, 1841-09-25

The MILFORD BaRD.-The following in
relation to the Milford Bard we extract from
the N. o. Crescent City:
We knew the unfortunate subject of this
artlcle-tcn years ago he was the centre of
the most brilliant circle in his native State
now a degraded drunkard, he is thrust into
the society of alms-house paupers! His his.
terry is soon told. lie was young, rich and
generous, possessing the strong impulses
which form the fountain head Of the silver
stream Of poesey, his life was one continued
strain of music-one long vibration on the
golden harp Of love.
''Then came the course Of my gone years."
In the rich halls of fame there glided in
noiseless beauty a creature of heavenly bright
ness. The old tale!-the poet adored the
spirit of his soul, and she looked upon her
worshipper with the cold, dull eye of pride.
Few OF us are blessed with the moral
courage to survive disappointment like this,
and madly we fly TO the dark waters of L.e-
the even though they drown but for a single
moment the burning thoughts which press
the scorpion stings deep into the brain. Far
be it from US 10 advocate the cause of iniem-
perance, but even while we deprecatc we
must look with pity upon those who have
been smitten with the plague. spot of the hor-
rid vice. Blindly he dashes on, reckless OF
the future days and forgetting in his delirium
the green old days passed in the glorious SUM-
shine of youth. He was then the broken.
hearted man-the dying notes Of his once
rich song loat,ed upon the ear like the sigEs
of a wounded spirit at the gate of heaven.-
The object Of his early love married. With
a glazed eye and laded hope he sees the last
plank torn from his grasp and hears the livid
water gurgle in his ear. Then comes mad
ness, and Il poet revels in the splendor of
a luridball. The dream is over, he has pas
sed through the alter of fire into Beal but
he is scratched-scratched TO the quick! Step
by step he walks on TO perdition. and one
by one his friends desert him. Still he clings
to her memory--stiII the sweet, sad song of
the past is born upon the dark wave Of sor-
row.
Some two years ago an attempt was made
by some Of his friends TO endeavor if possible
TO save him from utter degradation, by pla-
cling him for a voluntarily period in the Bal
timOre Jail. | called one evening TO see
him, he was gay and cheerful, but happiness
was the thin upper crust of his fellings.-
There was one sentence which | can never
forget,i it waslate& the jailor informed me that
Mr.-was rather unwell and was about re-
firing TO rest. Yielding to my importuni-
ties, however, he led the way to his apar-
tment. Peeping through the key hole saw
him engaged in prayer; his hands were rails
ed in mute supplication 10 heaven and tears
wer rolling down his cheek. "Men call
me a drnkard; )! but oh, G cd! fargive her who
has caused this wreckm
The friend and comp7nion of Thomas
Moor-he whose society was courted by
the first OF the land and around whose
brow fame would have thrown his richest
wreath--is now a degraded inmate Of a COM
mon asylum for paupers! He will 60 down
to the tomb u%nhonorcd, and the hillock grow
ing with weeds above his head will be poin-
ted out by the passer by as the "Drunkards
Craze"