The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1870-07-30
THE DRUNxARD,s DEATH.
CONCLUDED.

winters morning penetrated into the
narrow court, struggled through the
begrimed window of the wretched room,
Warden awoko from his heavy sleep,
and found himself alono. He rose, and
looked round him; the old flock mattress
on the floor was undisturbed; every
thing WAS just rs he remembered to
have seem it last; and there were no
signs Of any one, save himself, having
occupied the room during the night
He inquired of the other Iodgers, and
the neighbors; but his daughter had not
been seen or heard of. He rambled
through the streets, and scrutinized
each wretched face among the crowds
that thronged them, with anxious eyes
But his search was fruitless, and he re-
desolate and weary.
the same manner, but no trace of his
daughter did he meet with, and no word
of her reached his ears. At length he
gave UP the pursuit as hopeless. He
had long thought of the probability of
her leaving him, and endeavoripg to
gain her bread in 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. Every half-penny he could wiring
from the pity or credulity of those to
whom he addressed 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 arch-ways and in brick
fields-anywhere, where there was some
warmth or shelter from the cold anil rain.
But in the last stage of poverty, disease
and houseless want, he was drunkard
still.
At last, one bitter night, he sank down
on doorstep, faint and ill. The pre-
mature decay of vice and profigacy had
worn him to the bone. His cheeks
were hollow and livid; his eyes were
sunken, and their sight was dim. His
legs trembled beneath his weight, and q
cold shiver ran through every limb.
And now the long-forgotten scenes of q
mis-spentlife crowded thick and fast upon
him. He thought of the time when he
had a home-a happy, cheerful home
and of those who peopled it, and focked
about him then, until tho forms of his
elder children seemed to rise from the
grave, and stand about him-so plain,
so clear, and 80 distinct they were, that
he could touch and feel them. Looks
thab he had long forgotten were fixed
upon him once more; voices long since
hushed in death sounded in his ears lik Q
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 empty; the few passengers who
passed by at that late hour, hurried
quickly on, and his tremulous voice was
lost in the violence of the storm. Again
that heavy chill struck through his
frame, and his blood seemed to stngnate
beneath it. He coiled himself up in a
projecting doorway, and tried to sleep.
But sleep had fed from his dull and
glazed eyes. His mind wandered strange
ly, but he was awake and conscious.
The we'll known shout of drunken mirth
sounded in his ear, the glass was at his
lips, the board was covered with choice
rich food-they were before him; lie
had but to reach out 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 ain-drops rs they pattered on tho
stones, that death was coming upon him
by inches, and that there were none to
care for or help him.
Suddenly he started up in the ex-
tremity of terror. He had heard his
own voice shouting in the night air, he
knew not what OF why. Hark! A gronn!
-anotherl His senses were leaving him
half-formed and incoherent words burst
from his lips; and his hands sought to
tear and Iacerate his flesh. He was 60
ing mad and he shrieked for help till his
voice failed him.
BE raised his head and looked up the
lone dismal street. He recollected that
outcasts like himself, condemned to
wander day and night in those dreadful
streets, had sometimes gone distracted
with their own loneliness. He remem-
bored to have heard many years before
that homeless wretch had once been
found in solitary corner, sharpening a
rusty knife to plunge into his own heart,
preferring death to that endless, weary
wandering to and fro. In m instanth his
resolve was taken, his limbs received new
life; he ran quickly from tho spot, and
paused not for breath until he reached
the riverside
Ho crcpt softly down tho steep stone
stairs that lead from tho commencement