"What, father?"

"Never to go into a tavern again."

"Never!"

"No, never. And I'll promise still more."

"Father?"

"Never to drink a drop of liquor as long as I live."

"Oh, father! dear, dear father!" And with a cry of joy Mary
started up and flung herself upon his breast. Morgan drew his arms
tightly around her, and sat for a long time, with his lips pressed
to her cheek--while she lay against his bosom as still as death.
As death? Yes: for when the father unclasped his arms, the spirit
of his child was with the angels of the resurrection!

It was my fourth evening in the bar-room of the 'Sickle and
Sheaf'. The company was not large, nor in very gay spirits. All
had heard of little Mary's illness; which followed so quickly on
the blow from the tumbler, that none hesitated about connecting
the one with the other. So regular had been the child's visits,
and so gently excited, yet powerful her influence over her father,
that most of the frequenters at the 'Sickle and Sheaf' had felt
for her a more than common interest; which the cruel treatment she
received, and the subsequent illness, materially heightened.