frozen hearts, with all the bliss of heaven in view, would feel no pleasure, no gratitude, no rapturous emotion. The glorious author of such boundless, such ineffable bliss, calls to them in vain for a sincere manifestation of love to him, the Lord of all. No spark of genuine love has left its calm, consoling delight in their bosom. No, the withering breath of intemperance has blighted their every religious feeling. Its cold paralyzing touch has frozen up the fountain of kindness in their soul. It has closed every avenue to their heart. Intemperance throws the chill of death over every religious feeling of the soul. The drunkard's heart is colder than that clammy, icy touch which freezes up the fountain of life in man, and drives his soul from its clay tenement into eternity. Over it, desolation has spread its most fatal blank. From it, whatever is truly excellent has made its escape. Where then is the person in whose bosom a single spark of religious feeling or love to man is found, that will deliberately use his influence and spend his time in assisting to make his fellow creatures drunkards, by drinking, or making, or vending ardent spirits? Who that loves his neighbor as himself would not, both by precept and example, strive in every laudable manner to put an extinguisher on intemperance, that burning sea of liquid fire which consumes every excellence in the drunkard's soul? XI. It injures the Cause of Religion on Earth. There wick The intemperate man not only destroys all religious feeling in his own soul, but he also injures the cause of religion on earth. In the drunkard, intemperance steals the keys from reason. It spreads a moral veil of midnight darkness over his mind. He throws open the flood-gates of blasphemy. Whenever he comes, iniquity, like a tide of molten fire, rolls over the earth. His presence, like the damp of death, chills the warm feelings of vital piety. Where he revels in his drunkenness, religion cannot exist. edness flings away its last disguise. There, with brazen front, and hateful smile, and boisterous rage, and uncloaked vileness, and unrestrained passions, and most active depravity, whatever is superlatively base appears, is encouraged, is caressed. When the drunkard drinks, and staggers, and retches, and wallows, even rude thought runs wild. Who would think of finding piety where shameless wickedness reigns in uncontrolled supremacy? Should we search the whole creation round, we would not find a single corner where the religion of our blessed Saviour flourished in a nest of drunkards. Who among the intemperate thinks on religious subjects as he ought? Where are the drunkard's reasoning powers? They are drowned in rum. Where is his conscience? It is seared with rum. Where his bible? It is Where his seat in the sanctuary sold for rum. Where are his sabbaths spent? Drinking rum, in the tippling shop, or over the fumes of the inebriating bowl. Who are his companions? The lovers of rum. What is his language? The obscene, the degrading, the blasphemous oaths of the drunkard. What are his actions? They are such as both God and man abhor. What are his feelings? Those of a demon. What are his thoughts? The wild, hell hatched fancies of a brain trembling under the deranging influence of rum. But we forbear. We thus see that the drunkard is pre-eminent in wickedness. He occupies the first rank in all that is low and degrading and vile. He is a standard bearer in the army of the prince of darkness. He is a rallying point around which the heirs of hell meet. Whatever is detestable in thought or word or deed, centres in the drunkard. As far then as sín has a tendency to destroy holiness, so far has intemperance a tendency to arrest the progress and injure the cause of true religion. Who therefore, that prays, for the "knowledge of the Lord to cover the earth as the waters do the seas," can, with heart and hand, strive to people his neighborhood, his country, the world with drunkards? Who that does not love sin and hate religion and holiness, will give the soul destroying draught to his fellow man? Who that has the least regard for the prosperity of Zion, will scatter through the moral atmosphere, the withering evils of intemperance? Who will plant the seeds of drunkenness in his neighborhood and then hope to make reflecting persons believe, that he loves man or religion or the true God? Who can be such an enemy to the community as to spend his time in manufacturing drunkards? Reader, can you? XII. Its influence on Domestic Happiness. Intemperance like a canker worm, preys on the core of domestic happiness. On this and every other comfort, it places an extinguisher. This, the only wreck of the bliss of paradise, which survived the fall, it destroys. When it enters a house, its very breath blights the buds of social pleasure. The soul of the intemperate man is not thrilled with joy at the thought of wife, children or friends. Poverty, and sickness, and infamy, and crime, are the almost constant inmates of the drunkard's abode. To prove that intemperance throws its withering curse over all that is lovely in the domestic circle, we shall adduce only one example. And it is alas! but a common every-day occurrence, Its counterpart is often acted in almost every neighborhood. To think of it is enough to make a cold chill pass through the veins. It is almost enough to freeze up the warm current of life. But truth must be told, however painful the recital. Of the millions of dwellings into which intemperance has entered, and from which it has banished all the delights of social enjoyment, we shall mention but one. It stood on an elevation but a short distance from the highway. It was a neat, well constructed, unostentatious abode of happiness. In it dwelt a father, a mother, a son, a daughter. Taste, and science, and wealth scattered their delights in rich profusion in and around this little terrestrial paradise. domestic affection and felicity resided. Here Here all the bliss that earth could give, was found. Here kindness ruled in every heart, and spread its sweetest smile on every countenance. Here pleasure beamed in every eye, while those little offices of kindness, which together compose much of the happiness of human life, were performed. Piety, too, resided here, for religion had spread its mantle of purest affection over those who dwelt in this abode of earthly bliss. A glorious hope of a blessed immortality, had stamped its sweet, placid, heavenly impression on the countenance of each; one only excepted. From this |