Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1852-07-28
THE FATE OF A DRUNKARD.
BY DICKENS.


When the dim and misty light of winters
morning penetrated into the narrow court, and
struggled through the begrimed window OF the
wreched room, Warden awoke from his heavy
sleep, and found himself alone. He rose aDo
looked around him; the old flock mattress or
the floor was undisturbed; everything was just
as he remembered to have seen it last, and there
was no sign of any one, save himself, having
occupied the room during the night. He inqui.
red of the other dodgers and of the Eeighbors
but his daughter had not been seen or heard Of
He rambed through the streets, and scrutinized
each wretched face, among the crowds that
thronged them, with anxious eyes. But his
search was fruitless, and he returned to his gar
ret when night came on, desolate and weary.
For many days he occupied himself in the
same manner, but no traces of his daughter did
he meet with, and no word of her reached his
ears. At last he gave up pursuit as hopeless.
He had long thought Of the possibility Of her
leaving him, and endeavorng to gain her bread
i. quiet elsewhere. She had left him at last to
starve alone. He ground his teeth, and cursed
her.
He begged his bread from door TO door. Ev-
cry half-peuny he could wiring from the pity
or creduty of those to whom he had ad-
dressed himself, was spent in the old way. A
year passed over his head; the roof of Jail
was the only one that had sheltered him for
many months. He slept under archways, and
in brckield-anywhere where there was some
warmth or shelter from the cold or rain. But
in the last stage of poverty, disease, and house
less want, he was drunkard still.
At last, one bitter night, he sunk down on a
door step faint and ill., The premature decay
of vice and prohigacy had worn him to the bone.
His cheeks were hollow and livid his eyes were
sunken, their sight was dim His legs trembled
beneath his weight, and cold shiver ran thro'
every limb.
And now the long forgotten scenes of a mis-
spent life crowded thick and fast upon him.
He thought of the time when he had a home
a happy cheerful homeland of those who peo-
pied it, and flocked about him then, until the
forms of his elder children seemed to rise up
from the grave, and stand about hm-so plain,
so clear, so distinct they were, that he could
touch and feel Ihem Looks that he had long
forgotten, were fixed upon him once more /;
voices long since hushed in death, sounded in
his ears like the music Of village BELLS But it
was only for an instant. The rain beat heavily
upon him, and cold and hunger were gnawing
at his heart again.
He rose and dragged his feeble limbs few
PAGES further. The street was silent and emp
ly the few passers by, at that late hour hur-
ried quickly OIL, and his tremulous voice was
lost in the storm. That heavy chill again
struck through his frame, and his blood seemed
to stagnate beneath it. He coiled himself up
in projecting doorway and tried to sleep
But sleep had fled from his dull and glazed
ewes. His mind wandered strangely but he
was awake and conscious The well known
shout of drunken mirth sounded in his ear-the
glass was at his lips--the board was covered
with rich food-they were before him, he could
see them all--he had but to reach his hand and
take them-and though the illusion was reality
itself, he knew that he was sitting alone in the
deserted street, watching the rain drops as they
pattered on the stones; and there was none to
care for or help him.
Suddenly he started up in the extremity of
terror. He had heard his own voice cry in the
night air, he knew not what or why. Hark
A groan Another His senses were leaving
hm-half formed and incoherent words burst
from his lips; and his hands sought to tear and
acerate his flesh. He was going mad, and he
shreked for help till his voice failed him.
He raised his head, and looked up the long
dismal street. He recolected that outcasts like
himself condemned to wander day and night in
those dreadful streets had sometimes gone dis
tracted with their loneliness. He remembered
to have heard many years before, that home
less wretch had once been found in a solitary
corner, sharpening rusty knife, to plunge into
his own heart. preferring death to that endless,
weary wandering to and fro. In an instant his
resolve was taken; his limbs received new life !;
he ran quickly from the spot, and paused not
for breath until he reached the river side.
He crept softly down the steep stone stairs
that led from the commencement Of Waterloo
bridge, down TO the waters level. He crouch
ed into corner, and held his breath as the pa
troll passed. Never did prisoners heart throb
with the hope and liberty and life half so ca
gery as did that wretched man at the prospect
of death. The watch passed close to him, but
he remained unobserved; and after waiting till
the sound of footsteps had died away in the
distance, he cautiously descended and stood be-
meath the gloomy arch that forms the landing
place from the river.
The tide was in, and the water flowed at his
feet. The rain had ceased the wind was lulled,
and all was, for the moment, still quiet--so qui-
ct that the ripping of the waters against the
barges that were moored there, was distinctly
audible to his ears. The stream stole languid-
ly and suggishly on. Strange and fantastic
form arose to the surface, and beckoned him to
approach dark cleaning eyes peered from the
water, and seemed to mock his hesitation, while
h,JIou, ,nor,nnrs from hahind uruad him on