Nothing in life gives a man such an inclination for active industry as to find that he is prospering; he has then heart and spirits to work, and does work blithely and cheerfully; so was it with Art.  He and his employer were admirably adapted for each other, both being extremely well-tempered, honest, and first-rate workmen.  About the expiration of the first twelve months, Art had begun to excite a good deal of interest in the town of Ballykeerin, an interest which was beginning to affect Owen Gallagher himself in a beneficial way.  He was now pointed out to strangers as the man, who, almost naked, used to stand drunk and begging upon the bridge of Ballykeerin, surrounded by his starving and equally naked children.  In fact, he began to get a name, quite a reputation for the triumph which he had achieved over drunkenness; and on this account Owen Gallagher, when it was generally known in the country that Art worked with him, found his business so rapidly extending, that he was obliged, from time to time, to increase the number of hands in his establishment.  Art felt this, and being now aware that his position in life was, in fact, more favorable for industrious exertion than ever, resolved to give up journey work, and once more, if only for the novelty of the thing, to set up for himself.  Owen Gallagher, on hearing this from his own lips, said he could not, nor would not blame him, but, he added—­

“I’ll tell you what we can do, Art—­come into partnership wid me, for I think as we’re gettin’ an so well together, it ’ud be a pity, almost a sin, to part; join me, and I’ll give you one-third of the business,”—­by which he meant the profits of it.

“Begad,” replied Art, laughing, “it’s as much for the novelty of the thing I’m doin’ it as any thing else; I think it ’ud be like a dhrame to me, if I was to find myself and my family as we wor before.”  And so they parted.

It is unnecessary here to repeat what we have already detailed concerning the progress of his early prosperity; it is sufficient, we trust, to tell our readers that he rose into rapid independence, and that he owed all his success to the victory that he had obtained over himself.  His name was now far and near, and so popular had he become, that no teetotaller would employ any other carpenter.  This, at length, began to make him proud, and to feel that his having given up drink, instead of being simply a duty to himself and his family, was altogether an act of great voluntary virtue on his part.

“Few men,” he said, “would do it, an’ may be, afther all, if I hadn’t the ould blood in my veins—­if I wasn’t one of the great Fermanagh Maguires, I would never a’ done it.”

He was now not only a vehement Teetotaller, but an unsparing enemy to all who drank even in moderation; so much so, indeed, that whenever a man came to get work done with him, the first question he asked him was—­“Are you a Teetotaller?” If the man answered “No,” his reply was, “Well, I’m sorry for that, bekase I couldn’t wid a safe conscience do your work; but you can go to Owen Gallagher, and he will do it for you as well as any man livin’.”