be even given unto the young men that follow my lord. I pray thee forgive the trespass of thine handmaid; for the Lord will certainly make my lord a sure house; because my lord fighteth the battles of the Lord, and evil hath not been found in thee all thy days. Yet a man is risen to pursue thee, and to seek thy soul: but the soul of my lord shall be bound up in the bundle of life with the Lord thy God; and the souls of thine enemies, them shall he sling out as from the middle of a sling. And it shall come to pass, when the Lord shall have done to my lord according to all the good that he hath spoken concerning thee, and shall have appointed thee ruler over Israel, that this shall be no grief unto thee, nor offence of heart unto my lord, either that thou hast shed blood causeless, or that my lord hath avenged himself; but when the Lord shall have dealt well with my lord, then remember thine handmaid.”

This whole address was most adroitly made, and Abigail proved herself to be a most successful pleader. The spectacle there in the way is a most touching one, and we cannot help joining in the wonder expressed by a thrilling writer, who says, "The whole of this scene is so vividly described in holy writ, that it is rather remarkable that it should never have been taken as the subject of a picture by some of the many illustrators

of Scripture. A rocky defile of Carmel, winding round the side of a hill, down which the four hundred armed followers of David, in their glit tering armor, might be scattered in and out of the rocks, except the few which, close beside their leader and the kneeling Abigail, marked the foreground; the servants and led asses of the wife of Nabal gracefully grouped on the opposite side of the armed men, forming a beautiful contrast, by their peaceful habiliments and alarmed looks, to the fierce and eager countenances of the warriors. The extreme beauty of Abigail; the pleading look and posture of the suppliant blending with the modest dignity of the woman; the superb countenance and form of the still youthful David, varying from indignation to softening admiration, -all might form a combination not unworthy of first rate talent in an artist, more especially when that artist may be found at this very day amid the ranks of Israel."

David took the gifts and went back, while Abigail returned to her intemperate husband, who died about ten days afterwards. David heard of his death, and soon sent for Abigail to come and be his wife; and she lived with him a long time.

I present Abigail as a specimen of the drunkard's wife; and to that very unfortunate class of our suffering sisters I wish here to call your attention.

Intemperance, though not so common as it was years ago, is yet frequent. Comparing the population of our country with what it was a century since, intemperance is certainly lessened; but though lessened, it has not yet become extinct. In the city of Boston are thousands of places where intoxicating drinks are sold; in other cities are hundreds of places where bodies and souls are ruined; and away out in society are homes desolated, hearts saddened, characters lost, and souls ruined, by this dreadful poison. The drunkard himself is a sorrowful personage, with his bloated face, bloodshot eye, and frenzied heart. He presents us with a fair specimen of a demon let loose from the pit, to make misery among the homes of earth. But he is not the greatest suf ferer. His children, half clad, half educated, half fed, half cultivated, and cast out of house and home, suffer more than he. They bear a sorrow of which he knows nothing. are not the greatest sufferers by his intemperance. They outgrow his violence, and leave the parental roof, and live among strangers; they soon become independent of his control, and find homes of their own. But the pale, shrinking wife is bound to that lump of clay, tied by law to that mass of corruption, unable to outgrow, outlive, or get beyond his pestiferous breath, his baneful influence.

But they even,

For better or for worse she took him, and it has been all for worse, as, day and night, she has lived with one hope-the hope to die. In speaking upon the case of the drunkard's wife, we will notice,

1. Her disappointment. She did not marry a drunkard; or, if she did, she hoped she could soon reform him. She went to the altar with a bright and glorious hope. The vision of a pleasant home, a kind husband, a long and lovely life, was before her. Not a cloud hovered over her marriage scene. The sun was bright, and the sky was clear. For a while after marriage, the scene of happiness continues; the bride's dream is realized, and she fondly hopes it will always continue. But one night her husband comes home from his store or his counting house in a state of mind for which she cannot account. His breath, not balmy, but hot and sulphureous, tells the whole. She gently chides him, and he promises never to drink again. Soon he comes home again in a worse state than before. His step now staggers, and his voice is unsteady. His mutterings are strange, and his words incoherent. He is met with a flood of tears, amid the fall of which he goes to sleep. A settlement is effected on the morrow, and there is sunshine in that home again. A few nights pass, and a drunken man is brought home to that

house, and he is thrown upon the bed by his boon fellows, who leave him there to curse his weeping wife. This time a reconciliation is not so easy. Indeed, he laughs at his companion, and when she falls upon his neck with tears and remonstrances, he casts her away, and flings her from him. Day by day she hopes it will be better; but it grows worse and worse until her hopes are all blasted, and her fond anticipations are all dead. Tell me, where on earth is a disappointment like this? Where can you find, in all the griefs to which our world is subject, anguish more intense? Once a star of hope hovered over her, but it has disappeared; once music, mirth, and pleasure surrounded her, but all have changed; and she lives, chained by her marriage covenant to a man whose brutal intemperance and whose increasing crimes make him a burden not easily to be borne. You know how sad you feel when disappointed in some trivial pleasure of a single day what regret a single hour of disappointment sometimes causes. But here is a woman who is disappointed for life; she married a man, and he has changed into a brute; the sunlight on his countenance is gone; the cheerful tones of his voice are gone; the hopes, prospects, blessings which she dreamed of are all gone. Her husband is a drunkard: she is a drunkard's wife.