Intemperance is not the cause of _every_ crime that is committed, though it is of very many of them. It is _itself_ one of the greatest of crimes. It is a violation of not one law only, but of _many_. The drunkard outrages the law of his nature, tramples on the laws of morality, and flings contempt on the law of the Almighty; and it is not at all wonderful that so manifold a sin should meet with a various and adequate retribution. Intemperance unfits its votaries for every thing good, and qualifies them for, and spurs them onward to the commission of every base and sinful work; and it is impossible to estimate the crimes it has committed, or the miseries it has produced. I saw, in the Windsor Prison, many of the criminal votaries of this Moloch of modern idolatry, and my soul was often severely pained in contemplating the certain and lasting misery with which he rewarded his most faithful worshippers. I have not time, in this place, to enter into a full discussion of the connexion of intemperance with the crimes and misery of state prisons; but I will present a few striking illustrations of the subject, which may answer in the place of a volume. L. N. was a very intemperate drinker. Rum had _marked_ him for her own. He had worshipped his idol in gaols and prisons for a thousand miles round; and he was always punctual and regular in his devotions. The consequence was--the loss of public confidence--a straw pillow for his head, and a grated dungeon for his home--the pollution of his soul, and the ruin of his body--a death in shrieks of agony, and a prison-yard for his grave. C. C. learned while a youth to drink the poisoned glass. He was well educated, and of a respectable family. His habit of intemperate drinking unfitted him for business, and he became the scoff and scorn of the giddy rabble. He fled his country for a crime, and remained at a distance for years, adding sin to sin. At length he returned home and repeated his former crime, for which he was sent to Windsor. No one can describe the pain he endured when taken away from the bottle. "_Horrors!_--_Blue_ horrors!--_Ruffled_ horrors!" were the words in which he expressed the agony of his body and soul, under the cravings of an intemperate thirst for rum. After several years he was pardoned, but he returned to his former habit; and in one of his paroxysms of intoxication he inflicted a mortal wound on a fellow-being, and was sent back to prison, where he now is. B. F. H. was a victim of drunkenness. Few men ever received from the hand of their Creator a richer store of intellectual capacity than this man, and on none were such gems more wastefully lavished. He abandoned a most amiable wife; and after spending many years in different prisons, the last I heard of him he was fitting for another. Over this victim, intemperance might boast, for he was like a star of superior brightness; he was learned, ingenious, and eloquent, qualified for a high station, but self-damned to the lowest.