In another part of the room, Griffith saw a young man sitting behind a table, and leaning against the wall, with his hat drawn down over his forehead, and wearing a heavy set of features. Before him on the table lay three heaps of money--one of silver--another of gold--a third of paper. Griffith eat some very fine blanc mange on the table, and drank a little brandy, after which he concluded he would risk ten dollars on a card. He did so, and put a ten dollar bill into his pocket. His next risk was five dollars, which he lost. With various success he spent an hour, at the end of which he had tripled his money. He then retired to his room, and slept until a late hour in the morning. Then he went to a merchant tailor, and ordered his new suit, and spent the day in musing--visiting factories--attending auctions, and laying plans for the night. "If I had held on I might have broke them," said he; "I should have gotten $3,600!" Night came, and with it a self-confident feeling peculiar to the young gambler. He returned alone through the stall into "hell," and there lost all he had but five dollars. The next night he won $150. The next night, which was to be his last in the city, he went, and for a time succeeded. Once he had $700 in pocket, but before day-light he had lost every cent he had, and making known his situation, two men who had won his money, gave him each five dollars, and advised him to leave town at day-light. That was a wretched night to Griffith. His couch was a "bed of unrest." His very dreams were startling. At daylight he paid his bill, and had remaining three dollars and a quarter. He mounted Decatur, and with a heavy heart journeyed towards the village of Goodcheer. When he found himself in sight of home, he felt in his pocket and found he had seventy-five cents. He also felt for the cancelled bond, but could not find it. Riding into the woods, he examined his saddle-bags, and found the bond in a waistcoat pocket. Seizing it with great joy, he shed a tear, and mounted again. All the way home he had thought much of the manner in which he should account for not having the new clothes. At length seeing no way of escape, from confusion at least, in case his father should inquire respecting the matter, he cherished the hope that his father would say nothing. So he paced along, and got home just in time for dinner. There was an air of affected cheerfulness in young Griffith's gait and manner, that was unusual. He did the best he could--took care early to deliver the cancelled bond--said he was not much pleased with the city, and told something of what he had seen. Next day his father asked if he had gotten the new suit. He replied that he had concluded not to get it then, and reddened very much. Mr. Griffith told his wife that he had fears about Grayson. They both wept, and agreed to pray for him more than usual.