The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-05-24

closed on butler and messenger, II begin to feel
better already"
He unlocked his desk, took ont the bottle. re-
moved the stopper, and smelled the deadly
liquor.
well, the stir it will make will be just as great
as if it had done it."
Then he replaced the bottle in the desk, open
ed the window, sat down in an easy chair, and
neither spoke nor moved for a long time.
Presently he rose, closed the window, and
paced the ROOM then sat down at his desk and
did very unusual thing-began talking to
himself in loud whisper.
mo, John, not to-night-to-morrow-l me
say tomorrow. You must put things straight
for your brother, and write some letters-you
must see Nolan, too"
Nolan was confidential friend and solicitor.
"Are you going; mad, John? No, coming to
your senses, eh? You have been mad for five
years, mad and miserable. Now you are to have
rest and peace. All, John, if poor men only
knew the bliss Of an honest life they would
never desire to be rich. If had my time to
come over again! Why couldn't have had a
dream years ago, like that old man in the story,
and have awakened in time to turn back, to re-
form, to follow the other roadl"
He arose and looked at himself in mirror,
sat down again, began TO write, then leaned
back in his chair to whisper again to himself like
one in dream.
Tomorrow night, John, when they are all
abed-midnight. You can walk to Hampstead
or take a cab. Somebody will find you the next
morning when the bells are ringing for church.
Why not here, in your own houseq No. on
Hampstead Health walked there one day last
week to think-it was very peaceful, and the
air was sweet-walked to think and think, and
saw the end-the end as it will be tomorrow
night, and Sunday morning. Now, pull your
self together, John, and be a man."
He paced the room again, then sat down, and
wrote letters for an hour, sealing each letter
with black wax. When he had finished he did
AL %1Axo %ha ho1 TAr Acf hnf1 OlynA
them in an iron safe that was built into the wall
of the room.
This was one of the letters which he locked
away with the rest:
my Dear Brother-To what slough of in
fanny have my steps directed me, and now there
is no going on or retreating am criminal of
the worst class, the cause of the ruin of thou
sands, many of them widows and orphans, all OF
them persons who have trusted to my honor.
lat this moment land indeed for lone time
have | felt it, am deeply sensible of the misery
and wretchedness have caused and shall cause.
l could bear any punishment, but not the
wretchedness of being a witness of all the
trouble that is about to fall on my dupes. It is
escape to some foreign country l should die of
remorse, go mad, perhaps; certainly could not
live. my crimes being ended and discovered.
II am alone guilty. have had no confeder-
ate. 1 have cheated and swlndled on my own
account Nolan and the others connected with
me have no knowledge of my receptions. my
false deeds my forgeries all committed in the
hope that might retrieve my losses.
An my dear brother, 1t was sad day for all
of US when / came to London
You and my first political friends will now
know why threw them over and took Office; it
was a last desperate chance to retrieve myself,
and if dared have waited and been patient it
would have succeeded. If l could have lived my
embarrassments down until had become Secre-
tary of the Treasury my frauds would never
have been known; / should have put all straight.
Now it will be with difficulty that can ever
leave sufficient information behind me to let you
all know the extent of my defalcations and rob
berries
II authorize you to take possession of all my
papers, and you will find written memoranda
that will help the solicitors to some kind of I'M
derstandng of them. When / have written
this letter, shall 20 round to the Club and take
my dinner in peace for the first time for years.
/ remember the pride with which first walked
into the Reform Club, the false pride; / have
dined there every day these last two years when
in town, and having no private engagements at
home or elsewhere and tonight l 60 to take
leave of it and my friends-some of them al
ready look askance at me. Afterwards l shall
come back to my room to make my last notes
for your guidance. am writing to Nolan to
meet me here tomorrow at II for last confer
ence with him: then I shall go to chapel and to
confession and if the penirent thief on the cross
could be forgiven, surely can surely, surely!
''Oh, that had never left Ireland! Oh, that
i ndU resisted Lno HrSG temptation TO speculate!
Oh, being in financial difficulties, that had had
The courage to stop and confess! Oh, the folly,
the misery of the first fraud Oh, the difficulty
there is to 60 back! Once launched in crime, the
devil has the power to hurry you on and on as
he has hurried me.
eff had had more solid frmness, less talent,
less ambition, might have been AN honest, hap
by and prosperous man, admired and beloved Of
you. 1 might have lived to bless my father and
mother in their old age instead of bringing
%ho;u hair 70 fha
forever the wIetched name Of
John NEEDHAM
ITO My Brother, Henry Needham, of The FRS,
County Mayo"
When the writer of this "last dying speech
and confession" returned from his .'last dinner
at the club" he was in, a different frame of mind
to that in which he had designed the means and
manner of his own death. fixing it to take place
on the following night
'.Hope!" he said to himself, as he smoked
cigar in his writing room prior to going to bed.
what horrible idea to associate with hope!
And yet it leaped into my mind the moment /
spoke to him, leaped into my mind ready armed,
as it were, not beautiful like Venus starting up
from the froth of the sea, but like fend spring
ing out from the flames of hell"
He STROBE about the room thoughtfully, and
then walked quickly to and fro, now smoking
furiously, now laying down his cigar.
Have drank more than uSualF he asked
himself answering in the same breath mo; and
vet my cheeks are burning with excitement my
hands are hot; not with fear, for I had settled
all calmly enough, God knows, when that image
of my wretched self crossed my path. What
does it meanl Am l dreaming? Did see him;
talk to him. ask him to come here? Yes; and he
will come"
Then he sat down at his desk, sorted papers,
wrote several letters, stamped one, put the rest
away, walked about again, rang the BELL told the
servant he might go to bed.
Don't fasten the door, am going out again"
Very well. sir.
He went out carrying this letter with him,
walked to the nearest postofice and put it into
the box, walked along Oxford street, walked
quickly. walked for minutes without any other
purpose but to walk-and think.
If there were such fend as the intriguing
gentleman in the opera of Faust" moving along
with him and inspiring his thoughts, one could
imagine such Mephistopheles pausing now and
then to rub his invisible hands
1t was bright summer night, with a lofty,
far away sky, in which few stars shone bright