"HOW can you reconcile it to your conscience to continue in yourpresent business, Mr. Muddler?" asked a venerable clergyman of atavern-keeper, as the two walked home from the funeral of a youngman who had died suddenly.
"I find no difficulty on that score," replied the tavern-keeper, ina confident tone: "My business is as necessary to the public as thatof any other man."
"That branch of it, which regards the comfort and accommodation oftravellers, I will grant to be necessary. But there is anotherportion of it which, you must pardon me for saying, is not onlyuncalled for by the real wants of the community, but highlydetrimental to health and good morals."
"And pray, Mr. Mildman, to what portion of my business do youallude?"
"I allude to that part of it which embraces the sale of intoxicatingdrinks."
"Indeed! the very best part of my business. But, certainly, you donot pretend to say that I am to be held accountable for theunavoidable excesses which sometimes grow out of the use of liquorsas a beverage?"
"I certainly must say, that, in my opinions a very large share ofthe responsibility rests upon your shoulders. You not only make it abusiness to sell liquors, but you use every device in your power toinduce men to come and drink them. You invent new compounds with newand attractive names, in order to induce the indifferent or thelovers of variety, to frequent your bar-room. In this way, you toooften draw the weak into an excess of self-indulgence, that ends,alas! in drunkenness and final ruin of body and soul. You are notonly responsible for all this, Mr. Muddler, but you bear the weightof a fearful responsibility!"
"I cannot see the subject in that light, Mr. Mildman," thetavern-keeper said, rather gravely. "Mine is an honest andhonourable calling, and it is my duty to my family and to society,to follow it with diligence and a spirit of enterprise."
"May I ask you a plain question, Mr. Muddler?"
"Oh yes, certainly! as many as you please."
"Can that calling be an honest and honourable one which takessustenance from the community, and gives back nothing in return?"
"I do not know that I understand the nature of your question, Mr.Mildman."
"Consider then society as a man in a larger form, as it really is.In this great body, as in the lesser body of man, there are variousfunctions of use and a reciprocity between the whole. Each functionreceives a portion of life from the others, and gives back its ownproper share for the good of the whole. The hand does not act foritself alone--receiving strength and selfishly appropriating itwithout returning its quota of good to the general system. And so ofthe heart, and lungs, and every other organ in the whole body.Reverse the order--and how soon is the entire system diseased! Now,does that member of the great body of the people act honestly andhonourably, who regularly receives his portion of good from thegeneral social system, and gives nothing back in return?"
To this the landlord made no reply, and Mr. Mildman continued--
"But there is still a stronger view to be taken. Suppose a member ofthe human body is diseased--a limb, for instance, in a partial stateof mortification. Here there is a reception of life from the wholesystem into that limb, and a constant giving back of disease thatgradually pervades the entire body; and, unless that body possessesextraordinary vital energy, in the end destroys it. In like manner,if in the larger body there be one member who takes his share oflife from the whole, and gives back nothing but a poisonousprinciple, whose effect is disease and death, surely he cannot becalled a good member--nor honest, nor honourable."
"And pray, Mr. Mildman," asked the tavern-keeper, with warmth,"where will you find, in society, such an individual as youdescribe?"
The minister paused at this question, and looked his companionsteadily in the face. Then raising his long, thin finger to giveforce to his remark, he said with deep emphasis--
"Thou art the man!"
"Me, Mr. Mildman! me!" exclaimed the tavern-keeper, in surprise anddispleasure. "You surely cannot be in earnest."
"I utter but a solemn truth, Mr. Muddler: such is your position insociety! You receive food, and clothing, and comforts and luxuriesof various kinds for yourself and family from the social body, andwhat do you give back for all these? A poison to steal away thehealth and happiness of that social body. You are far worse than aperfectly dead member--you exist upon the great body as a moralgangrene. Reflect calmly upon this subject. Go home, and in thesilence of your own chamber, enter into unimpassioned and solemncommunion with your heart. Be honest with yourself. Exclude the biasof selfish feelings and selfish interests, and honestly define toyourself your true position.'
"But, Mr. Mildman--"
The two men had paused nearly in front of Mr. Muddler's splendidestablishment, and were standing there when the tavern-keepercommenced a reply to the minister's last remarks. He had uttered butthe first word or two, when he was interrupted by a pale,thinly-dressed female, who held a little girl by the hand. She cameup before him and looked him steadily in the face for a moment ortwo.
"Mr. Muddler, I believe," she said.
"Yes, madam, that is my name," was his reply.
"I have come, Mr. Muddler," the woman then said, with an effort tosmile and affect a polite air, "to thank you for a present Ireceived last night."
"Thank me, madam! There certainly must be some mistake. I never madeyou a present. Indeed, I have not the pleasure of youracquaintance."
"You said your name was Muddler, I believe?"
"Yes, madam, as I told you before, that is my name."
"Then you are the man. You made my little girl, here a present also,and we have both come with our thanks."
"You deal in riddles, madam, Speak out plainly."
"As I said before," the woman replied, with bitter irony in hertones, "I have come with my little girl to thank you for the presentwe received last night;--a present of wretchedness and abuse."
"I am still as far from understanding you as ever," thetavern-keeper said--I never abused you, madam. I do not even knowyou."
"But you know my husband, sir! You have enticed him to your bar, andfor his money have given him a poison that has changed him from oneof the best and kindest of men, into a demon. To you, then, I oweall the wretchedness I have suffered, and the brutal treatment Ishared with my helpless children last night. It is for this that Ihave come to thank you."
"Surely, madam, you must be beside yourself. I have nothing to dowith your husband."
"Nothing to do with him!" the woman exclaimed, in an excited tone."Would to heaven that it were so! Before you opened your accursedgin palace, he was a sober man, and the best and kindest ofhusbands--but, enticed by you, your advertisement and display offancy drinks, he was tempted within the charmed circle of yourbar-room. From that moment began his downfall; and now he is lost toself-control--lost to feeling--lost to humanity!"
As the woman said this, she burst into tears, and then turned andwalked slowly away.
"To that painful illustration of the truth of what I have said," theminister remarked, as the two stood once more alone, "I have nothingto add. May the lesson sink deep into your heart. Between you andthat woman's husband existed a regular business transaction. Did itresult in a mutual benefit? Answer that question to your ownconscience."
How the tavern-keeper answered it, we know not. But if he receivedno benefit from the double lesson, we trust that others may; and inthe hope that the practical truth we have endeavoured briefly toillustrate, will fall somewhere upon good ground, we cast it forthfor the benefit of our fellow-men.
THE END.
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