the lake and the precipice.  The result may be easily guessed.  When the last portion of the earth gave way, the waters of the lake precipitated themselves upon the beautiful and peaceful glen, carrying death and destruction in their course, and leaving nothing but a dark unsightly morass behind them.  So is it with the mind of man.  When he gives the first slight assent to a wrong tendency, or a vicious resolution, he resembles the shepherd’s boy, who, unconscious of the consequences that followed, made the first small channel in the earth with his naked foot.  The vice or the passion will enlarge itself by degrees until all power of resistance is removed; and the heart becomes a victim to the impetuosity of an evil principle to which no assent of the will ever should have been given.

Art, as we have said, lost the week, and then came Sunday for the christening.  On that day, of course, an extra cup was but natural, especially as it would put an end to his indulgence on the one hand, and his idleness on the other.  Monday morning would enable him to open a new leaf, and as it was the last day—­that is, Sunday was—­why, dang it, he would take a good honest jorum.  Frank, who had a greater regard for Art’s character than it appeared Art himself had, Spoke to him privately on the morning of the christening, as to the necessity and decency of keeping himself sober on that day; but, alas! during this friendly admonition he could perceive, that early as it was, his brother was not exactly in a state of perfect sobriety.  His remonstrances were very unpalatable to Art, and as a consciousness of his conduct, added to the nervousness produced by drink, had both combined to produce irritability of temper, he addressed himself more harshly to his brother than he had ever done in his life before.  Frank, for the sake of peace, gave up the task, although he saw clearly enough that the christening was likely to terminate, at least so far as Art was concerned, in nothing less than a drunken debauch.  This, indeed, was true.  Little Toal, who drank more liquor than any two among them, and Frank himself, were the only sober persons present, all the rest having successfully imitated the example set them by Art, who was carried to bed at an early hour in the evening.  This was but an indifferent preparation for his resolution to commence work on Monday morning, as the event proved.  When the morning came, he was incapable of work; a racking pain in the head, and sickness of stomach, were the comfortable assurances of his inability.  Here was another day lost; but finding that it also was irretrievably gone, he thought it would be no great harm to try the old cure—­a hair of the dog—­as before, and it did not take much force of reasoning to persuade himself to that course.  In this manner he went on, losing day after day, until another week was lost.  At length he found himself in his workshop, considerably wrecked and debilitated, striving with tremulous and