“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.

The period of their apprenticeship, however, elapsed, and the day at length arrived for their departure from the Corner House.  Their master, and, we may add, their friend, solicited them to stop with him still as journeymen; but, as each had a different object in view, they declined it.  Art proposed to set up for himself, for it was indeed but natural that one whose affections had been now so long engaged, should wish, with as little delay as possible, to see himself possessed of a home to which he might bring his betrothed wife.  Frank had not trusted to chance, or relied merely upon vague projects, like his brother; for, some time previous to the close of his apprenticeship, he had been quietly negotiating the formation of a partnership with a carpenter who wanted a steady man at the helm.  The man had capital himself, and was clever enough in his way, but then he was illiterate, and utterly without method in conducting his affairs; Frank was therefore the identical description of person he stood in need of, and, as the integrity of his family was well known—­that integrity which they felt so anxious to preserve without speck—­there was of course little obstruction in the way of their coming to terms.