The Dalles daily chronicle. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1890-1948, 1891-03-14

SohAOAiA2e,s IL tHrcc YEARS WAS tnEOWn Ou
his mother for support. An only son went
to a southern city; he was rich, intellectual
and elegant in manners. His parents gave
him on his departure from home their last
blessing. The sharpers got hold of him.
They flattered him. They lured him to the
gaming table, and let him win almost every
time for a good while, and patted him on
the back and said, First rate player
But fully in their grasp they feeced him,
and his thirty thousand dollars were lost.
Last of all he put up his watch and lost
that. Then he began to think of his home
and his old father and mother, and wrote
thus:
''My Beloved Parents-You will doubt
less feel momentary joy at the reception
of this letter from the child of your bosom,
on whom you have lavished all the favors
of your declining years. But should feel
ing of joy for moment spring up in your
hearts when you should have received this
from me, cherish it not. l have fallen
deep--never to rise Those gray hairs that
I should have honored and protected
shall bring down with sorrow to the grave.
I will not curse my destroyer, but oh! may
God avenge the wrongs and impositions
practised upon the unwary in a way that
shall best please him. This, my dear
parents, is the last letter you will ever re-
ceive from me. L humbly pray your for
giveness. 1t is my dying prayer. Long
before you have received this letter from
me the cold grave will have closed upon
me forever. Life to me Is insupportable.
I cannot, nay, will not. suffer the shame
of having ruined you. Forget and forgive
is the dying prayer of your unfortunate
son. {"
FOUL FOUL
The old father came to the postofice, got
the letter and fell to the floor. They
thought he was dead at first; but they
brushed back. the white hair from his
brow and famed him. He had only faint
ed 1 wish he had been dead, for what is
life worth to a father after his son is de-
stroyed? When things go wrong at a gam
ing table they shout, Foul foulP' Over
all the gaming tables of the world l cry
out: FOUL fouli Infinitely foul"
Shall sketch the history of the gambler?
| Lured by bad company he finds his way
into "a place where honest men ought never
to go. He sits down to his first game, but
only for pastime and the desire of being
thought sociable. The players deal out
the cards. They unconsciously play into
Satan's hands, who takes all the tricks and
both the players souls for trumps-he
being sharper at any game. A slight
stake is put up just to add interest to the
play Game after game is played. Larger
stakes and still larger. They begin to
move nervously on their chairs Their
brows lower and eyes fash, until now they
who win and they who lose, fired alike
with passion, sit with set jaws, and COM
pressed lips, and clinched fists, and eyes
| like fire balls that seem starting from their
sockets, to see the final turn before it
! comes; if losing, pale with envy and tremu
lous with unuttered oaths cast back red
hot upon the heart-or, winning, with
hysteric laugh-"Hai hal 1 have iti
! have itr'
A few years have passed and he is only
the wreck of a man. Seating himself at
the game ere he throws the first card, he
| stakes the last relic of his wife, and the
marriage ring which sealed the solemn
and staggering back in exhaustion he
dreams. The bright hours of the pas,
mock his agony, and in his dreams fiends
| with eyes of fire and tongue of flame circle
about him with Joined hands to dance and
sing their orgies with hellish chorus
chanting tHail! brotherr' kissing his
clammy forehead until their loathsome
locks, flowing with serpents, crawl into his
bosom and sink their sharp fangs and suck
up his lifes blood, and coiling around his
heart pinch it with chills and shudders un.
utterable.
BE WARNED IN TINE.
Take warning! You are no stronger
than tens of thousands who have by this
practice been overthrow. No young mar
| LII OuE ClLACS CSha CSC<1ktC DCtuS OS1npGc4- DE
ware of the first beginnings This road is
a down grade, and every instant increases
| the momentum. Launch not upon this
treacherous sea. Split hulks strew the
beach. Everlasting storms howl up and
down, tossing unwary crafts into the He'll
gate. speak of what have seen with my
own eyes. have looked off into the abyss
and I have seen the foaminR, and the hiss
ing, and the whirling of the horrid deep il
which the mangled victims writhed, one
upon another, and struggled, strangled
blasphened and died-the death stare Of
eternal despair upon their countenances as
the waters Rurgled over them.
To gamblers deathbed there comes nc
hope He will probably die alone His
former associates come not nigh his dwell
ing When the hour comes his miserable
soul will go out of a miserable life into
miserable eternity. AS his poor remain.
pass the house where he was ruined, ole
companions may look out a moment an6
say, There goes the old carcass-dead al
last % but they will not get up from ths
table. Let him down now into his grave
Plant no tree to cast its shade there, fo
n the long, deep, eternal gloom that settle
there is shadow enough. Plant no ''for
1 get-me-nots" or egiantines around the spot
for flowers were not made to grow ON sucl
blasted heath. Visit it not in the sun
shine, for that would be Inockery, but il
the dismal night, when no stars are out an,
the spirits of darkness come down horse,
!, on the wind, then visit the grave of tn
gambleri
One of Bill Nye,s Stories
A company of artists, writer's and put
fishers gathered at the Aldine club t.
smoke and to listen to stories. Among tn
story teliers were Bill Nye, Frank R. Stock
ton, F. Hopkinson Smith, Dr. Henry Va