Custom is a despotic tyrant, wielding
an iron sceptre over man, before whose unbounded sway
unnumbered millions hourly bend. We are controlled
by its influence from earliest infancy to latest age,
even from the making of an infant’s frock to
the shroud. In early youth we must go to this
school, or that lecture, or to that resort of fashionable
amusement, because others go, and it is the custom.
It seems strange that custom should
hold such a dominion over us we, the people
of this enlightened age, be bound to such a tyrant!
it seems almost impossible, but so it is. We
see it in the professional man, the man of business,
and men in all grades of society, and from the lady
at her toilet to the factory operative. We must
have our clothing cut after such a style, and wear
it after such a manner; and why? O, it is the
custom. It is too much the custom for people to
look with contempt upon those who have not quite so
good advantages, or more especially, those who have
not so much wealth, without regard to intellect or
education.
Custom has introduced into society
vices of all descriptions. Not long since it
was the custom to pass the social glass, and it has
been the means of making a great many inebriates,
and making beggars of a great many families; thus
we see the effects of that custom. The custom
of revelry, balls, parties, and gay assemblies, tend
to dissipate the minds of youth, and lead them into
the paths of vice. The custom of card-playing
has led to the gaming-table, and been the ruin of
thousands.
“The suns of riot flow down the
loose stream,
Of false and tainted joy on the rankled
soul,
The gaming fury falls, till in one gulf
Of total ruin; honor, virtue, peace,
Friends, families, and fortune
Headlong sink.”