"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.
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