For a few months after the event just narrated "Dodd" went to school to
Mr. Bright, and during the whole time he deported himself as a good and
faithful student should. But with the next meeting of the Conference,
Parson Weaver was shifted again, and with him went the hero of this
story. (I think "Dodd" may justly be called a hero after so bravely
doing what he did in the presence of the school and the board of
education, as just told.) Mr. Bright also left Emburg the following
year, and so he and "Dodd" drifted apart, as people are all the time
doing in this wide, wide world.
The parson had now been so long in the service that he was promoted to
a city pastorate, at this turn of the ecclesiastical wheel of fortune,
and so it fell out that "Dodd" went to the city to live. A more
unfortunate thing could hardly have happened to him.
Yet his lot was such as is common to most boys who go from country to
city life. They drift into the town where everything is new, strange
and rare to them, just at that age when they are the most curious, the
most on fire with new-born and wholly untamed passions, and the least
able to resist temptation. The glitter and tinsel of city life have
thus a charm for them which falls powerless upon young men who have
been familiar with such sights from their youth up, and the ignis
fatuus of gilded pleasures lures them into the quagmires of sin before
they are aware, where hosts of them sink down to death in the
quicksands of a fast life. "Dodd" was not an uncommon boy. When he
went to the city, he did as hosts have done before him, and as hosts
will continue to do. I suppose God knows why!
Yet the young man did not go all at once into by and forbidden paths.
Few folks do. Neither do they come out of such ways by one great leap.
There are those who preach a different doctrine.
Either "Dodd" or his father made a fatal mistake, too, on going to
town. Neither of them arranged to have the boy get to work, as soon as
he entered his new life. The elder thought his son was getting large
enough to look out for himself, and "Dodd" waited awhile to look
around. So, between the two, the cup of salvation that the boy should
have quaffed, fell, and was broken.
"Dodd" drifted about the town for many days, seeing what he could see.
His memory of Mr. Bright was still fresh and nourishing, and it often
held him from wrong, where his natural inclination would have carried
him clear over the line that separates evil from good. An iron, well
heated, will hold its heat long after it is taken out of the fire. It
grows cold, though, after a while.
So the boy began to circle about in the outer edge of the whirlpool
that sucks in its victims so relentlessly and remorselessly, always, in
the city.
I wish I did not have to tell the tale of still another descent into
Avernus, of this boy of the checkered career. But I have started out
to paint the picture exactly as it is, and I dip my brush in black
again with a sigh. You have to do the same thing in telling, even to
yourself, the story of yourself, don't you, my reader whose blood has
iron in it, and whose pulses beat fast? I am not writing of a
sluggish-veined person, nor for people of that complexion, good people
though they are.
"Dodd" had never been to the theatre. He was curious to go, and now
that he came within reach of this class of amusements he was all
anxiety to gratify his desire in this direction. He said nothing to
his father or his mother about this, however. Indeed, it would have
availed little if he had; that is, as these amusements were always
looked upon by the parson and his good wife. They would have contented
themselves by anathematizing the play-house and forbidding "Dodd"
attendance at such places; probably ending up their dissertation by
declaring to the boy that it was his "natural heart, which is enmity
against God," that led him to desire such sinful diversions.
So, one night "Dodd" went alone to the theatre.
Truth to tell, and to his credit be it said, he chose a reputable place
for his maiden visit. The play was "London Assurance." It was well
done, and the boy, who really possessed much innate dramatic genius,
enjoyed the performance greatly. He felt ill at ease, however, while
in the place, and went very quietly to bed when he reached home.
Indeed, as he lay awake for an hour or two after retiring, unable to
sleep because of the vivid visions of the play that his highly wrought
imagination and memory represented to his mental eyes, he resolved that
he would never again go to see a play, but would stop with a single
taste of the pleasure. Having made this resolve, be went to sleep
content. How easy it is to make good resolutions, and to be content
and satisfied in them when out of the reach of temptation.
But the next day, as he went about the city, he saw "Othello" billed
for that evening. He was restless in an instant. He talked the matter
over with himself something as follows, considering whether or not he
should go and see the "Moor of Venice:"
"'Dodd,' you are a fellow who cannot rest contented until you have seen
what there is to see in the line of plays upon the stage. There are
two kinds of dramas--tragedy and comedy. You saw comedy last night.
Go and see tragedy tonight and that will cover the whole field. You
will then have seen it all and will be satisfied."
So that night, Tuesday evening, he went to see the tragedy. Don't ask
about his resolve of the night before; just ask how you yourself have
done scores of times, under similar circumstances, when you have sworn
off, but when the trial came, have concluded not to count that time!
"Dodd" enjoyed "Othello" as much as he did "London Assurance." But
that night he pledged himself again not to pursue the pleasure further,
as he had now seen it all. The next day, however, he found "Uncle
Tom's Cabin" billed. Now even "ministers went to see this play," the
bills said. "Dodd" saw "Topsy," "Eva," "Marks," and "Uncle Tom" that
night!
Thursday he found "Ten Nights in a Bar-Room" billed. He knew the
story, and was anxious to see the characters in it upon the stage. He
saw them.
Friday, his friend John Oller, from Emburg, was in town, and "Dodd"
confessed to him that he had been four times to the theatre. John said:
"Well, 'Dodd,' I never went, and I want to go. Come and go with me
to-night." The boys followed "Marble Heart" through to the end that
evening.
Saturday they went down town together, and "Zoe, the Octoroon Girl,"
was on for matinee. They took it in. Saturday night was set for
"Hamlet," and that melancholy Dane died in their presence before the
city clock rang in the Sabbath morning.
Here is the story for you, good people. Seven times to the theatre in
one week, for a boy who had been to such a place but seven times in all
his life. It is the way of human nature. I suppose that when Adam and
Eve really got to eating the forbidden apples, they ate, and ate, and
ate. At least, this quality has been transmitted to their descendants.
Now, the bad thing about this affair, was not that "Dodd" had been to
the play-house seven times, but that he had been there clandestinely.
When a person begins to sneak about anything, he is on the down grade
to perdition, and the brakes are all off.
The result of this excess of "Dodd's" was a still further dissipation.
It is usually that way. The theatre soon had a fascination for him
that he could not withstand. He went whenever he could get money
enough to buy a ticket. After awhile he began to frequent places of
amusement of a low grade. The "variety" performance attracted him, and
he became an habitual attendant at such places. Here he formed
acquaintances and made friendships that were not to his advantage, to
say the best thing that can be said of them; and with these companions
he drifted down the descent he had started on so unthinkingly. Here,
also, he learned to drink, a vice which he had heretofore escaped.
So he kept on, down, and down. He needed money for the gratification
of his desires, and to procure it he began to venture a little now and
then on some gaming device. He was cautious and shrewd, and his early
"investments" were fortunate. He won small sums at various times, and
was elated with his success. He loitered much about the "bucket shop,"
and now and then took a "deal" as some friend gave him a "pointer." He
was fortunate here, also, and even though so young, his vivid
imagination began to picture the fortune he should some day make in
this way. He suddenly dropped his country ways, dressed flashily, and
took on, with marvelous aptitude, the customs and manners of
metropolitan life.
And still he kept his own counsel. The great gulf fixed between
himself and his parents grew wider and wider. It was through this gap
that the devils entered in and took possession of his soul.
The Book has it that wicked men wax worse and worse. It was so with
"Dodd." His love of liquor grew upon him with wonderful rapidity. He
began drinking to excess, his eyes became bloodshot, his hand became
unsteady, and his step halted.
But the better part of the young man rebelled at this retrogression.
He passed many an agonizing night alone, pledging himself to stop;
hoping, longing for his true life of a few months before, and cursing
his present condition. The "Other Fellow" was faithful to him, too,
calling loudly to him to turn about, to go the other way, to "be
converted."
But as is usual in such cases, after a night of such agony he would
take one drink in the morning, just to steady his nerves down, and one
being taken, the rest followed in course through the day, as they had
done the day before, and the day before that. He was drunk a good
share of the time.
It happened one night as he was going home, or rather as he was trying
to go home, being in a very mellow condition, that is, he "stackered
whiles"--that he was accosted by a polite and pleasant voiced, young
gentleman, who took his arm kindly and walked with him several blocks.
As they walked he told "Dodd" that he was on his way to attend a
revival meeting, and asked him to go along. Just then "Dodd" "took a
bicker," and in the lurch, he knocked a book out from under the arm of
his companion. It was a Bagster Bible!
But the two went on together to the meeting. They went well to the
front of the congregation, the guide steadying the wavering steps of
the man he was leading. "Dodd" sat down, and after a brief rest began
to come to himself, and to realize where he was. He hung his head for
shame, and wept as the service progressed. He was weak, unnerved, a
wreck. He looked at his shattered self, and groaned in spirit over the
ruin that he saw. He longed to break away from the terrible bondage
that held him in its thrall. He cried out in spirit, in an agony, for
help in this time of his great need.
The sermon came on. The minister seemed to "Dodd" to be talking
straight at him. (Indeed, the gentleman had observed his entrance to
the church, and frequently had him in mind as he made this point or
that, in his remarks.) Under the enthusiastic eloquence of this man
"Dodd's" anguish increased till he was almost in a frenzy. It was when
he had reached this point that the speaker uttered the following words:
"Young man, whoever you are, no matter how cursed with sin or polluted
with iniquity you may be, put your trust in Jesus and all your sins
will be blotted out. Are you a drunkard, with an appetite for drink
that is gnawing your life away? Throw yourself into the arms of Jesus,
and he will take away your appetite for strong drink and give you
strength to overcome all the temptations of your former life. Let the
light of Jesus once shine into your soul, and neither cloud nor storm
shall ever enter there again. All will be brightness and purity. Old
things will have passed away, and all things will become new. I offer
you this salvation to-night, O, weary, sin-sick soul. Take it, I
beseech of you. Let the Sun of Righteousness break in upon you at this
hour, and never will you be in darkness again."
The man glowed under his theme, and his audience warmed with his
impulsive appeal. "Dodd's" soul grew hopeful. All these things
promised were the very things he was longing for. He had pledged
himself time and again to stop wrong doing, and had broken his word in
every case. He hated himself for this, and he stretched out his hands
for salvation from his miserable estate. Here, help was offered.
Why should he not take it?
And then the great congregation arose with a sound as of a rushing,
mighty wind, and all sang together, with an effect that must be seen to
be realized, "Just as I am, without one plea," etc.
You know what followed, do you not, ladies and gentlemen? "Dodd"
Weaver "indulged a hope" before he left the church.