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V j Kjf*3jfmgf / tmw /m2smS%m MBPmSj y \* JSSSBV HMnF ./dJjpiHy JH VOL. 11. THE CABINET Is published every Saturday be }\ L ROBINSON ; fVarrenton , Geo. at three dollars per annum. which may be discharged by two dollars and fifty cents if paid within sixty dan of the time of subscribing. Advertisements conspicuously inserted at seventy jive cents per square for the first insertion and fifty cents for each subsequent insertion Monthly inser tions charged as new advertisements Advertisements not limited when hand ed m. will be inserted until forbid, and charged accordingly . FIRST AND LAST TICKET. From the Manuscript of a condemned Criminal. ** Curse the ticket I* was my first exclamation on leaving a lottery of fice, into which 1 had been to lo*rn the fate of my first ticket . Would that it bad been the last! would that in curs- Irg I had forsaken them entirely! Had I done so, now, perhaps, I should not have been here—ray wife and my boy ury pratling David, would not have been mouldering in the house, 1 might have been happy—have been unstained by the blood of my fellow creature—Oh, well may I curse the ti< kets! They have bound me down with a curse—even a death curse! My first ti< ket was a blank. I was persuaded by a friend to buy it, who t*pled me by holding up to view the glittering prize and exciting my hopes of obtaining it. 1 was not disappoint ed at the result of my purchase, al though a curse involuntarily burst fromy lips when I first learnt it. I hardly thought of drawing a high prize; yet the possibility of being so fortunate kept my mind in a constant burning excitement. I was a young man then, and could ill afford to lose the cost of the ticket; However 1 comforted myself with the r< flection, that experience must be paid for, 1 also made a determination that 1 Would not be so foolish again. I kept unoroken for six months. Yet “ try again — you may be more fortunate.'’ it v s the whispering of my evil genius —and 1 obeyed it. I bought part of a ticket and drew five hundred. I had previous to this, being in a good sifii tinn and with every prospect of doing “well in the world, engaged inystll to Eliza Berton, a young lady who had long possessed my affections. She was one no, I will not, I can not speak of her as she wus. Well, shortly after to my good fortune—l should sav misfortune —1 married her, I was considerably elated with my lurk, and treated my friends, freely. I did not however, buy any tickets at that time though strongly urged to. One evening, after I had been married some months, I went out to visit a friend; intending to return in the course of hour. On the way to my fri*nd‘s house I passed a lottery office. It was brilliantly lighted up, and in the windows were temptingly display rd schemes of chance and invitations to purchase. I had not tried toy luck since my marriage, and had. given up hying tickets. As 1 passed by the wind w of the nflice my eye caught the following, in illuminated letters and figUf* gift,ooo PRIZE WILL BE UEAIU: riioM THIS NIGHT. TICKETS &5.” i hesitated a moment, then Widked or—‘who knows but what 1 may get it ?’ 1 said to myself. I stop ped—turned about still hesitating— • t v again,* I heard, and retracing my steps 1 went into the office. A tiu.ihe r ot my acquaintances were sit - tu g there smoking. The vender gave a cigar, and after a while asked me if I should not like to try my luck in the lottery which he was expecting rve y ui Muciit to bear from; his clerk having gone out to await the opening of tin mail. So saying he handed me out a package of quarters, which he prevail ed oifme take, and pay twenty liv* dollars; the price he sold them at.— The cleidi soon after came in with -of the draw ing; and 1 left the olli< that evening, one thousand dollars’ better off than when I entered. Bo where for? For home? INo—-f’.r the tavern ; all went for a treat.—At mid night, I went home to my anxious, sleepless wife in a fit of intoxication This was her first experience. #‘* # # A week went by, and Fd'.za began to smile again. The excitement 1 was in that night she admitted as an rx cuse for my conduct. But she tender ly advised me, nay on her knees in the stillness of our chamber, e’tery night she implored G<d to hove me iu his keeping— to preserve me from tempt atimi. 1 was ashamed of myself; and I solemnly swore to sustain allogethei from tickets. My wife was herself again. Months passed away;—a ciiarge was entrusted to my keeping— a holy charge, i was presented with a son. He took his fathers name.- Thank God! he will not bear his sor rows—his shame! I was happy as man need be for a year. Busimes pros pered—l enjoyed good health, and was blessed with a happy home where all was peace. 1 said 1 was happy—l w 7 as at times; hut there was a secret thirst within me for riclms—for the filthy lucre of the world; and yet 1 was not avaricious—nor was 1 paisimoni ous. But the desire had been awa kened—-the hope been discouraged, that, by venturing a little rnu< h might be had; and although my lottery gam filing, yet a burning thought of gain—- of gain by lotteries—agitated me day and night.—ln the day time when a bout my business, the thought that by venturing a few dollars 1 might draw enough to make me independent of labor—to allow me to live at ease, \as uppermost in my mind; and every night 1 received a large sum of prize money. 1 strove to banish such <! ■ sires from my mind; but they haunted me like an evil spirit. About eighteen months alter taking my oath, a grand scheme was advertis ed to be drawn on a certain day in my own town. 1 felt a strong propensity to try mv luck again. 1 was impor. portuned by friends to buy tickets— the scheme was so good —the chance of success so great; but I thought ol the oath l had taken and was firm in my denial. The day of drawing drew nigh. The vender who sold me the prize urged me to take a few tickets— -1 was also urged by others to buy even in the presence of my wife. But I resisted. She, trusting one, said not a word—she knew my oath was pledged—she knew that 1 remember ed it, and sh had confidence in try keeping it sacred. She only g?ve a glance of pleasure, it may be triumph, as she heard me refuse my friend*** in vitations. That night I dreumpt that a particular number would he a fortu nate one—l purchased it, and it came up to the highest prize. When I arose in the morning my firmness was a lit tle shaken. it was the day of draw ing. A friend came info my store ir rhe forenoon and showed me a para I of tickets; amongst them 1 saw the number of my dream ! lie offered them to me— I forgot myself—l mock ed my God—l broke my oath I dni not stay in the house at noon any lon ger tl an to hurry through with din ner. My wife‘s presence was a bur den to me; her happy smile discomfit cd me, and her cheerful tones went to mv heart like a reproach. From that Warrenlon, Mav 8, 1830. | day her presence was a curse to rne— not that i loved her less—not that she had changed —but how could I stand before her perjured as 1 was, and she liie w hile not doubling my innocence— how enuid 1 without feeling my uulio lines-? A thousand times that fore moo did l resolve to seek my friend & return him the ticket, and as often did I break them. Conscience smoto heav ily. But the prize, thought I, will cheek it. Fool to think paltry gold would reconcile an offended God— would buy off punishment! The lot tery was drawn that afternoon. That evening 1 sat alone with my wife in her room. She was talking of the folly of some men, in not being con i tented with what they possessed, and | for being ever on the search for more. many hearts have been agitated —wound up to tho highest pitch this afternoon iu hopes of drawing a prize, said she. What could 1 do? 1 was there, and had to listen to her, altho* each word seemed like a burning coal at my heart. She continued—“And how many have spent that, which should have gone for bread and cloth ing for their families —and for what? For a vain hope of obtaining more! for a piece of mere coloured paper! And think you my hnsband thq£i has been vows violated—no oaths broken this afternoon!* Good God! how this tor tured me ! I made no answer, and she went on, “ if there are any such, and if they have been unfortunate, how keen must be their disappointment, and how doubly keen their remorse! Are you not David, better pleased with yourself this evening for not buying tickets—allowing you had not pledged your oath tot to meddle with them— than you would have been, had you purchased money by it? Thus did the woman tali to me, as though l were as pure and guiltless as herself, Inno cent one! She knew not. tit at the moment her words were like daggers to my heart —that at every motion of her Ups my soul writhed in agony— she knew not that my pocket book was rammed ivith tho cursed tickets— blank tickets ! And when she poured mi her soul in prayer that night, she knew uot that him for whom she pray ed dared not listen to her words, but stopped his ears. So it was. • # • • “ Do, my dear husband, stay at home one evening this week! You shall read to me, or 1 will read to you; come keep me company this evening. Thus said my wife one evening, as she took me affectionately by the arm, a tear at the same time filling her eye. Brute that I was! I shook her off repulsively, scarcely deigning her a reply as I went out. I was an altered man— my innocence had departed from me— l * had perjured myself. My oath once broken, I still continued to break it. Not a lottery was drawn but that ( had some chance in it. 11l luck at tended me. Blanks—blanks were my portion. Still I kept on. Most of my hours were spent iu lottery offices, 1 neglected my business—debts accu mulated—wants coine upon me; and I had nothing to satisfy them with but a hope —a hope, that at the next draw ing 1 should be lucky. As cares in creased l went to a tavern for relief. Remorse gnawed at my heart like a worm. It had drank up all my hap piness. When 1 first broke my oath I thought gold would still be my con cience. Gold 1 had none, so I attemp ted to ease it by strong drink. Rum burnt my tender feelings—my better nature; but it only added to my quenchless fire that was raging at my heart. It was not uncommon lor me at this stage, to get intoxicated every night. Oft have I staggered home to my patient dying Eljza—foi my conduct was making sad intoads on a constitution nat urally delicate, and without a shadow of cause fell to abusing her. Merciful God forgive me. Even while she wa-* on her knees at prayer— prayingfor me l What insult ami misery has not that woman en dured ! and all brought on by me, her husband, her protector ! About this time our child died. I dare not think of lies death—how it was brought on. The poor child might have lived longer—perhaps he might—but he complained us being cold sometimes, of wanting clothes; and some times his cry for bread was v.tio It was a great shock to my wife; and her gradu al failing day by day sobered me and made me thoughtful. But what had Ito do with reflection ? The past was made up ol sharp points and when I turned to it 1 was pierced! and the future—ha! ha ! what, what could I anticipate! what Was there in store for me? 8o I (dosed my ears— shut my heart to the starving condition of Eliza, and became—a brute again! • * # # * * It was in the evening of a wet, cloud day, that 1 sallied forth from my boarding hovel to shame and sin, to learn the fate of my last ticket. The woman with whom I boarded was clamorous for mv payment. That night I told her I expected to realize something. This was my last ticket. To obtain it, 1 had to dispose of a Bible, which belonged to my late wife— my Eli za—and which was the dying gift of her mother. It was the last thing 1 held that belonged to her. One by one had I dis posed of what little effects she left, to gratify my passion for drinking and gam bling, I had lost all feelings of shame. My wife had been dead two years. I)u ----ringher life for her sake I was not entirely shunned—for her sake some respect was shown me. But when she was taken away, anu when her friends found 1 did not re form, they abandoned me to my fate, and I became truly an outcast -an outcast from the society of the virtuous. I blame no one—it was my own laul . I wa* ad. V?ed—urged by all that wa- dear in life— by my wife‘s dying prayer—by the hopes and fears of an hereafter, to restrain iny vicious propensities and to walk in the paths of virtue. But I would not hear to them—l laughed them to scorn. 8o they left metomy atubborness. The ticket 1 now had was to seal my fate, i had lasted more than one day to obtain means to purchase it; I had even siainted my drink for means, so stiong was my passion for gambling. Well, 1 went into the office and called for the prize list. At a glance I saw my hopes weie frustrated; and crushing the list convul sively in my hand, I muttered a deep oath and stalked out of the office. That tick et indeed sealed my fate. “ The world owes me a living, and a living 1 will have!’ 1 said to myself, as I turned away with a despairing heart and walked up the street. My mind was suddenly made up to st strong purpose. There is money!’ I said between my teeth, as I sauntered slowly along meditating some desperate deed. I knew not the time of night—it was late however, for the stores were all closed, when a man brushed by me. As he pas*, sed 1 saw it was the vender of ti.kets— the man who sold me the first and last ticket! the man to whom l had paid dol lar after dollar until all was gone. He had a trunk in his hand, and was probably going home. This man, thought I, has received from me even to the last farthing —shall 1 not be justified in compelling him to return a part? at least, ought he not be made to give me something to re lieve my misery—to keep me from starv ing?* Such was my inconsistent reason ing, as 1 buttoned my jacket, and slowly followed him. Before reaching his house —he had to pass over a lonely space where there were no houses, and at that time of the night but little passing. He had gone over half of this space, when I stepped quickly and unwarily behind him; and grasping with one hand his collar and with the other his trunk, in a gruff voice demanded his money. The words were barely uttered before I was grappled by the throat. He was a strong man, an<j No. 4t>