“Wit that is bought, is worth twice as much as wit that is taught,” says the proverb. We have good counsels bestowed upon us, but words make a faint impression. It is only when these counsels have been despised, and we are made actually to suffer, that we obtain lessons which stick by us, and influence us. A father once warned his son against certain evil ways. “Why do you counsel me, thus?” said the boy. “Because I have tried these things and seen the folly of them,” said the parent. “Well, father,” replied the inexperienced youth, “I want to see the folly of them too!” Thus it is that we will not take the experience of others; we will not heed the warnings of wisdom; we must needs taste of evil, and then, but not till then, do we bear in mind the bitterness that is in the cup of indulgence. So it was with me; I had heard the dangers of gambling, but I had not seen and felt the folly of it. But now the lesson of experience had come, and it was deep and bitter. I went to bed with a heavy heart. Sleep came not to my eyelids that long, long night. My fancy was filled with real and imaginary evils. The death of my uncle; the loss of my fortune; the desolation of my condition; my visit to old Sarah’s cave; the bitter disappointment connected with the continental notes; my farewell to friends; my launching forth upon the sea of adventure;--all, came again and again to mind, each thought with oppressive force and distinctness. Ideas seemed like living images marching and countermarching in fearful procession, through the grisly shadows of the night. Nor was this all. To these realities, were added the fantasies suggested by apprehension, the painful emotions of an offended conscience, and the bitter self-distrust, which a conviction of my weakness and folly, at the very threshold of active and responsible life, forced upon me. All these came in to increase my misery. In vain did I try to close my eyes in repose; in vain did I seek to shut out the truth from my mind. The more I courted sleep, the more wakeful I became; the more I tried not to think, the more bright and vivid were my conceptions. My soul was like an illuminated house, filled with bustle and noise, when the proprietor would fain have sought the silence and repose of the pillow. Morning at last came, and with it something like comfort. “I have learnt a lesson,” said I, “and will never gamble again.” Such was the fruit of my experience, and it was worth all it cost me; for from that time I have kept my resolution. I went to deliver the letters which had been given me by Raymond and his brother. The persons to whom they were addressed, received me kindly, and one of them, a bookseller, took me into his shop as a clerk, on trial.