the usual party at a rather late hour in the evening, I was awakened at five in the morning by one of my companions, who stood at my bedside and said, 'Paley, I have been thinking what a fool you are. I could do nothing probably were I to try, and can afford the life I lead; you could do everything, and cannot afford it. I have had no sleep during the whole night on account of these reflections, and am now come solemnly to inform you that if you persist in your indolence I must renounce your society.' I was so struck," Dr. Paley continues, "with the visit and the visitor, that I lay in bed a great part of the day and formed my plan. I ordered my bed-maker to prepare my fire in the evening in order that it might be lighted by myself. I arose at five; read during the whole of the day, except during such hours as chapel and hall required, allotting to each portion of time its peculiar branch of study." Thus his whole character and career became changed; thus, on taking his bachelor's degree, he became senior wrangler; thus, too, he became one of the strongest and most lucid writers of his age.

The reformation of Socrates affords another example of what a man who opens his eyes upon his own ruin, and resolves to change his course can do. A physiognomist, we are told, once came where Socrates was lecturing. His pupils wishing to put the science of the physiognomist to proof, desired him to examine the face of their master and say what his moral character was. After a full examination of the philosopher's visage, he pronounced him the "most gluttonous, brutal and libidinous old man that he had ever met." As the character of Socrates was the reverse of all this, his disciples began to insult the physiognomist, when Socrates interfered and said: "The principles of his science may be correct, for such I was, but I have conquered it by my philosophy."

Socrates was a genius and philosopher, but that these are not absolutely essential to reform is shown by examples in humblest life. Everybody knows the propensity of the American Indians for "fire-water," and such a thing as reformation among them is thought to be unknown. Yet Colonel Trumbull gives an account of an Indian named Zachary, of the royal race, an excellent hunter, but as drunken and worthless a savage as ever lived. When he

had passed the age of fifty he found himself, through several unexpected deaths, in fair prospect of the throne. He then reflected seriously, "How can such a drunken wretch as I aspire to be a chief of this honorable race? What will my people say?— and how will the shades of my ancestors look down indignant upon such a base successor? Can I succeed to the great Uncas? I will drink no more." He was from that time forth a new man; and though he lived to the age of eighty, and in the midst of temptation, he kept his resolution. Noble thoughts and noble aspirations took the place of brutal conceptions and associations, and under them forever he ascended. What the pagan philosopher and the savage chief can do, so can we.

TEMPERANCE.

"Honor to him who, self-complete and brave,
In scorn can carve his pathway to the grave,
And, heeding naught of what men think or say,
Make his own heart his world upon the way."

If these lines have fit application anywhere, it is in reference to the use of intoxicating liquors. Every man must decide for himself whether he will honor the Bible, the God above him, his own nature, and the world around him by totally abstaining from all intoxicants; or, whether he will dishonor these by surrendering himself to appetite and the rum-fiend. No one can decide this question for him. The temperance people cannot compel him to let liquor alone any more than the liquor sellers can compel him to drink it. The responsibility is upon him alone. Even though he inherited a natural appetite for liquor, he has the power, if he will exercise it, to abstain. While prevention is easier than cure, it is yet possible for the drunkard to abandon his cups.

As a social question, beyond all controversy, the use of intoxicating liquors as a beverage is wrong. No matter how completely individuals may be able to govern their own appetite, they have no right to encourage a hurtful habit and an evil traffic. Not until the drunkard is branded as a criminal before the law, and moderate drinkers as accomplices in crime, will this monster evil of the age

receive its rightful treatment. As a vicious and inexcusable selfishness, hateful to man, abhorred of God, destructive of virtue and ruinous to happiness, drunkenness has within itself all the sin and misery and infamy of a crime, and should be so regarded by legislators, judges, juries and the common people. Not a day passes but some "brute in human shape," the worse for liquor, vents his demoniacal passions by beating or murdering his wife and children, and when arrested for the offense is excused entirely, or lightly punished, because, forsooth, he was drunk!

Dram-drinking is a deceptive habit. All tipplers and most drunkards imagine they have entire control of themselves, and can stop drinking at any time. But they rarely do so. The current that sets in through the channel of moderate drinking is deep and strong, carrying most of its unsuspecting victims, like a rushing Niagara, down to the whirlpool of destruction. Where one escapes, hundreds perish. "Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging; and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise."

Ignorance of the highly injurious effects of alcohol is one cause of tippling. The excitement which men call intoxication is nothing but the efforts of injured nature to throw off the poison. "The blood seeks to cast it out. The kidneys throw it out. The stomach hurls it off. The skin exudes it." The lungs load up every breath with it. Not one organ assimilates it, but all struggle to expel it. As the inmates of a quiet home would unite to drive away a midnight marauder, so the organs of the body would thrust out alcohol. "Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!"

Hyrit, by far the greatest anatomist of the age, used to say that he could distinguish in the darkest room, by one stroke of the scalpel, the brain of the inebriate from that of a person who lived sober. Alcohol hardens the brain and deadens its tissues.

Its destructive effects on the mind are fearful. It ruins memory, excites anger, awakens fear, creates distrust, inspires jealousy, turns grief into despair, and hopelessness into permanent melancholy. About forty per cent. of the lunatics in asylums owe their derangement to the use of alcohol.

Alcohol injures the entire physical system. Dr. Benjamin W.