Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1861-03-27
paper.
Murder and Suicide.

The Wheeling (Va-) Union tells OF asnock-
ing tragedy that recently occurred m that !
city-a muraer and suieids-Eguor being
the sole and only cause. What Is the sto-
ry ? asks the Union-and then answers IN
the following language, which should carry
alarm and terror to every one who accns-
toms himself to the use of the. maddenlng
cup. Two young men met accidently under
the influence of liquor. Young men "hose
fathers had left them an honorable name
among MS born to an inheritance CT educa-
cation, refinement and religious training
They are fond of sayety, of d drinking per-
haps. This night they take a glass too
much. Every night hundreds Of Dung men
do the same. There are a few haSty words
began in jest; an angry molten, a shot. ANY
young man who left the bar ioom last night,
his brain on Ere, might have done the s#me,
The next morning the more wretched of
the two, flies. a manly boy, gentle by ma
ture and culture, generous, warm-heaFted,
impulsive, the only son Of his mother and
she a widow. On that cold dark March day,
while the other was slowly dying, this boy,
McLain, goes wandering in a wild unceI tain
way about the hills. All the boyish DAYS Of
vigorous life that might have been, coming
up before bin. Then certain Imprisonment
or death on the galiows. Yet even this
The loss of himself, Of whatever hope OF
hplans he might have had, vas not the bitter.
est sting. Its my mother" be said to a
friend who followed him. oh it's my mo-
ther.' His friend returned. How desperate
the lost boy became. Only God knows
He went slowly down the rold, or standing
motionless looking in the river for an hour,
then quietly writing his name, took ont the
pistol and shot himself through the heart
His victim died, and yesterday, as we said, the
1 strange, awful story bad its end. In tb,
same graveyard, under the same sombre, re
sentful sky, the two men, between who's,
souls lay SO terrible an account, were laid tc
: rest. We do not excuse nor condemn thei
lives. Let the dead bury their dead. Blu
l we do say a word to the living. You ca
t this a tragedy? There are thousands Of nc
tragedies, to which you are blind, going o.
!, beside you every DAY. There are hundred
: of men and boys who meet you on the stree
with dull besotted faces, whose lives Nigh
/ be fair in Gods eyes, were it not for the fel
$ curse of drink. You GILL this a murder ?
What do you call the slow poisoning of yor
f sons and brothers in dens of inEamy tn;
t you pass with a laugh?
% And we who know Milan call his deaf
a a suicide. There are suicides every da
II more direful than his. There is a slow mn
,p der that we do not name such, of brain, hca
n and manly honor, and of whatever God b
= given us 10 make our lives worth living fl
IT There are those among us who are not driy
Id to dare death by a desperate madness, b
who take in the poison slowly drop, by Dire
w with a laugh, knowing what they do.
We bear fair fame in the worlds eye, |
of it will be well for us when the grave va
,is opens to receive us, if neither our brothe
10 blood nor of our own, call to God agail
us from the ground.
Yesterday two quiet funeral proccssic
:. passed through the muddy streets, and
their burdens in the same grave yard.
., daily sight, common enough, yet it sent
thrill Of horror to the hearts of the PEG,
There seemed to be a new and awful S
n~ifcance in the black hearse, the bent be
and gloomy silence of the mourners.
does grow ta"dry and trivial in a towr
We Grove so closely on each other in chu
or street, that love and hate, religion, d.
itself are but shallow commonplaces.
fac =
;ool, 49,
~deep-under current of tragedy breaks ou'
in the spectacle of yesterday, and we stop
shudder for a moment. Only for a mon
Tomorrow we will go on, trading, drink
' fighting, as if we had never heard this S
of McLain and Hadden.
tlic