will not extenuate our guilt. "But the law has authorized this traffic." If it could be said of human, as of Divine law, "it is holy, just, and good," then might we say your business is approved. But when we consider the fallibility of man, we see that laws are often made which, instead of securing the welfare of society, have an injurious tendency.

Were the vender of intoxicating drinks further to consider carefully the unhappy and destructive results accruing from this traffic, he certainly would no longer labor under the fallacious impression that his business is harmless, and his conscience guiltless; but would most clearly discover that the traffic, as well as the manufacture, of intoxicating drinks is to be condemned.

3. And what shall we say of the consumers? Surely, if there be one sin more degrading in its nature, more universal in its extent, and more fatal in its final issue than others, it is the sin of intemperance. This sin impairs, nay, destroys the most vigorous constitution. How often have I beheld the habitual drinker, with his fiery eye, his full face, his palsied limbs, his unsteady gait; all, all, giving demonstration that health had departed, and that the unfortunate votary of rum was rapidly approaching a drunkard's grave.

The human body-so "wonderfully and 'marvelously made," in which we perceive no redundancy and no lack-the body, destined by its great Architect to be the "habitation of God, through the Spirit"-is dishonored, degraded, and ruined by this destructive evil!

Those members of the body which should be employed as "instruments of righteousness" in the service of God, are diverted from their original design, and become "instruments of unrighteousness" in the service of sin and Satan.

Of such a sinner it may well be said, "he shall not live out half his days." And yet were the body alone to suffer the evil would then, though great, be slight in comparison with what does occur in ruin of mind and heart and soul. The soul, the nobler part of man, is disqualified from answering the great and glorious design of its formation.

Through intemperance the understanding becomes darkened. That which was once luminous with truth, is covered with darkness so profound that it can think and hope for little more than to get intoxicating drinks as its chief good, its all in all.

The will, that potent faculty of the soul, is enfeebled and degraded, so that it is no longer

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free to choose, but always mastered by temptation. It becomes the slave of this lust for drink.

The conscience no longer acts as the Almighty's vicegerent. Its voice is not heard, or if yet faintly heard, is not regarded. And if at any time it awakes from its profound stupor, the debased will decides to drown its warning voice by the deadly opiate. And so it slumbers on, but hereafter shall awake, with a voice more terrific than seven-fold thunders, crying, "You knew your duty, but you did it not."

Memory, too, must be lulled to sleep again and again; for when it wakes it rouses torments of remorse.

The judgment wanders in mazes of error, mistakes the wrong for the right path, and stumbles ever downward.

The imagination, stimulated by the poison, fancies all is well, and builds beautiful castles in the air, which presently disappear and give place to fearful forebodings and awful visions of despair.

And love, that noble passion of the immortal soul, is prostituted, and devoted to the service of forbidden and unholy objects. It should have been elevated to God; but, alas! it is only given to that which in the final hour of awakening will fail to satisfy. And then, in sobriety and ration

ality, at last the soul must reflect, "Lover and friend have I none. Alas, alas! unhappy and undone forever am I!"

The emotions of joy, sorrow, hope, fear, have all, through this medium, been perverted from their proper exercise.

In fine, the whole soul, through intemperance, is thrown into anarchy and confusion. As a noble edifice in ruins, so the soul is fallen into a state of dilapidation; and so great is its fall that scarcely a vestige is left indicative of its former glory.

Then the whole character and the reputation suffer through this sin, yea, fall as a martyr and a victim at the shrine of Bacchus.

Shakespear said:

"He who steals my purse steals trash;

Well has

'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands.
But he who filches from me my good name

Robs me of that which not enriches him

And makes me poor indeed."

Were I to personify Intemperance, I would say, how many good names has he stolen; and instead of being called to an account and punished according to his demerits, he is loved, admired, and cherished by his unfortunate, deluded votaries.

Some inebriates have gone so far, they have

come to the injudicious conclusion, that for them to retrace their steps will now be impracticable. So hope is suffered to expire, and character to

return no more!

A

And property is most wantonly sacrificed. drink at a "fip" per day makes in twenty-three years about one thousand dollars-an amount sufficient to purchase a little home, where the virtuous man might terminate the remnant of life in peace and quietness.

But property is trivial when compared with domestic blessings. And these are interrupted, yea, destroyed by this great evil. Many a lovely daughter of Eve has mourned her life away in consequence of a drunken husband. Many a child has been brought to beggary and want, and compelled to ask at the cold hand of charity what a father should have provided. Unhappy widow! miserable children! You mourn over the death of a drunken husband and father, as those who have no hope!

Finally, intemperance brings its votary, generally, to a premature, always to an unhappy end, and wholly disqualifies him for heaven. It is written, "the drunkard shall not inherit the kingdom of heaven." If admission to the kingdom is refused the drunkard, where, oh where, shall he