Daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, Va. [W. Va.]) 1859-1865, 1861-03-19
guftIliopnter.
The a'1E'a@sTE1z.l Ien Traged "a No.
ILFO'l ills wheeling VRIoaof FApT-Iay lal1.l


lIF077 ne wheeling VnIonof TAuT~Iay lals.l
festeFaay two QSipt fa6ersl professions
passed through the muddy streets arill lIeft-
their burdens IN thes sane FraEe-yafdi. I 4
daily sight, common enough, yet it sent 4
thrill Of horror 70 the liehEIs OF the people.
1hefeHeezneq % BE = new and aEihl Sig.
niheance IN the black hearse, the bent
beads and gloomy silence of mourners
Life does grow taWdIy and trivial in "A
town We crowd 90 closely ON eacI, other
In church or street that IOse and hate. re-
ligion, death itself are but shallow CON.
mOnPtIees- We live like men on 4 lata
covered VaIeanO,-iu a tFeacbeFous. shan,
way. Now and then the deep undgr-cur-
rent Of tragedy breaks out, as IN the spec-
tarle Of yesterday. and We stop aud shudder
for moment Only for \ moment. To-
morrow We will go on, trading, drinking,
fighting rs II We bad never heard this sto-
~ Of A'Lane and MADDEN. What is tho
st0Tyf Two SJung men met acGfdeutalIv
under the influence ofiiquor. Young men
whose fathers had left them an hon0rabIe
name among Us born to an Inheritance Of
eddeation, refinement and religions train
ing. They arc fond of gaiety, OF drink
ing perhaps This night they take a glass
too much. Every night hundreds of Young
men do the same. There are few hasty
words began in jest; an angry motion. .
shot Any young man who len the bar.
rooms last night. his brain on Are, might
have done the same. The next morning
the more wretched of the two, dies. 4
manly boy, gentle bT nature and culture,
generous, WaTm-hehrted, impuIsive. the
only son Of his mother and she a widow.
All that cold dark March day, while the
other was slowly dying, this boy, NrLain,
goes wandering in a wild uncertain way
about the hills. All the boyish days Of
his old home, life il may he, and ali the
fresh rigorous life that might have been,
coming up before him Then certain Inn
Prisonment or death on the galIows. Yet
even this. Tue loss of himself, OF what
ever hope or plans be might have bad was
not the biIterest sting. 5It's my mother"
he said TO a friend who followed him.
'Oh, it's my mother His friend return
ed. How desperate the lost boy became.
Only God knows. He went slowly down
the road, or standing mOtiOnless looking
In the river for an hour, then quietly
writing bis name, took ont the pistol
and SHOT himself through the heart
His victim died and yesterday as We
said the strange. awful story had its
end. In the same grave yard, under
the same sombre resentfuI SKY the two
men, betTssn-Wh souls lay so terrible
An account, were laid TO rest. We do not
e4CuScf nor 1G0uQetnu= IneIF llYeS.- let the
dead bury their dead. But we do say a
word to the living. You call this a tragc-
dy2 Thee are thousands such tragedies,
TO which you are blind, going ON beside
you every day. There nre hundreds of
men and boys who meet yon on the street
with dull besotted faces, whose lives might /
be fair in Gods eyes we're il not for the |
fell curse of drink. You call this muir |
murderR What do you call the slow
poisoning Of yOur sons and brothers in
dens Of infamy that you pass with
laugh?
And We who know M'Iane, call his
death suicide. There are suicides every I
day more direfn8 than his There is a |
slow murder that we do not name such, OF |
brain, heart and manly honor, and Of |
whatever God has given US to make our
lives worth living for, There are those
among Us who are not driven to dare death
by desperate madness, but who take in
the poison slowly drop by drop with
laugh, knowing what they do.
We bear Eair fame in the worlds eye,
but it will be well for US when the grave
yard opens to receive US, if neither our
brothers blood nor our own call to God
against US from the ground.