Chapter IV (2)

On the terraced lawn of one of the great English schools there are these Latin words, cut in the turf, visible from afar, “Dulce Domum”—“Sweet Home.” There they tell this sad story: A cruel head master, who had in those days almost unlimited power, kept a bright boy, a widow’s only son, at the school during the long summer vacation as punishment for some shortcoming. The lad saw all the others go away to their homes, saw the gates fastened, and he was forced to remain with his keepers. He knew his mother waited his coming; he asked the master with tears, the other boys all joining in the petition, that he might go home. “No, no,” was the stern reply, “you must remain.” No one was permitted to visit from the outside during vacation, and all the weary weeks the lad walked alone on the lawn or wept beneath the trees. His feet wore in the grass the rude outlines of the words “Sweet Home” as he paced in sorrow all the summer days. When school opened, the boy was dying of a broken heart, the mother was allowed to enter, she saw but the pale wreck of her noble son, sinking into death. He knew her not, but as she bent above his white face, she heard the words “Sweet Home, Sweet Home.” He was going home indeed, and no heartless master could hinder him now.

When all was over, the boys marched with spades to the lawn and cut the letters he had traced with his feet, and they abide there to this day, eloquently telling of the love the human heart has for home. This refuge and strong tower, gaming would utterly destroy.

Beginning with the specious plea of amusement, the player soon finds the game grows tasteless as an egg without salt unless there is a stake—at first a small stake, a few dimes or a dollar. Then comes the race track, the raffle, the lottery. Life’s duties seem dull, hilarious comradeship cheers him on, the perverted mind loathes clean food.

Sunday is the chosen day for this transgression. If the man works at all he slights his job, longs for a rainy day or break-down in the machinery to let him off; quarrels with his overseer, hastens to the card table to sit till late at night; looks on the foxiest tricksters around him with deference, thinks it a fine thing to be called a “sport,” smells of tobacco and brandy, is put by society in moral quarantine, barred out of desirable and helpful company, grows more reckless and with all his honor raveled to dirty shreds, becomes a hanger on, a roper, steerer, or double-faced decoy to lure others to the sacrifice.

These are the usual gradations. Now, he is an Ishmael, with only two motives of action, hatred of society, and fierce lust for gain. These burn in his breast till the suicide’s draught, or the crack of some outraged victim’s pistol puts an end to the man who could date his downfall to the day he took up cards for amusement.

He who might have been the head of a happy household goes down to death, his highest hopes being that he may be permitted to creep back

“To the vile dust from which he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored and unsung.”

His brother gamesters buy a wreath of flowers for his cheap coffin, and the blossoms wither as the baleful breath of these men falls on them when they file by for a farewell look. Poor lilies, you are out of place. A bunch of nightshade twisted with thorns were fitter for that casket. The preacher tries hard to say something consolatory, gives it up and dismisses the group, his soul sick within him as he thinks on the outcast’s doom and the fate of his fellows, already hurrying away to their den for another game. Such is the end of a sinful life wasted in gambling and associate vices.

What has become of the woman he married? He took her from a loving home, out of the shelter of a mother’s love. Well do we remember the night of the wedding feast. There are weddings as sad as funerals. This was one. We saw the traces of dissipation on him then. We, who were older and wiser, trembled for her. She was so young, so beauteous, so full of love’s content. They stood there radiant beneath the bridal arch, while a sister’s fingers woke from the piano the wedding march. The eager witnesses looked on, the elders moist eyed and prayerful, the younger folks with quickened pulses studied her face. Nothing of fear was there; only affection, truth and purity. Solemnly the responses were given—just a tremor in her low-spoken but firm “I will.” Then the wedding circlet on her finger gleamed, the binding words, “Till death do us part.” The burst of gratulation, hands outheld, kisses, laughter, smiles and tears, some quiet talk, friendly admonition, and “good night.”

Away to the great city, where he is tempted in the store, tempted on the street, tempted in the park, tempted on every hand. Now, he is away all night. She with her child, suffers on in silence; only her babe and her God see her nightly tears. Poverty’s bread is bitter, and love spurned makes the heart bleed. From cosy home to narrow flat, from flat to noisome tenement, from tenement to damp cellar, driven, forsaken at last, two rooms over an alley stable her only shelter. See her come home from her fruitless endeavor to find him in his haunts, chilled, weak, fainting, she comes to the stable door. With a burst of anguish beyond control she lifts her babe, lays the child in an empty manger, falls upon the straw kneeling and with lifted hands, her wan face white as a winter moon, implores her God to help her utter need. “Come to me, Lord,” she cries, “I am desolate, forsaken, ready to perish: only a stable for a dwelling, Lord. Only a manger wherein to lay my babe. Thou, O Christ, knowest my distress. Thy mother in a stable clasped thee, and Thou, like my helpless little one, wert laid here. Let me reach Thee, let my failing hands find Thy garment’s hem. Thou art good, O God, good beyond all telling. Have I not suffered? See how weak, helpless, deserted I am! Help me, I cry!”

To this, and far worse than this, come those whom this fell plague has bereft of the strong staff and support of home.

Look on another picture of the home where gambling and kindred evils have never entered. This couple started with little and have had a full share of adversity, but hand in hand, with steady effort, unflagging, unflinching, they have climbed to midlife, to business success, to easy circumstances, to honor, respect, influence, and troops of friends.

’Tis a winter evening; the wind howls in the lonely streets and bites to the bone. Belated people steady themselves in the gale, hurrying homeward. Within this home a glowing fire, with tropic heat and rosy light, paves a plaza of gold across the parlor floor. An astral lamp sheds soft brilliance on the heaped books and on the pictured walls. A lad romps in the firelight, another cons a magazine, a maid of twelve plays while her elder sister sings. The father, looking into the fire, ponders on the past. A chord of music wakes him from his reverie; they are singing “The Palace of the King;” he glances at the wife and says softly, “Alice, sit here a while.” Together they sit and talk of God’s goodness and love till the room broadens into the very vestibule of heaven, and they, through the door ajar, can almost look into the palace of the King. For fifteen years, true to the vows made to each other, true to the vows made to God, they have kept clear of vice and walked humbly, and as the happy wife leads in prayer amid the household, round the family altar, she thanks God that these agencies of the great hater of the soul have no power over Him who is the head of her happy household.

The fourth and last charge I bring against gambling is as heavy as any yet stated, and is the direct and final result of the other three.

_It damns the victim’s soul._

Can the transient delights of a few years of idleness and sensual gratification atone for an eternity of banishment from hope and heaven? Will the poor pleasures of the voluptuary, the theater and wine cup, the fast pace, the boughten smiles of wantons, the flashing pin, the showy clothes, the jingling fob, the curled mustache, and the whole empty round which the successful gamester treads, solace him for the loss of his immortal soul? Will the fleeting hours spent with unscrupulous men, adepts in trickery and confidence games, touts and tipsters, skilled in marked cards, bogus boxes, wheels of (mis)fortune and loaded dice, adroit in fascinating the unwary with hollow smiles and lying speeches, like honey mingled in the hemlock’s poisoned draught—will these repay the willing serf of Satan for a life wasted and a soul passed into hell? Surely not all the pleasures of this high domed, blossoming world heaped in the balance can outweigh the loss of heaven.

Is there anything in fallacious hopes, unstable judgment, despairing ventures or desperate ruin, attended by parental grief, rejected love, and never dying remorse, to make men seek the blandishments of iniquity?

Let not this seducer of youth corrupt your morals, pull down your fortune and cloud your future by his false promises. Let the downward career of others prove effectual warning. Rouse not this ungovernable lust for gain by hazard in your breast. Let the lottery, faro bank, pool room, race course, all such places be as pest houses to you, unless you are prepared to brave God’s intolerable scorn.

Remember that the man who, through any device of chance or knavery, takes money without giving anything in return, belongs in the class with the swindler and the thief. Remember that on the track of this evil follow defalcations, embezzlements, breaches of trust, false entries, forgeries, misappropriation of trust funds and crimes innumerable.

Rebuke its insidious flattery with stern face, and do not tamper with the lightest fringe of it.

What palpable political offence is perpetrated on common morality, and what a tension is put up on the minds of the toiling poor, when such corporations as the Louisiana lottery are licensed by the state to torture the people with glittering visions of wealth easily obtainable, and thus induce them to undergo more grinding poverty that every possible pittance may be laid on the altar of this fat idol to be swept into the wallets of the managers.

The burglar and pirate are respectable citizens compared to these vampires. Even the bookmaker, who controls not only the horse, but the jockey on whose skill you fondly hope to get a fair chance to win, is honorable by comparison. I had despaired of finding a match for the lottery shark, until I saw the man who would juggle with corn and wheat, cornering the necessities of life, using the increase on the price of the poor man’s loaf to line his pocket, and by combination of capital and shrewd manipulations of contingencies, making the sewing woman’s oil a little dearer that he might pile his own full board, and indulge in more luxurious or wasteful excess.

I fear these men are nursing a Carracas earthquake under the social system of this fair land.

Let every man to whom my words come, touch not the unclean thing, for,

“Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,
That to be hated needs but to be seen.
But seen too oft, familiar with his face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.”

This embrace means death for two worlds. Not even the strongest can get free once the shackles are locked on the limbs.

See Manoah’s boy, the brown babe who played beneath the mulberry trees of Judea while his parents reaped the barley and the durrha. Favorite of Jehovah, he grew in stature and strength, till he was the dread of Israel’s foes. When proud Philistia lifted its insolent mouth with curses to God, no angel legion hung pendulous like a white avalanche of wrath above them. No militant host from the blue sky burst to avenge the affront. God summoned this youth, whose neck was like a stag’s for brawn, and o’er whose massive shoulders swept the black terror of his hair, and bade him smite them. How they fled like sheep before him. How he rent the tawny lion jaw from jaw in mid air, as it leaped on the lover faring down to Timnath. Yet, this hero was led decked to the slaughter, blinded and undone by wicked associates; haltered like a beast, he trudged the weary round in the prison house of his foes, because he had not the wisdom to shun evil company.

As I meditate on the ruin of the fine young fellows who come up every year to this city and to all cities, knowing that these words will be tossed by the press into hundreds of quiet rural communities, I am resolved now to put my best energies and most earnest entreaties into this last appeal to young men. You are thinking of coming up to the city. You are set on this purpose; you will not be gainsayed or denied. I do not wish to hinder you if you come, seeking a broader field of usefulness and better opportunities for true success. If you come for pleasure, for mere money getting, or seeking entertainment of the baser sort, stay! We have too many now of that kind. Better your native hills encircled you, and all your days were spent where you were born, than come to the city on such an errand. But if you come to do rightly, live honestly, act manfully and fear God, all will be well. There is need of such men everywhere.

When you are ready to bid farewell to the old place, when you have taken a last look at the old bridge and the stream, the orchard and the lower meadow, when you have seen the swallows in the dusk of the old barn, the bucket in the old well, the pin in the old gate post and the bee hive in the old garden for the last time, when you have plucked a cluster of bloom from the honey locust and a few sweet pinks from the side of the path, and have kissed your sisters and cheered your father with the promise, “I will be home for Christmas,” while the stage is coming up the hill and your best boy friend holds your satchel at the roadside, dear boy, turn for a moment, climb up the stairs where mother is—you know the room, the room which is the holy of holies in any house, “Mother’s room”—kneel with her by the bed, and let that last tender prayer sink like a plummet into the crystal depths of your unpolluted soul. Take the little Bible she gave you out of your pocket, and ask her to write upon the fly leaf the single word that Duncan Matheson, the evangelist, wanted engraved upon his tombstone—the one word, “Kept.”

Now, with the chrism of that trusting mother’s kiss upon your forehead, come on, you are ready for battle—of such stuff are freedom’s young apostles made. The kings of commerce are always looking for well favored and spotless young men.

On the cars coming here you may meet the gambler. He will enter into conversation with you, he is well-informed and companionable. His genial manner and friendly style will impress you; by and by he will invite you into the smoking car to take a hand in a game of cards. Resent the implied indignity. Tell him you would rather get out and ride in a cattle car the balance of the way than mix fraternally with his breed. He will not withstand the fire in your eye, and the scorn in your speech. He will skulk off with a low oath, half hissed between his teeth. He will, however, have a higher opinion of the intelligence of the young man he mistook for a greenhorn, and you will be on better terms with yourself, and feel no accusing pangs of self-reproach from your conscience.

You will meet him or his mate afterwards on the street, in depots, restaurants, lobbies and offices. He will be affable and solicitous. Never exchange civilities with him, let your indignation burn at his approach, use the scourge of righteous wrath on him, and he will flee from your presence.

You will soon learn that while the gambler works hand in glove with every evil doer, his favorite co-worker and sharer in his unholy earnings is the scarlet woman. It would be safe to say that one-third of all the lost women of our cities are affiliated with men who live by schemes of chance and by the knavery which accompanies such trades. And thus, hand in hand, the sharper and the soiled dove, the sediment of society, the dregs of moral abomination, go down the broad road together. Keep far from this pair.

“Do good, my friend, and let who will be clever,
Do noble things, not dream them all day long.
And so make life and death and that vast forever,
One grand sweet song.”

Think not that there are no high-toned and godly young men in these great cities. Here are many of heroic mould, born and bred in the din of the town. They have kept their hands as stainless, their speech as pure, their hearts as gentle, as any reared in the quiet hamlets of the country. They are men of mettle, grounded in good principles, established and fixed, not fluctuating and unreliable.

A wise writer says when a young man has learned that he can be depended on, he is already of some account in the world. These young men have learned that. They have many pleasures and choice delights, but they reject the gamblers’ villainous bribes and flee his contaminating society, well aware, by the testimony of many unimpeachable witnesses, that his primrose path, which seemed so pleasant to the eye, ends in a labyrinth of remorse, whence the reprobate can no more return to fellowship with men.

There is in some parts of the West a periodical disease called the ague. It passes through phases of chills, sweats, nausea, discoloration and fever. When the fever seems to be grilling the sufferer, he sometimes has a slight delirium and vividly imagines that he is two persons—two separate and distinct personalities of the Jekyll and Hyde type—one is a kindly, courteous, clean man, ready to help anyone, quick to befriend and forward all who need his aid. The other is a cringing, envious, scowling loafer. The sick man sees these two sitting, one on each side of the bed, and each of them is he. A strange delusion, is it not? Yet, not so visionary as you might suppose. It is strictly scriptural and squares with experience.

The evil nature and the good are present in every man. His breast is the arena of a gladitorial combat between these two. St. Paul says, “I keep my body under.” That is, he held his carnal nature down under the feet of his spiritual nature.

In this fight the devil squires the evil, low-browed, lustful half of you. It is possible with help from on high, to beat these allies. St. John says, “I write unto you, young men, because you are strong, and have overcome the wicked one.”

What young men did then they can do to-day—master Satan and control the lower part of their natures, letting the higher and better part predominate, thus securely laying hold on eternal life.

The so-called pleasure of a life of sin is but a cup of cordial offered a condemned man on the way to execution; a feast of Damocles with the naked sword, thread-hung above the head; a dipping the hand in Belshazzar’s dainty dish, while the Divine finger writes the soul’s woe upon the wall.

In all this article I have been like one who anchors buoys above sunken rocks in the channel where many have gone down. I have been hanging red lamps above the slime pits of the city’s streets.

As the Alpine dwellers set a cross on the brink of a torrent or the verge of an abyss, to mark the spot where men have met death, so I have tried to lift up the symbol of salvation and keep the wayfarer from destruction.

If a man loses one fortune, he may accumulate another; if he lose a hand, he has another; if an eye, he can still make his way, but if his soul is lost, all is lost.

How can a sane man risk this soul and gamble with Belial, knowing the total renunciation of all joy that must follow its loss—to trudge forever the vassal of the slave of slaves through a sunless, starless eternity.

A spot is shown at Niagara where a child was dashed to death. A father, intending to give his child a slight fright, lifted her over the flood. A paroxysm of fear twisted the little one in his hands. She slipped—fell, her death shriek filling him with anguish as the seething flood swept the babe from his sight forever. Fool! fool! you say. Right; he was a fool, but what accusation will be brought against the man who stands at last, abashed and guilty, charged with flinging his soul into insatiable hell. Even when the gambler’s soul is saved, much that makes this life good is lost forever. The author of this volume has to drink this cup of bitterness to the dregs. His wicked life made a false charge seem plausible. A crime was fathered on him of which he was innocent. No virtues rose to plead trumpet tongued in his behalf; he had been a wrong-doer from early youth, so he was made to suffer. O, if he could live life over; the door is shut. O, if he could go among men, where talents and present longings fit him to go; the door is shut. O, if the one fair babe who once climbed to his knee could but smile up to him now and bruise his name to sweetness on his baby lips in the fashion of the old times. If that white hand could lay its benediction on his brow, with the silk soft touch of long ago. Alas, the door is shut. If that wife, so dear to him through all the dishonored years, could be restored, could walk with him hand in hand through the evening shadows across the home-leading fields where their babe waits their coming at the gate. O, that it could be. How immeasurable the loss entailed by him who is taken in the gamblers’ toils.

Perchance, these words may come under the eye of one whose brow bears already the stigma of this craft.

Brother, there must be hidden somewhere in your heart a remnant of your early purity. Drop the implements of your calling; let my hand slip into yours; come apart where we can sit and talk together. Pardon me if I press the question home to your conscience. What is to be the outcome of all this? Shake off the palsy of years, I pray you, and essay an answer. I wait to hear your own verdict on your case. You cannot always be blind to the havoc you are making; you cannot always be deaf to the piteous cries that go up to heaven’s chancery from women and children, kenneled in extreme want by reason of your profession. You blandly ask me Cain’s question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

Listen to Tennyson’s answer, adapted to your sneering philosophy, that each must look out for himself:

“Mark thou the bound, define it well,
For fear that this philosophy
May push beyond the mark and be
Procuress to the lords of hell.”

Of all arts there is but one more hated of men than yours, that of the procuress, who flings shrinking innocence into the arms of lust. You may only mean to strip away from man his temporal possessions. This is atrocious. But, my friend, do you not see that the secondary result is to put the souls of men and women into the grip of the demon, whose unsated lust ever asks for more? Above the brand of gambler must be stamped “Procurer for Perdition,” a soul-hunting hound, who, with the filthy pack, runs helpless ones into the dungeon of the lords of hell.

Rise up, shake off this dark enchantment—dash down the dice, shred the cards into the flames—pass out into the pure air, and while there yet is hope ask heavenly help to break your heavy chains.

Yours is the very insanity of crime; like the imprisoned eagle who might swim the blue sky and bathe in the sun, you are caged in a dungeon’s walls. Nature cannot furnish nor the imagination create a figure of speech to parallel your unfortunate condition.

Let us go back to first principles and ask, “What is a man? What was the Maker’s design when he fashioned man?” After creation was completed from chaos to order, from darkness to light, from the lowest polyp, through crinoid batrachian, reptile, fish, bird, to the highest mammals, God paused to consider what likeness the Prince of this earthly creation should wear. He was to be the link binding heaven and earth, animal and angel, material and spiritual, so that an unbroken chain of life might exist from the loftiest archangel to the lowest monad, related to both spheres and completing all; his body from one world, his soul from the other.

“What fashion shall he be formed in?” Was the question which seemed to give the Creator pause. None of the lower creatures would do for a model, as he must govern them and be superior to them. Surely some of the angelic or seraphic ones will be chosen as the pattern! They were mighty, beatific and holy; in favor with God and obedient to his behests.

If some shining one from beside the throne, who had been wrapt in the serene presence of the Uncreate, had been chosen, what an honor to be like him! But such a one is not selected. As our Father in Heaven thinks of his Child that is to be, we hear the mysterious declaration, “Let us make man in _our_ image, after _our_ likeness.” And so it was.

Consider the supreme honor done us in this act. God could find no being but himself fit to be thy pattern, and wilt thou for whom he passed the hierarchs of glory by, stoop to such groveling ingratitude as to ignore him and humiliate thy brother man?

Oh, that I could inspire you to cast these cords far from you, and rise toward that mark set for you by our kind and ever present Lord. Come out from among these Philistines.

I would as soon expect to grow a plant under the dripping of vitrol or in the fumes of sulphur as in such a place, and if you willfully persist in impiety, you must expect retribution to overtake your impenitence and the last door of hope will be shut.

Remember:

“There is woe whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath.
Oh, what eternal horrors hang
Around the second death.”

Perhaps you came out of a religious home and had a legacy of faithful prayers; a pious parent dedicated you to God in infancy, and as the baptisimal drops fell on your baby brow, they fervently hoped that your nature might know the inward cleansing of which that rite was the outward sign.

All the riches of Midas would not give you such pleasure as the memories of that dear old couple, if you were in the way they trod so long. Oft in the village church, or at the cottage altar, your father, bowed with white hair and dim eye, lifted his voice in supplication for you. Oft he led you o’er the hill on Sabbath Day, pensive, rejoicing, giving you good counsel in quiet tones, or telling at dusk with open Bible, and the family in a circle about him, some rich story of Holy Writ, which now comes back at times in the quaint old-fashioned words to your remembrance as you trample daily on the truth he taught you. A verse of some melodious hymn sung by your mother floats up out of the past, sweeter than opera strains to you.

Can the driveling ditties and sentimental songs affected by your associates drown the cadence of that tender old voice crooning the songs of Zion? Often she looked in your eyes. They were not bloodshot then, not dim with vigils at the iniquitous game, but pure and deep as the wells of Gaza; your face was as the dawn to her, your forehead candid and fair.

What dreams she had of your useful and exalted career. Has it all come to this? Are you not glad the saintly old couple are asleep on the hillside under the yew trees, with eyes closed and hands folded in the long rest! Could you revisit that place you would not care to meet old friends, they might ask annoying questions and start vain regrets. You would just slip out half a mile to that burial ground, every step seeming to make your burden heavier, every moment to aggravate your unbearable guilt. Once there, by those two graves, alone, unseen of man, you would bow and put your face in the grass, weeping that you could get no nearer to the beloved ones. This you would do, and it would be the manliest thing you have done for many a miserable month.

There is a manlier yet. That old couple is not there; they are nearer to you than that in spirit, they are not far from you now. Better than tears to them would be the solemn resolution to leave this moment and for aye the guilty men and evil trade which have brought you low.

Give me thy hand, man! Look level in my eyes! Gird up thy loins, there is help nigh.

Break away! Break away! All may yet be forgiven and atoned for. Pluck up heart. You shall yet praise God with all your ransomed powers. Your heart shall cast forth its idols, and shall let all its tendrils of affection curl and twine about the Cross. Your soul shall adore Him and have one object of worship. He shall have full dominion over you. Your mind with all its renewed faculties shall exult in liberty. Even your body shall share in the general joy and fulfill all its functions with a glad obedience unknown before.

A traveler who had put a girdle round the earth and studied many nations, was asked to relate the most thrilling incident of his long and eventful life. He hesitated long, hushed in thought, and said: “It occurred just before the civil war. I was crossing from this country to Canada in a ferry boat. The captain knew me, as I had often crossed with him. Midstream he touched my arm and said, ‘Come with me, I will show you something worth seeing.’ I followed him to the dark coal hole of the craft, and when my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw crouching in a corner a black man, an escaped slave. Helped through the North by friends, he was nearing liberty; for no shackles could come, no slave hunter tread the soil where floated the flag of England. As the boat neared the shore the captain beckoned to him, and while we all gazed on him he crept to the bow, impatient to gain the shore. Never on any face have I seen such burning eagerness. As the keel touched the gravel, with a mighty shout he bounded into the water, waded ashore, all dripping, and turning his great eyes to the heavens, his chest heaving with emotion, he cried, ‘O God! O God! At last! At last! I’se free! I’se free!’

“There,” said the traveler, “I saw the greatest spectacle of my life, a soul springing full statured from slave to man in an hour.”

Surely ’twas a stirring sight, but there is an escape more moving yet—to see the slave of evil habits long driven by his task master, cross the line to moral manhood and break into the larger liberty of the gospel.

I have seen it done—seen the drunkard snap his shackles—the bondman of habit leap out of his old sins with a mighty effort, and begin a new life.

The truth is seeking an entrance into your heart, even as the sunbeams seek entrance into a long disused and darkened room. How patiently they play about the door, peeping into every crevice, slipping wedges of gold through the shutters and laying bars of bullion on the dusty floor. “Let us in,” they cry, “we will cast out the devils of gloom, disease, dirt, dampness. Let us in.”

Every dawn they come again to plead, every sundown they go reluctantly away. At last, the master from within flings open the door, pushes wide the shutters, lifts the windows, and in they rush to rinse every nook, cleanse every corner, reveal every stain, and they will not be satisfied till all is renewed, swept and garnished within.

You wonder, like the prodigal, sometimes, if you would be received if you returned. Listen to that broken column of marble, lying there among the rubbish. I thought I heard it laugh. There it is again. Listen! Hear it saying, “Oh, happy stone that I am.” Others sneer and say, “What is there to give you happiness, lying there forsaken, among the debris of this old temple?” “I rejoice,” replies the blackened pillar, “not for what I am, but for what I am to be. The great sculptor, Angelo, was here to-day. He measured me, he made a mark on me. I heard him say as he looked at me, ‘This will do.’”

“A block of marble caught the beam of Bunarrotti’s eyes, Which lighted in their darkling depths like meteor lighted skies, And one who stood beside him listened, smiling as he heard, ‘For I will make an angel of it,’ was the sculptor’s word.

Then chisel sharp, and mallet strong, that stubborn block assailed, And blow by blow, and pang by pang, the prisoner unveiled; A brow was lifted, pure and high, a waking eye outshone And as the master swiftly wrought, a smile broke through the stone.

Beneath that chisel’s edge, the hair escaped in flowing rings, And plume by plume were slowly freed, the sweep of half furled wings, The stately bust, the shapely limbs their stony fetters shed, And where the shapeless block had been, an angel stood instead.

Oh, blows that smite, oh, pangs that pierce this shrinking heart of mine, What are ye but the Master’s tools, forming a work divine? Oh, hope that crumbles at my feet, oh, joy that mocks and flies, What are ye but the bond that keeps my spirit from the skies?

Sculptor of souls, I lift to Thee my cumbered heart and hands, Spare not the chisel, set me free, however dear the bands; How blest if all these seeming ills which turn my heart to Thee, Shall only prove that Thou wilt make an angel out of me.”

Even within the vilest sinner, there is a glorious possibility. Once in the hands of Christ, hidden beauty will shine forth and deformity will disappear. So beautiful will he make the soul that it will be fit for the inheritance of the saints in light.

Weep not over misspent youth, much may yet be done, even now. Crippled as you are, you may have a little work to show in return for His love. You may never have as much as others, but there is this consolation, you may love Him as dearly, obey Him as implicitly, follow Him as closely, and suffer for Him as gladly, as any of His church.

Sometimes I think you can know Him better for your very misery. Hear the ninety and nine telling the praises of the Good Shepherd; how he has led them, folded them, defended them. When all have spoken in concurrent testimony, the lost sheep, crippled, scarred, torn, speaks in tones low and full of pathos: “All you have said is true, but none of you know the dear Shepherd as I know him. I am the most unworthy of all, yet into the hills, among the wolves, in the dark night, through the cold streams, He came seeking me. I was bleeding, mangled on the rocks, ready to die. Through the pelting of the pitiless storm I heard Him call my name, saying, ‘Come home, come home.’ Tenderly he lifted me, gently bound up my wounds, patiently he carried me all the way. Ah, you know something of His love, _but I know nothing else.”_

So it is. There is room in His mercy for all, and if there is no other gate into the city of refuge that you dare to enter, hold my hand and together we will go into this one, which he opened for us.

“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber’s Note

This text, frankly, is rife with errors. It is often not possible to attribute the errors of spelling and punctuation to the author or the printer. Generally, obvious punctuation errors (missing periods, unbalanced quotation marks, etc.) have been corrected, and noted in the table below.

Typographical mistakes (e.g. inverted or transposed letters, doubled syllables on line breaks, ‘halt’ for ‘half’, etc.) are also corrected and noted.

Spelling errors are more problematic. Where other instances of a word are spelled correctly (by our standards),they are noted and corrected. The Single instances are noted, but remain uncorrected. Many very obvious mistakes (e.g., conspicious, sufficent, countenaces) have been corrected. The goal was to render the text readable while preserving as accurately as possible the author’s intent.

In passages of extended quotation, the author (or printer) regularly fails to be consistent in the use of quotations marks, either failing to include the opening mark on continuing paragraphs, or neglecting to nest them properly using single marks.

In the section of Part I, Chapter II on “Hindoos”, a quoted narrative beginning on the bottom of p. 75 abandons the use of enclosing double quotation marks for each paragraph by the top of p. 77.

A quote purportedly from the _Eclectic Magazine_ of May, 1885, beginning on p. 148, fails to clearly finish, with a confusion of quotation marks making that a matter of speculation. That volume of the magazine has no article regarding gambling (which might have allowed a correct scope for the passage).

On pp. 431-437, a letter and an extended description of various gambling devices uses only a single opening quotation, and is distinguished from the main text only by the use of a smaller font.

Beginning on p. 178, a passage from the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ of 1796 is quoted, but the quotation marks are inconsistently applied. These have been corrected for clarity. There are several points, where the author lapses into paraphrase, that are left intact here.

Rather than attempting to regularize the punctuation of these passages, the text is given as printed.

The author employs borrowed French words usually without providing accents.

The name ‘Petitt’ is also found as ‘Pettit’ and since the former was more frequently the case, the several instances of the latter were corrected.

On p. 474, there are several paragraphs which repeat verbatim a passage appearing on p. 472, beginning with ‘Lottery playing has always...’ and ending three paragraphs later with ‘...so popular among the people at large as was the Havana Lottery.’ This is without doubt a typesetting error, and the redundant passage has been removed. The removed paragraphs occurred here.

In discussing the South Sea Bubble, the author repeatedly refers to Tobias Smollet as ‘Smallet’ or ‘Smallett’. Each variant has been retained and noted.

Hyphenation of compound words follows the text. Where the hyphen appears on a line or page break, it is kept or discarded in keeping with other instances.

Inconsistencies in the punctuation of the Index are corrected without further mention here.

The references in this table are to the page and line in the original.

8.11 “knowledge of good and evil.[’/”] Replaced. 10.35 “Striking the White Dove[”] Added. 14.48 “Ropers” and [“]Steerers” Added. 18.25 “Straddles”[—]Fictitious Added. 24.34 his policy [to-]toward gambling, 404. Removed. 37.4 it may serve to illus[s]trate Removed. 40.42 failed to d[e/i]scover the right one. Replaced. 50.25 as thereupon made again[s]t me Added. 51.32 cared little[.] Added. 54.8 The latter was cor[r]oborated by his wife Inserted. 55.28 They had kind[s] words for us Removed. 55.29 in that hour of our humil[i]ation Inserted. 55.32 by that ma[t]chless orator Inserted. 56.22 he proceeded to Indian[o/a]polis Replaced. 97.33 gamble for ‘Loukouni,’ _sic_ Loukoumi? 60.8 a Young Men’s Christian Association[”] Removed. 63.7 [“/‘]God bless mamma and papa ... Replaced. 63.8 ... and everybody. Amen.[’]” Inserted. 58.43 such a [grievious] wrong, _sic_ grievous 75.43 more a matter of chance[.] Added. 79.16 [“]What waste of words Added. 84.38 who were conspic[i/u]ous for Replaced. 85.5 Two Ta[n/ou]ist priests Replaced. 87.36 It consisted of three sixes on the Replaced. _te[rr/ss]esarae_ 89.23 at the battle of [Acton]? _sic_ Actium 94.15 which pierced the mirror behind him.[”] Added. 97.6 advertisements of the [sanitive] properties _sic_ sanative 98.6 they can earn money so easily?[’] Added. 102.23 described them as [“]arrayed _sic_: unclosed quote. 112.12 is now the only social entertainment[s] of the Removed. salons 110.22 [“]Her husband, Added. 110.28 [“]There was an expression Added. 110.36 [“]Another figure at the gaming table Added. 111.2 that she was an Englishwoman.[”] Added. 117.12 is the last and sole represen[ta]tive of the Inserted. class 117.17 a suffic[i]ent guarantee Inserted. 120.3 to violence, drunken[n]ess and gaming Inserted. 122.27 the oldest magistrate in the [parliment] _sic_ parlement or parliament 122.41 in fullness of their te[r]merity Removed. 123.40 to such a noble position,[”] Added. 127.23 A large propor[tion] of the patrons Missing. 128.19 some sort of lia[i]son Inserted. 128.36 has long been ended.[”] Added. 129.41 of the game on a Mississipp[p]i river boat Removed. 131.4 he said[,] “until one evening in 1872 Added. 135.6 in other European countries[.] Added. 136.9 do not play for gain but for pleasure.[”] Added. 141.1 and his footman told me so,” he replied.[”] Removed. 141.33 the catastrophe of Sir [, ——/ ——,] who has Comma moved. frittered away 141.39 but there was nothing done.[”] Added. 143.19 are said to be fully £150,000 ($750,000[.)/).] Transposed. 144.7 [‘/“]The ‘hells’ generally Replaced. 145.19 accumulated a col[l]ossal fortune Removed. 148.10 another occas[s]ion he kept the bank Removed. 148.28 succ[c/e]eded in winning back Replaced. 150.38 which the police raid from time to time.[”] Removed. 152.19 “Roulette, £1,000 in the bank[.]” Added. 154.40 If the caster throws d[ue/eu]ces or aces Transposed. 155.23 portrayed on the countena[n]ces of the players Inserted. 156.30 they are at their own homes.[’] Added. 160.23 as [Smallett] has truly called it _sic_ Smollett 162.1 says [Smallet], _sic_ Smollett 162.30 Smallett gives us _sic_ Smollett 163.6 interfered with the usefuln[e]ss of servants Inserted. 163.38 under a pen[alty] of 40s Completed. 163.43 a monthly penalty of 40s. for every default.[”] Added. 166.25 he hastily decamped[.] Added, 170.40 to jeopardize them again[.] Added. 173.3 he soon bec[o/a]me an ensign Replaced. 174.16 [“]When King James ascended Removed. 174.15 was very glad of his absence.” Added. 174.30 by which those famil[i]ar with the tricks Inserted. 178.12 the latter apol[i/o]gized for becoming Replaced. intoxicated 179.4 where I am to be found.[”/’] Replaced. 179.24 [”]Mr. Justice Rooke summed up the evidence Added. 179.26 [“/‘manslaughter[’/” Replaced. 179.41 was another eminent Englishm[e/a]n Replaced. 179.43 [“/‘]We played a good deal at Replaced/Added. [“/‘]Goosetree’s[’]” 180.10 [“/‘]What, Wilberfor[c]e is that you?[”/’] Corrected/inserted. 180.16 Miles’ and ‘Evans’[,] Brooks[,] Boodle’s, Added. White’s and Goosetree’s. 181.10 “Twenty-five guineas,[”] answered the alderman. Added. 182.12 The cases of Lords Halifax, Ang[el/le]sey Transposed. 186.32 and by the [decrepted] old negro _sic_ decrepit 189.14 the will of the people[.] Added. 196.2 (“Make your play, gentlemen!” “Nothing more Added. goes!”[)] 198.13 to pull from the ends like “rakes[:/.]” Replaced. 200.4 which will be explained[.] Added. 201.21 to the grating of the finger nails[.] Added. 201.40 in advance of the de[s/c]k Replaced. 207.1 Here’s your money old man.[”] Added. 208.17 entered the ap[p]artment Removed. 212.22 Close[,] one of the best known Added. 214.2 one of the “peculiar institutions[”] Added. 216.24 [“]When a player puts in that much Removed. 218.18 instead of saying [‘/“]I bet,” Replaced. 219.31 which may [h/b]e held by players Replaced. 222.33 a moral impossibility for the unsoph[ist]icated Inserted. 226.26 until number 3 has “staked” his [“]pile.” Added. 227.19 the person to who[w/m] he wishes to give Inverted. 230.44 In some of the succe[e]ding paragraphs Inserted. 236.27 he bet wildly on his adve[r]sary’s deal Inserted. 236.39 the foot of the operator accident[al]ly slipped Inserted. 242.4 a liberal supply of worthless checks[.] Added. 244.29 and the [apperture] in the box _sic_ aperture 246.39 While a rouge et no[u/i]r table Replaced. 248.9 marked “[B/R],” is for wagers on the red Replaced. 248.24 the first and last hal[t/f] of the numbers Replaced. 252.15 is thus enabled t[e/o] win through fraud Replaced. 254.7 Two it[e/i]nerant sharpers Replaced. 254.14 and that—to use a colloqu[i]alism— Inserted. 257.10 holding neither face cards no[t/r] tens Replaced. 260.3 it makes not the sligh[t]est difference Inserted. 264.9 I’m your man for twenty or so.[’]” Removed. 266.37 “Briefs” may also be advantageou[s]ly used Inserted. 267.42 “just a little higher.[”] Added. 268.1 [“]When a “gudgeon” displays Removed. 270.4 the kingdom of Great Brit[ia/ai]n Transposed. 271.22 with absolute certain[i]ty Removed. 271.39 that will fill the d[a/e]aler[’]s hand Replaced/Inserted. 272.4 they already hold nineteen or twenty[,/.] Replaced. 273.15 in the land of the Pharoahs _sic_ Pharaohs 273.29 will be treated _seriatum_ _sic_ seriatim 274.10 on the corresponding squares on the cloth[,/.] Replaced. 275.3 has never [occured] to him _sic_ occurred 275.21 “the old army [“]game,” Removed. 277.36 the other dice is in[s]cribed Inserted. 282.29 that his luck may not ap[p]ear Inserted. 284.5 of an immense n[e/u]mber of “fakirs,” Replaced. 287.37 as explained above[.] Added. 288.29 the “book-keeper[”] occasionally brings Added. 290.36 By simply pressing on this [mechanicism] _sic_ mechanism 295.40 (as shown in fig. [1/2]) Corrected. Fig. 2 is unlabelled. 369.37 the hair escaped i[u/n] flowing rings Inverted. 300.12 a “[a ]sure winner” for the manipulator Removed. 301.32 the proprietor knows [t/w]hat number Replaced. 309.31 and will also give him a gratuit[i]ous chance Removed. 312.15 The inherent [villany] of such a transaction _sic_ villainy 312.26 is substantially as describ[e]d below Inserted. 314.35 “Why,[”] man, Mississippi is a big State, Removed. 314.36 What city?[”] Added. 316.2 from the hands of his friend[.] Added. 316.16 with which the sc[r]oundrels have taken Removed. 318.35 [‘/“]Beyond a question.” Replaced. 320.26 He said, ‘An Indian ain’t got any rights Replaced. anyhow[,/.] 321.19 and sell it outright[./?]” Replaced. 321.33 the height of the ho[n/u]ses Inverted. 331.11 by members of the fraternity as “send”[.] Added. 334.22 as they lie upon the table[.] Added. 336.18 in having a second conf[i]ederate Removed. 338.14 the“agent[”] of the gift distribution scheme Added. 341.4 he (the sharper) ia the[;] agent Removed. 341.30 submits to his loss without a [murmer]. _sic_ murmur 353.18 bet on a certainty.[”] Removed. 353.40 you shentlemen’s want nohow?[”] Added. 355.28 The “soap man” t[u/a]kes his position Replaced. 357.15 with the fleet-f[l]ooted runner. Removed. 357.18 he is glad that his “uncle[”] Added. 361.39 [“]I thought as much,” Added. 366.35 My inborn proclivities were towards physic[i]al Removed. cowardice 367.30 in a small Missouri village[.] Added. 370.30 without attracting their attention.[tion.] Removed. 371.17 that his [custodion] was a devotee _sic_ custodion 373.39 His next mess[s]age to his father Removed. 374.36 and offer to stake them for $2.00[.] Added. 374.40 as good a “bottom dealer” [w]as there [w]as in Removed/Added. the country 376.9 give me a nick[le/el]’s worth. Transposed. 377.19 he accosted us[.] Added. 378.17 O[’i/’]ive got the wrong man.[”] Transposed/Added. 382.41 than between two meals[,/.] Replaced. 383.49 She replied, “[‘] might be buried in it.” Removed. 384.1 and then started for home[,/.] Replaced. 384.2 seemed to be “turned around[”] to me Added. 389.24 receiving their stipul[ l/ulat]ed proportion Replaced. 390.31 property of this de[cs/sc/ription Transposed. 395.6 Not[h]withstanding all this lavish outlay Removed. 399.20 [harrassing] them night and day _sic_ harassing 404.6 had the power to enfor[c]e his behest Inserted. 405.7 one outside watchman at $20[:/;] Replaced. 407.37 Keplinger’s patent [00] _sic_ 409.28 St[au/ua]rt Eddy Transposed. 411.28a he s[au/ua]vely asked Transposed. 411.28b “how can I accom[m]odate you? Removed. 415.4 He sprang from [s/a] good New England family Replaced. 417.28 power of long-sustain[e]d application Inserted. 418.6 Ex[ -]Governor Jenkins, of Colorado Added. 426.35 “[‘]The players Removed. 427.14 [‘/“]That’s all right,” answered Allriver. Replaced. 427.16 “I’ve inquired into that[,]” Added. 433.13 loaded dice come i[s/n] sets of “9” Replaced. 440.3 “Ed.[’/”] Moses sauntered up Replaced. 440.9 is drinking the mellow[i/e]st “bourbon” Replaced. 440.30 and a few dime[s] Added. 441.41 [being] a favorite resort for stock-brokers _sic_ became? 441.42 overcome their old time sporting proclivities[.] Added. 442.3 chiefl[l]y “brace” Removed. 446.35 A large p[or/ro]portion of these “touts” Transposed. 447.6 to a president[i]al election Inserted. 451.8 sc[h]edule of rates Inserted. 452.18 the fair was for some[ ]time the question Inserted. 452.41 who for some[ ]time tried without success Inserted. 457.39 of the third mun[i]cipality Inserted. 459.11 McGrath, Sherwood and Pet[ti/it]t were the first Transposed. 461.11 Davis, McGrath and Pet[ti/it]t, in particular Transposed. 461.37 (which came in a few weeks[)] Added. 464.30 Mr. Shak[e]speare Removed. 468.33 has not proved more re[num/mun]rative Transposed. 469.30 as affording even greater fluc[ut/tu]ations Transposed. 470.30 the tangible result [that was/was that] in the Words single year transposed. 471.2 was accustomed, now and then[,] to “take a Added. little flyer.” 471.6 More[o]ver the business Inserted. 476.17 “Age cannot wither nor custom sta[t/l]e” Replaced. 477.27 The “sports” had become politic[i]ans Inserted. 477.32 the sentiment in the legislature again[s]t Inserted. gaming 478.8 Temporary [abberation] of mind _sic_ aberration 478.40 unprecedented and unparal[el/le]led in history Transposed. 479.3 they found the [i/I]ndians racing ponies Capitalized. 479.32 until some[ ]time in or about 1872 Inserted. 480.1 in each instance has ignomin[i]ously failed Inserted. 480.25 most of the dealers and [supernumeries] _sic_ supernumeraries 483.7 being permitted to “sit,[’/”] Replaced. 491.8 applicants for admiss[s]ion are subjected Removed. 492.8 There is then another outcry[,] they are ordered Added. 504.19 a very prominent Republican politic[i]an Added. 505.2 a great devotee of the game[.] Added. 507.4 patronized almost exclusively by the _elite[.]_ Added. 509.28 burned out an extensive gam[b]ling establishment Inserted. 511.13 Professional gam[e]sters Inserted. 511.35 a remarkable degree the [effrontry] _sic_ effrontery 511.40 assemble for the same purpose in each other[’]s Added. rooms[.] 512.23 to lose it again[.] Added. 515.17 and “chuc[h/k]-a-luck,” were not neglected Replaced. 516.14 was immediately resumed[,/.] Replaced. 517.27 at the sailor[’s/s’] boarding houses Transposed. 520.23 the infatuation of the habit s[ie/ei]zed upon Transposed. him 521.10 is certain that in [t]he history of gambling Added. 522.23 For[r]ester about 20 years ago Inserted. 523.15 a part of his entertainment[.] Added. 526.2 they are fug[u/i]tives and outcasts Replaced. 535.10 were to be calm[l]y and quietly Inserted. 537.31 But, [sa/as] in all other trades Transposed. 537.32 The habitues and[c / c]ustomers Transposed. 538.9 “Steerers[”] were numerous Added. 538.36 corral[l]ing some of the large profits Inserted. 542.13 drawing the capital prize[.] Added. 544.25 to promote and foster gambling[,/.] Replaced. 545.43 “Sock” Ri[el]le]y Transposed. 547.35 whose steps take hold on hell[.] Added. 549.34 and at first with var[r]ying success. Removed. 557.13 [I]t became generally recognized Added. 561.8 that is, the individu[a]l chances Inserted. 565.4 to have been a large field of favorites[.] Added. 573.23 to individual policeme[u/n] Replaced. 577.20 the sale of commodit[i]es Inserted. 579.6 It follows that he is natu[u/r]ally Replaced. 584.20 is incomprehensible to the uni[ni]tiated Inserted. 587.26 was the outgrowth of disappointed[,] self- Removed. seeking 590.32 jammed with a[u/n] excited throng Inverted. 595.23 the [“]dissemination of valuable commercial Added. 596.4 the self-stultification went even farther[,/.] Replaced. 596.35 spots upon the b[ody] Restored. 596.36 the very heart of so[cial] morals Restored. 601.14 the fungus-like excres[c]ence Inserted. 607.13 Astronomy helped make Newton[;/,] art made Replaced. Angelo, 613.2 every released convict[,/.] Replaced. 613.5 [s/S]ir, tell them this Capitalized. 615.9 I never cou[n]tenanced the evil Inserted. 615.40 the big winning last night.[”] Added. 620.33 within all is punk and hollowness[.] Added. 623.30 I can win my bread.[”] Added. 625.12 forehead of his child with such a wrong[”] Added. 625.17 while the meta[l]lic Inserted. 625.22 to con[s]ciousness Inserted. 633.43 One grand sweet song.[”] Added. 634.27 [gladitorial] combat _sic_ 634.29 his spiritual nature[.] Added. 634.33 the wicked one.[”] Added. 636.6 define it well[./,] Replaced. 636.32 the loftiest archang[le/el] Transposed. 639.23 [“] for what I am not Added. 640.22 _but I know nothing else._[”] Added.