per on being reasoned with, and flew into a passion with Frank,
whom he abused for interfering, as he called it, in business which did
not belong to him. Notwithstanding this bluster, however, there was no
man whom he feared so much; in fact, he dreaded his very appearance, and
would go any distance out of his way rather than come in contact with
him. He felt Frank's moral ascendency too keenly, and was too bitterly
sensible of the neglect with which he had treated his affectionate and
friendly admonitions, to meet him with composure. Indeed, we must say,
that, independently of his brother Frank, he was not left to his own
impulses, without many a friendly and sincere advice. The man had been
so highly respected--his name was so stainless--his conduct so good,
so blameless; he stood forth such an admirable pattern of industry,
punctuality, and sobriety, that his departure from all these virtues
occasioned general regret and sorrow. Every friend hoped that he
would pay attention to his advice, and every friend tried it, but,
unfortunately, every friend failed. Art, now beyond the reach of
reproof, acted as every man like him acts; he avoided those who, because
they felt an interest in his welfare, took the friendly liberty of
attempting to rescue him, and consequently associated only with those
who drank with him, flattered him, skulked upon him, and laughed at him.

One friend, however, he had, who, above all others, first in place and
in importance, we cannot overlook--that friend was his admirable and
affectionate wife. Oh, in what language can we adequately describe
her natural and simple eloquence, her sweetness of disposition, her
tenderness, her delicacy of reproof, and her earnest struggles to win
back her husband from the habits which were destroying him! And in
the beginning she was often successful for a time, and many a tear of
transient repentance has she occasioned him to shed, when she succeeded
in touching his heart, and stirring his affection for her and for their
children.

In circumstances similar to Art's, however, we first feel our own
errors, we then feel grateful to those who have the honesty to reprove
us for them: by and by, on finding that we are advancing on the wrong
path, we begin to disrelish the advice, as being only an unnecessary
infliction of pain; having got so far as to disrelish the advice,
we soon begin to disrelish the adviser; and ultimately, we become so
thoroughly wedded to our