Nestleton Magna: A Story of Yorkshire MethodismWray, J. Jackson (James Jackson)
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Nestleton Magna: A Story of Yorkshire Methodism
Wray, J. Jackson (James Jackson)
Methodist Church (Great Britain) -- Fiction; Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
In this house lived a man, well known for many a mile round as “Piggy”
Morris, so called by reason of his pig-jobbing proclivities, though he
varied his calling in that direction by dealing in calves, sheep,
dogs, old horses--in fact, he was quite ready to buy or sell anything
by which he could gain a profit, or, as he put it, “finger the rhino.”
Piggy Morris was once a respectable farmer, a tenant of Squire
Fuller’s, but his drinking habits had been his ruin. His farm
deteriorated so much that his landlord gave him notice to quit, and
had threatened to prosecute him for damages into the bargain. From the
day he was expelled from Eastthorpe to the time of which I am writing
Piggy Morris had nursed and cherished a deadly hatred to Squire
Fuller, and though some years had now elapsed, he still thirsted for
vengeance on the man who had “been his ruin.”
The victims of intemperance are marvellously skilful in laying the
blame of their downfall on men and circumstances, and Piggy Morris
attributed all his melancholy change of fortune to a hard landlord and
bad times.
After the loss of his farm, Morris had taken his present house because
of a malt-kiln which was on the premises, and he hoped to gain a trade
and position as maltster, which would equal if not surpass the
opportunity he had lost. But alas! the ball was rolling down the hill,
and neither malt-kiln nor brewery could stop it; indeed, as was most
probable, they gave it an additional impetus, and poor Morris was fast
descending to the low level of Midden Harbour. He was a keen, clever,
long-headed fellow, and could always make money in his huckstering
fashion, but he was sullen, sour, ill-tempered; at war with his better
self, he seemed to be at war with everybody else, which is perhaps one
of the most miserable and worriting states of mind into which sane men
can fall. His wife, poor soul, an amiable and thoroughly respectable
woman, was cowed and broken-spirited, and lived an ailing and
depressed life, sighing in chronic sorrow over the happiness and
comfort of other days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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