The consequences of sin in Christian preaching highlight the inevitable destruction and alienation that follow disobedience to God’s law. Sin leads to ruin not only spiritually but also in practical life, as selfishness, greed, and wrong choices bring harm and loss (Galatians 6:7-8; Romans 6:23). Illustrations often use images of ruin, reaping a whirlwind, and the collapse of prosperity to convey these truths.
Habitual sin is no excuse; justice must be upheld.
It is said that a prisoner standing at the bar, indicted for felony, was asked by the judge what he could say for himself. "Truly, my lord," says he, "I did mean no hurt when I stole: it is an evil custom that I have gotten: I have been used to it ever since I knew any thing."— "Why, then," says the judge, "if it be thy custom to steal, it is my custom to hang up thieves." Spencer.
Swearing harms reputation, relationships, and endangers the soul without any gain.
"What does Satan pay you for swearing?" asked one gentleman of another. "He don't pay me any thing," was the reply. "Well, you work cheap,—to lay aside the character of a gentleman; to inflict so much pain on your friends and civil people; to suffer; and, lastly, to risk your own precious soul, and for nothing,—you certainly do work cheap, very cheap indeed."
Legalistic loopholes can undermine true temperance and holiness.
In a certain town, a meeting was called to suppress the crying sin of intemperance. It is well known to the "wool-growing" part of the community, that their sheep must be effectually washed, in order to cleanse the wool for the manufacturer, once a year. Now this is a laborious business; not only so, but a very wet and cold business, as the sheep should be washed early in the season, before the wool begins to fall. In consequence, the good people of the town resolved, under heavy penalties, that they would, in no case whatever, drink any ardent spirits, save at the business of washing sheep. Not many days after, it was observed that one of those who composed the aforesaid meeting was a "little the worse for liquor." He was charged with the fact; but he protested he had lived up to the very spirit and letter of the resolution. He was asked how that could be. "Why," said he, "I have a sheep in that pen, which I regularly wash seven times a day."
Envy can lead to self-destruction when schemes against others backfire on the envious.
A Burmese potter, says the legend, became envious of the prosperity of a washerman, and, to ruin him, induced the king to order him to wash one of his black elephants white, that he might be lord of the white elephant. The washerman replied, that, by the rules of his art, he must have a vessel large enough to wash him in. The king ordered the potter to make such a vessel. When made, it was crushed by the first step of the elephant in it. Many trials failed; and the potter was ruined by the very scheme he had intended should crush his enemy.
A boy is rejected for smoking, showing sin's visible marks affect reputation.
"I've got a boy for you, sir."—"Glad of it: who is he?" asked the master-workman of a large establishment. The man told the boy's name, and where he lived. "Don't want him," said the master-workman: "he has got a bad mark."—"A bad mark, sir! What?"—"I meet him every day with a cigar in his mouth. I don't want smokers."
Slander is a persistent destructive fire that spreads harm beyond control.
Slander is like the Greek fire in ancient warfare, which burned unquenched beneath the water; or like the weeds, which, when you have extirpated them in one place, are sprouting forth vigorously in another spot at the distance of many hundred yards. F. W. Robertson.
Fault-finding magnifies others' sins while ignoring one's own.
Those who find pleasure in dwelling upon and amplifying the faults of others, to the partial or total oblivion of their own, remind me of Hogarth's quaint picture in false perspective; wherein the trees that line the road, and the sheep travelling along it, grow larger and more distinct as they recede from the eye.
— F. W. Robertson
The tongue can be both a tool for good and a source of great evil.
The heathen philosopher Xanthus, expecting some friends to dine with him, ordered his servant Æsop to provide the best things the market could supply. Tongues only were provided; and these the cook was ordered to serve up with different sauces. Course after course was supplied, each consisting of tongue. "Did I not order you," said Xanthus in a violent passion, "to buy the best victuals the market afforded?"—"And have I not obeyed your orders?" said Æsop. "Is there any thing better than a tongue? Is not the tongue the bond of civil society, the organ of truth and reason, and the instrument of our praise and adoration of the gods?" Xanthus ordered him to go again to the market on the morrow, and buy the worst things he could find. Æsop went, and again he purchased tongues, which the cook was ordered to serve as before. "What! tongues again?" exclaimed Xanthus. "Most certainly," rejoined Æsop, "the tongue is surely the worst thing in the world. It is the instrument of all strife and contention, the inventor of lawsuits, and the source of division and wars: it is the organ of error, of lies, calumny and blasphemies."
Gossip spreads like invasive seeds, causing widespread harm and division.
A man, who, for a moment's gossiping gratification, drops an idle word affecting a neighbor's character, resembles that Scotchman, who, from partiality to the flora of his native land, sowed a little thistle-down in the British colony where he had raised his tabernacle, and where that nuisance to agriculturists had been unknown up to that time. It grew and flourished; and breezes—like the active wind of talk, that soon propagates a slander—carried the winged seeds hither and thither, to found for their obnoxious species thousands of new homes. It is as unsafe to keep company with one whose tongue is hung too loosely as to ride in a vehicle whose linchpins are loose.
— F. W. Robertson
A small spark from the tongue can ignite devastating conflicts and destruction.
I saw a terrible fire some time ago, or, rather, I saw the reflection of it in the sky: the heavens were crimsoned with it. It burned a large manufactory to the ground; and the firemen had hard work to save the buildings which surrounded it. They poured streams of water on it from fifteen engines; but it licked it up, and would have its course till the walls gave way. That terrible fire was kindled by a farthing rushlight. Some years ago, I saw the black ashes of what the night before was a splendid farm-yard, with bay-ricks, corn-stacks, stables, and cow-sheds; and lying about upon them were the carcasses of a number of miserable horses and bullocks, which had perished in the flames. All that was done by a lucifer match. In America, the Indians strike a spark from a flint and steel, and set fire to the dry grass; and the flames spread and spread, until they sweep like a roaring torrent over prairies as large as England, and men and cattle have to flee for their lives. "Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindlet!" and the tongue is a fire. A few rash treads will set a family, a neighborhood, a nation, by the ears: they often have done so. Half the law-suits and half the wars have been brought about by the tongue. Husband and wife have separated forever, children have forsaken their homes, bosom-friends have become bitter foes, — all on account of fiery arrows shot by this powerful little member.
Small disputes can escalate into long, destructive conflicts with severe consequences.
In the year 1005, some soldiers of the Commonwealth of Modena ran away with a bucket from a public well belonging to the State of Bologna. The implement might be worth a shilling; but it produced a quarrel which worked into a long and bloody war. Henry the King of Sardinia, for the Emperor Henry the Second, assisted the Modenese to keep possession of the bucket; and, in one of the battles, was made prisoner. His father, the emperor, offered a chain of gold that would encircle Bologna, which is seven miles in compass; but in vain. After twenty years' imprisonment, — his father being dead, — he pined away and died. His monument is still extant in the church of the Dominicans. The fatal bucket is still exhibited in the tower of the Cathedral of Modena, enclosed in an iron cage.
Minor actions or words can have far-reaching, sometimes devastating effects.
The bullet that sent death to Pres. Lincoln was a trifling affair, yet it sent mourning into every civilized nation of the globe. A broken rail is insignificant, yet close by it sits Death in greedy anticipation of a bloody feast. A word, a look, an act, a single neglect, may make a life, mar a fortune, ruin a good name, kindle war, or overthrow an empire.
Great structures and reputations can be destroyed by small, overlooked weaknesses.
TRIFLES, Power of Willis observes, that, when visiting Kenilworth, he was struck with observing on some of the ruins of solid masonry that in one place the swelling root of a creeper had lifted one arch from its base, and the protruding branch of a chance spring-tree (sown perhaps by a field-sparrow) had unseated the keystone of the next. And so perish castles and reputations, the masonry of the human hand and the fabrics of human thought, not by strength, which they feared, but by the weakness of trifling things, which they despised. Little did John O'Gaunt think, when these rudely-hewn blocks were heaved into their seats by his hereulean workmen, that, after resisting fire and foe, they would be sapped and overthrown at last by a vine-tendril and a sparrow! Bowes.
Vice is easy to enter but hard to leave, often disguised as virtue.
The way of vice is as the entrance to a pit: it is easy to go down, but difficult to return. As an old stain is not easily removed, so habitual vices are not easily overcome. The most dangerous vice is that which most resembles virtue, as the most deceiving devil is an angel of light.
Those in vice long for lost virtues but are swept toward destruction.
One of the affecting features in a life of vice is the longing, wistful outlooks given by the wretches who struggle with unbridled passions, towards virtues which are no longer within their reach. Men in the tide of vice are sometimes like the poor creatures swept down the stream of mighty rivers, who see people safe on shore, and trees and flowers, as they go quickly past; and all things that are desirable gleam upon them for a moment to heighten their trouble, and to aggravate their swift-coming destruction. Beecher.
The wicked are restless and troubled like a restless sea, reflecting inner turmoil.
Emilins, giving a reason for putting away his wife, said, "Where this shoe pincheth me none but myself know." God also knows; and he says, "The wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt."
The wicked accumulate wrath against the day of judgment through their sinful actions.
Every man is treasuring up stores for eternity, — the good are laying up treasures in heaven, where moth doth not corrupt; the evil and impenitent are "treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath." What an idea is this! Treasures of wrath! Whatever the impenitent man is doing, he is treasuring up wrath. He may be getting wealth; but he is treasuring up wrath. He may be getting fame; but he is treasuring up wrath. He may be forming pleasing connections; but he is also treasuring up wrath: every day adds something to the heap. Every oath the swearer utters, there is something gone to the heap of wrath. Every lie the liar tells, every licentious act the lewd man commits, adds something to the treasure of wrath. The sinner has a weightier treasure of wrath to-day than he had yesterday; he will have a weightier to-morrow than he has to-day. When he lies down at night, he is richer in vengeance than when he arose in the morning. He is continually deepening and darkening his eternal portion. Every neglected Sabbath increases his store of wrath; every forgotten sermon adds something to the weight of punishment. All the checks of conscience, all the remonstrances of friends, all the advice and prayers of parents, will be taken into the account; and all will tend to increase the treasures of wrath laid up against the day of wrath.
— J. A. James
A prayerless wife's opposition to family worship contributed to her husband's spiritual ruin.
"Rebekah, I am a lost man. You opposed our family worship and my secret prayer. You drew me away into temptation, and to neglect every religious duty. I believe my fate is sealed. Rebekah, you are the cause of my everlasting ruin." Terrible in eternity will be the re-union of those who helped each other on the downward road, partners in impiety, and wedded for perdition. Cuyler.
Bad words lead to sin and spiritual death, influencing hearts destructively.
Bad words are as influential as the plague and the pestilence. They have wrought more evil than battle, murder, and sudden death. They creep through the ear into the heart, call up all its bad passions, and tempt it to break God's commandments. A few bad words got into the ear of the mother of mankind; and they led her on to eat the forbidden fruit, and thus to bring death into the world. G. Magridge.
Cruel words cause lasting harm that cannot be undone once spoken.
You may tame the wild beast; the conflagration of the American forest will cease when all the timber and the dry wood is consumed: but you cannot arrest the progress of that cruel word which you uttered carelessly yesterday or this morning.
— F. W. Robertson
One sin can poison a life like a subtle, lasting poison.
A Jewish captive, named Zaniab, determined to destroy the false prophet Mohammed. After his conquest of Khaibar, she prepared for his table a shoulder of lamb impregnated with a subtle poison. Mohammed sat down to his meal, but, at the first taste, discovered something, and instantly spit it out. In the instant, enough of the poison had entered his system to injure his health for life. It affected him to the last. In the paroxysms of death, he exclaimed, "The veins of my heart are throbbing with the poison of Khaibar." One wrong, one sin, one mistake even, may send its poison through the life, like the poison of Zaniab.
Wesley warns that small habitual drinking leads to drunkenness and ruin.
When stationed in the city of Bath, says Rev. Mr. Towle, I was introduced into the company of an aged man, whom I understood to have been intimate with Mr. Wesley, and once a useful local preacher. We entered into conversation about Mr. Wesley's times, when among other things he observed,—"On one occasion, when Mr. Wesley dined with me, after dinner, as usual, I prepared a little brandy and water. On perceiving this, with an air of surprise he cried,—'What! my brother, what's that?' 'It's brandy,' said I; 'my digestion is so bad, I am obliged to take a little after dinner.' 'How much do you take?' said he, 'let me see.' 'Only about a table-spoonful.' 'Truly,' said he, 'that is not much; but one table-spoonful will soon lose its effect, and then you will take two; from two you will get to a full glass; and that, in like manner, by habituating yourself to it, will lose its effect, and then you will take two glasses, and so on, till in the end, perhaps you will become a drunkard. O my brother, take care what you do!'"
Happy had it been for that man, if he had taken the timely warning of his good friend Wesley. But alas! he trifled with his little drops, until he actually did become a drunkard, ruined his reputation, and at the very time I had an interview with him, he was a poor, old, miserable backslider, apparently within a few steps of the grave.
3. Only those who totally abstain exert a good influence over the Intemperate, or command respect as Christians.
A monkey learns to avoid alcohol after suffering from drunkenness and its effects.
Mr. Pollard states that in his drinking days he was the companion of a man in Arundel Co., Maryland, who had a monkey which he valued at a thousand dollars. “We always took him out on our chesnut parties. He shook off all our chesnuts for us, and when he could not shake them off, he would go to the very end of the limb and knock them off with his fist. One day, we stopped at a tavern and drank freely. About half a glass of whisky was left, and Jack took the glass, and drank it all up. Soon he was merry, skipped, hopped, and danced, and set us all in a roar of laughter. Jack was drunk.
“We all agreed, six of us, that we would come to the tavern next day, and get Jack drunk again, and have sport all day. I called at my friend's house next morning, and we went out for Jack. Instead of being as usual on his box, he was not to be seen. We looked inside, and he was crouched up in a heap. 'Come out here,' said his master. Jack came out on three legs; his fore-paw was upon his head. Jack had the headache; I knew what was the matter with him. He felt just as I felt, many a morning. Jack was sick and couldn't go. So we waited three days. We then went, and while drinking, a glass was provided for Jack. But where was he? Skulking behind the chairs. 'Come here Jack, and drink,' said his master, holding out the glass to him. Jack retreated, and as the door was opened, slipped out and in a moment was on top of the house. His master went out to call him down, but he would not come. He got a cow-skin and shook it at him. Jack sat on the ridge-pole and refused to obey. His master got a gun and pointed it at him. A monkey is much afraid of a gun. Jack slipped over the backside of the house. His master then got two guns, and had one pointed each side of the house, when the monkey seeing his bad predicament, at once whipped up on the chimney and got down in one of the flues, holding on by his fore-paws! The master was beaten. The man kept that monkey twelve years, but could never persuade him to taste another drop of whisky. The beast had more sense than a man who has an immortal soul, and thinks himself the first and best of God's creatures on earth."
Animals rarely repeat drunkenness, but humans often persist to destruction through drink.
While Dr. Patton was dining in London with a number of the clergy, one of them remarked, after turning off his glass of wine, "I do not think I am called upon to give up my glass of wine because some men, by using it to excess, make beasts of themselves." The Doctor replied, he thought great injustice was done to the beasts by the comparison—that quadrupeds might be taken in once by strong drink, but very rarely the second time. It was left to intelligent man to follow up the habit until overtaken by destruction. He instanced the case of a goat, whose habit was to follow his master to a beer shop, where he would sleep under the table while his master was drinking; on one occasion, either by fair or foul means, one of the waiters made the poor goat drunk on vile beer—but from that time he would, as usual, follow his master to his drinking haunts, but could never again be tempted to enter, but would wait the movement of his master outside the door.
Crows become intoxicated and then reject alcohol, illustrating the dangers of drinking.
Colonel B. had one of the best farms on the Illinois river. About one hundred acres of it were covered with waving corn. When it came up in the spring, the crows seemed determined on its entire destruction. When one was killed, it seemed as though a dozen came to its funeral; and though the sharp crack of the rifle often drove them away, they always returned with its echo. The Colonel at length became weary of throwing grass, and resolved on trying the virtue of stones. He sent to the druggist's for a gallon of alcohol, in which he soaked a few quarts of corn, and scattered it over his field. The blacklegs came and partook with their usual relish, and, as usual, they were pretty well "corned;" and such a cooing and cackling—such strutting and swaggering! When the boys attempted to catch them, they were not a little amused at their staggering gait and their zigzag way through the air. At length they gained the edge of the woods, and there being joined by a new recruit which happened to be sober, they united at the top of their voices in haw-haw-hawking, and shouting either praises or curses of alcohol, it was difficult to tell which, as they rattled away without rhyme or reason. But the Colonel saved his corn. As soon as they became sober, they set their faces steadfastly against alcohol. Not another kernel would they touch in his field. # 6. AC
Anger can lead to tragic consequences and deep remorse, as seen in Alexander's killing of Clitus.
The folly and danger of anger is seen in the conduct of Alexander. Clitus was a person whom Alexander held very dear, as being the son of his nurse, and one who had been educated together with himself. He had saved the life of Alexander at the battle near the river Granicus, and by him was made Prefect of a province. But he could not flatter. At a feast with the king, when both were doubtless affected by wine, Clitus spoke in high terms of the actions of Philip, preferring them to those of his son. Alexander, transported with anger, seized a javelin and slew him on the spot. But when he became sober and his passion cooled, he was with difficulty restrained from killing himself, for that fault which his sudden fury had led him to commit. He seemed smitten with remorse for the murder, and inconsolable for the loss of his friend.
Uncontrolled anger over a trivial dispute led to a boy's death and a lifelong consequence.
Two boys in a southern city, named Augustus and Eugene, were playing top. They had but one top, which they spun alternately. At first they played very pleasantly, but soon became angry and began to speak unkindly. Eugene said, "It is my turn to whirl the top." "No, it is not; it is mine," said Augustus. They grew very angry about it. Augustus at length said to Eugene, "You lie." Eugene struck him. Augustus struck back again. They seized each other in a great rage; and in the scuffle Eugene took a long, sharp knife from his pocket, and stabbed Augustus so that he died in a few moments. Augustus lost his life and Eugene became a murderer, merely to decide whose turn it was to spin a top!
## 21. Anger Subdued.
A mother's greed led her to reject and mistreat her own son for money.
Two young men of Virginia, who served in the American army during the war, having regularly got their discharge, went home to their friends. One had only a mother living when he left home; when they had got near home, they fell into a conversation on the length of time they had been away, and concluded to try whether their parents would know them; with this impression, each took the nearest path home. The one who had only a mother, came in; and, finding his mother did not know him, he asked for lodging; to whom she replied, she could not lodge him; that there was a tavern not far from the place where he might get lodging, &c. He importuned, but she refused, till at last he told her he had a little money, and he was afraid to lodge in a tavern, lest some person should rob him. He took out his purse and offered it to her keeping. She, struck with the mammon, consented immediately to his staying; accordingly he did, had supper, and still never discovered himself to his mother or any of the family. He was directed to a bed once more in the "I began to think, is not God a just being, as well as merciful? Now what reason have I to think he will treat me with mercy and not with justice? and if I am treated with justice," he said, with much emotion, "WHERE AM I?"
"I showed him," says Mr. Innes, "that this was the very difficulty the gospel was sent to remove, as it showed how mercy could be exercised in perfect consistency with the strictest demands of justice, while it was bestowed through the atonement made by Jesus Christ. After explaining this doctrine and pressing it on his attention and acceptance, one of the last things he said to me before leaving him, was, "Well, I believe it must come to this. I confess I see here a solid footing to rest on, which, on my former principles I could never find."
# VARICE.
chamber of her who conceived .. m. How safe he must have thought himself then, compared to the field of battle. But she summoned a negro man, told him the scheme she had planned, hired him to aid her to the stranger's apartment, where they murdered him in his bed. Next day his fellow-soldier came to see his friend; but, on asking for the stranger, could hear nothing of him. He thought it was a trick to plague him, that the old woman denied it, till, hearing her affirm that no stranger had come there the last evening, nor any man, he asked her if she had not a son who went to the war. She said she had. "Well," said he, "I left him within a few miles of this house last evening, and he came here; and he told me he would not make himself known to you, to see if you had forgotten his looks. He must be here." The cruel mother fainted at the sentence, confessed her wickedness, and showed her murdered son, crammed in a closet of the house!! Oh, the love of money, what has it not done; what will it yet do!
Romans 1 vividly exposes human folly and guilt when God gives them over to sin.
Perhaps no part of the Bible occasions more surprise among the heathen, than the first chapter of Romans. Its graphic picture of the follies and the guilt into which men plunge, when God gives them up to a reprobate mind, are instantly recognized as having a counterpart in their own lives. To their minds the great problem is, how came language, so accurate and faithful, to be employed by the sacred writer? Some escape from the difficulty by affirming that the Scriptures have been altered to meet the case. A brahmin once told a missionary that the expression, "Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools," must have been inserted after the arrival of the missionaries in India.
A cruel prank caused a fatal accident, showing sin's tragic consequences.
BOUGHT SPORT.—A few years since, at a place near Penzance, some men and boys, accompanied by two young women, having fastened a bullock's horn to the tail of a dog, turned the affrighted animal loose, and followed it with brutal exultations. The dog, pursued by its savage tormentors, ran down a road called Trereife Lane, when meeting a cart drawn by two horses, laden with coals, the horses took fright; the driver, who was sitting on the shafts of the cart, was thrown off, and the wheels passing over his head, he was killed on the spot. The persons who had occasioned this melancholy accident immediately suspended their chase of the dog, and the young women, on coming up, found that the lad, who had been killed by their mischievous frolic, was their brother!
Disobedience to parents can mark the start of a person's downward moral decline.
A young man was sentenced to the South Carolina penitentiary for four years. When he was about to be sentenced, he stated publicly that his downward course began in disobedience to his parents—that he thought he knew as much of the world as his father short debate, the judge cried out, "Enough, enough, strike off the villain's head!" and the officer, who watched the moment, leaped towards the two youths; the impostor, startled at the brandished weapon, hastily drew back his head, while the jeweller's son, animated by conscious security, stood unmoved. The judge immediately decided for the latter, and ordered the slave to be taken into custody, to receive the punishment due to his diabolical ingratitude.
## DETESTEDNESS.
ble of fulfilling the appointed abhors of his office.
Foolish disputes over trivial matters lead to deadly duels, showing sin’s tragic cost.
Colonel Montgomery was shot in a duel about a dog; Captain Ramsay in one about a servant; Mr. Fetherston in one about a recruit; Sterne's father in one about a goose; and another gentleman in one about "an acre of anchovies." One officer was challenged for merely asking his opponent to enjoy the second goblet; another was compelled to fight about a pinch of snuff. General Barry was challenged by a Captain Smith, for declining a glass of wine with him at a dinner in a steamboat, although the General had pleaded as an excuse that wine invariably made his stomach sick at sea; and Lieut. Crowther lost his life in a duel, because he was refused admittance to a club of pigeon shooters! What contemptible folly in men it is to risk their lives in order to settle such trivial disputes as these! And then how does the result of a duel really settle the dispute any more than the result of jumping together from a precipice, or any similar jeopardy of life and limb?
# 149. Dueling Avoided.
Merchants' gambling leads to quarrels and financial ruin on a steamer voyage.
A writer in the N. Y. Observer for 1831 says: A few years since, the large steamer M— set out from New Orleans on an upward voyage, having on board much freight, and many passengers. Among them were several merchants who had large amounts in sugar, molasses, coffee, &c., on board. Soon after the boat started they commenced gambling, and continued without intermission until after ten o'clock at night. The captain informed them, that it was contrary to the rules of the boat that they should play in the cabin after that hour. They protested, demurred, and entreated. But he was inexorable. At length he consented to their going to a small private room; but enjoined it upon them that there must be no fighting. Four of them renewed the game with excited interest. The captain having occasion to be up all night, went, about three o'clock, into their room. To his surprise he found them just on the point of fighting. Pistols and dirks were drawn! At his interposition and command, their weapons were put up. The cause of the quarrel was this: One merchant had lost all the money he had with him, and all his large cargo on board. The loser desired his merchandise to be estimated at the retail price where he resided, and to which place the boat was bound. But the marble-hearted winner insisted upon the New Orleans price as the basis of the calculation, and which would have left the loser in his debt to a large amount, for which he demanded a due-bill! At the remonstrance of the captain, he ceased to insist upon this, and the bill of lading having been transferred in due form to the winner, the miserable loser went home without a dollar to pay even his passage, to tell (if he could do it) to his wife and children the story of his folly, and to become a bankrupt!
A fireman gambles away his freedom, illustrating the destructive power of sin.
A colored fireman, on board a steam-boat running from St. Louis to New Orleans, having lost all his money at poker with his companions, staked his clothing, and being still unfortunate, pledged his own freedom for a small amount. Losing this, the bets were doubled, and he finally, at one desperate hazard, ventured his own value as a slave, and laid down his free papers to represent the stake. He lost, suffered his certificates to be destroyed, and was actually sold by the winner to a slave dealer, who hesitated not to take him at a small discount upon his asserted value.
A gambler's ruin leads to suicide, showing the deadly consequences of gambling.
By the device called hockelty in playing furo, professional gamesters in the Southern States, have been known to make thousands of dollars out of the uninitiated in a single season. "There is one instance," says J. H. Green, "that I shall never forget. It occurred in New Orleans about the year 1833. A planter, who lived near Vicksburgh, was very fond of play. He went to New Orleans to trade and sell his produce; and while there was invited to a faro bank. He lost, and during his play, he was caught in hockelty for twenty-two hundred dollars at one bet. The dealer had won from him about eighteen thousand dollars, and this bet was the last of his money. The effect of this loss may be more easily imagined than described. In a few moments he drew a pistol and blew out his brains. I have no doubt that the citizens of Warrington, Mississippi, will know the person here spoken of, as I understand his family or relatives lived in or near that place. Such have been the baneful effects of this game, that it was a matter of almost daily occurrence for some one to stab or be stabbed in the vile haunts of these wicked men."
Demetrius's siege led to starvation and suicide, showing sin's tragic consequences.
It is related of Demetrius, (surnamed the Conqueror of cities,) that having received a marked and undoubted provocation, he laid siege to the city of Athens. The inhabitants made a desperate resistance; but were at last obliged to surrender, in consequence of great scarcity of provisions. Demetrius then ordered them nouncement of the result of his speculation, and literally yelled aloud. It was awful! After a few seconds he returned to his place. His last stake was lost! He twice drew his handkerchief across his forehead, but he uttered not a word. Presently he asked for a glass of eau-sucre, and having swallowed it, he slowly walked away. The next morning his servant found him sitting in an arm chair, with his sword thrust to the very hilt, sticking in his throat.
### 183. Miscellaneous.
A false accuser swears an oath but is exposed, warning of the serious consequences of perjury and sin.
A man once waited on a magistrate near Hitchin, in the county of Hertford, (Eng.) and informed him that he had been stopped by a young gentleman in Hitchin, who had knocked him down and searched his pockets; but not finding any thing, he had suffered him to depart. The magistrate, astonished at this intelligence, despatched a messenger to the young gentleman, ordering him to appear immediately, and answer to the charge exhibited against him. The youth obeyed the summons, accompanied by his guardian and an intimate friend. Upon their arrival at the seat of justice, the accused and accuser were confronted; when the magistrate hinted to the man, that he was afraid he had made the charge with no other view than that of extorting money, and bade him take care how he proceeded; extorting him, in the most earnest and pathetic manner, to beware of the dreadful train of consequences attending perjury. The man insisted upon making oath to what he had advanced; the oath was accordingly administered, and the business fully investigated, when the innocence of the young gentleman was established, by the most incontrovertible evidence. The infamous wretch, finding his intentions thus frustrated, returned home much chagrined; and meeting soon afterwards with one of his neighbors, he declared he had not sworn to any thing but the truth, calling God to witness the same in the most solemn manner, and wished, if it was not as he had said, his jaws might be locked, and that his flesh might rot upon his bones; when, terrible to relate, his jaws were instantly arrested, and he was deprived of the use of the faculty he had so awfully perverted! After lingering nearly a fortnight, he expired in the greatest agonies, his flesh literally rotting upon his bones.
Impious oaths can bring sudden divine judgment and death.
I knew a man, says a correspondent of the "Tract Magazine," in 1825, who was very much addicted to swearing, and attempts to convince him of the error of his ways were in vain; all reproof was lost upon him. He was a laborer in a stone quarry, and having one day fastened a stone to a rope, for the purpose of being hoisted up, the man at the top of the quarry said he thought the rope was not strong enough; the man below immediately replied, with a most dreadful oath, "Then let it crush me to atoms." The wretched man had hardly uttered these words, when the stone fell, and hurried his unprepared soul into the presence of his offended God.
Swearing falsely and rashly can lead to immediate divine punishment.
The following inscription is to be seen in the market-place at Devizes (Eng.);—"The mayor and corporation of Devizes avail themselves of the stability of this building to transmit to future times the record of an awful event, which occurred in this market-place, in the year 1753, hoping that such a record may serve as a salutary warning against the danger of impiously invoking the Divine vengeance, or of calling on the holy name of God, to conceal the devices of falsehood and fraud. On Thursday, the 25th of January, 1753, Ruth Pierce, of Pottern, in this county, agreed with three other women to buy a sack of wheat in the market, each paying her due proportion towards the same. One of these women, in collecting the several quotas of money, discovered a deficiency, and demanded of Ruth Pierce the sum which was wanting to make good the amount. Ruth Pierce protested that she had paid her share, and said, she wished she might drop down dead, if she had not. She rashly repeated this awful wish, when, to the consternation of the surrounding multitude, she instantly fell down and expired, having the money concealed in her hand."
Impious curses and sinful habits can result in sudden death as divine judgment.
FIGHTER'S CURSE. —A person who lived in the parish of Sedgley, near Wolverhampton, (Eng.) having lost a considerable sum by a match at cock-fighting, to which practice he was notoriously addicted, swore in the most horrid manner, that he would never fight another cock as long as he lived; frequently calling upon God to damn his soul to all eternity if he did, and with dreadful imprecations, wishing the devil might fetch him if he ever made another bet. It is not to be wondered at, if resolutions so impiously formed, should be broken; for a while however, they were observed; but he continued to indulge himself in every other abomination to which his depraved heart inclined him. But, about two years afterwards, Satan, whose willing servant he was, inspired him with a violent desire to attend a cocking at Wolverhampton; and he complied with the temptation. When he came to the place, he stood up, as in defiance of Heaven, and cried, "I hold four to three on such a cock." "Four what?" said one of his companions in inquiry. "Four shillings," replied he. "I'll lay," said the other. Upon which they confirmed the wager, and, as his custom was, he threw down his hat, and put his hand in his pocket for the money; when, awful to relate, he instantly fell a ghastly corpse to the ground. Terrified at his sudden death, some who were present, for ever after desisted from this infamous sport; but others, hardened in iniquity, proceeded in the barbarous diversion, as soon as the dead body was removed from the spot.
Impious wishes can bring tragic consequences upon one’s family.
In the neighborhood of Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, there lived a few years ago a laboring man, who having a cross child, frequently wished, with an oath, that his next child might be both deaf and dumb. He afterwards had three children, all of whom were deaf and dumb. # 209. INCONSISTENCY OF
Rejecting the Bible and Savior leads to moral ruin and broken relationships.
A town missionary, in Birmingham, attended a misguided infidel on his death-bed, and the system of Socialism being referred to, the dying man exclaimed, "Call it not Socialism; call it Devilism! for it has made me more like a devil than a man. I got into company, which led me to Socialism and to drinking. I rejected the Bible, denied the Savior, and persuaded myself that there was no hereafter; and as the result, I acted the part of a bad father and a bad husband. I have the testimony of my master, that I was a steady and respectable man until I listened to the Owenites; but, since that time, I have become a vagabond, and those who formerly knew me have shunned me in the streets. The system of the Owenite is worse than that of Paine." Such was the testimony of a dying victim of Socialism.
Disbelief in the afterlife weakens morality and harms society's peace.
"Disbelief in futurity," says Hume, "loosens in a great measure the ties of morality and may be supposed for that reason to be pernicious to the peace of civil society."
A dying drunkard blames a kind lady for introducing her to alcohol and ruin.
A respectable gentleman at Edinburgh related a most affecting fact, which we will briefly repeat. A religious lady at Edinburgh was sent to visit a woman who was dying, in consequence of disease brought on by intemperance. The woman had formerly been in the habit of washing in the lady's family, and when she came to the dying woman, she remonstrated with her on the folly and wickedness of her conduct, in giving way to so dreadful a sin as that of intemperance. The dying woman said, "You have been the author of my intemperance." "What did you say?" with pious horror, exclaimed the lady; "I the author of your intemperance!" "Yes, ma'am, I never drank whisky till I came to wash in your family: you gave me some, and told me it would do me good. I felt invigorated, and you gave it me again. When I was at other houses not so hospitable as yours, I purchased a little, and by and by I found my way to the spirit shop, and thought it was necessary to carry me through my hard work; and, by little and little, I became what you now see me." Conceive what this lady felt.
A drunkard's lament warns youth of the hopeless descent into addiction and ruin.
The writer of the pamphlet entitled The Confessions of a Drunkard says, "Of my condition there is no hope that I should ever change; the waters have gone over me; but out of the black depths could I be heard. I would cry aloud to all those who have set a foot in that perilous flood. Could the youth to whom the flavor of his first wine is as delicious as the opening scenes of life, or the entering upon some newly discovered paradise, look into my desolation, and be made to understand what a dreary thing it is, when a man shall feel himself going down a precipice with open eyes and a passive will,—to see his destruction, and have no power to stop it, and yet to feel it all the way emanating from himself; to perceive all goodness emptied out of him, and yet not able to forget a time when it was otherwise; to bear about the piteous spectacle of his own ruin:—could he see my fevered eye, feverish with the last night's drinking and feverishly looking forward for this night's repetition of the folly; could he feel the body of death out of which I cry hourly, with feebler and feebler outcry, to be delivered,—it were enough to make him dash the sparkling beverage to the earth in all the pride of its mantling temptation."
Intemperance destroys even the greatest intellectual promise and moral heritage.
How many of the highest geniuses have passed away from the intellectual firmament, consumed like the burning stars of which astronomers tell us! And how? By the baleful fires of intemperance and lust. Says a distinguished divine, "A story of genius in ruins rises on my mind." In one of the older colleges in Massachusetts, some 20 or 25 years since, there was seen a youth of the highest promise, bearing an honored name, and concentrating in his own intellect the moral power of two generations of his ancestors. He was a prodigy of learning. While others of his class were slowly plodding through the daily tasks in Xenophon, he would be reading the Greek tragedians com more. He seized a language almost by intuition, and his heart entered into the heart of antiquity, as he read the language of the old and buried nations Called upon by the officers of the college to read dissertations in the chape upon abstruse and difficult subjects, he was accustomed to read them from blank papers, pouring forth spontaneous bursts of argument that thrilled while they convinced, and charmed while they persuaded. With Euclid, Newton, and La Place, he seemed as familiar as with Homer and Eschylus, and he levied large tribute from the lore of every nation under heaven. His person was faultless; his hair like the raven's wing; his eye like the eagle's. By an anomaly in American colleges, he demanded and received his first and second degrees from his Alma Mater on the same day, and on the same evening he was joined in the holy bands of wedlock with one of the most charming nymphs in the vale that embossing the college. His course was still onward and upward. His profession, the law, led him to the highest office of advocacy in the state. He was Attorney General at an age when most students are admitted to the bar. Suddenly, when as yet no one knew the cause, he resigned his high appointment, giving no reasons. He was a secret drunkard! Too high was his sense of honor, and the importance of his station, to intrust himself longer with the destinies of society. I turn with horror from the years of degradation that followed. He sunk like a mighty ship in mid ocean, not without many a lurch, many a sign of righting once more to plough the proud seas that were destined to entomb him forever. Long since his lovely wife had quitted the home which his vices had made wretched; she had returned to her parents to grieve and to die. But though her husband bowed over her grave, and wept bitterly on the head of the sweet boy she left behind her, he was not permanently affected by the shock. The most distinguished men for talent and piety in the United States wept and prayed over him; and at times he would get the better of the demon that ruled him, and again put forth his gigantic powers. The greatest effort he put forth during this period was the successful advocacy of an important case before the Supreme Court of the United States. Marshall, the patriarch of American judges, gazed with wonder on the barrister, as burst upon burst of eloquence and argument followed. Geo. W. Briggs, the member of Congress from Massachusetts, seeing his splendid portrait hanging in a conspicuous place at Washington, inquired whose likeness it was; and one of the highest authorities answered—that is the portrait of Talcott, the most brilliant genius—the most talented man in the United States. In his last spasm of temperance he wrote, The Trial and Condemnation of Alcohol: a popular tract, clothed with the forms and phraseology of a criminal court. But after a fatiguing argument before a court in the city of New York, he was over-persuaded by an advocate to take a glass of beer; and he complied. It was his last sober moment, till he was in the agonies of death. As the fabled Phoenix is said to rise from the ashes of its parents, one of the most lovely, eloquent advocates of temperance in the state of New-York was the son of this ruined genius; the little one over whom he wept at the grave of his wife.
The heirs of a wealthy drunkard squander inheritance and neglect family tombs in ruin.
U—, of V—, commenced the world a poor man; but by industry and economy he amassed a large property, so that he spent the latter part of his life in the luxury often attendant upon wealth when not at the disposal of religious principle. In a pleasant part of his grounds, and at a short distance from his house, he prepared an elegant family tomb, to which were successively committed his own and his wife's remains. Three sons inherited his estate, and lived for a number of years in luxury and lordly independence. Some years since one of these sons was called to bury his wife, whose remains were committed to the same family tomb. This large independent estate is now wasted. These heirs to unearned wealth have nothing which they can call their own, but are dependent on daily labor for the sustenance of their families. The door of the tomb has been thrown down, and for 7 or 8 years these sons have suffered the remains of their parents, and of the wife of one of them, though within a stone's throw of their door, to lie exposed to the open air, and the examination of every intruder; nay, to be scattered upon the floor, and without the door of the tomb; and even to be trampled upon by sheep and other animals that are permitted to graze in the field where the tomb lies. Monumental inscriptions have been defaced, and a mouse has built its nest among the bones of her whose husband lives near by!
And what has been the cause of all this waste of property, this beastly insensibility? Habits of luxury and idleness, but the grand cause of the whole has been Intemperance. "She has cast down many wounded, yea, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death."—Proverbs 7: 26, 27.
A once-promising preacher ruined by habitual drinking ends life miserable and broken.
A gentleman traveling in Essex, Eng., called at the house of a friend, where he met with a young minister who was just going to preach in the neighborhood. The lady of the house offered him a glass of spirits before he entered upon his work, which he accepted. An elderly man, who was present, thus addressed him:—"My young friend, let me offer you a word of advice respecting the use of liquors. There was a time when I was as acceptable a preacher as you now may be; but by too frequently accepting of the well-designed favors of my friends, I contracted a habit of drinking, so that now I never go to bed sober if I can get liquor. I am, indeed, just as miserable as a creature can be on this side of hell!" About two years after this, the traveler had occasion to call again at the same house, and made inquiry concerning the unhappy old man, when he was informed that he had been some time dead. I was stated that, towards the close of his life, he had not drank to the same excess as formerly; but it was only because he could not obtain spirituous liquors.
A gifted youth's life is destroyed by drinking, ending in poverty and death.
When I commenced a course of study, says a writer in the Pastor's Journal, W. O. was my classmate. His father, after having spent many years of faithful labor in the ministry, had gone to his rest, and his mother had fastened on him her fondest affections, her highest hopes. He was a youth of uncommon promise. His talents were of the first order, and every attention had been paid to their early development. His mind was penetrating and rapid in its movements; his imagination was brilliant; his memory retentive and ready. In his disposition he was amiable and kind—peculiarly capable of winning the affections of all who knew him. He had every desirable facility of improvement—enough of this world's goods to carry him through an extensive course of study, and establish him in professional life. For a while his progress rejoiced the heart of his friends, and awakened the highest expectations. But he took the poisonous cup! He drank it, and his sun went down ere it was fully risen.
Before I left College, for which we commenced our preparation together, I looked out from my window and saw him under its walls,—a dirty, ragged, friendless vagabond. His property had been squandered away—his mother had died of a broken heart, and he was begging worn-out garments to cover his shame. The next that I heard of him was that he was found dead by the wayside. This young man, in point of intellectual endowments and prospects of future eminence, once had few superiors. And had he but dashed from his lips the fatal cup, and swore eternal abstinence, he might now have been standing at the bar of justice, or in the hall of legislation, an object of admiration and envy.
### 212. Vice and Crime.
A young man kills his brother in drunken anger and faces execution, warning others.
The sheriff, says an old man, took out his watch, and said, "If you have any thing to say, speak now, for you have only five minutes to live." The young man burst into tears, and said—"I have to die. I had only one little brother, and he had beautiful blue eyes, and flaxen hair, and I loved him; but one day I got drunk, for the first time in my life, and coming home, I found my little brother gathering strawberries in the garden, and I became angry with him without a cause, and killed him, at one blow, with a rake. I did not know any thing about it until the next morning, when I awoke from sleep, and found myself tied and guarded, and was told that when my little brother was found, his hair was clotted with his blood and brains, and he was dead. Whisky has done this. It has ruined me. I never was drunk but once. I have only one more word to say, and then I am going to my final Judge. I say it to young people. Never, NEVER! NEVER!! touch any thing that can intoxicate!" As he pronounced these words, he sprang from the box and was launched into an awful eternity.
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