A True Story.
“Don’t go up! Don’t go up! It is too horrible! Oh! horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible!”
The speaker was a slight, elegant, girlish-looking creature, but her attitude was one of utter despair, as she crouched upon the staircase of a spacious and handsome house.
Her satin dress and sparkling ornaments spoke of gay festivity; but her beautiful hair was all disheveled, her face was hidden in her hands, and her words concluded with a shriek of horror.
The gentleman she addressed introduced himself as the earliest and most intimate friend of her husband. They had been like brothers, he said, and he could not pass through H—without coming to see him.
“Is it day?” cried the girl, wringing her hands. “I know not how time goes. I have been here all night.”
“My time is short,” said the gentleman earnestly, “pray let me see my dear friend.”
“Sir, I implore of you not to insist. Must I tell you the dreadful truth? He is dying. He has killed himself! The doctors are with him. Oh, horror! horror! horror! horror!” “Madam, for the love of heaven, speak calmly. I heard he was ill, but never dreamed of this. How and when did this fearful event occur? Under what circumstances?”
“Oh, it is that hateful gaming table! He has been plunging deeper and deeper into play. Sometimes he won, and would come home in the wildest spirits, ―but oftener, far oftener, he lost. Last night I had just come home from a ball, when he rushed in like a madman, and told me to give him five thousand francs.
“‘This moment, this moment!’ he shouted.
“ ‘How can I?’ I said; ‘you know I have not got it.’
“He rushed into his dressing-room uttering a fearful exclamation. I followed instantly, and found him with a pistol in his hand. I seized his arm, the shot went off, but swerved, ―I cannot tell you the rest. They tell me that he still lives, but I must not see him.”
“Madam, allow me!” And with one bound the friend had cleared the upper steps of the staircase. The next moment he was in the sufferer’s room,
Truly it was a horrible sight!
The patient, seated on a mattress, was supported by two men.
The explosion had carried away part of his face. The lips, the tongue, the nose, the eyes, were gone, ―and yet the man still lived.
“Is it possible that he is still living?” said the friend, as soon as he could recover breath to speak, after the shock of such a spectacle.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “but now he has only a few minutes to live.”
Can he hear?”
“You can try.”
Kneeling beside the dying man, the faithful friend called him by name.
“My dear Gustave, I am your friend Herman. If you hear me and understand me, press my hand.”
The pressure was made.
“You are about to die. In a few minutes you will be face to face with God. Listen to His message. I have received it in my own soul, and now bring it to you. It is God’s own message to your soul.”
Another and stronger pressure was perceptible.
With a heart bursting with emotion, with a firm and thrilling voice, the faithful friend declared the just judgment of God upon sin, and the eternal condemnation of the sinner.
The hand shook.
Do you feel yourself justly condemned?”
The same answer.
“Listen, then, to what the just Judge says. I’ have found a ransom.’ ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.’”
Then with deep, intense fervor, the faithful friend urged the dying man to look to Jesus, — the Almighty Saviour, who is able to save to the uttermost, and who has said, “Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.”
“Gustave, dear Gustave, if you can believe, if you can hope in Christ, press my hand.”
The words were spoken with tears, with prayers, with anguish, above all with love and faith; and the anxiety that God might be glorified by the salvation of this precious soul became intense.
Oh, how long the moments seemed whilst the hand remained motionless! What was the meaning of this inertia? Was it unconsciousness, paralysis, death? Was the heart still alive to feeling, the mind to thought? Could the soul respond? Oh, what eternal interests hung upon this moment of time!
Little by little the trembling fingers closed upon the strong and loving hand. Then pressed them again and again, opening and closing with evident emphasis and meaning.
Was this the appointed sign? Was it a heart-cheering response, or was it but a last farewell?
None could tell.
A few minutes later the soul was in the presence of God. This story is true and is but one of thousands that might be narrated, illustrating the fatal effects of gambling.
O dear young reader, shun the gaming-table. Shun it as the first step to ruin, ―ruin both in this world and the next. A taste for the excitement of gambling is easily acquired, but most difficult to eradicate.
Shun it then as you would shun an insidious and deadly poison. “Touch not, taste not, handle not.” Shun the scenes where it prevails, and do not tamper with temptation.
How full of wisdom is Solomon’s advice, “Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.”
Our Heavenly Father has put so many innocent pleasures, so many healthy and delightful pursuits within our reach, it seems strange that any should turn from them to follow that which is degrading and destructive.