feeling opposed to it which I possessed.

My business grew gradually worse, and at length my constitution became
so impaired that even when I had the will I did not possess the power
to provide for my daily wants. My hands would at times tremble so that
I could not perform the finer operations of my business, the finishing
and gilding. How could I letter straight, with a hand burning and
shaking from the effects of a debauch. Sometimes, when it was
absolutely necessary to finish off some work, I have entered the shop
with a stern determination not to drink a single drop until I completed
it. I have bitterly felt that my failing was a matter of common
conversation in the town, and a burning sense of shame would flush my
fevered brow at the conviction that I was scorned by the respectable
portion of the community. But these feelings passed away like the
morning cloud or early dew, and I pursued my old course.

One day I thought I would not go to work, and a great inducement to
remain at home existed in the shape of my enemy, West India rum, of
which I had a quantity in the house. Although the morning was by no
means far advanced, I sat down, intending to do nothing until
dinner-time. I could not sit alone without rum, and I drank glass
after glass until I became so stupefied that I was compelled to lie
down on the bed, where I soon fell asleep. When I awoke it was late in
the afternoon, and then, as I persuaded myself, too late to make a bad
day's work good. I invited a neighbor, who, like myself, was a man of
intemperate habits, to spend the evening with me. He came, and we sat
down to our rum, and drank foully together until late that night, when
he staggered home; and so intoxicated was I that, in moving to go to
bed, I fell over the table, broke a lamp, and lay on the floor for some
time, unable to rise. At last I managed to get to bed, but, oh, I did