TALKS TO LITTLE FOLKS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1189, 14 December 1894, Page 17

TALKS TO LITTLE FOLKS.

THE GAMBLER.

I am about to show you a sorrowful picture to-day. Gilbert, a handsome youth, is tempted to take a sovereign from his mother’s purse to bet on a racehorse. He wins several pounds, but the following week loses all -on another race. His mother is rich and careless, and has not missed the money. Gilbert now takes two sovereigns, and, growing hardened, steals her purse, his mother supposing she has lost it on the way from the Knutsford Bank, in .which her husband is a partner. Sometimes, Gilbert gets out with a rope through the bedroom window and spends an hour or two with older men playing cards for money. At length, he attempts to break into and rob bis father’s bank ; and, failing in his wicked plan, and being seen by The manager’s’ T;vins away. After much hardship he reaches the village of Tettenhall, near Wolverhampton.- He i has to sleep under trees, and to beg his food. A poor woman gives him a little breakfast, hot toast with dripping on it, and tea, also sixpence, and kneels down to ask God to bless the wandering boy. Feeling penitent, he buys a sheet of notepaper and an envelope; begs the use of pen and ink at the quaint post office shop, writes a letter home for 'forgiveness, and says he is going away for ever. He tramps about from town to town like a loafer, and from one poor-house to another, obtains a little work here, starves, there, begs when he can, steals eggs, and lives on food which people give to poultry and pigs. In a few years he begins to look like an old man; his,hair is grey and matted, he has dost some of his front teeth, and limps with rheumatism and;disease. lie is “ run in” as a dangerous vagrant by the police, and' for three months is sent to prison, where, though he fares poorly and works hard, he gains strength. When ,he comes out of prison, the Governor gives him a shirt and pair of shbes; and, as he cannot obtain work, in the afternoon he sells the shirt to get food and a glass of rum. In London he wanders about like an uncared-for dog; at night sleeps in the park, and during the day, like a starved fox, looks for a chance to beg or steal. One night he sleeps in luxury; it is in the straw on the floor of an Omnibus which has been left in the street. In the morning the stableman roughly awakes him by beating him with a brush handle, while another man throws a bucket of cold water over him —they laugh at their joke; it does not strike them as' being unkind. He goes to the park near by to dry himself in the sunshine, and feels .very tired. Near Buckingham Palace, he greedily picks up a- piece ,of bread which 'someone the previous night has thrown away ; he wipes off the mud, eats the bread, and goes to the railway station for a drink of water from the everflowing fountain, He returns to the park, sees the Queen and Princess Beatrice drive past, and stoops behind a bush to hide himself from sight. The Queen Tittle thinks there is a brokenhearted wretch behind the bush wondering whether it would hurt very much if Tie were to drown himself. In the night he creeps to Vauxhall Bridge, but the river looks cold, and he shivers with starvation, is afraid, and returns to the park. He says, “I will try to get down to Tettenhall where the woman spoke kindly to me; and lie down in ■ some quiet corner in the old churchyard, and die there. The grass will soon grow over me.” In pain he walks and limps along the road, and other tramps are sorry for him, giving him . bread and warm tea, which makes him think that perhaps God is also kind. That night, for the first time since running from home, he kneels down by a haystack, and sobs a prayer to God for pardon before he dies ; God gives him refreshing sleep and inspires the farmer to give him breakfast,while his little daughter hands him a rose, and wants to fasten it in his coat, but under it he has neither shirt nor vest, and says he will carry it in his hand.

He reaches the village. The good woman looks much older; she takes him in, gives him some tea, speaks gently, kneels down and asks our. Father to bless the wandering boy; says “he is somebody’s son j” tells him she has no money 5

and, when he goes away, he kisses her withered hand. She gives him some bread and dripping, and says,. “ God bless thee, wandering boy!” He goes into the old churchyard where he means to die, and is gladdened when a little pet lamb takes a bit of bread from his hand ; he cries, “ Oh, how good God is to me!” After a while he goes into the village, and seeing a new front in the little old post

office shop, slowly walks across to look at the things in the window. How well he remembers fifteen years ago writing the letter to his father on the counter there, with the smell of groceries all around! He sees the things in the new window, bottles of sweets, pickles, dolls, a jar marked “ ketchup,” and picture books of “ Old Mother Hubbard ” and “ Jack the Giant Killer.” It brings to his mind the old days when he was a child in Knutsford, and how his mother used to come to kiss

I him at night in bed, saying “ Darling, have you said your prayers ? ” He puts his face nearer the window to hide his tears from two girls who are admiring the dolls. He sighs, and is about to turn away to spend the night in the churchyard, when he sees two letters at the end of the window, held there by two pieces of tape at the back to exhibit the addresses. Out of curiosity, he reads the addresses, and sees one which makes his heart beat, and he holds on, to the colter which fastens the shutter to keep from falling. It is his own name, addressed

care of the post ottice tnere, till caiiea for,” and is registered. -■ He enters the post office saying, “ You have a letter for me.” The old lady exclaims, “ Yes, but I cannot give you the letter until you prove you are the right man.” She puts the letter in the stamp

drawer. Ah, how can he prove anything ! Ha goes to the constable; tells his tale ; it is decided that this wretched man shall open the letter in the presence of the officer, who takes the precaution to close and lock the shop door “to prevent the loafer running off with it.” With trembling hands he opens the letter; it is from Mr Leaf, the Manchester lawyer, saying that his mother is living, but that before his father died he freely forgave him, and left his wandering boy a small annual income if he should ever come home, and requesting him, if he ever sees that letter, to return at once.

What a scene ! The poor fellow is on his knees in the shop, kissing the letter and putting it through his coat on his heart, next the skin. Now he gets up ; shakes hands with the old lady, who pulls off her spectacles to wipe away some moisture on ’the glass, while the constable invites him to his house, and as they walk along, followed by several children, who suppose he is about to lock up a thief, exclaims, “Well, I’m blowed, if truth isn’t more strange than fiction, as Shakespeare or . somebody says !” The wandering boy is found ! He used to come to my meetings sometimes and when he told his tale it brought tears to many eyes. I seem to see him now; tie was under forty years of age, with hair white as snow> and leaning on his stick. Even yet I feel the thrill which passed through me when he once came down from the platform, and standing amongst the crowd, with big tears in his eyes and a sob in his voice, cried, Never bet on a racehorse ! Never gamble at cards or dice ! The gambler is always dragged into hell before his time !