battle, at the close of the murderous fray, in despite of all the laurels which have been won, and the shouts of victory which have rent the air, we have not been able to avoid experiencing a sickening horror, at the sight of the slaughtered heaps of our fellow men. But if war has slain its thousands, intemperance has slain its tens of thousands;—while, in the desolation which marks the course of this murderous enemy of mankind, there is nothing, to cast even a solitary ray across the deep and depressing gloom which it occasions; but all is dark, consummate, hopeless misery.

The drunkard, indeed, describes his God as ruddy with the glow of health;—as adorned with the loveliest flowers, and the most refreshing and delicious fruits of nature; and as diffusing the most cheerful happiness among his worshippers :-but if depicted in his true character, he will be represented with the emaciated features of a harpy, though with an eye flashing with maddening fury. He will be described as holding in one hand a poisoned cup, and in the other a dart, with which to pierce the breast of the miserable beings who may partake of it. He will be pictured as seated upon a throne, composed of the most doleful emblems of mortality; and, while surrounded by widows, and orphans, and dying men, in all the various postures occasioned by physical and mental suffering, as scowling upon the wretchedness he has occasioned, and which he too much delights in to relieve.

But, intemperance not only produces diseases which are fatal to human life, it also gives an unconquerable power to diseases, which, if not aided by it, might be easily subdued. This remark was strikingly illustrated in the history of the cholera.

Mr. Huber, who saw 2160 persons perish in twentyfive days, in a town in Russia, says, "It is a most remarkable circumstance, that persons given to drinking have been swept away like flies. In Tiflis, containing 20,000 inhabitants, every drunkard has fallen ! all are dead-not one remains."

In Warsaw, out of 100 persons, who died of cholera, 90 had been addicted to the use of ardent spirits.

Dr. Rhinelander, who visited Montreal, during the prevalence of cholera there, in 1832, declares that "not a drunkard, who had been attacked, recovered;" and that "almost all the victims had been, at least, moderate drinkers."

In the Park Hospital of the city of New York, out of 204 cases, only 6 were temperate persons; and all these recovered; while of the others, 122 had died, when Dr. Sewall visited the hospital; and he states that "the facts were similar in all the other hospitals."

In Albany, where the cholera prevailed for several weeks, and was attended with a severe mortality, it was not known that more than two individuals, out of 5000 members of temperance societies, in that city, became its victims.

Thus it appears that one of the most awful pestilences, which, for ages, has been permitted to scourge the nations of the earth, was chiefly indebted to intemperance for its deadly violence. Nay, there is reason to believe, that but for intemperance, it would have assumed a comparatively mild, and inoffensive character. In the language then of one* who well understands the subject, this dreadful vice— *Rev. Edward Parsons.

this most monstrous of physical, as well as of moral evils, may be justly pronounced, "the most active agent in populating the dark domain of the king of terrors."-"The ravages of Cæsar, of Attila, of Jinghis Khan, and other wholesale murderers of the human race, sink into insignificance when contrasted with the ravages of intemperance; and with ten times greater propriety may it be said of intemperance than of war,"

"'Tis the carnival of death;

'Tis the vintage of the grave."

SECTION VI.

INTEMPERANCE DESTRUCTIVE TO REPUTATION.

NOTHING is more valuable to man, as a member of society, than a good reputation. So considerable a portion of his happiness results from his enjoying the approbation of his associates, that he no sooner loses it than he may be classed among the truly wretched. "A good name," says Solomon, "is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold." But who that has any regard for his own reputation would cherish the friendship of a drunkard? The intemperate may herd together, and join, with apparent cordiality, in each other's lewd and frantic songs;-they may engage with the utmost ardour in exciting each other to the indulgence of their unnatural propensity, but they have no regard for each other's character;-they know that in the most important relationships of life, moral and religious principles have but little influence on their conduct, and therefore they can have no confidence

in each other's honour. While appearing intimately united in the bonds of good fellowship, they are mutually selfish and suspicious. They are like a company of ravenous beasts, which, while devouring the prey upon which they have fallen, may, occasionally, fondle each other, but which, as soon as it is consumed, being made more savage by their repast, are ready to gratify their thirst for blood by each other's destruction.

In connexion with intemperance, will generally be found, extreme grossness of sentiment, brutality of disposition, and, too frequently, a disregard of truth and honesty. Such being the case, it would, indeed, be a matter of surprise, were the drunkard held otherwise than in contempt and abhorrence, by every truly honourable and virtuous member of society. The degrading nature of his vice will be certain of obtaining for him contempt; and its injuriousness to the interests of society will be sure to secure him a host of opponents.

When adversity overtakes the virtuous, however humble their condition, there is a feeling in the human heart, which prompts us not merely to assist them, but to pour into their bosoms the balm of sympathy and kindness; but when we see a man reduced to poverty and pain by intemperance, we withdraw, almost instinctively, from the sufferer, as if we felt that we should be countervailing the righteous intentions of the Almighty, by attempting to relieve his wretchedness. It seems wisely ordered that there should exist this feeling of repugnance towards a vice, which is so monstrous in itself, and which is productive of such tremendous consequences. But how, then, it may be