that another meeting was organized
in the basement, which was addressed by that venerable
champion of temperance, Mr. Hunt. That afternoon, two
hundred and sixty persons signed the pledge. In the even



AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                   117
ing, I spoke for the Boston Quartette Club, at the Assembly Rooms.
On Thursday evening, the 16th, the upper saloon of the
Chinese Museum was filled to overflowing, at twenty-five
cents per ticket, half of the proceeds being given to the
poor. In addition to an address from myself, the Rev. Mr.
Hunt spoke, and there was music and singing by Johnson's
Band and the Boston Quartette Club.
I cannot cease speaking of this visit to Philadelphia,
without expressing the high gratification I derived from it,
both with regard to the impulse given to the temperance
cause, and the personal kindness which I received from
many friends there, amongst whom I feel great pleasure in
mentioning the Rev. Albert Barnes, the erudite author of
the:Notes' on various portions of the Holy Scriptures. I
received, also, from many other ministers of Philadelphia,
great encouragement and Christian kindness, which I shall
not easily forget.
After leaving Philadelphia, I visited and spoke at Newark, in Dr. Eddy's church, and then proceeded to New
York. On this occasion, myself and wife visited G. C.
Ripley, Esq., at Brooklyn, and enjoyed some delightful intercourse with him and his family, as well as with our kind
friend, Mr. Hurlbut, at whose house I remained during a
former visit.
At New York, I spoke, on Sunday, the 19th, in the Rev.
Mr. Smith's church, Rivington street; on Monday, at the
Rev. Mr. Mason's, in Broome street. On Tuesday, I accompanied Mr. Hurlbut and Mr. Ripley to Jamaica, where I
spoke, and enjoyed a pleasant season. On the morning of
the 22d, I accompanied the Rev. Mr. Marsh to the State
Convention at Trenton, and spoke before the Legislature in
the evening. The next day, I went to New Brunswick,




118           AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
and. after speaking at Dr. Richard's church, obtained
eighty-five names to the pledge, and returned to Brooklyn
next day.
I next visited Patterson, and spoke there on Sunday evening: two hundred names were affixed to the pledge. On
my return to New York, I spoke at Dr. Skinner's church,
more especially to the ladies, many of whom signed the
pledge. On the evening of Tuesday, the 28th, I delivered
an address for the benefit of the Orphan Asylum, Brooklyn; and the same evening spoke for a short time at the
Broadway Tabernacle.
I afterwards delivered two farewell addresses, one at the
New York Tabernacle, and the other at Brooklyn, and-left
for Boston on the last day of January. On Sunday evening, February 2d, I spoke at the Odeon; at the upper Town
Hall, Worcester, on Monday, 3d; at the State House, before the Legislature, on Wednesday, the 5th; and at Faneuil Hall, on the 6th. On the 7th, I visited Concord, and
gave an address at the opening of the Shepherd's Temperance House there. On the evening of Sunday, the 9th
instant, I spoke, to a very full audience, at the Tremont
Temple, and bade a farewell for some months. The next
week was devoted to the rest which I absolutely required; and having, on Monday, the 17th, addressed the
ladies of Boston, at Mr. Barrett's, in Chambers street, in the
afternoon, I left my home, once more, on the following day;
and, when then these pages meet the eye of the reader, I
shall be in the South, humbly endeavoring to forward the
good work.
Before I again return, if the Almighty, Disposer of
events shall spare my health and strength to me, I shall
have visited Richmond, Washington, and other places,
and have fulfilled an engagement of four weeks on Long




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                      119
Island, made for me by my friends, Messrs. Hurlbut and
Ripley, than whom more devoted friends of the great
temperance reform do not exist.
Before I bid the reader farewell, and it is high time that
I should do so, having been so long'harping on one
string,' I have a few remarks to make, which I trust will
be received in the spirit in which they are offered.
And, first, I would advert to a statement which has
been made by certain parties, that I am no Washingtonian. Now, for what object such assertions have been industriously put forth, I am at a loss to determine, but that
such is the case I have been assured. In reply to the
charge, if charge it be, I answer that ever since I have
been the public advocate of the temperance cause, I have
enforced, as strongly as I possibly could, the necessity and
policy of observing the law of kindness towards the unfortunate persons who have become the victims of intemperance. I have advocated moral suasion alone, and in its
fullest extent, too, in the case of the drunkard. But with
respect to the rumseller, who sells that which causes his
fellow-man to become an inebriate - who, for the sake of
acquiring wealth, places that within a man's reach that
disqualifies him for exercising the reason with which his
Maker endowed him, and reduces him to a grade far below  the level of the beasts that perish — who sells him
that which unfits him for discharging the duties of a man
and a citizen, towards his family and his country, - I say
with respect to such a man, who, when the startling truths
of the case are pressed home to his heart and conscience,
still persists in poisoning the streams of society at their




120           AUT OBIOGRAPHY.
very fountain heads, that different and more stringent
measures should be adopted. In my opinion, and I say it
in all love to the rumseller himself, he should be prevented
by the strong arm of the law from endangering, from
merely mercenary motives, the peace, the prosperity, and
the morals of the community at large. I will labor heart
and hand with my fellow-men in the attempt to rid our
land of the' monster intemperance. Let those who advocate moral suasion alone go only a: part of the way with
me in the crusade against it if they will. If they refuse to
advance further, be it so; but I hold it to be my
duty, my imperative duty, to proceed yet another step,
even if I: go alone, and throw another wall of protection
around the wretched and almost helpless' child of intemperance, by placing moral and legal restraint upon the
hands, which, for the sake of dollars and: cents, would administer to the cravings of his depraved appetite. As
surely as effect follows cause, so certainly would drunkenness diminish and disappear altogether, if there were no
drunkard: makers. My motto is,'reform it altogether.'
Annihilate the tiaffic, and then, temptation removed, the
poor inebriate would have no enemy left to vanquish, and
be free indeed. If this be, as I believe it to be, a fair exposition of the Washingtonian creed, then am I a Washingtonian. I highly respect and esteem many who differ
from me in my sentiments, and willingly would I work
with such devoted men as John F. Coles, of Boston, Edgar
K. Whittaker, Esq., of Needham, Samuel A. Walker, of
Brookline, Capt. Samuel F. Holbrook, Dr. Channing, of
Boston, and many others whom I could mention; but still
my own conviction remains that moral suasion alone for
the rumselier would be as nuseless in the effort to remove




AU-T 0 B  O-G RAPH Y.            121
drunkenness, as it would be ridiculous to attempt to empty
the ocean drop by drop.
In my narrative I have frequently adverted to the kindness of friends; some, in my days of adversity, showed me
favors which I never shall forget, whilst this heart continues to beat. It has been -my happiness and privilege to
be enabled to cancel every obligation which I contracted, so
far as pecuniary matters are concerned; but the debt of
gratitude which I incurred in more than one instance,
never can be repaid. To each and all who befriended me
when there existed no earthly prospect of their kindness
being requited, I shall ever feel indebted.
I feel it necessary here to mention, with regard to the head
of the family, Mr. --, with whom I left England, to
state, that I believe him to have been kindly disposed towards me, and towards him I feel a Christian regard.
This avowal is drawn from me because it has been reported that I have endeavored to produce a different impression.
Nor can I ever feel sufficiently thankful for the
friends whom the Lord has provided me with. They need
no acknowledgement or praise from me, but I cannot close
this little volume without gratefully assuring them  that
they will ever have honored places in my heart of hearts.
Amongst them, I may mention Deacon Grant, of Boston,
who, through good and through ill report has ever been
my firm and faithful friend. The Rev. John Marsh, of
New York, to whom I owe many acknowledgments for
his frequent direction and advice. The Rev. John Pierpont, the Rev. William  B. Tappan, Mr. Mellen, Mr.
Thompson, of Boston; Mr. J. L. L. F. Warren, of
Brighton; Messrs. Williams, of Roxbury; Samuel D.




122            AUTOBIOGRAPHY~
Davenport, Esq., and family, of Hopkinton, and many
others whose names, if chronicled here would swell my
little work far beyond it prescribed limits. To the Press
of Boston, and of the country generally, I am under
large and lasting obligations, for the kind and indulgent
manner in which my name has been so often mentioned; and I cannot suffer this opportunity of thanking
the members of it to pass by unheeded.
And now, in reviewing all the ways in which the Lord
hath led me, I feel, and would express, how much I owe
to Him, by whose grace'I am what I am.' Left alone,
and unprotected in a stranger land, he watched my footsteps, and inclined my heart, in some degree, to seek his
face and favor; but mysterious are the dealings of his
providence. I was left to myself. Temptation assailed
me and I fell - 0! how low. Misery was my constant
companion for many months; but deeply as I had sunk
in the estimation of the world, one still watched my footsteps and preserved me from ruin when trembling on the
very verge of destruction. Then was his hand outstretched
to save me, and life again seemed enlightened by God's
approving smile. But I depended for support upon an
arm of flesh -on a broken reed; and the Almighty, in
his infinite wisdom, saw fit to humble me unto the very dust.
He showed me that without strength from on high, I was
unequal to the conflict; and in the school of affliction, I
trust he taught me how feeble were my resolves, and how
fruitless my endeavors, whilst I built my hopes upon
aught below the skies.
In my violation of the solemn pledge, I feel a humble
consciousness that he who doeth all things well, saw fit to
abase me, in order that every reliance on self might be
scattered to the winds, and my feet placed upon the Rock




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.                   1223
of Ages, so that my goings might be established. I had
failed to acknowledge him in all my ways, and his hand
mercifully interposed to check the growth of those seeds of
pride and worldly wisdom which had begun to germinate, and
already threatened to choke the good seed which his grace
had implanted. I trust that I recognized in this trial the
dealings of a merciful Father's hand; and it is my fervent
hope that, with whatever success he may be pleased to
crown my labors, his may be all the glory. I would disclaim all power in and of myself, and desire earnestly the
influences of his Holy Spirit, without which I feel I can do
nothing.
A few words, and I have done. This little book may by
chance fall into the hands of young persons, and Sabbathschool children. 0! may it serve as a warning to young
men! If they would be honorable, useful, and happy, I
conjure them, by all that is holy, virtuous, and even what
we call respectable, to'tarry not at the wine.' God forbid
that they should learn experience in the bitter school in
which I was a scholar, and from which I was plucked as a
brand from the burning. I have not written these pages
for the mere purpose of gratifying curiosity; a higher motive
has, I trust, influenced me; and 0, how happy should I be, in
hearing, at some future period, that only one young man
had been arrested in his fatal career. My hope is that this
book will be useful. And, if the blessing of God should
follow a perusal of it, in but one case, I shall have reason
for thankfulness that I penned it, through all eternity.
Let Sabbath-school children remember, that I, like them,
once listened to the kind instructions of a teacher [whom,
sixteen years after, I accidentally met in Brooklyn, at a
friend's house.] Had I then had an opportunity of signing
the temperance pledge, the misery of a drunkard's feelings




124           AUTO BIOGRAP'HY.
would, most probably, have been spared me. Let every
child fed that, by signing that pledge, he cannot, if he
sacredly adheres to it, ever become intoxicated. I pray
God that no Sabbath scholar, who reads my experience,
will ever feel in their own persons, or experience what it
has been mine to endure.
The concluding portion of this work, I have been compelled to leave in the hands of a friend, who has kindly
engaged to prepare it for the press, during my unavoidable
absence, for some months, from home. As he will speak
for himself, with respect to the matter of it, I shall now lay
down my pen, humbly relying for aid in my future endeavors to stem the tide of intemperance, on him, without whom
all human effort is vain, and in whose strength we may
fearlessly go forth to wage an exterminating war against
all that is opposed to the coming of his glorious kingdom.




A P P E N D I X,
A VERY light, but very pleasant task has been imposed on
me, by my friend, Mr. Gough, and of which I shall avail
myself, if but for the purpose of giving a few remarks of
mine some chance of being remembered. The poems, &c.,
which follow, have been, at different times, addressed to the
subject of the foregoing narrative, and are presented here
by the request of friends, who desired that they should find
a more durable place than the one afforded by the columns
of a newspaper. Some of them  are from  distinguished
pens, and all bear the impress of a genuine feeling of respect
for their subject. The reader may rest assured, that no
feeling of vanity caused their republication; if any imputation of the kind attaches to any one, those friends who
advised the procedure, and not Mr. Gough, must bear the
infliction.
My own remarks shall be few. Some short time since, a
contribution of mine appeared in the Boston' Temperance
Standard,' which excited some attention and interest among
Mr. Gough's friends. As it contained a graphic account of
his person and manner, it was suggested that it should be
added to this volume, which it has accordingly been. To
those who have seen and heard Mr. Gough, it may revive
pleasant impressions, and to those who have not, some idea
of his outward man may not be unwelcome.




126                APPENDIX.
Who would have imagined, that the schoolmistress's child,
roaming on the beach at Sandgate, reading columns of
news for pence in Purday's library, or rambling among the
ruins of the old castle; or the lonely boy in New York, or
the bowed-down, dissipated young man in Worcester, would
ever have exerted so mighty a moral influence as Mr. Gough
assuredly does I'It is the Lord's doings, and marvellous
in our eyes.' That he may long live to effect still more
good, in this and other lands, is the sincere prayer of one,
who, at his instigation, abandoned forever that which intoxicates, and feels an honest pride in calling him a friend.
J. D. R.
Bosto, March, 1845.




ADDRESS ON TEMPERANCE.
[The following address was delivered by Mr. Gough, before
a meeting of the Boston Temperance Society, at the
Odeon. It was reported for the' Temperance Standard,'
by J. R. Fitzgerald, Esq., and affords a fair specimen, as
far as matter is concerned, of Mr. Gough's style. His
manner is quite unreportable.           J. D. R.]
ON Sabbath evening, February 2, 1845, the Odeon was
crowded for the purpose of hearing the great advocate of
total abstinence, and the Colossus of the cause, Mr. J. B.
Gough, for the first time since his return from Philadelphia,
where he has reaped a superabundant harvest.
Mr. Gough rose, and spoke nearly as follows:- He said
he supposed that the audience would not expect any apology from him for again appearing before them on the
same subject. When he was away from this city, he liked
to come back to it, because he considered it his home. He
returned from his tours, sometimes to see his friends, and
sometimes for rest; but, when he came, they set him to
work. If there was any blame to be attached for his standing before a~ Boston audience on the subject of temperance,
it must be laid on the shoulders of those who employed
him. He felt that this question had been handled in so
many different ways, and by so many able men, that it was
impossible to strike out any thing that was new, and there



128                ArPPENDIX.
fore he must repeat his own experience, which he would
offer to them as his arguments. He gathered facts, as he
proceeded with his labors, with which he could illustrate the
truths which he proposed:for the consideration of the publie. These would enable him to enlighten their minds, although he knew it would be perfectly ridiculous on his part
to attempt to enlighten them on any other subject. It had
been said that temperance men gave an account of such
deeds, and of such scenes, as had never been witnessed.
Perhaps they had not been witnessed by these skeptics and
cavillers. Why? because they do not go where they were
to be witnessed. They acknowledged that intemperance
was an evil, but they knew nothing about its desolating.and
terrible effects. Their knowledge of the evil was similar to
that of the person who had seen another undergo the pain
of amputation. The one had felt the excruciating agony
of the operation, while the other could but indifferently conceive what it was. He was so engaged, that he was obliged
to see a great many things. I-e was obliged to lift up the
curtain, and expose the woe, misery, and wretchedness
which were concealed behind it. He would say to the incredulous, to those who supposed that the evil was magnified, go to the prisons and see the condition of the drunkard, see him at his wretched home. His time, from morning till night, for the last ten days, had been employed in
visiting such scenes. When they spoke of the drunkard, it
was supposed that it was only the lower orders, as they
were called, who were meant. He granted that they saw
more of them —he granted that they more frequently saw
the poor drunkard staggering his way through the streets.
But he could tell them that the drunkard was to be found
in-the higher order of society. There was scarcely a house
in which some member of the family was not scathed. or




A PPENDIX.                   129
burned by the- fire of intemperance. When he was in Phil
adelphia, a lady called upon him to know whether he would.
visit her sister's husband, in order to see if any thing could
be done for him. He (Mr. G.) replied that he would not,
unless the person wished it. He had made it a rule, never
to visit a drunkard unsolicited by himself, because he knew
how a drunkard felt. It often happened that the remnant
of that pride, which was not yet extinguished by the rum,
was excited, and that: the degraded outcast exclaimed,
Who asked you for your assistance?- who gave you any
information about me?' When it was the drunkard's wish
to. see- him, he went with the utmost willingness. But he
never made unsolicited visits, unless to the drunkard who
was in- distress, or to the house of mourning in which lay
some deceased inebriate. To such places he went uninvited, to learn if he could do some good.
The Philadelphia lady told him that she would not have
it known for the world that she had called upon him, because, said she,' We do n't go to temperance meetings, they
are not genteel enough.' Well, those were the feelings
which very often kept ladies and gentlemen away from the
meetings; but, whenever they had.been induced to go, they
were pleased with what they heard and saw; and, when
questioned about their visit, they said,'0! we did not
know that so much could be said upon the subject of temperance. We thought it was quite a vulgar thing:to be seen
at such meetings, and, therefore, we have not taken any
part in the matter.' A meeting was advertised to be held
in the splendid saloon of the Philadelphia Museum, the
admission to which was twenty-five cents. It was said, by
the young man in question,' There are not fools enough. in
Philadelphia to pay a quarter of a dollar for going to a
temperance meeting!!  Very well; the person whom, he
9




130              APPENDIX.
had been requested to visit went to the saloon, and seeing
crowds of persons standing outside, and coming away,
there being no room in the saloon, thought that there was
some difficulty. He saw the proprietor, to whom he said,'I suppose you can procure seats for me and these two
ladies.'' 0!' replied the proprietor,' you cannot get into
the vestibule.' Such was the brilliancy and magnificence
of that scene, that a representation of it was made for the
London'Illustrated News,' and which would probably be
out by the next mail from England. Half the proceeds of
the meeting was for the poor. 0! it was indeed a glorious
sight. The room, which was two hundred and forty-three
feet in length, was packed with human beings. He found
himself among men of the highest respectability - men of
rank, influence, and education. It was sufficient, that he
mentioned the names of Chancey, Horace Binney, J. A.
Brown, &c., &c. The countenance and cooperation of such
men were a tower of strength to the cause.
He would relate to them the particulars of another case
which had come under his knowledge in Philadelphia. A
lady called upon him, and politely requested him to call
at her house. He accepted the invitation. He was shown
into a magnificently furnished room, (since he had become
a temperance man he had been in some tolerably wellfurnished apartments, but, most certainly, he had never
been in any which was more gorgeously laid out than the
one he alluded to,) it was ornamented with rich and valuable articles from China, and India; on the floor was a
carpet of the richest colors, and which felt to the foot like
velvet. He took his seat on a sofa, in the cushions of
which he was almost buried. He thought to himself that
there was nothing for him to do there, and he was beginning to be of opinion that he had got into the wrong place.




APPENDIX.                    131
(laughter,) when in came a lady who was the very personification of aristocracy. She spoke of her darling boy,
and expressed her poignant regret, that he, with all the
pride of character, and of manliness, should commit such a
fault'Why,' said the lady,'Mr. Gough, would you belicve it, he came home drunk last night!' Why, there
were hundreds and thousands of such cases, although that
lady had supposed that her son was the only one who was
afflicted with the loathsome disease of intemperance. No
adequate idea of the extent and magnitude of the fatal
propensity could be formed. But he was rejoiced, and he
returned his thanks to Providence, that the deep and broad
lines of the approbation of the God of the Sabbath were
stamped upon the cause; that men of mind, and talent, and
influence, and rank, were coming up to the great work,
and that the last hour of intemperance was approaching.
There was a class of human beings who suffered much
from and by this hateful vice. He meant the little children. Who'was there that did not love a little child, an innocent, a sweet little child. Surely, there was not one in that
assembly who did not. He would not think much of one
who did not. In this city there were numbers of degraded,
ruffianly boys, who were ragged, dirty, and filthy; upon
whose countenances sensuality and brutality were marked,
and who were fit candidates for the State prisons. LTook
at them, and the cause of their degradation, and their
rapidly coming ruin. In nine cases out of ten it would be
found that the parents of those boys were drunkards.
When in New York, he went with his Honor, the Mayor,
to Blackwell's Island, and there he saw eight hundred human beings, apparently the most abandoned and brutalized, that he had ever cast his eyes upon. One half of
them could neither read nor write, and had had no reli



132                 PrPENDIX.
gious education. Well, if the question was asked it would
be found that intemperance was the cause of that vast and
indescribable amount of human degradation and human
misery. Children were thrust into the streets on such a
day as that was, when the cold was so piercing as to get
into the very marrow in their little bones, to pick up pennies to enable the wretched, criminal, unnatural parents to
procure rum. He had seen one little girl of whom he had
taken some notice. In the assembly before him there was
not one more interesting looking than that poor, unfortlnate, and ill-fated child. She was between fourteen and
fifteen years of age, and her raiment was hardly sufficient
for the requirements of decency. He asked, why did that
girl go so? The answer was, her father was a drunkard.
Well, said he, (Mr. G.) was she not old enough to go out
to work?  Where was her spirit? The reply was,'that
child's mother is in a consumption, and four children are
dependent upon that girl's exertions.' 0! he conjured them
to reflect upon the sufferings caused by intemperance
among the children of this city, and to come forward with
their assistance to exterminate the hideous monster. Look
at, and reflect upon the sufferings of mothers, sisters, and
brothers. He never would forget the heart-piercing recital
of an old woman in Worcester county. Her boy, in whom
all her affections were centered, and over whose helpless
infancy she had watched many a night and day, had contracted the vice of drunkenness; delirium tremens had
seizedhim, he went away and was absent for three years. On
one evening his broken-hearted and aged mother was reading in the Bible that passage, which described Jesus Christ
casting the devil oxt of the blind man, because he was cry.
ing and cutting himself among the tombs. She laid down
the sacred volume, and exclaimed,'Ah, my poor son is




P P E N D IX                 33
this night perhaps crying, and cutting himself among the
tombs.' She threw herself upon her knees, and prayed for
him. Her boy returned that night; he had signed the
pledge. Not wishing to go into the presence of his honored parent before he removed from his person the effects
of the travelling, he went into a tavern which was contiguous to his mother's residence. The landlord said to him
that he had not seen him for some time, that he was not
looking well, and asked him to drink something. The
young man said no, ie had signed the pledge. The landlord told liinm that that was of no consequence. He might
sign the pledge in one town, and break it in another. The
young man as yet held out against the assaults of the
grim tempter. He said he did not want any thing to
drink. Yet, said Mr. Gough, he did want something to
gratify his passion, for it had not yet submitted. He had
to battle against his appetite. Often he (Mr. G.) had been
obliged to put, with his trembling hands, the laudanumbottle to his lips, which rattled against his teeth in order
to quench the thirst for rum. A man was not free when
he signed the pledge. 0! no. He was still in chains.
He had many struggles to make, for the purpose of obtaining the mastery over his appetite. The system was
weakened, and he longed for his rum.
But to return whence he had digressed. The mother
rejoiced that her son, who was dead, was come to life again;
that he was about to throw himself into her arms, exclaiming, in accents of ecstacy,'Mother, mother, I have
returned to you, I have signed the pledge, take care of
me!' But, alas! that meeting between the repentant
child and the rejoicing mother was not realized -it did
not come to pass. The tempter succeeded, the young
man broke his pledge, and after he had done so, the de



134               APPENDIX.
monr landlord laid a wager that the violater of his pledge
would drink a pint of rum, without taking it from his lips.
The wager was taken up, which was liquor for all round;
the rum was brought, the young man drank it up; shortly
after, he, the only son of his mother, was found dead. His
body was wrapt up in a buffalo skin and was conveyed to
his mother's house on a plank. The old woman looked
up into his (Mr. Gough's) face, when she told him what she
had said to the landlord.'I taxed him with having murdered my boy, and I told him that he would have to answer for it before God. May God forgive me, I cursed
him.' The reply of the heartless rumseller was, that he did
not know that the ill-fated young man was her son. Thus
had died that unhappy youth; he had died drunk, and in
the death of a drunkard there was no hope.
Indignation was excited against the landlord, and he was
compelled to leave the place. He went to Norwich, where
he continues in the murderous traffic, if he be not dead.
But the wrath of the public did not heal or cicatrize the
wounded heart of the inconsolable mother. He would ask,
how long would the rumseller be allowed to perpetrate
such deeds of blood? How long would the friends of humanity stand tamely by, while thousands upon thousands
of human beings were sacrificed to the Moloch of rum?
When he took up a newspaper, he read the accounts of
rum-tragedies, which were sufficient to make one's blood
quiver in his veins. Sometime ago, a man in Pittsfield,
under the dominion of rum, murdered his wife, and afterwards murdered his child. Yet, that man had said, that he
had loved his wife; she had never quarrelled with him for
drinking, but she would stare at him, and that look haunted
him every where; it was in the very glass, he said; he saw it
as he lifted it to his lips. One day, on his return, and when




ArPENDIX.                     135
under the fatal influence of the rum, he saw his wife sitting in
her chair; her eyes were red and inflamed, as though she
had been crying; a tear was still on her cheek, her hair was
dishevelled. She gave him a look, not a look of anger or
contempt, but a look of sorrow; he went into another room,
got his rifle, and shot her.
Again, the newspapers related the particulars of fatal
accidents which had befallen drunkards on the railroads.
His own conviction was, that the drunkard having despaired
of himself, would drink to excess, and then fall upon the
track, being aware, before all his senses had left him, that
the cars would roll over, and crush him to death. He
believed that such were the feelings and intention of the
drunkard, the irreclaimable drunkard.  If they doubted
what he said, let them go and ask the reformed drunkard.
The drunkard's body was -like that of death; he always
carried about him a load of self-contempt, which was bitter
to bear. He compared the drunkard to one who was
obliged to carry every where with him a dead body. It sat
down with him when he sat down, and rose with him when
he rose. It was always there. Turn whichever way he
would, it was there, a glaring, livid mass. If he wanted to
avert his eyes from it, he could not, without beholding the
hideous:spectacle. It so brooded upon his soul, like a monster of death, that, with St. Paul, he exclaimed,'Who shall
deliver me from the body of this death?' Yes, the drunkard would rather risk the pains and torments of the other
world, than be subject to the horrors, such as lie (Mr. G.)
had endeavored to describe. They were called upon to
wage war against all intoxicating beverages, whether they
were used in the fashionable circles, at social parties, at
weddings, at the large hotels, the low, miserable restorators




136                APr P-PE-N'DI X.
or the filthy rum-grocery, where the miserable drunken
idiots gasp for their cent's worth of the fiery poison.
There was one class of persons, who, perhaps uninten.
tionally, did more to perpetuate intemperance, than all the
grog-shops put together. He knew that to be the fact.
But of that class he would not speak that evening. The
first glass, which had ma-de thousands drunkards, had
been taken at other places beside the bar-room; he meant
at the social parties. But, it was said by some, that their
influence could avail nothirig in the great moral movement,
and that if a man cannot govern himself, he had better let
it alone. Now, he would challenge that large assembly,
nay, the world, to state instances where a man had been
better, morally, physically, or intellectually, by taking a
glass of wine. But how many thousands had become
drunkards by that glass l There were at present, in this
country, notwithstanding the temperance reformation, fJivs
hundred thousand drunkards, thirty thousand of whom, every
year, descend into the drunkard's grave; and they begun
with the first glass of cider, rum, brandy, or wine. Were
they not called upon to abolish the practice? Did they not
owe it to themselves to do so' Did not the interests of their
children require of them to do so? He would ask whether
any father in that assembly would be willing to place his
son in one scale, and fashion in the other, and then wait
to see who would kick the beam. Would any fond father
like to risk the happiness of his boy in such a way?
Mr. Gough then alluded to the young lady who had lost
her life at Table Rock, by an attempt to pluck a shrub,
which was upon its brink. She made one false step,'she
cried out, save me! and over she went.' Would any father
tell his son that he could pluck it, to go and do so, and let
the world see how cool he was; as cool as though he was




APPENDDIXo                   137
standing in his own drawing-room!  No. No father would
speak thus to his child. He would -tell him not to make
the attempt; his foot might slip, and he might lose his life.
The son, perhaps, would say to his father, that there was no
danger of him; that it did not follow because a giddy-headed
young lady had fallen over the precipice into the gulf of
destruction, which was beneath her, that the same fate Was
to await him. Very good, very plausible argument, very
specious paralogism; but let it be remembered that hundreds of thousands go annually to pluck the shrub, and that
thirty thousand of them fall over the precipice! Some said
that only weak-minded men became drunkards. That was
not true. He would take two men; one should be a steady~going, plodding kind of a character, always looking ahead,
and -not deviating to the right nor to the left, but pursuing
the even tenor of his way, taking a glass of wine in the way
of business; he should be a person not calculated to do
much harm or much good, and one who had never been
supposed to have lived, until his death appeared in the
newspapers. The other should be a person of warm temperament,:full of life, of genius, and of learning; a favorite
with the ladies, for the fascinations of his attainments; the
admired of the fashionable circle, for his graceful dancing,
for his beautiful playing, and for his charming singing.
Such a man, if he took his glass of wine, would, beyond all
doubt, become a drunkard; but no power, no persuasion,
no entreaties, could bring the other within the influence of
the glass; in a word, it was impossible to make him a
drunkard. The one stood on the edge of the outer circle,
but the other went within the inner circles, which grew
narrower and narrower, until he was swallowed up in the
vortex, where tens of thousands went, and where they would




138               APPENDIX.
remain, until the arrival of that terrible-day, when the great
secret would be revealed.
The cry of no danger, was a vain cry. Men said they
had no desire to drink. How did they know that?  The
next time that any young man, who was listening to him,
who was in the habit of drinking, had a wish to take something, let him resist the wish; he would feel feverish, restless, and uneasy, until he had gratified his wish or crushed it.
He had heard of a case, where a friend of temperance was
anxious to induce a drunkard, whom he knew, to become a
sober man, by saying, that he would give him five dollars,
if he would not drink for a day. The drunkard told his
humane friend to shut him up; but, so far gone was he in
the vice, so determined and so incorrigible a drunkard was
he, that he had devised the means of getting intoxicated, even
while he was shut up, by sucking the rum through a straw
from a bottle, which a boy held outside the door; the straw
was put through the key-hole.
In the church of the Rev. Albert Barnes, in Philadelphia,
he had held a temperance meeting. The children of eight
or nine of the Sabbath schools, with their teachers, were
present. It was a most glorious sight; it was a blight and
beautiful sight, and it reminded him of what Dr. Pierce, of
Brookline, had said to him (Mr. G.), of the meeting of
children, which was once held in the Tremont Temple,
namely,' There was no flower-garden on earth equal to it.'
But it was said, that children did not understand the tem-aerance movement. That was a great mistake. They
understood it well: and the girls and boys set a noble
example to their seniors. The pledge contained the principle of total abstinence. The advocates of the cause sought
their aid; and they solicited them to come up upon the
platform, and take an active part in the holy work. The




rPPENDIX.                      139
traffic in rum would be put an end to. When he said that,
he was told that he was touching upon delicate ground;
but he would never cease to wage wyar against the traffic in
all that intoxicates. It was said, that there were many
wealthy men concerned in the trade of rum, whose influence would be brought to bear against those who denounced it, as being fraught with poverty, disease, and
death. But what cared he for that impotent threat? He
had a right to lift up the curtain, to disclose the secrets of
the charnel-house; he would tear away the drapery of
respectability! which hung around the infamous trade, that
it might be seen in the length and breadth of all its hideousness and corruption.
The dark and impenetrable pall of drunkenness, which
enshrouded the rum-depositories, must be rent. The inebriate outcast often exclaimed, that no man cared for him,
or for his soul; he considered that he was lost, beyond all
hope of recovery, and he expected to die. Night after night
he pursued his course; they would hear his wild, demoniac
laugh. Would any of those who were present accompany
him (Mr. G.) for twenty-four hours, he would point out to
them scenes, the bare contemplation of which, would make
the heart of a savage barbarian ache. He would point to
their view those fatal places, where the drunkard's soul and
senses were steeped in rum. That man was sleeping, one
would say; wait a little, go close, and hear his convulsive
heavings; lift up his hand, and it falls dead; cry aloud in
his ear, and he would not hear; build a fire around him, and
such was the state of stupefaction in which he was, that he
could with difficulty be started. No; he was not asleep;
the drunkard never slept. See the beaded drops of perspiration standing on his forehead; see him beating the air;
see him starting, and terrified at the horrible figures which




140               A P r  EN D I Xo
crowd upon his imagination. He glares forth again, with
one object in view, namely, to get his rum; he knelt down,
to clutch the glass with his trembling hands. He (the
drunkard) cared not for the world; he went on, in the same
way, night after night, until he was hurried before the
dread tribunal of Omnipotent justice, in a state of intoxica
tion! 0, it was a tremendous reflection. He knew from
experience all he stated. But, said Mr. Gough, with his
eyes and hands turned towards heaven, thank God, a bright
and beaming star of hope had shone upon him. He had
destroyed his appetite for drink; he had trampled under his
feet his foe. But he would rather go back to what he was
two days before he had signed the pledge, than be a RuMSELLER. He had been a sinner above all sinners, but the
Almighty God had never left him so far, as to be bad
enough to sell the soul-destroying and God-defying rum.
Mr. Gough dwelt upon the wicked use which was made
of corn, while thousands of human beings were in want of
bread. He spoke of the advertisements, which he often
saw in the newspapers, which were —' Corn! Corn! The highest cash price givenfor Corn.'
That corn was poured into the accursed distillery, and
was converted into a liquid fire,'to blight, blast, and scathe
the face of nature. If the corn was bought up, and cast
into the sea, and if the highest cash price was given for
casting it there, if the object was to produce famine in that
way, the advocates of the temperance cause would be
silent, because the injury which would thus result would
be comparatively nothing.  In one hundred and thirty
towns in Massachusetts, the sale of spirits was abolished. But the people of those towns complained that
Boston was ruining them, because the rum was obtained
here in jugs, and forwarded to those places by the different




AP.PEN-TDIX.                 141
expresses and carriers. Would the citizens of Boston permit that? Would the rum traffickers be allowed to pour
out their liquid streams of death, despite the appeal of the
broken-hearted wives, and the tears of the orphan    But
the rum-sellers said, if they did not sell, others would. He
(Mr. G.) had asked them why they sold at all. The answer
was, to make money.. Rather than sell it, he would sooner
die on a hay-mow, without a person to wipe the damp dews
of death from his brow: he would sooner lay his head on a
cold stone, with nothing to protect it against the pitiless
peltings of the storm. He would prefer that hard and melancholy fate, to a bed of eider down, and to have friends,
with anxious countenances, peering through the damask
curtains that shrouded his dying body, when the latter
were purchased with wealth made in a distillery, every dollar of which was blistered with the tear of sorrow, rusted
with the suicide's blood, and crusted with the piercing cries
of the sobbing, starving child. God never gave the distiller a dollar, and if he were to make an offering of one, it
would be an act of impiety, and an. outrage upon the
Majesty of the Deity. He would repeat it; let those who
doubted the extent and magnitude of the evil arising from
drunkenness, go with him to the prisons, and see the pale
faces, the sunken eyes, and the hollow jaws of the victims
of rum.
On one evening, two gentlemen were walking in the
streets of Philadelphia, when they were accosted by two
little girls, who asked for alms. Upon being questioned,
one of them said she had no father, and the other said she
had a father-in-law. They went home with the children,
and, when they entered the door, they saw a woman working as fast as she could with her needle. They remonstrated with the woman for allowing her children to be in




142               APPENDIX.
the street at such a late hour, and told her that if she did
not take proper care of them, they would have her conduct
laid before the proper authorities. The woman, a fine commanding looking person, threw down her work, stood up,
and, in a burst of rage, said that they ought to take the law
of the whisky-shops, —they- caused her to labor, and her
children to beg. She worked from morning until night, but
she could not support her family. The gentlemen were
confounded. They went away, and returned the next day
to make provision for the family.
Mr. Gough related the particulars connected with the
reformation of a young man who had been addicted to
drinking. It was the virtuous determination of a greyheaded negro, who had refused to take a drink of cider instead of water, which had reformed him. The old man was
about to put the cider to his mouth, when he discovered
what it was; he refused to drink it, and returned it to his
young master, who was induced to sign the pledge, and who
had since promised to exert his influence for the good of
his fellow-creatures. Young men and old men, said Mr. G.,
go and imitate the meritorious and noble example of the
virtuous negro. The young man and the negro would perhaps meet each other where there was no rum, where there
was no temptation; but where all was brightness and
love.
He would again refer to Philadelphia, for which they
would excuse him. Two ladies, who were going to a temperance meeting, which was held in that city, were asked
by a man, who did not appear to belong to the'lower
order,' for two cents. They said they would not give him
what he wanted, but they asked him to go with them to a
temperance meeting, where he would hear some music, and
perhaps be induced to sign the pledge. The other lady




A PPENDIX.                    143
said to her companion, that she had better not take him
there, as he might misconduct himself. At that moment
two boys passed by, who were requested by the ladies to
see the man home, and to call upon them in the morning
with word where he lived, and they would reward them.
One of the ladies went to see him. She found him sick
with delirium treemens. He was the only son of his mother,
and she was a widow. She had a sufficiency for herself
and her son. All she had to grieve about, was the dissipation of her child. The lady asked him (Mr. G.) to accompany her to see the young man, and apologized to him for
not having the carriage, as her mother was out shopping.
Well, he felt pretty proud to walk through the streets with
an elegant lady. He saw the inebriate - he stayed with him
an hour —he signed the pledge. They should have seen
his mother; her feelings continued to well up, until, at last,
she burst into a flood of tears: they were tears of heartfelt
joy and gladness. Those kind and magnanimous ladies,
were the instruments, under Heaven, by which that young
man had been rescued from a drunkard's grave. Let others
of their sex go and do likewise. There were a great many
worth saving, and who might shine as stars in the hemisphere of talent. To all present, he would say, press onward, come forward, and let them show their sincerity, by
signing the pledge.
Ite implored all friends of humanity to give the cause
their support, and to exert their influence, in every legitimate manner, to bring over the drunkard. Ile loved the
cause, and his devotion to it should cease only with his
life.








A TEMPERANCE SKETCH.
[BY AN ENGLISH TRAVELLER.]
MR. JOHN B. GOUGH.EI
IN the early part of January, of the present year, I was
residing in Philadelplhia, and finding, one dull, drizzling
damp morning that time hung heavily on my hands, I
made all attempt at killing it by applying to that usual
refuge for the destitute tourist - the newspapers. I soon
digested the whole of their contents, having from  the
paucity of information contained in the various hebdomadals actually devoured the advertisements, which, by the
way. were the most amusing portions of the broad sheets.
This resource being exhausted, what was I to do? It was
not a day for walking, and were it so, I had seen every
thing of note in and about the beautifll city of Brotherly
Love. The Hall of Independence, the Mint, Laurel lHill
Cemetery, Franklin's Grave, the Girard College, had all
been visited, and how was I to amuse myself, a stranger
in a strange place?
I sauntered to tilhe window of my hotel, and there had a
melancholy view of the damp roof of the Market House.
Tiring of this prospect I planted myself before the stove,
and in pure desperation took up a pamphlet on temperance
which lay oil the table. There was not much in it to interest me, but it was better, I thought, than nothing, so I
read on - turning the leaves over and over, on the princi
]0




146                APPrENDIX.
pie which makes a squirrel turn in his circular cage. I
read because I could'nt help it.
There were several notices in that temperance pamphlet of various lecturers on the subject of total abstinence;
and a perfect host of paragraphs respecting one of them, a
young man named Gough, who had, it seemed, been creating quite a'sensation' wherever he appeared. Anecdotes of considerable interest were quoted as having been
related by him, and from all accounts, his progress tthrough
the various cities and towns of the Union seemed to have
been a very march of triumph.
I am passionately fond of eloquent public speaking, and
therefore felt a great desire to hear Mr. Gough; nor was my
wish long ungratified, for the rain being'over and gone,'
I sauntered down Chestnut street, and in my way saw a
bill which announced that Mr. G. would address the people of Philadelphia in a church, on the following Sunday
evening, and thither at the appointed hour I repaired, expecting to be disappointed, for I have generally. found
much-vaunted men to fall far short of the standard erected
by their admirers.
Mr. Gough's fame having'flown before him,' the church
was, long before the appointed time, crowded to overflowing. I occupied a seat in the gallery, and in common
with hundreds waited anxiously for the appearance of
the second Father Mathew. As seven o'clock drew near,
every eye was strained in order to catch the first glimpse
of him. There was a perfect fitror. Surely, thought I, he
must be something above the mark! but stay.
The minister, who regularly officiates in the church, goes
into the pulpit and sits down. One or two persons behind
me say it is after seven o'clock, and very much fear that
Mr. Gough is not coming, and they are only going to have




Ar PP ENDIX.                  147
a sermon after all. Presently there is a stir near the door
and a grave-looking spectacled personage, with hair'half-way
On the road from grizzle to gray,'
is seen pushing, with monstrous difficulty, through the
crowd. He is followed by a young man, or rather by a
young man's head, for whether a body belongs to it is
doubtful - if there be, it bids fair to be so flatly squeezed as
to render seeing it edgeways a matter of difficulty. On
the grave-looking gentleman and his companion push, and at
length arrive at the foot of the stairs leading to the pulpit.'There he goes! that's Gough! him with the spectacles on,'
whispers one to another, as the grave-looking personage
ascends the steps —no, that cannot be the orator, for we
are told he is much ydunger. Another individual mounts,
and a buz goes round -again a disappointment! it is only
the sexton, who is about to regulate the refractory gasburner. Perhaps the secretary (for such is the gentleman
with gray hair and spectacles) is going to apologize for
Mr. Gough's unexpected, unavoidable absence, &c., &c.
O! no —no such thing, for you may see a young man following the sexton, and all at once every eye is fixed on
him, for every body whispers to every body else-' That's
him,' and this time they are riglht, for Mr. J. B. Gough it is.
What! that pale, thin young man - with a brown overcoat buttoned closely up to his chin, and looking so attenuated that a tolerably persevering gust of wind would
have had no difficulty in puffing him to any required point
of the compass - that him who has swayed multitudes by
his oratory. Made strong men weep like little children,
and women to sob as if their hearts would burst! Yes -
look at his large expressive eyes - mark every feature, and




148                 APPEND IX.
you see the stamp of no common man there. The young
apostle of temperance is before us.
After a brief address from Mr. Marsh, and a prayer from
the pastor of the church, a hymn was sung, and then Mr.
Gough came forward. I had now a better opportunity of
observing him. His face was pale, and there needed no
very scrutinizing eye to detect on the brow of youth, furrows
which time and trouble had prematurely ploughed there.
His cheeks were very pale, somewhat sunken, and their
muscles were very distinctly marked. The mouth, by far
the most expressive feature of the face, was of a benevolent formation, (if I may so describe it,) and at times a
smile of inexpressible sweetness lurked about it - a quantity of dark hair nearly covered his forehead, yet leaving
one temple bare, indicating a brain of more than ordinary
capacity. In dress he was extremely simple —plain black
-taken altogether, I have seldom at a first glance felt so
lively an interest in any celebrated man (and I have seen
many) as I did in Mr. Gough.
It would be easy enough to give the matter of Mr
Gough's address, but to convey any thing except a very
slender idea of his manner, would be a sheer impossibility,
and I shall not attempt so hopeless a task. To be fully
appreciated he must be heard. He commenced by disclaiming any intention of entering on an argument, and
said that he should mainly depend on facts, the results of
his own experience, or those of others which had fallen
under his notice. He then described his own career as an
intemperate man, and drew pictures of such terrific power,
and yet so truthful that his hearers shuddered as they listened to the dreadful details. To me, intemperance hadl
never before appeared in all its horrible, startling hide
ousness. The impressions made by Mr. Gough on his




APPENDIX.                   149
audience seemed to be profound; and many of his pathetical anecdotes drew tears'from eyes unused to weep.'
It being Sabbath evening, Mr. Gough did not indulge in
any reminiscences of a ludicrous nature, but confined himself to a delineation of the awful features of intemperance,
as exhibited every hour in our daily paths. I-Is illustrations were marvellously felicitous, and most aptly introduced. Never did he utter any thing approaching to vulgarity, and often his eloquence was of a high order. He
told us that he had never known the advantages of education (a fact which none would have suspected); that he had
left England at twelve years of age; had suffered from
poverty and want in their direst forms, and had felt, when
death had robbed him of all who made life dear, that he
was utterly alone. It was the most awfully interesting
autobiography I ever listened to.
During that week, and the week following, Mr. Gough
lectured to congregated thousands in Philadelphia; and so
fascinated was I by his eloquence, that, with the exception
of two meetings, I heard all his addresses. The excitement
was tremendous. To obtain any chance of hearing him,
seats were obliged to be procured more than an hour and a
half before the time of commencement. Gallery and pulpit
stairs, and aisles, were thronged with people of every class.
I shall never forget the scene at the Chinese IMuseuin,
where, on two occasions, three thousand people paid twentyfive cents for the privilege of hearing him; and, even then,
hundreds were unable to obtain admission. Mr. Gough
enchained that vast audience, for two hours, by one of the
most effective addresses I ever heard. At one moment he
convulsed them with merriment, and, as if by the touch of
an enchanter's wand, he subdued them to tears. It was a
wonderful display of his power over the feelings and pas



150                APPENDIX.
sions; and yet, with all, there was so much of humility,
that one knew not which most to admire -the man or his
matter.
Mr. Gough is an admirable mimic, and tells a story with
more point than, Charles Matthews excepted, any other
story-teller I ever listened to. His sarcasms tell with,effect,
and his pathetic narrations of the household distresses are
graphic in the extreme, I should not like to be the object
of his denunciations, for he launches his thunders with an
unsparing hand, as the traffickers in rum can testify. He
sings, too, and very sweetly: few can refrain from tears
when hearing his'long, long ago.' Taken altogether, it
may be safely said that Mr. Gough is -one of those men
whom the Almighty calls out, at certain periods, to wage
his battles, and effect great moral reforms. Mr. Gough is,
emphatically, a man for the Times!
I forgot to remark, that our orator's voice is extremely
musical, and of flexible tone; at times sweet as that of the
eloquent HIenry Smith (a preacher of Queen Elizabeth's
day, and surnamed the silver-tongued), and at others, pouring forth, torrent-like, in eloquent invective. In fine, he
has all the requisites for an efficient public speaker, and
nobly does he bring all his energies to bear whilst engaged
in discussing his favorite theme - temperance, to which he
feels he owes so much.
It should not be forgotten by Mr. Gough's wide, and st;l1
expanding circle of friends, that their favorite speaker's
talents are confined in an earthly casket, and that the vast
amount of labor which he performs must of necessity affect
his health. Let those who value his influence, be careful of
the man; and not, by overworking him now, prevent his
future usefulness. It is evident that he is suffering from
over-work; indeed, human nature cannot long support such




APPENDIX.                      151
prodigious efforts as his. The lives of such men are of
priceless value. That he may long be spared to effect still
greater reforms in our moral and social circles, is the heartfelt prayer of one who, after Father Matthew had failed to
convince him  of the error of'drink,' heard from J. B.
Gough, his junior only in years, such statements as induced
him to sign the pledge.                      J. D. R.
Boston, ]iarch. 1845.








P O E T RY.
TO JOHN B. GOUGH.
BY JOHN D. ROSS.
THY work is good, thy aim is high —
Thy mission pure and holy I
The human heart to purify;
To raise the weak and lowly:
To bid the slaves, who, hating all,
By men are shunned and hated,
Rise up from Rum's despotic thrall,
MIEN -self-emliancipated!
In homes which once were full of woe,
Meek Peace shall fold her pinion;
And like a'little heaven below,'
Will seem the calm dominion:
For children, strangers long to bliss,
When parent forms caressing,
Shall owe to thee their happiness,
And name thee with a blessing.
Some worse than widowed wife, whose flowers
Of hope were well-nigh blighted,
Shall feel her many weary hours
Of sadness all requited:




154                 APPENDIX.
For smiles shall beam, - and by the tongue
Which uttered threats and curses,
Shall prayers be made; and oft be sung
Devotion's hallowed verses.
The young shall hail thy saving hand,
Which grasped them when pursuing,
With Dissipation's thoughtless band,
The path to endless ruin.
Gray-headed sires shall joy to see
Some prodigal repenting:
And mothers, when their loved are free,
Will hush the long lamenting?
0! prouder far such wreaths as thine
Than Hero's cirques of glory!
And'brighter shall thy trophies shine
Upon the page of story!
The weapons of thy righteous war
Love's garlands are entwining;
And Peace speaks, as when Bethlehem's star
Was o'er the shepherds shining.
Faint not! faint not! but onward press,
Pursue thy God-like calling:
Achieve more bloodless victories
Rum's captives disenthralling!
Be heedless of the 6 strife of tongues' -
Assail man's CURSE - remove it!
Whilst earth thy work shall hail with songs,
And God shall well approve it.
Boston, Feb. 1845.




APPENDIX                    155
TWO YEARS AGO.
[Written for J. B. Gough.]
BY THE REV. JOHN PIERPONT.
Tune -' O no, we never mention himra
Two years ago, a mighty chain
Had bound me to the bowl,
Its links lay burning on my brain
And crushing down my soul;
My mother, far from scenes of strife
Was, in her grave, laid low,
And not a star shone on my life
But two short years ago.
Two years ago, the loafing throng,
That hung around the inn,
Would say —' Come, sing us now a song,
And you shall have some gin.'
And I the drunkard's catch would troll,
The lowest of the low,
And then in drink would drown my soul
But two short years ago.
Two years ago, upon the edge
Of Ruin's gulf I lay:
I woke - I rose - I signed the pledge
Two years ago to-day:
That pledge hath saved my drowning soul,
From sorrow, pain, and woe;
IT was that, that helped me dash the bowl
Away, two years ago.
And now a glorious sun hath risen
To cheer and bless my soul:
I. feel my freedom from my prison -
My bondage to the bowl:




156                APPENDIX.
A thousand friends, with anxious care,
Their arms around me throw,
To keep me from the gulf of Fear
I sought, two years ago.
Two years ago, thy name, 0 God,
I named but to blaspheme;
Thy holy courts I never trod;Forgive me, Power Supreme!
And help me do some little good,
In lifting up the low,
Who now are standing, where I stood
But two short years ago.
SONG.
ms ritten by Rev. WM. B. TAPPAN, for Mr. J. B. GOUGH, and sung
by him at the Anniversary Occasion, October 28, 1844.
I WAS tossed by the winds on a treacherous wave;
Above me was peril, beneath me a grave;
The sky, to my carnest inquiry, was dark;
The storm in a deluge came down on my bark!
How fearful! to drive on. horrible shore,
Where breakers of Ruin eternally roar.
O, Mercy! to wreck in the morning of days,To die when life dazzles with changeable rays,To sink as the grovelling and vile of the ship,
The rose on my cheek, and the dew on my lip -
And fling, as a bauble, my soul to the heaps,
That glisten and mock from the caves of the deeps.




APPENDIX.                        157
O, no! for a STAR trembles out in the sky,
The shrieks of the ocean complainingly die,
The gales that I covet blow fresh from the shore,
Where breakers of Ruin eternally roar:
Each sail presses homeward - all praises to THEE,
Whose word in that hour hushed tempest and sea!
TO J. B. GOUGH.
YOUNG champion of a righteous cause, press boldly on, I pray,
Though weary, faint not - falter not, though dark and rough
the way;
Ripe is the harvest, and thy hand can well the sickle wield,
O! bind the sheaves -root up the tares, that cumber now
the field.
Strong is the foe; but thou art strong, the tempter's spell to
break;
Thy heel can bruise the serpent's head, his dreaming victim
wake.
Still pour, in floods of burning light, thy thoughts without
control,
Thy trumpet tones can stir the heart, can rouse the slumbering soul.
Sheathe not the two-edged sword of truth, till error vanluished lies;
Spare not the wolf, while yet one lamb, bleeding, before thee
dies.
Ay, thine's a work of emprise high, a meet reward is thine;
Enrolled'mong blest philanthropists, thy name shall brightly
shine.




158                 AP P E NDIX.
Though, like the lightning-riven oak, thou'st known misfor
tune's storm,
Affections shall spring up, and twine, like ivy, round thy
form.
Thousands shall grasp thy hand, and call thee savior, brother,
friend;
And prayers from myriad hearts for thee, like incense, shall
ascend.
The seeds thou'rt sowing now in tears, shall blossom'neath
thy tread;
Hope's ripened fruits, and soul-fraught joys, shall cluster
round thy head;
Angels of holy light o'er thee, their radiant wings shall bend;
With paeans of a rescued host, their harpings soft shall blend.
CMore precious to a soul like thine, such treasures, though
untold,
Than ingots of the glistening dross that mammon's sons call
gold.
Blessed thus on earth, a brighter crown shall deck thy brow
above,
Where thou, with all earth's ransomed tribes, shall sing the
song of love.
Dedham, Mill Village.                     LIZETTE.
TO  MR. J. B. GOUGH.
YOUNG speaker! thou hast dearly learned the lore,
That touched thy tongue with eloquence, to chain
The thronging crowds, and bid the tear-drop pour,
As flows from April clouds the genial rain.
God grant the seed may ripen, and bring forth
Rich harvest, all commensurate with thy worth.




APPENDIX.                     159
Ah M  thou hast paid for knowledge such a price
As beggars imagery. Nought can repay
The boundless treasures lavished upon vice:
Thy early boyhood's pure and hallowed ray,
Thy young heart's hopes, the life of her who gave
Her all to thee, ere yet a mindless slave.
Steeped to the lips in poverty and shame,
Quivering with agony, remorse, and dread;
Cast by the living forth, with taunts and blame,
E'en from the bosom of the peerless dead!
Condemned and exile'd. O! my God, prevent
Another bearing the bonds which thou hast rent.
O! I have suffered.' Yes; and many hearts,
That beat before thee, echoed back thy words,
As memory drew aside the screen, that parts
The past and present. Ah! the inner chords
Of many souls vibrated to the tone.
Ah i me, thou hast not trod the path alone.
We, who have seen our loved ones change andfall,
Know well what influence alone can save
Others who tremble, like a tottering wall,
O'er the dark precincts of the drunkard's grave.'T is individuzal effort, sire and son,
Must marshal side by side, ere the broad field be won
And yet men say,'Can I my brother keep?'
We answer,' Can you not his steps betray?
And, fiend-like, urge him to the dangerous leap,
And then lament his downfall?' Hedge the way
By a firm phalanx of abstaining ones,
And save your country's honor, and her sons.




160                APPENDIX.
Go on, thou' young man eloquent!' go on:
Continue thus to urge thy brother man -
Thy brother Christian - thus to act upon
This glorious cause; others have led the van;
Thou bringest up the centre; charge, and rout;
Tli6ir false excuses mztst be driven out,
Thine earthly tabernacle rude storms have shook;
But spare not word, nor tear, nor life, nor limb:
The monster, who once held thee, must not look
For truce or quarter; thoituhad'st none from hivm!
Better a martyr's death - a martyr's lot,
Than the escutcheon of our cause to blot.
iNew York, 1844.                           a. c. A,
DRINKING SONG.
DRINK from the mountain spring,
As it leaps from its rocky cell;
Drink from the pure stream, wandering
Along the flowery dell.
But drink not of the poisoned cup,
Taste not its deadly flow;
It crazes the head, it fires the blood,
And it fills the heart with wnoe.
Though it dance to the sight, in youth so bright,
Though it gleam with the promise of joy,
Yet of Genius and Hope't is the deadly blight,
And it cloudeth the morning of youth in night,
And it bringeth long woe for a brief delight,
And it charmeth to destroy.




APPENDIX.                       161
Then drink from the mountain spring,
As it leaps from its rocky cell;
Drink from the pure stream, wandering
Along the flowery dell.
But drink not of the poisoned cup,
O! taste not its deadly flow,
For it crazes the head, and it fires the blood,
And it fills the heart with woe.
VG2w Brunswick, 1845.                          J. P.
TO MR. JOHN B. GOUGH.
Written after listening to his eloquent Appeal to the Ladies, in
Mercer-street Church, New York, Jall'y. 27th, 1845.'HAIL to thee, stripling I youthful soldier, hail!
God's blessing on thee, in thy noble toil!
Mighty the foe, and clad in glittering mail;
But thou, Twith sling and stone, his arts shall foil.
Stay not thy hand, - hurl forth the chosen stone,
Unshaped by art, but polished in the stream
Of gushing eloquence, whose mighty tone
Shall wake the wanderer from his dangerous dream.
Thy cause is holy,- and from every heart,
That feels the crlushling wveighlt of human woe,
Or fears the tempter's fierce ind fiery dart,
There breathes' God speed thlee,' wheresoe'er thou go!
Protect thy life, thy strength, thy growing powers,
Thy sinlgleness of heart, tlhine upright aim;
Shower health and gladlless on thy fututre hours,
And guard thee from the touch of sin or shame I'
11




162                APP:NDIX.
The foe may rail, - may scorn thy sir ple word,
And deem himself in his stronghold secure,
But as the leaves by autumn winds are stirred,
So shalt thou move men's hearts, whilst thine is pure.'T is this, more potent than the power of art,
Of boasted genius, or world-wide renown,
Shall give thee power to wield the human heart,
And make its pulses vibrate to thine own.
Yes; yes, preserve thy singleness of aim,
Thy lowly mind, thy unpretending mien,
And precious, then, shall be thy well-earned fame,
The victor's crown shall on thy brow be seen.
Go forth, then, stripling, with thy stones and sling,
Look not on helmet, shield, or glittering spear!
They suit thee not, -a burden they would bring, -
Enough thy mighty cause for thee to bear!
Strong in the power, the naked power of truth, -
Of love, warm, gushing from a kindly heart, -
Not woman only, manhood, ardent youth,
Shall bow subdued before thy heaven-taught art.
And God himself shall thy rewarder be.'T is he hath raised, endowed thee for the strife,
And he will lead thee forth to victory,
If thou art faithful to the end of life, -'Till then, meek soldier, patient laborer, wait,The prize is only thine when reached is heaven's gate.




APPNDIX.o                      163
WITHIN  A  PRISON.
The wnter is indebted, for the incident of the following Ballad, t
the eloquent Mr. Gough.
As once, within a prison's walls,
I trod the echoing floor,
And marked the dim and narrow cells,
Each with its grated door.
On one, a far-cast, slanting ray,
From a narrow window, high,
Dropped faintly, and revealed within,
A saddened, blood-shot eye.
Through a little chink it wistful looked,
To see one human face;
Imploringly it begged of me
To tarry a little space.
It was a sad, sweet pleasure, then,
To stop by the friendless man,
Whose thoughts of guilt in his solitude,
With his reason riot ran.'It is a blessed thing,' he said,'A kindly face to see!'
Two fingers through the little chink
He strove to stretch to me.
He longed to touch a friendly hand, -
To hear a friendly tone, -
To feel that on God's happy earth
He was not all alone!
And as that quivering hand I held,
And marked that tearful eye,
Soft pity moved my heart to ask
That sad marn's history.




164                 APrENDIX.
4 What hast thou done, thou hapless one,
That, in this gloomy cell,
Shut out from light, and love, and hope,
Thou art condemned to dwell?'
Now close he pressed the iron door I 
And tighter graspe(l my hand; -
There was a time, - the happiest man
Was I in all the land.
A cheerful heart, and stalwart strength,
The Lord had given me;A pleasant cot, a little farnm,All beautiful to see.
My wife was pure as lily fair,-s
0, woe! O woe is me!And sweeter, far, than lilies are,
And good as good could be.
I loved her dearly, loved my home, -
No little ones had we; -
Husband and wife; - she thought she knew
No braver man than he.
But evil spirits tempted me
To wandelr from her love,
With cheated lip, wine-cups to sip, -
With straying feet to rove.
In the accursdd bowl were drowned
My happiness and health, -
Shipwrecked and lost;- and therewithal
MIy modest store of wealth.
Had that been all, I still might be
A hoping man once more, -
But ne'er can wealth, or weal, or health,
My priceless Jane restore I




APPrENDIIX.                     16
My gentle wife began to droop,
Like lily overborne; -
But sweeter grew, as lilies do,
When lilies leaves are torn.
How pale her beauteous face became I
How thin her lovely form!
Her spirit fled, - as rose-tints fade
Before the wintry storm.
Not one reproachful word she spake,
*Nor murmur once did she, -
When, like a wretch, I treated her,
She like an ang el, me.
For when, with drunken rage, I came,
A vile, and cursing man,
Her blue eyes she would fix on me,
Whence silent tear-drops ran.
That was a scourge I could not bear, --
It pierced me through and through;
As, day by day, time wore away,
Surely, it larger grew.
Paler became her pallid cheek, -
Her face and form more thin;
And, in plain view, the veins traced through
Her white, transparent skin.
But dreadful was that grieved look,
It was too hard to bear;
At home, by the way, in the cup every dayI saw it everywhere.
Where'er I went, I saw it still;
Still, still it followed me; -
In dreams of the night, -in broad daylight, -
Still, still that look I see.




166                 APPENDIX.
One day, with frenzy filled, I came;
She sat in silent woe;
Her long gold hair adown her bare
And beauteous neck did flow.
She sat upon a broken chair,
Hier hands her face sustaining, -
Her fingers through fast-falling tears,
Like autumn-drops, were raining.
She rose, and turned on me that looJk!
Within me demons wrought; —
With staggering pace, from out its place,
2fMy deadly gun I caught!
I cannot tell thee any more, —
Death is too good for me; -
But sometimes, in the still, dark night,
An angel's form I see.
Beside my lonely couch she stands,
And kindly looks on me;
And whispers, that, beyond the grave
I may forgiven be.'
LUxLL.
TO  G -.
Down from the willow's drooping bough,
My trembling harp I'1 bring,
And o'er its chords, twice rescued friend,
My joy and sadness fling.




APPENDIX.                      67
For bitter waters are unsealed,
As we with thee review
Thy thorn-strown path to manhood's day, -
Thy later sorrows too.
Yes, tears will flow, will flow with thine,
Lone, stricken, tempted one;
That malice dared, from off thy brow,
To pluck that valued crown.
But, 0! we joy that for thee now
Hope's star doth brightly shine;
That round thy onward, upward way,
The buds of promise twine.
Joy, that thy voice again can hurl
Defiance at the foe,
And bring from haunts of sin and shame
Our bretliren - fallen low.
Then,': Onward I  let thy motto be
For crown none e'er can mar;
0! plume the wing for that rich prize
The ransomed only share.
There no malignant, chilling glance,
From envy's eye will fall;
No friend will there prove treacherous,
No wily tempter call.
Prayer, O! how fervent, shall ascend
To God, the Lord, for thee;
That he thy buckler, shield, and strength,
Thy All, may ever be.
M. ELIZABETH.




168                 APrPENDI X.
LINE S
3Suggested by hearing Mlr. J. B. Gnugll, at a late Temperance Lee,
ture, portray in glowing colors, the evils of Intemperance.
DAYS of my childhood,- sweet days of delight, -
When I thought that the world would thus ever be bright;
When the eyes of fonrd parents would light up with joy,
When they rested on me, their then innocent boy,I dreamed not of sorrow, - I dreamed not of woe, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
I roamed, with my sister, o'er highland and wood;
Andjblithe was our song, from hearts happy and good;
We culled the wild flower, fresh chaplets to twine,
To deck her fair brow, as she also did mine,It seemed then a paradise, to us below, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
But those days of delight, alh! they did not remain 
For soon they were followed by want, and by pain;
The mother, that loved me, in death passed away,
And I wept on the sod o'er her slumbering clay;
My sister and I stood where she lay low, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
We returned to our garret, so dreary and sad,
And felt that we never again could be glad;
We knelt there in prayer to our heavenly Friend I
For, on earth, none was near us, to guard and defend!'T was then that I first felt life's troubles and woe, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
My home was with strangers, - a poor orphan boy; —
Then forever was passed my clhildhood's bright joy,Rough language, ill treatment, ah! hard was my lot;
Such cruel unkindness can ne'er be forgot;




APPENDIX.                       169
1My efforts to please were returned with a blow, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
Then alone in the barn I have oft raised a prayer,
Unto him who extends to the ravens his care,
And thus sought for strength my hard lot to endure,
An unfriended orphan boy, tempted and poor;
For e'en then I could feel sin was bringing me low, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
My home, alas!'t was no home unto me;
No smile from loved parents, no kind sympathy;
So I sought when despondent, and lonely, and sad,
Some youthful companions, the jovial and glad;
They first gave the sweet poison, — I could not say, no, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
My home and my griefs were forgotten by me,
In the sweet poisoned draught I sought pleasure and glee;
I then was the happiest, merriest lad,
The world seemed so bright, and my heart seemed so glad;
I thought it a friend, but I found it a foe, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
These feverish dreams did but shortly remain,
And then followed remorse, contrition, and pain;
I tried to reform, but I only grew worse; —
O why did I taste of the poison at first!
But no friend was near, kind advice to bestow, —
A long time ago, a long time ago.
Years passed, and the youth is transformed to the man;
For a time I succeeded my sin to withstand,
I bid all my bottle-companions adieu,
For now other scenes had attracted my view,
A fair, gentle maiden, she loved me, I know -
A long time ago, a long time ago.




170                APPENDIX.
A husband and father! O sad is the sight,
When these hallowed affections should meet with a blight I
My wife! how I loved her, no language can tell,
And yet from my promises sadly I fell!
I a husband and drunkard? ah, yes! it was so;A long time ago, a long time ago.
Over years I would now cast oblivion's veil,
If not by recalling I hope to prevail
On some tempted youth the first step to beware
The many allurements that's spread to ensnare;
Much grief it would have saved me if I had said, no, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
Life is so changing, we cannot remain
One year to another exactly the same;
If the course is e'en downward, O! rapid the fall;
The path of the drunkard is Warning to all;
But no voice was then raised to warn me of woe;A long time ago, a long time ago.
No voice! ah, yes! one gentle voice I did hear,
Who gave her advice with a sigh and a tear;
The wife of a drunkard i O hard was her task;
But neglect, grief, and suffering, relieved her at last.
My wife and my babe death removed from below; —
A long time ago, a long time ago.
When the day had been passed in revelry, glee,
And at night no home offered protection to me;
I would crawl to the churchyard, the moon shining bright,
And sit on the grave of my wife the lone night!
Not a friend had I then in the wide world below! -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
But the drama of life is now changdd again,
And I stand un the freeman, — I've broken my chain;,




APPENDIX.                       171
Ye friends of the outcast, who snatched me from death,
In thanks for my rescue I now raise my breath.
0 I wish that my heart years since felt as now, -
A long time ago, a long time ago.
Ye throngs, who are pressing to hear me repeat
My life's sad experience, 0 let me entreat,
Touch not! 0 taste not!' the dangeir is great;
Beware of the tempter beore't is too late!
I speak from a heart that its ills well did know, —
A long time ago, a long time ago.
And thou, who for gain can extend to another
The poisonous cup! it is to thy brother,
That thou art dispensing this misery, pain;
He is a great loser! but small is thy gain;
For the book of the prophet $ revealed thine own woe,
A long time ago, a long time ago.
M. B.
TO  J. B.  GOUGH.
The poor ye have always with you.'- MATT. 26: t11.
DEAR brother, thy brothers are poor!
Go, thou, and deliverer be;
Till the wretched are wretched no more,
Till all shall be happy and free.
Put on the whole armor of God I
For Christ and his kingdom declare;
Where sorrow hath found an abode,
Go, prove thyself conqueror there.
* Habakkuk 2: 15.




172                 APPRNDIX.
There was for thy brother a snare,'T was seen; and thou seest it yet,
In wine-cups! 0, make him aware
Of places where still it is set.
Go on with thy message of love,
And victory to you shall be givern;
Commissions thus sent from above
Are ever rewarded in heaven.
In yonder blessed mansions above,
Thou'lt soon meet with souls thou hast won;
There God shall preside, and apprcve
Of deeds thou so nobly hast done.
Yes, brother, be true to the cause;
Be valiant and brave to the end,
Love God, and obey all his laws,
And thou shalt have Hiin for thy friend.




SUPPLEM DENT.
AT the request of many friends, I am induced to make this
little addition to my Autobiography; and as the unfortunate
affair of which it is the subject has been extensively published, and generally commented on by the public press,
I only deem it necessary to append my own statement with
the Report of the Committee of Investigation appointed by
the Church of which I am a member.
Roblury, Dec. 2d, 1845.            J. B. GOUGH.
STATEMENT OF JOHN B. GOUGH.
TMOUNT PLEASANT, ROXBURY, MASS., 
Septemnber 22d, 1845.
Although very weak, and worn with intense suffering in
body and mind, yet I will delay no longer doing that which
I have ever intended as soon as practicable to do, viz. to give
a plain statement of facts relative to the unhappy circumstances in which I have been placed within the past few
weeks. I left home on Monday, the 1st instant, in company
with Dea. Grant, of Boston, and Mr. Cyrus E. Morse; spoke
in Westborough in the evening; went the next day to Springfield, and on the 3d, attended a Convention, at Blanford;
spoke three times that day, spoke twice on the 4th, at Westfield, took leave of Dea. Grant and lady, and left in the
morning for Springfield, in company with Mr. Morse -he to
go to Boston, and I to take the cars for New York. I sent a
letter to my wife by Mr. Morse, of which the following is an
extract: I I hope to meet you on Monday evening. If I did
not feel that the duty of finally arranging matters for the
winter demanded my presence in New York, I would come




174                SUPPLE MEN T.
home with Cyrus; but I hope to spend a pleasant and profitable Sabbath in Brooklyn. 1 shall think of you,' &c., &c.
My reason for going to New York was to make a final arrangement for part of my time, and what part, this coming
winter. I was to be in Montreal on the 11th inst. I agreed
to meet my wife and a gentleman who was to accompany us
to M., at Albany, on Monday evening, Sept. 8th. I arrived
at New York at e or half-past 6, on Friday, the 5th instant,
left my baggage with a porter on board the boat, to bring
after me, and walked to the Croton Hotel. I took tea; my
baggage arrived; I procured a room, went into it, arranged
my- dress, told them there that I was going to Brooklyn, and
might not return that night. I have always been made welcome at my friend's in Brooklyn; and I knew that if they
were not full, I should be invited to stay all night. About
half-past 7 or 8, I left the Croton, called at a store in Broadway, and purchased a watch-guard. Went to the store of
Messrs. Saxton & Miles; stayed there a few minutes.  On
coming out, I had not gone a dozen steps before I was accosted by a man with' How do you do, Mr. Gough?' Said
I,'You have the advantage of me; I am introduced to so
many, that it is difficult for me sometimes to recognize them.'
Said he,' My name is Williams, Jonathan Williams. I used
to work in the same shop with you in this city, a good many
years ago.' I replied,' I do not remember it,' or something
to that effect. He then said,' You have got into a new business, "the temperance business;" do you find it a good
business?'' Oh yes,' I told him, I find it a very good
business.' Some other conversation ensued, during which
time we were walking slowly together, when he said,'I suppose you are so pious now, and have got to be so proud, that
you would not drink a glass of soda with an old shopmate.'' 0 yes, I would drink a glass of soda with anybody. I will
drink a glass with you, if you will go in here.' We were
then opposite to Thompson's. There were, I should think,
ten or twelve persons round the fountain, when he said,' We
shall never get served here. I know a place where we can
get better soda than we can here.' - We then crossed the
street, and:went down Chambers street to Chatham  street,
till we came to a small shop  Having no suspicions, I did not
take particular notice of what kind of a shop it was. But I
saw confectionary, and a pasteboard sign, with' Best Soda'
on it. There are two or three of these establishments in that
vicinity; (owing to my weakness, I did not visit the place
previous to my leaving New York,) but I have no doubt that
I can identify thie shop among the others. This man called
for soda, asked me 6 what syrup I used,' said' he used rasp



SUPPLEMENT.                      175
berry.' (I am pretty sure he said raspberry.)  I said,'I
would take some of the same.'
The syrup was poured out, and the soda poured into it
from the fountain. (The fountain was of a dark color.) This
man took my glass, and handed it to me with his hand over
the top of the glass. (I noticed his hand, because 1 thought
it was not a very gentlemanly way of handing a glass.)
However, I thought no more, butt drank it. We then went
into Chambers street again, and up to Broadway, together,
when he left me. Soon after he left me, I felt a warm sensationl about the lungs and chest, with unusual exhilarationand, for the first time, I began to suspect that it was not all
right.  This feeling increased, till I felt completely bewildered, with a desire for something, I know not what. I do not
know that I ever felt so strangely in my life before. I do not
know how long I walked, but must have walked some dis
tance, as I have some recollection of seeing the new white
church at the upper end of Broadway. During this time, I
went into a grocery store, and got some brandy —I do not
know where, nor whether I paid for it - but I1 recollect drink*ig. I became, after a little while, bewildered and stupid, and
had wandered, I do not know where, when I saw a woman
dressed in black. I either accosted her, or she accosted me
-it is immaterial which, as I was in such a state, that I
should not have waited to think who it was. I do not remember what I said; but she told some gentlemen who went
to make inquiries, that I asked her if' she could give me a
night's lodging, or tell me where I could procure one, as I was
without friends, &c. She took me into the house. How I
got in, I do not know. There was a flight of stairs, but I
have no recollection of going up those stairs. I remember
nothing distinctly that passed during the whole time, till I
was taken away, except that I drank; but what I drank, or
how much, or how often, I know nothing. I have some idea
that a man came there while I was there, because I felt afraid
of him. I have no recollection of going out at all, after I
first went in on Friday evening, althougoh it is said that I was
seen on Saturday evening. I have no recollection either of
going out or of coming in; and if I did it, I don't know how
I did it  I have no recollection of eatingr at all, although the
woman told that I did eat, and asked a blessing, anld also that
I prayed. I have no remembrance of this. I do not remember purchasing a shirt, although I had a strange shirt on me
when I was taken away. The time that I spent in that place
seems to me like a horrible dream'- a nightmare - a something that I cannot describe. I have so little recollection of
what transpired, that when I came out, I could not tell for




176                SUPPLEMENT.
sny life how long I had been there, and was astounded when
I found that I had been there so long. When Mr. Camp
came into the house, I remember that I felt as if relief had
come, and I said to him, I Oh, take me away from this!' I
felt glad that some one had come. He asked me, how I came
there. I told him, a man had put something in a glass of
soda, which had crazed me. He asked me his name. I gave
it to him as he gave it to me, as near as I can recollect.
Another man came in with Mr. Camp; then Mr. Hayes came
in, and took me in a caryiage to Mr. Hurlbut's house, where
I received the kindest care and attention, during the most
severe trial of bodily suffering and mental agony I ever experienced in smy life. During the whole of my sickness, I did
not call for liquor, nor do I remember that I felt any desire or
craving for it.
This is my statement; to the truth of which I am willing
to stand through life, in the hour of death, and at the Judgment seat. In making this statement, I do it not to palliate
or excuse myself, but to tell the truth. It would have been
much easier for me, if I had gone voluntarily and deliberately and drank, to have acknowledged it, and asked the
forgiveness of the public, and thrown myself on their mercy.
But the all-seeing God knows, and I know, that it was not
so; and my position is a peculiar one, because I have no
proof that my statement is correct. Many will doubt; some
will believe; and I can say, that those who know me best,
will believe me first. It has been said by some, that I used
opium. Now I declare that I never had a particle of opium
in my mouth in my life, to my knowledge. I never saw a
piece but once, to know what it was, and that was at Norwich, at Mr. Breckenridge's store. He showed me a piece,
because I wished to see it. With regard to the man who
asked me to take the soda-he is a man, I should judge,
about forty years of age, rather short, and, I noticed, slightly
pitted with the small-pox. Having no suspicions, I took no
more notice. With regard to the putting something in the
glass, I am as confident that he did it as if I had seen him;
thoilgh what it was, I do not know. The man who attended
the fountain, I have not the slightest idea knew anything
about it.
Who this Jonathan Williams is, I do not know, I do not
remember ever workingo with htim, and I told him so. I know
not whether that is his right name. I have my suspicions
that he carne into the city the same night that I did, and left
soon after the Friday that I was found, and that the whole
thing was arranged before he accosted me. However it be,
I feel that the whole matter will yet be made plain; that by




SUPPLEMENT.                      177
some means or other, in the providence of God, the truth of
my statement respecting this man will be made as clear as
the sun. May God forgive him, for the wrong he has done
me. With regard to the house in which I was found, it is
said to be a house of ill-fame. I have understood that it was
not; but be that as it may, had it been the most notorious
house in the city, and I had seen one of its inmates, being in
the state that I was in when I met this woman, I should have
gone with her. I had no intention of going to such a house.
All I wanted was rest; and I have every reason to believe,
that I should have asked no questions, or made no objections
to any place.
And new, in view of the past, I can say with Job,'For
the thing wlich I greatly feared, has come upon me; and
that of which I was afraid, is come unto me.' I have fallen 
and keenly feeling this, 1 am willing to lie prostrate in the
dust where this fall has put me. I do not presume to say
that I am not to blame. I was to blame to go with a stranger;
but when he spoke of my being too proud, I do not know but
I would have gone anywhere with him. But still I was to
blame. I may be considered also to blame for getting that
brandy, giving way to my desires for it; but, if bitter tears of
repentance, and earnest prayers, for forgiveness, for that of
which I might have been guilty while under strong excitement, will avail through the mercy of Christ, I shall be forgiven. To the Temperance friends I am willing to bow; I
am willing to be called the meanest of all engaged in the
great cause; I am willing to bear with meekness their censure. To my brethren in the Church, I am willing that they
should do with me, and by me, as they in their judgment may
decide, submitting to them in all things as they will. To
those who may be prejudiced against me, I blame you not
for disbelieving my statement. I blame you not for all that
you may say against me. By God's help, I will endeavor so
to live that you will respect me, and, by more earnest prayer
and watchfulness, so to maintain my integrity, that I shall
win your confidence. To those editors of papers who have
mentioned my sad case with sympathy and consideration, I
can say, that gratitude is a little word for my feelings towards
you. In the bitter cups there are some mercy drops; my
life is spared, my reason is spared. The hearts of my friends
are not shut up against me. For these mercies I trust I feel
thankful; and whatever may be my future situation in life,
I pray God that I may so live as to honor the profession that
I have made; that I may be molre humble, feel more my dependence on God, and by h.  grace become a more firm, consistent, uncompromising foe o strong drink, in all its forms,




1-78              S UPPLEMENT.
than 1 ever have been before. I might write much more, but
I do not think it is necessary. I should have prepared this:before, but wished to write every word myself, and sign my:lne. I have been, and still am, very weak and feeble.
This is the only statement that has ever been put forth in
writing by me; and I leave it with the public. May God assist them to judge aright in the matter.
J. B. GOUGH.
REPORT.
At a regular meeting of the Mount Vernon Congregational
Church, Boston, holden at their Chapel, on Friday evening,
October 31st, 1845, the Examining Committee, agreeable to
their instructions, presented a Report on the case of our
brother, John B. Gough, as follows, to wit:
The undersigned, appointed by the Examining Committee, September 17th, 1845, to investigate the circumstances
connected with the case of our brother, John B. Gough, and
report the facts, so far as they could ascertain them, to the. Church, submit the following as the result of their inquiries:
On the 19th of September, brother Gough returned to his
residence in Roxbury, and on the 22d the Committee had an
interview with him, in which ihe related the circumstances of
his case, as given in detail in his statement, which has been
published, (a copy of which is hereto annexed,B) and which
was read in the church mieeting, September 26th, when, by
a forlnal vote,. the Examining Committee were instructed to
inquire thoroughly into the case.
Since the publication of this statement, more than a month
ago, the Committee have improved every opportunity to
elicit facts which might confirm or contradict it. With this
end, New Yorkl has been visited, where, commencing at the
Croton: Hotel, by an interview with its gentlemanly proprietor, the investigation was pursued to Thompson's, where, as
is represented, they first stopped for soda, through Broadway
and Chambers street to the shop in which it was probably
drank; then, in company with officer Hayes, to the house in
Walker street, with as full an examination into the circumstances of his connexion with that dwelling, and his rescue
This Report was written on a sheet containing Mr.
Gough's statement.




SUPP-LE-MENT.                   179
from it, as could be made by conversation with the women
who inhabit it, and the officer who conveyed him to the hospitable mansion of Mr. Hurlbut, at Brooklyn. That gentleman, who so humanely nursed and sheltered him, made a
minute statement of the- manner in which he was brought to
his dwelling, the state he was in while there, and his condition on leaving. The physician who attended him through
his sickness at Brooklyn, very kindly communicated his view
of the case while under his care, with the symptoms of his
disease, and mode of treatment. Three or four other gentlemen, who had taken a deep interest in the matter, and
been at great pains to ascertain the facts, were called on and
conversed with.
From all that could be gathered in these various ways, by
an examination as thorough and impartial as could be made,
the Committee are constrained to believe that the published
statement of brother Gough is a frank and artless declaration of the truth. This opinion is confirmed by the interviews we have had with him and his physician, during his
sickness at Roxbury.
There are, indeed, difficulties in coming to this conclusion,
and the case must yet remain in some degree of mystery.
Still, the fact that an account of the affair, going so much
into detail, should have been so extensively read and criticised, for more than a month, and that none of his enemies,
even, have been able to contradict it in a single particular, is
strong presumptive evidence of its truth.
Assuming, then, as the Committee are prepared to do,
the truth of this published statement, is the position of our
brother Gough, as presented therein, such an one as requires
any censure from the Church? A man of more prudence
would have hesitated before drinking soda with a stranger.
A man whose habits in early life had always been regular
and temperate, might not have been stimulated to madness
by such a libation. And a man of less nervous temperament
might have found some lucid moments for reflection during
such a week of horrid aberration of mind. But, in judging
of the moral character of the conduct of another, our decision mu-st be regulated by what we know of the physical
propensities and natural temperament of his particular constitution. With such allowance, then, as Christian charity
requires us to make, on this score, to all, we are brought to
the conclusion, that there has been nothing in this unhappy
affair which onght to affect the standing of our brother
Gough, as a member of the Church of Christ. His apparent
remorse, and'earnest prayer for forgiveness for that of
which he might have been guilty while under strong excite



180               SUPPLEJMIENT.
ment,' are not inconsistent, we think, with the idea that he
is free from voluntary crime in the matter. To have fallen,
by any means, from the enviable position in which brother
Gough stood before the public, previous to this occurrence,
might have involved in the deepest humiliation a mind less
sensitive than his. To awake, as from a nightmare, with aP
vague recollection of having passed through scenes which, in
former days, had been connected with guilt and shame,
would naturally inflict upon any tender conscience the sting
of remorse.
In conclusion, the Committee are of the opinion, that no
action of the Church is demanded in relation to the matter;
and they commend to the continued confidence and sympathy of his brethren, one whom God has heretofore honored
as an instrument of doing much to withstand the progress of
sin, and who now has been permitted to fall into fiery trials,
which, we trust, may but fit him more perfectly to serve his
Master on Earth, or in Heaven.
DANIEL SAFFORD,
JULIUS A. PALMER.
Boston, October 29, 1845.'
The above Report, having been read, was, by an unani
mous vote, accepted, and the Clerk directed to furnish Mr.
Gough with an attested copy.
A true copy,-Attest,
ALBERT HOBART, Clesik