“But that's the curse, sir,” replied the young man, “I have neither the one nor the other, and it's on that account I sent for you.” “How is that, Art?” “Why,” said the other, “I am goin' to bind myself--I am goin' to swear against it, and so to make short work of it, and for fraid any one might prevent me”--he blessed himself, and proceeded--“I now, in the presence of God, swear upon this blessed manwil (* Manual) that a drop of spirituous drink, or liquor of any kind, won't cross my lips for the next seven years, barrin' it may be necessary as medicine;” he then kissed the book three times, blessed himself again, and sat down considerably relieved. “Now,” he added, “you may tell them what I've done; that's seven years' freedom, thank God; for I wouldn't be the slave of whiskey--the greatest of tyrants--for the wealth of Europe.” “No, but the worst of it is, Art,” replied his m ister, who was an exceedingly shrewd man, “that whiskey makes a man his own tyrant and his own slave, both at the same time, and that's more than the greatest tyrant that ever lived did yet. As for yourself, you're not fit to work any this day, so I think you ought to take a stretch across the country, and walk off the consequence of your debauch with these fellows last night.” Art now felt confidence and relief; he had obtained the very precise aid of which he stood in need. The danger was now over, and a prop placed under his own feeble resolution, on which he could depend with safety; here there could be no tampering with temptation; the matter was clear, explicit, and decisive: so far all was right, and, as we have said, his conscience felt relieved of a weighty burden. His brother, on hearing it from his own lips, said little, yet that little was not to discourage him; he rather approved than otherwise, but avoided expressing any very decided opinion on it, one way or the other. “It's a pity,” said he, “that want of common resolution should drive a man to take an oath; if you had tried your own strength, a little farther, Art, who knows but you might a' gained a victory without it, and that would be more creditable and manly than swearin'; still, the temptation to drink is great to some people, and this prevents all possibility of fallin' into it.” Art, who, never having dealt in any thing disingenuous himself, was slow to credit duplicity in others, did not once suspect that the profligates had played him off this trick, rather to annoy the brother than himself. It was, after all, nothing but the discreditable triumph of cunning and debased minds, over the inexperience, or vanity, if you will, of one, who, whatever his foibles might be, would himself scorn to take an ungenerous advantage of confidence reposed in him in consequence of his good opinion and friendly feeling.