Ten Nights in a Bar Room | Page 8

the mill. The whole property was in the hands of Slade. People
did not much wonder at this; for while Slade was always to be found at
the mill, industrious, active, and attentive to customers, Morgan was
rarely seen on the premises. You would oftener find him in the woods,
with a gun over his shoulder, or sitting by a trout brook, or lounging at
the tavern. And yet everybody liked Joe, for he was companionable,
quick-witted, and very kind-hearted. He would say sharp things,
sometimes, when people manifested little meannesses; but there was so
much honey in his gall, that bitterness rarely predominated.
"A year or two before his ownership in the mill ceased, Morgan
married one of the sweetest girls in our town--Fanny Ellis, that was her
name, and she could have had her pick of the young men. Everybody
affected to wonder at her choice; and yet nobody really did wonder, for
Joe was an attractive young man, take him as you would, and just the
one to win the heart of a girl like Fanny. What if he had been seen, now
and then, a little the worse for drink! What if he showed more fondness
for pleasure than for business! Fanny did not look into the future with
doubt or fear. She believed that her love was strong enough to win him
from all evil allurements: and, as for this world's goods, they were
matters in which her maiden fancies rarely busied themselves.
"Well. Dark days came for her, poor soul! And yet, in all the darkness
of her earthly lot, she has never, it is said, been anything but a loving,
forbearing, self-denying wife to Morgan. And he--fallen as he is, and
powerless in the grasp of the monster intemperance--has never, I am

sure, hurt her with a cruel word. Had he added these, her heart would,
long ere this, have broken. Poor Joe Morgan! Poor Fanny! Oh, what a
curse is this drink!"
The man, warming with his theme, had spoken with an eloquence I had
not expected from his lips. Slightly overmastered by his feelings, he
paused for a moment or two, and then added:
"It was unfortunate for Joe, at least, that Slade sold his mill, and
became a tavern-keeper; for Joe had a sure berth, and wages regularly
paid. He didn't always stick to his work, but would go off on a spree
every now and then; but Slade bore with all this, and worked harder
himself to make up for his hand's shortcoming. And no matter what
deficiency the little store-room at home might show, Fanny Morgan
never found her meal barrel empty without knowing where to get it
replenished.
"But, after Slade sold his mill, a sad change took place. The new owner
was little disposed to pay wages to a hand who would not give him all
his time during working hours; and in less than two weeks from the day
he took possession, Morgan was discharged. Since then, he has been
working about at one odd job and another, earning scarcely enough to
buy the liquor it requires to feed the inordinate thirst that is consuming
him. I am not disposed to blame Simon Slade for the wrong-doing of
Morgan; but here is a simple fact in the case--if he had kept on at the
useful calling of a miller, he would have saved this man's family from
want, suffering, and a lower deep of misery than that into which they
have already fallen. I merely state it, and you can draw your own
conclusions. It is one of the many facts, on the other side of this tavern
question, which it will do no harm to mention. I have noted a good
many facts besides, and one is, that before Slade opened the 'Sickle and
Sheaf,' he did all in his power to save his early friend from the curse of
intemperance; now he has become his tempter. Heretofore, it was his
hand that provided the means for his family to live in some small
degree of comfort; now he takes the poor pittance the wretched man
earns, and dropping it in his till, forgets the wife and children at home
who are hungry for the bread this money should have purchased.

"Joe Morgan, fallen as he is, sir, is no fool. His mind sees quickly yet;
and he rarely utters a sentiment that is not full of meaning. When he
spoke of Blade's heart growing as hard in ten years as one of his old
mill-stones, he was not uttering words at random, nor merely indulging
in a harsh sentiment, little caring whether it were closely applicable or
not. That the indurating process had begun, he, alas! was too sadly
conscious."
The landlord had been absent