he money wasted in one year in this land for it,
would place a Bible in every family on the earth, and establish a school
in every village; and that the talent which intemperance consigns each
year to infamy and eternal perdition, would be sufficient to bear the
Gospel over sea and land--to polar snows, and to the sands of a burning
sun. The pulpit must speak out. And the press must speak. And you,
fellow-Christians, are summoned by the God of purity to take your stand,
and cause your influence to be felt.

THE FOOLS' PENCE.

[Illustration: Gin-shop]

Have you ever seen a London gin-shop? There is perhaps no statelier shop
in the magnificent chief city of England. No expense seems to be spared
in the building and the furnishing of a gin-shop.

Not many years ago a gin-shop was a mean-looking, and by no means a
spacious place, with a few small bottles, not bigger than a doctor's
largest vials, in the dusty window. But now, however poor many of the
working classes may be, it seems to be their pleasure to squander their
little remaining money upon a number of these palaces, as if they were
determined that the persons whom they employ to sell them poison should
dwell in the midst of luxury and splendor. I do not mean to say, that we
have a right to throw all the blame upon the master or the mistress of
a gin-shop. For my part, I should not like to keep one, and be obliged
to get rich upon the money of the poor infatuated creatures who will
ruin both soul and body in gin-drinking; but the master of the gin-shop
may be heard to say, "I don't force the people to drink; they will have
gin, and if I do not sell to them somebody else will." The story of "The
Fools' Pence," which follows, is worth attending to.

A little mean-looking man sat talking to Mrs. Crowder, the
mistress of the Punch-bowl: "Why, Mrs. Crowder," said he, "I
should hardly know you again. Really, I must say you have
things in the first style. What an elegant paper; what noble
chairs; what a pair of fire-screens; all so bright and so
fresh; and yourself so well, and looking so well!"

Mrs. Crowder had dropped languidly into an arm-chair, and sat
sighing and smiling with affectation, not turning a deaf ear
to her visitor, but taking in with her eyes a full view of
what passed in the shop; having drawn aside the curtain of
rose-colored silk, which sometimes covered the window in the
wall between the s