r from me to-morrow."

"Devine finally woke just before the public-houses closed. He staggered
out, and, after his first drink, the memory of what had passed flashed
back on him. He felt in his pockets. Yes! He had some money--a good deal
as it happened, for he had put five shillings on a horse at 33 to 1.
"Pull yourself together, Billy," he muttered. "You must have a warm bed
to-night, and face it out to-morrow. One more drink, and I'll have my
bed here."

In the morning he felt wretched, but when he had regained his nerve by
the usual method he acted like a man. First he wrote a letter to his
wife. (I saw the yellow old copy of it.)

"Dearest,--I had a bit of luck yesterday, and took too much on the
strength of it. I was carried home from this house, and I could not
speak to Lily or any of them. I deserve to lose you, and I will never
ask you to come back unless there is no fear of more misery. But this I
will do. I intend to maintain my own children, if I go and sell matches.
I won eight pounds odd yesterday. I squandered one pound, I keep two to
make a fresh start, and you have the rest. While this heart shall
beat--yes, while memory holds her seat, as the poet says, you are dear
to me. Once more, in the poet's words, I grapple you to my soul with
hoops of steel. What has come over me I do not know, and when I wake to
the fact of my degradation I go madly to the drink again. But I will
try, and I implore your forgiveness. I cannot hope to see you often, and
it is better that I should not, for I am worthless. But think of me,
and, if I fall again and again, believe me that I shall go on striving
to do better.--Until death, I am your loving, W. DEVINE."

"We don't want none of his 'oss-racin' money. Send it back, my gal,"
growled old Billiter when he saw this letter. But the poor woman would
not hurt her husband.

Devine found all respectable employments closed to him, and he was often
in desperate straits; but he would always contrive to send something, if
it were only a half-crown, toward the support of his children. When he
reached the Nadir of shabbiness, he touted in Piccadilly among the cabs,
and picked up a few coppers in that way. For days he could abstain from
drink, but that curse never left him, and he broke down again and again,
only to repent and strive more fervently than ever. Alas! how weak we
are. Surely we should help each other. I am often tempted to forget
there is evil in the world. There are