t the incessant craving which
he felt for the pernicious stimulant. So strongly did this beset him,
that he suffered severely from frequent attacks of tremor and sensations
that resembled fits of incipient distraction. Nothing, therefore,
remained for him but close employment, that would keep both mind and
body engaged.

When the fact of his having taken the pledge became generally known,
it excited less astonishment than a person might imagine; in truth, the
astonishment would have been greater, had he refused to take it at all,
so predominant and full of enthusiasm was the spirit of temperance at
that period. One feeling, however, prevailed with respect to him, which
was, that privation of his favorite stimulant would kill him--that his
physical system, already so much exhausted and enfeebled, would, break
down---and that poor Art would soon go the way of all drunkards.

On the third evening after he had taken the pledge, he went down to the
man who had succeeded himself in his trade, and who, by the way, had
been formerly one of his own journeymen, of the very men who, while he
was running his career of dissipation, refused to flatter his vanity,
or make one in his excesses, and who was, moreover, one of the very
individuals he had dismissed. To this man he went, and thus accosted
him--his name was Owen Gallagher.

"Owen," said he, "I trust in God that I have gained a great victory of
late."

The man understood him perfectly well, and replied--

"I hope so, Art; I hear you have taken the pledge."

"Belyin' on God's help, I have."

"Well," replied Owen, "you couldn't rely on betther help."

"No," said Art, "I know I could not; but, Owen, I ran a wild and a
terrible race of it--I'm grieved an' shamed to think--even to think of
it."

"An' that's a good sign, Art, there couldn't be betther; for unless a
man's heart is sorry for his faults, and ashamed of them too, it's not
likely he'll give them over."

"I can't bear to walk the streets," continued Art, "nor to rise my head;
but still something must be done for the poor wife and childre."

"Ah, Art," replied Owen, "that is the wife! The goold of Europe isn't
value for her; an' that's what every one knows."

"But who knows it, an' feels it as I do?" said Art, "or who has the
right either? howandiver, as I said, something must be done; Owen, will
you venture to give me employment? I know I'm in bad trim to come into a
dacent workshop, but you know necessity