The Columbian fountain., 1845-12-23
THE DRUNkARDS END.

THE DRUNKARDS END.
g 0 view on its surface the ruins Of genius,
The wreck of the scholar, the Christian and friend
The learning, the wit, the graces that charm'd us,
In the life-drowning bowl meet permanent end.
During the cold winter OF. 1912, business
Of an important nature called me through
the northern section Of Vermont: The
way was long and dreary, the road frequent
ly blocked with snow; and towards the
close OF a tempestuous afternoon, gladly
found myself approaching the humble inn
Of small village. Giving my horse to an
attendant, hastily entered the house, and
SO much was benumbed with cold, that
had been some moments before the fire, be-
fore noticed that an assemblage of people
present were then preparing for funeral.
As the clergyman addressed the throne of
grace inferred, from his petition for absent
relatives, that it was a stranger for whom they
were performing the last offices and with
the earnestness with which he implored the
grace Of God, to keep all present from the
vice OF intemperance, was led to think he
had fallen its victim. After he had closed,
the usual invitation was given for those pre-
sent to look for the last time upon the face
Of the dead. With that instructive curiosi-
| ty SO natural TO us all, too went forward to
gaze upon the sad relic of mortality. be-
held the countenance of young man, bloat-
ed and dlshgured, and was turning away,
| when an indistinct recollection of having
seen the face before, caused me to look again;
| could not mistake Though sadly mar
red, it was indeed my earliest and best friend
that lay before me. SO long and earnest
was my gaze so completely forgotten was
every thing but him, that the undertaken
was obliged to remind me that it was time
for him 10 proceed to his duties. He had
nearly closed the coffin, when interrupted
him, hardly conscious of what said, & Oh,
let me look once more upon the face of my
friend" He again made way for me, and
after satisfying myself that it was indeed
Henry l., withdrew from the gaze
Of all, and gave vent to my feelings in the
biterest flood Of tears had shed since my
childhood. My kind host soon interrupted
me by asking, if would not follow as a
mourner in the procession. answered him,
"Most certainly; my early friend shall not
go unattended to his grave" The simple
preparations were soon made and as the
hearse moved slowly on, my mind reverted TO
the time when had known It's occupant,
full oflife and happiness 0, what an age of
sin and suffering he must have endured to
cause SO great change. | knew him the
darling & son of his mother, and she a wi
dow,n enduring all the comforts of life, in
pleasant New England village, where were
both at school. Together we had studied !,
| together rambled the fields in search of
4 plants and minerals had entered neighbor-
4 ing counting houses in the same city and
when left il for commercial speculations in
a distant country, our correspondence had
4 for time been frequent. But since my re-
turn to my native land, although had re-
peatedly written, had heard not word from
Thin. Yet rumour had told me that his
habits were unsettled ifnot disspatcd.
As we desposted him in his lonely bed,
/, I felt that was again and forever separated
from him-and when we turned from the
grave ward, know not that should have felt
more desolate, had | been the only created
| being in the universe. Night was fast clos
ng Ill upon us ule WHiIy Win siSleu
| heavily around, and to my saddened heart
the solitary room and cheerful fire of our
inn were most welcome.
In the course of the evening obtained
from my post all the information in his pos
ession relating to my friend 1t seemed
d vat he had been wandering about in the Vi
ciuity for several days, that he would some
times ask the privilege Of seat by the fire,
I apd piece Of bread to eat that he was hag-
gard and detected in the extreme and on the
last day he was seen among them, he was re-
cei,ying a morsel from the hand of an old
lady he said to her, "You remind me