DIALOGUE III.
AT THE RETAILER’S STAND.
Conscience. Do you know that little half-starved, bare-footed child, that you just sent home with two quarts of rank poison?
(Retailer hums a tune to himself, and affects not to hear the question.)
Conscience. I see by the paper of this morning, that the furniture of Mr. M—— is to be sold under the hammer to-morrow. Have I not often seen him in your taproom?
Retailer. I am extremely busy just now, in bringing up our ledger.
Conscience. Have you heard how N—— abused his family, and turned them all into the street the other night, after being supplied by you with whiskey?
Retailer. He is a brute, and ought to be confined in a dungeon six months at least, upon bread and water.
Conscience. Was not S——, who hung himself lately, one of your steady customers? and where do you think his soul is now fixed for eternity? You sold him rum that evening, not ten minutes before you went to the prayer-meeting, and had his money in your pocket—for you would not trust him—when you led in the exercises. I heard you ask him once, why he did not attend meeting, and send his children to the Sabbath-school; and I shall never forget his answer. “Come, you talk like a minister; but, after all, we are about of one mind—at least in some things. Let me have my jug and be going.”