me not nigh his dwelling. When the
hour comes, his miserable soul will go out of a miserable life into
a miserable eternity. As his poor remains pass the house where he was
ruined, old companions may look out a moment and say--"There goes the
old carcass--dead at last," but they will not get up from the table.
Let him down now into his grave. Plant no tree to cast its shade
there, for the long, deep, eternal gloom that settles there is shadow
enough. Plant no "forget-me-nots" or eglantines around the spot, for
flowers were not made to grow on such a blasted heath. Visit it not in
the sunshine, for that would be mockery, but in the dismal night, when
no stars are out, and the spirits of darkness come down horsed on the
wind, _then_ visit the grave of the gambler!

SOME OF THE CLUB-HOUSES.

Iniquity never gives a fair fight. It springs out from ambush upon
the unsuspecting. Of the tens of thousands who have fallen into bad
habits, not one deliberately leaped off, but all were caught in some
sly trap. You may have watched a panther or a cat about to take its
prey. It crouches down, puts its mouth between its paws, and is hardly
to be seen in the long grass. So iniquity always crouches down in
unexpected shapes, takes aim with unerring eye, and then springs
upon you with sudden and terrific leap. In secret places and in
unlooked-for shapes it murders the innocent.

Men are gregarious. Cattle in herds. Fish in schools. Birds in flocks.
Men in social circles. You may, by the discharge of a gun, scatter
a flock of quails, or by the plunge of the anchor send apart the
denizens of the sea; but they will gather themselves together again.
If you, by some new power, could break the associations in which men
now stand, they would again adhere. God meant it so. He has gathered
all the flowers and shrubs into associations. You may plant one
"forget-me-not" or "hearts-ease" alone, away off upon the hillside,
but it will soon hunt up some other "forget-me-not" or "hearts-ease."
Plants love company; you will find them talking to each other in the
dew. A galaxy of stars is only a mutual life-insurance company. You
sometimes see a man with no out-branchings of sympathy. His nature is
cold and hard, like a ship's mast, ice-glazed, which the most agile
sailor could never climb. Others have a thousand roots and a thousand
branches. Innumerable tendrils climb their hearts, and blossom all the
way up; and the fowls of heaven sing in