Arkansas weekly mansion., 1884-03-01
The Drunkard'S Death.


The Drunkard's Death.
At last. one bitter night, he sunk
down on the doorstep, faint and ill.
The premature decay of vice and
protlig had worn him to the bone.
His checks were hollow and livid; his
eyes were sunken, and their sight was
dim. His legs trembled beneath his
weight, and cold shiver ran through
every limb.
And now the long forgotten scenes OF
upon him. He thought of the time
when he had a hOme-a happy, cheer
full home of those who peoplcd it,
and iiocked about him then, until the
forms of his elder children seemed to
rise from the grave. and stand about
him-so plain, SO clear and so distinct
they We're that he could touch and feel
them. Looks that he had long forgot
ten were fixed upon him once more;
voices long since hushcd in dcath h
sounded in his ear Ike the music of vii
lage bells. But it was only for an in
stant. The rain beat heavily upon him;
and cold and hunger We're gnawing at
his heart again. He rose, and dragged
his feeble limbs Il few PAGES farther.
The street was silent and empty; the
few passengers who passed by, ut that
late hour, hurried quickly on, and his
1remulous voice was lost in the violence
of the storm. Again that heavy chill
struck through his frame, and his blood
seemed to stagnate beneath it. He
coiled himself up in a projecting door
way and tried to sleep.
But sleep had fed from his dull and
glazed eyes. His mind wandered
strangely, but he was awake and con-
sciOus. The wcll-kuown sound of
drunken mirth sounded in his ears, the
glass was at his lips, the board was
covered with choice rich food-they
were before him: he could see them all,
he had but to reach out his hand and
take them, and. though the illusion
was reality itself. he knew he was
alone in the deserted street, watching
the rain-drops rs they battered on the
stones; that death was coming upon
him by inchcs-and that there was
none to care for or help him. Sudden
ly he started up in the extremity of
terror. He had heard his own voice
shouting in the night air, he knew not
what. or why. Hark, Il groan,-anoth-
cr, His senses were leaving him; half
formed and incohcrcnt words burst
from his lips; and his hands sought to
ttdI anu ms ilCNli. llc " .tS ~
inc mad and he shricked for help, but
his voice failed him.
He raised his head and looked up the
long, dismal street. He recollccted that
outcaSts like himself, condemned to
wander day and night in those dismal
streets. had sometimes gone distracted
with their dismal loneliness. He re-
menlbercd 10 have heard many years
before that Il homeless wretch had once
been found in solitary corner, sharp
cning a. rusty knife to plunge into his
own heart, prcfc-ring 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 crcpt softly down the steer
stone stairs that lead from the com
mencGmcnt of Waterloo Bridge, down
to the waters level. He crouched into
q corner. and held his breath, as the
patrol passed. Never did the prison
cr's heart thgob with the hope of lib
crtv and life half SO eagerly a did that
OF the wrctchcd man at the prospect ol
death. The watch passed close to him,
but he remained unob served; and, after
waiting till the footsteps had died away
and stood beneath the gloomy arch
that forms the landing place from tho
river.
The tide was in and :he water flowed
at his feet. The rain had ceased and
the wind WAS lulieu. and all was for the
moment still and quiet-so silent that
the slightest sound on the opposite
bank. even the rippling Of the water
aga.nst the harges that were moorcC
there. was distinctly audible to his ear
The stream sole lauguidly and slug
rishly on. Strange and fantastic form:
rose TO the surface and hcckOne hin
to approach; dark. cleaning eye
pccret from the water, and seemed tC
mock his hes .tation. while hollow mur
murs from behind urged him onward
He retreatcd a few PAGES. took shor
run, a desperate leap, and plunged into
the water.
Not five seconds had passed when he
rose to the water S surface; but what :
change had taken place in that shor
time, in all his thoughts and feelings
Lifc-lfe-in any form; poverty, mis-
cry and starvation, anything but death
He fought and struggled with the wate
that closed over his head. and screamed
in anonics of terror. The curse OF hi
but one foot OF dry ground-Ee coulC
almost touch the step. One hand:
breadth nearer and he was saved; bu
the tide bore him onward, under th'
dark arches of the bridge. and he sanl
to the bottom. Again he arose ant
struggled for life. For one instant-fo
one brief instant the buildings on thu
river banks, the lights on the bridge
through which the current had borne
him. the black water and the faSt-hyin2
clouds, were distinctly yisible-once
more he sank, and once again he rose
Bright plumcs of fire shot up from
earth to heaven and rceled before hi
eyes, while the water thundercd in hi
cars and stunned him with its furious
roar.
\ week afterwards the body wa
washed ashore some miles down the
river, a swollen and distiTrrcd mass
Unrccognizcd and unpitied, it was borne
to the grave, and there it has long since
moldercd away Charles Dickens.