e object--he
passes on--we laugh at the exhibition, and grow callous and indifferent
to the guilt. Our pity is not excited, our hearts do not ache at the
scenes of intoxication that are almost daily exhibited around us. But if
for a moment we seriously reflect upon the real situation of the
habitually intemperate; if we call to mind what they have been--what
they now are; if we cast our eye to the future, and realize what, in a
few years, they will be; if we go further, and examine into the state of
their families, of their wives and their children, we shall discover a
scene of misery and wretchedness that will not long suffer us to remain
cold, and indifferent, and unfeeling.

This examination we can all make for ourselves. We can all call to mind
the case of some individual, whom we have known for years, perhaps from
his infancy, who is now a poor, miserable drunkard. In early life his
hopes and prospects were as fair as ours. His family was respectable,
and he received all those advantages which are necessary, and which were
calculated to make him a useful and respectable member of society.
Perhaps he was our school-fellow, and our boyhood may have been passed
in his company. We witnessed the first buddings of his mental powers,
and know that he possessed an active, enterprising mind. He grew up into
life with every prospect of usefulness. He entered into business, and,
for a while, did well. His parents looked to him for support in old age,
and he was capable of affording it. He accumulated property, and, in a
few years, with ordinary prudence and industry, would have been
independent. He married, and became the head of a family, and the father
of children, and all was prosperous and happy around him. Had he
continued as he began, he would now have been a comfort to his friends,
and an honor to the community. But the scene quickly changed. He grew
fond of ardent spirits. He was seen at the store and the tavern. By
degrees he became intemperate. He neglected his business, and his
affairs went to gradual decay. He is now a drunkard, his property is
wasted, his parents have died of broken hearts, his wife is pale and
emaciated, his children ragged, and squalid, and ignorant. He is the
tenant of some little cabin that poverty has erected to house him from
the storm and the tempest. He is useless, and worse than useless: he is
a pest to all around him. All the feelings of his nature are blunted; he
has lost all shame; he