Ten Nights in a Bar RoomArthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
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Ten Nights in a Bar Room
Arthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
Christian fiction; Temperance -- Fiction
It is rarely, I believe, that wives consent freely to the opening of
taverns by their husbands; and the determination on the part of the
latter to do so, is not unfrequently attended with a breach of
confidence and good feeling never afterward fully healed. Men look
close to the money result; women to the moral consequences. I doubt if
there be one dram-seller in ten, between whom and his wife there exists
a good understanding--to say nothing of genuine affection. And, in the
exceptional cases, it will generally be found that the wife is as
mercenary, or careless of the public good, as her husband. I have known
some women to set up grog-shops; but they were women of bad principles
and worse hearts. I remember one case, where a woman, with a sober,
church-going husband, opened a dram-shop. The husband opposed,
remonstrated, begged, threatened--but all to no purpose. The wife, by
working for the clothing stores, had earned and saved about three
hundred dollars. The love of money, in the slow process of
accumulation, had been awakened; and, in ministering to the depraved
appetites of men who loved drink and neglected their families, she saw
a quicker mode of acquiring the gold she coveted. And so the dram-shop
was opened. And what was the result? The husband quit going to church.
He had no heart for that; for, even on the Sabbath day, the fiery
stream was stayed not in his house. Next he began to tipple. Soon,
alas! the subtle poison so pervaded his system that morbid desire came;
and then he moved along quick-footed in the way of ruin. In less than
three years, I think, from the time the grog-shop was opened by his
wife, he was in a drunkard's grave. A year or two more, and the pit
that was digged for others by the hands of the wife, she fell into
herself. After breathing an atmosphere poisoned by the fumes of liquor,
the love of tasting it was gradually formed, and she, too, in the end,
became a slave to the Demon Drink. She died at last, poor as a beggar
in the street. Ah! this liquor-selling is the way to ruin; and they who
open the gates, as well as those who enter the downward path, alike go
to destruction. But this is digressing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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