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is extinguished. To shun the reproach of fools, or to be reputed social and liberal, they sacrifice their sober judgment, resign themselves as victims to worse than iron bondage, and part with their money, their credit, and their senses, as the price of their own undoing.

"Let us now consider some of the miserable effects which result from intemperate drinking:

"It destroys industry. Our nature and circumstances in this world render some lawful occupation essential to our happiness. The mischiefs which arise to individuals, and to the community, from habits of sloth, must be obvious to every one who has had his eyes open on the world around him.

"Now the fact is unquestionable, that drunkenness and idleness are kindred vices. The man who becomes a follower of strong drink, becomes, for the same reason, a neglecter of all regular business. The hours that should be spent in the field or the shop, he loiters away in vain company.

"Drinking to excess destroys health. It is the more important to be explicit on this point, because many contract a love of spirits by supposing their effects to be salutary to the constitution. An eminent physician of our country enumerates a list of stubborn diseases as the common effects of spirits, and adds, “It would take up a volume to describe how much other disorders, natural to the human body, are increased and complicated by them.

"Taking strong drink to excess impairs reason. An intoxicated man is, for the time, in a delirium. If he fall under the power of intemperance, as a habit, the understanding naturally becomes torpid; the memory and all other faculties of the mind, sink into mopish inactivity, till at last he becomes exactly that useless and contemptible creature, described in one comprehensive syllable-a sot!-Would it be sin and folly for one to destroy his own limbs? How much more to destroy his reason! He that was born an idiot, or deprived of his senses by sickness or disaster, is to be pitied; but he that makes himself a madman or an idiot, can never be sufficiently censured.

"It leads to lying. When estate and character are ruined, and conscience stran. gled to death in strong drink, no regard to truth is to be expected. In such a case, promises are made and broken without ceremony; the tongue becomes the organ of imposition in business; every principle of integrity or honour is laid out of the question, when there is opportunity to take advantage of the ignorance, the credulity, or the necessity of a fellow-creature.

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"It leads to profane swearing. The folly and impiety of this practice admit of no apology. No motive of appetite or interest, no constitutional propensity, can be pleaded as an excitement to this vice. It is, indeed, such an outrage on the first principles of religion, reason, and decency, as ought not to be expected from any one in the sober exercise of his mental faculties.

"It leads to contention. Three-fourths of the vulgar quarrels which happen, proceed from ardent spirits, or other strong drink. Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging. Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine.' How often do men meet in good humour, then drink to excess, talk nonsense, fancy themselves insulted, take fire within, blaze at the mouth, rave, threaten, come to blows; and then the dignity of the law must be prostituted to settle a quarrel of fools. Long ago, Seneca spoke of those who 'let in a thief at the mouth to steal away the brains.' How often does the drunken-revel end in the cry of murder! How often does the hand of the inebriate

In one rash hour,

Perform a deed that haunts him to the grave!'

"Following strong drink extinguishes the best sensibilities of the human heart. Did the proper limits of the subject allow a minute illustration of this point, I would offer myself an advocate for the poor brutes. I would plead the cause of the faithful horse, the ox, and the ass, so often worn out with starving and stripes, and subjected to intolerable hardships from drunken masters.

"Will these men say, if we suffer for Our own indiscretion, it is nothing to others? Is it nothing to cast yourselves as useless drones and burdens on the community? nothing to reduce them to the painful alternative of seeing you starve, or feeding you with the hand of charity? nothing to blast the hopes of your dearest friends?-Ye whose hearts are not past feeling, let me point you to the flowing tears of an aged father and mother, whose gray hairs are brought down with sorrow to the grave. Once they hailed the birth of a promising son. They nursed him in the cradle of infancy. They watched over the pillow of sickness. Their affections grew with his growing years, and anticipated the time when he should become the solace of their declining days, and a blessing to the world. Now he is the follower of strong drink. At midnight, corroding care preys on their hearts: their slumbers are invaded

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by the distressing inquiry, where is our son? He that was the hope of our helpless years, sports with our admonitions, our prayers, our tears, our entreaties, and is now a companion of riotous men.

"Following strong drink often brings on a miserable death. It renders men totally unprepared for that hour. Let this be remembered, while it is added—he is peculiarly exposed to die, and to die suddenly. You have seen that he is more liable to fatal diseases than sober men. He is also more liable to fatal disasters.

"There is a solemn meaning in the caution. Take heed, lest at any ፡ time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness, and so that day come upon you unawares.'

"The subject claims the attention of Parents. It is an office of natural affection, to save from danger, if possible, those whom you love. This care is especially confided to you, as it respects your own families. If you can preserve your sons from becoming victims to strong drink, you will do them and the world a great kindness. The duty is worthy of all your watchfulness, and all your wisdom. You cannot engage in it too soon, nor persevere in it too steadily.

"The subject eminently claims the attention of the Rising Generation. Many young men adopt the absurd opinion, that free drinking denotes a liberal mind, and is a trait of a gentleman. This opinion has ruined thousands, who entered upon life with fair prospects of usefulness and respectability. By all the friendship which the experienced bear to you, young men! they warn you to beware of the sin which has now been condemned. As you regard your character, your comfort, your salvation, shun the company, shun the places where this sin will beset you. The moment you become familiar with it, you are undone. Chained down in bondage, your life will become miserable, and your name contemptible."

The above long extract from a little book, entitled, "The Importance of Sobriety, illustrated by the Evils of Intemperance,' I hope has not been tiresome to you.

The sentiments contained in the preceding extracts are awfully illustrated by the following melancholy picture inserted in the Plymouth and Stonehouse Herald, of August 15th, 1829, entitled

THE PROGRESS OF INTEMPERANCE. [A person who has suffered severely from his passion for liquor, thus feelingly describes the progress and effects of that destructive vice.] I was once a respectable man. I can very well remember the first step which led me

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to what I am now. I was decoyed into a tavern, and there, first, when I was at the tender age of fifteen, with intellectual promise as fair as ever made a parent's heart bound with joy, my friend, who was the most detested enemy I ever had, though "but dust" now, handed me the cup, I remember the light and joyous sensation which bounded through my brain. I felt a delicious delirium, was pleased with every body around me, felt brave enough to march to the cannon's mouth. All this, however, passed off with the first sleep, and would never have been thought of again, but for the dreadful fact that then and there I got a taste of that Circean cup which has all but poisoned me to death, and will soon finish me. That was the first in a series of steps downward. I went home every night with high ideas, and when in the morning I rose, it soon became necessary, after a kind of waking, giddy doze through the forenoon, to go to the side-board. This alarmed my mother and sisters. They thought it strange, and remonstrated; but I despised the idea of being a tippler, and was angry because they expressed their fears, after they had seen me do it a few times, that I would form the habit of drinking.

Had I been just to those fears then, I should not be what I am now. Let the young man who is just acquiring the taste, not disregard these gentle admonitions. They are the suggestions of guardian angels, which, if obeyed, will open to him the path of peace, health, contentment, and honour. If disobeyed, he is destined to trouble, discontent, disgrace, sickness, and death. I could go now and call for my glass, treat and be treated. It was gentlemanly, and why should not I be a gentleman? I was getting up in life, and must be able to master a glass of brandy, gin, or whatever the fashionable drink was. When at length I began to be somewhat alarmed at this surprising progress in dissipation, I resolved to abstain for a limited period. Then my ambition would kindle up, for I wished ardently to be a great man. I studied earnestly for a time the science of law and politics; but, when the allotted period expired, forward I would rush again into the channel, like a current that, having been dammed up, breaks over the frail barriers with fresh impetuosity.

I got married, for woman, affectionate woman, will not hear of faults in him she loves. "He will soon reform. He loves me too well to make me unhappy. He knows I shall not like it. He promises to abstain."-Ah, deceived woman! Love

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may be stronger than death, but the power of the cup is stronger than both. What! a drinking man, a man that can drink five glasses of brandy a day with pleasure, is not far from that point when he will sacrifice health, wealth, pride, patriotism, reputation, love, life, every thing, for that damnable thirst. I loved my wife as much as man could; I was as sensitive to honour and reputation as any; but I tell you, I could, when the habit of drinking was thoroughly formed, (which was before I was aware,) have sacrificed any thing. I have often come home, and found my wife weeping in silence, a silence that at first used to gore my soul, but liquor soon hardened any thing that looked like tenderness. She has told me the children wanted clothes, but "Curse the children," said I, "I want my drink, and I'll have it." One night I stayed until two o'clock, at the tavern, playing cards, and who should come in, at that dread hour of the night, but my wife, with her infant in her arms! This is a fact. My God! If my blood did'nt run cold, and curdle at my heart! "Is this woman? is this my wife!" I exclaimed. Never before did I realize the full power of female virtue. My profane companions and myself were perfectly abashed. I cursed her, and told her, with severe threats, to go home. "No, that I will not," said she, rising in the dignity of injured innocence, though with a trepidation that shook her whole frame like an aspen, and holding her trembling infant out to me: "This is your child, and I will not stir one step from this spot, till you take it, and go home with me." She then turned to my companions, and upbraided them as my destroyers, in a strain of invective that made them cower like so many discovered and disarmed assassins before the messenger of retributive justice. We separated, ashamed of each other and our deeds of darkness, and almost sobered by this strange and astounding apparition. I obeyed implicitly; for nothing makes a man more mean-spirited than the habit of drinking. We went home, and retired to rest; but waking up in the night with a horrible thirst, I tottered to the bottle, and drank; went to sleep again; slept till ten o'clock; and, when I arose, felt dizzy and bewildered, wretched and hopeless! And so my days are passing! Give up the practice, I will not. I cannot live without it. I have now no character to lose, no mind to study, no business to employ me, no ambition to inspire, no love, excepting for brandy, gin, whiskey, rum-any thing which will supply, while it continually inflames more and more this dreadful thirst.

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At

Impressed with these and similar reflections, as, on my visit to the village of L*** I strolled amid the realms of the dead, my attention was suddenly arrested by observing a stranger leaning over a tomb, apparently lost in melancholy thought. The grave was covered with the beautiful little flower Forget-me-not, that seemed to revel in wild luxuriance. the head was placed a stone, on which was sculptured the epitaph of the deceased. It was sacred to the memory of a young female, who had died at the age of nineteen. Beneath the name and date were the simple words-"We sympathized with her." On the other side of the stone, as if more recently graven, were a few verses; of which, these two formed the conclusion

"As the fierce gale and boisterous storm,
Rushing across a howling waste,
Prostrate the Low'ret's pensile form,
Or nip it in the ruthless blast;

"So disappointment's cruel breath,
That swept each cherished hope away,
Crushed her fair fragile frame with death,
And bore her to the realms of day."

Convinced that some heavy misfortune must have been the lot of the young lady,

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versation.

He was a middle-aged man, dressed entirely in black. His features, though strongly expressive of melancholy, were pleasing, and, indeed, handsome, but bearing the sun-burnt appearance of having been often exposed to the inclemency of the weather. As it may be conjectured, the subject of our conversation was the young female before mentioned.

“Laura M**** (as the stranger observed) was the daughter of good and pious parents. Her education, therefore, was not what is called showy, for though she was in the highest degree accomplished, yet her mind and heart possessed all those sterling qualities which will always command esteem. In her person she was elegant and graceful, and her countenance was expressive of the greatest sweetness. Her charity, and kindness of feeling, were known to all around-known and appreciated; while to her dearest inmates were displayed those amiable traits of sensibility which rendered her deeply beloved. In her was united every excellence of the sex. Envy and detraction passed over her unsullied name in silence. It will not then be wondered at, that a being, endowed with such virtues, should have met with the praise she deserved. Her heart was the model of female susceptibility. I have seen her weep at the piteous tale of wo; I have read in her melting eye the soul that sympathized with another's grief; and now her own sorrows, and her own misfortunes, have met with their sympathizing return.

"She was indeed an angel," said the "She was stranger, with great warmth. not born to struggle with the troubles of this world. Her amiable qualities never destined her to be of long continuance here; and He, who had given her to us as a model for imitation, took her again to himself." Here the narrator paused, and his mind seemed for a few moments absorbed in silent grief-then, recovering himself, he continued the story.

"The young lady," said he, "from her infancy had formed an attachment to one a few years older than herself. He had been her playmate in childhood, and had hoped to have been her companion for life.

had assimilated and entwined around each other, till the minds of both seemed to be but one. Their parents, from a long and intimate acquaintance, beheld, with an approving eye, and no obstacle seemed to oppose their union.

"The youth was of a roving disposition, and, having connexions in the navy, left his home to wander upon the pathless seas. For many years nothing appeared to damp the ardour of affection, and the distance of time and place seemed only to endear them the more to each other. Theirs was not one of the sordid attachments of the world, built only upon views of extrinsic merit. It was a mingling of souls, an union of congenial spirits. sprang from that deep admiration of those qualities of the heart, and endowments of the mind, which will ensure happiness. ""Twas friendship, heightened by the mutual wish; Th' enchanting hope, and sympathetic glow, Beamed from the mutual eye.”

THOMSON.

It

"But, to be brief, fortune frowned upon their enviable felicity. The young sailor was shipwrecked in the Mediterranean, off the coast of Tripoli, and carried almost lifeless into the country as a slave. All communication there ceased; and they, whose minds had been so lately revelling in the anticipations of bliss, were plunged into the deepest misery. No certain intelligence of the sailor's misfortune reached Laura, but busy report invented her tragic tale. From that time her fair form drooped, and her gentle spirit sank beneath its weight. Like a broken lily, she withered away. She died-yes, the beautiful, the lovely Laura died. Beneath this hallowed ground her crumbling frame is laid; and, perhaps," the stranger sighed, "her happy spirit may be present now. We must not murmur; it was the will of Heaven, and she was a child of Heaven, This little flower that blooms upon her grave was planted by her desire, as the last token of the remembrance of that which was given to her by the long-lost sailor.

"But he, who had been supposed no longer in the land of the living, at length returned. This village, the residence of his Laura, and of all his happiness, was first sought. What were his agonizing sensations, when he arrived at that which was so lately her happy abode, to enter into a house of mourning. None answered the name of Laura, save the startling echo. None greeted him at his entrance-no caress, no voice-all lost in the silence of grief. Her harp, upon which she had