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full glare of light that is poured upon this subject, who will go to their sideboard and cupboard, and, in the presence of four or five young children, take down the bottle-morning, noon, and night, if not oftener-and pour out their dram, smacking their lips, saying to their little ones, It is bad stuff-the most important truth they ever told them, yet their practice giving the lie to their assertion. Oh, the direful influence of such fathers! better deserving the name of monsters. Brandies and wines disgrace the fashionable parties that are given by those that would be respectable, if it did not require too great a sacrifice. In these gatherings the professed follower of Christ is found ; forgetful of his covenant vows, he bids God speed to the most infamous practices with which the world was ever cursed. How long, how long, O Lord God Almighty, will the chariot wheels of deliverance delay? Oh, for a full redemption; yea, a speedy deliverance from this soul-destroying evil! It may be asked hy some, What is most needed to bring into disuse this beverage? I answer, it is simply decision of character on the part of those that would elevate man in the scale of his moral being, and place him in the sphere God designed him to move in; we should not then see him who had been the center of the fondest hopes, and along whose pathway shone the purest light re flected from the combined virtues of loving sisters. and sainted mothers' fervent prayers, and the earnesi entreaties of fathers long since deceased, and that one on whom all these fond hopes centered become al

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most a putrefied mass, possessing naught of life but the power of endurance, and all of death save the silence of the grave. The inebriate should not be regarded with indifference. No: rather let us rally to the rescue, and from the vortex of intemperance snatch the wretched victims who are constantly being engulphed, as in a lake of molten fire. There are scenes, revolting to humanity, constantly coming under our observation, consequent on the legal toleration extended to the venders of distilled liquors. Moral suasion has seized the monster, and the strong arm of organized bodies has endeavored to bind him, but has only succeeded in part. Now, what shall we do? Shall we still refuse to have it become a political question, and keep it from our ballot-box and our halls of legislation, where it could at once be shorn of its strength ? Let the champions of temperance stand undaunted on the stormy battlements of this great reform, which is calculated to blot out from the world the foulest stain that ever disgraced humanity.

The most skilled artist has failed in his attempts to delineate upon canvas the wretchedness of the inebri. ate's family. For such a task his pencil lies broken before him; and the combined eloquence of thousands, in their most graphic descriptions, have failed to portray their woes. Ah, who can describe with language, or illustrate with metaphor, the havoc that intemperance has made among mankind ?

In executing a descriptive scene of its abomina tions, methinks the acute conceptions of fancy, and

the loftiest flights of the imagination, would be inadequate to the task. Could we change the mighty ocean to paint, transform every stick into a brush, make every man an artist, every star a scaffold, and the outstretched, boundless sky a canvas; could we take the dismal clouds for shade, the frightful lightning's awful element for tinge, the midnight darknese for drapery of gloom; could we use the doleful winds for sighs, the countless drops of rain for tears, the broken music of the howling storm for wails, and shrieks, and cries, the earthquake's violent shock for agonizing pains, and the long, loud, rumbling thunder for piteous, dying groans; and could we, with pious Joshua, command the glowing sun to stand still in the west, and the full, blushing moon in the distant east, and there wait, while laboring artists dash the amazing horrors of intemperance on the expanded sheet, to delineate all its loathsome, horrible, and everlasting effects, would quite exhaust the ocean, wear out every in. strument, tire every artist, and more than fill heav. en's immeasurable blue from pole to pole.

MISS ALICE HOLMES,

AN AMERICAN AUTHORESS.

“Oh! who would cherish life
And cling unto this heavy clog of clay

Love this rude world of strife,
Where glooms and tempests cloud the fairest day."

ALICE HOLMES was born in the county of Norfolk, £.gland, February, 1821. Her father, an enterprising mechanic, maintained himself and family by the fruits of his industry, in his own country, until, drawn into the broad current of emigration that has wafted Europe's millions to our shores, he embarked with his effects and family to seek a home and fortune in the New World. Bound for New York, the vessel set sail in April, 1830, and landed off quarantine in the harbor of its destination, on the 19th of June followirig. On their passage, to the terrors of a long voyage, tempestuous winds, rolling billows, and those inconveniences usually realized in crowded ships, were added the horrors of disease. That most loath. some of all maladies, small-pox, made its appearance among the passengers, and among its subjects was the little Alice, having just then entered upon her ninth summer. When the passengers disembarked. the fell disease was still upon her; but she was per. mitted to behold the beauties of the New World, a scene, whose anticipation had filled their hearts with raptures of delight, raised their drooping spirits on the boisterous ocean, and influenced them to leave dear friends and country, with no hope of ever communing with them again. But, alas! it was the little sufferer's last view of the green earth, land of promise, clear blue sky, and glorious sunlight, which painted upon her memory an abiding image of beauty. She was taken to the city hospital, and when medical skill had broken the fetters of disease, it was found that her sight was irrecoverably lost. Her parents, immediately subsequent to landing, took up their residence in Jersey City. Though her young and gentle spirit had not yet advanced far enough on life’s rugged journey, fully to realize the greatness of her loss, yet sad and lonely must have been her condition at this time. For she was a stranger in a strange land, and having not yet learned to substitute other senses for that she had lost, in communicating with the physical world, and thus beguile her misfor. tune, the long monotonous hours and days passed heavily away. Oft did her thoughts mount on pinions of fancy, and wing their way over the star-lit Atlantic to her native cot, and hold sweet converse with her little schoolmates, and the scenes of her childhood, now more bright and loving than ever.

To these prospects, she adverts in the following simple, yet graphic lines :

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