Our Saviour when he bore the heavy weight of his father’s anger and our sins, refused to take one. The vinegar and gall were given to criminals to deaden their pains, but Christ refused to take it, he would not lessen the agony of his sufferings, by an opiate, he would not enter the world of spirits, with benumbed faculties. A celebrated divine remarked that he never knew any christian who enjoyed a full and comforting hope in his last hours, that had taken opiates in any great quantity. Let me also exhort parents not to furnish their sons with money to spend on public days, unless they are sure it will not be spent in the purchase of liquor. Let them be warned by precept and example, against using the fatal poison even in small quantities. Did all feel as they ought, did they feel that ardent spirits is the _deadliest poison_, did they feel that it is the fumes of the bottomless pit, sent forth by the imps of the infernal regions to draw mankind to destruction, they would guard their children against it, as they would guard them from the grasp of a tyger. And let me entreat you my aged friends to _beware_, when nature fails, and the grass-hopper has become a burthen, let me _entreat_ you to _beware_ of soothing your pains, and strengthening your frail bodies with the comforting glass. When you have almost run your race, will you be ensnared at the goal. What reproach have some professors of religion brought on the Christian name by falling in second childhood into this fatal sin. And though through the infirmities of the flesh they may occasionally err, yet even that must be followed by deep and bitter repentance, or we cannot hope they will ever enter heaven. Then let the sprightly youth, with vigorous manhood, and the hoary head all unite in one common bond, to deprive Satan of his most successful weapon, and resolve rather to die in the conflict than be overcome by the enemy of our race. A FRIEND TO TEMPERANCE. A letter written by a lady seventy-seven years of age, to her daughter, attending Miss Pierce’s Academy, Litchfield, Conn. [Illustration: PL. LIII.—TERMS FOR TUITION FROM LITCHFIELD PAPER ] ’Twas far remote, Maria dear, From kindred and thy native land, Yet oft and joyfully we hear From thee through lines drawn by thy hand. Kind the act, that taught to spell, Kind the act, that taught to write, And kind the power that taught the skill And gave the genius to indite. When friends remote as distant poles Whose fond remembrance rivets deep We thus convey from soul to soul The secret whispers of the heart.