ries told unworthy a man who
venerates the name of his mother? Does God, whose presence cannot be
hindered by bolt, and who comes in without a pass-word, and is making
up His record for the judgment-day, approve of the blasphemies you
utter?

You think that there is no special danger, yet acknowledge that you
have felt _queer_ sometimes. Your head was not right, and your stomach
was disturbed. I will tell you what was the matter. _You were drunk_.
You understood not that protracted hiccough; it was the drunkard's
hiccough. You could not explain that nausea; it was the drunkard's
vomit. The fact is that some of you, who have never in your own eyes
or in the eyes of others fully sacrificed your respectability, have
for six months been written down in God's book as drunkards.

How far down need a man go before he becomes an inebriate? Must he
fall into the ditch? No! Must he get into a porter-house fight? No!
Must he be senseless in the street? Must he have the delirium
tremens? No! He may wear satin and fine linen; he may walk with hat
scrupulously brushed; may swing a gold-headed cane, and step in boots
of French leather, dismount from a carriage, or draw tight rein over
a swift, sleek, high-mettled, full-blooded Arabian span, but yet be
so thoroughly under the power of strong drink that he is utterly
offensive to his Maker and rotten as a heap of compost.

The fact that this whole land to-day swelters with drunkenness I
charge upon the drinking club houses. They wield an influence that
makes it respectable, and I will not put my head to the pillow
to-night until I have written against them one burning anathema
maranatha! When I see them dragging down scores of our young men, and
slaying professed Christians at the very altar, and snatching off
the garlands of life from those who would otherwise reign forever and
forever, I tell you I hate them with a perfect hatred, and pray for
more height, and depth, and length, and breadth of capacity with which
to hate them.

Along this blossoming and over-arched pathway, and through this long
line of temptations that throw their garlands upon the brow, and ring
their music into the ear, go a great host.

No one can estimate the homes that have been shattered by the
dissipations of the club-house. There are weak women who would never
consent to a husband's absence in the evening, however important the
duty that takes him away. Any man who wishes to take his share of the
publi