The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1885-02-13
CAIN.

HOW many uays can L i've, uocIoT
The speaker was a young man who had
been brought to the Charity Hospital some
weeks before, suffering from severe injuries
received in a fight with his drunken associ-
ates. His own fixed habits of intemper-
ance had given these injuries a fatal tend
ency, and something in DIR. Vernon's man.
ner that night told Jim Ellis that his hours
were numbered.
The doctor hesitated. He had become
strangely interested in this patient, who
was evidently far superior to the class in
which his associates were found.
There were marks of culture and refine
ment visible through his reckless speech
and manner. In fact, the recklessness
seemed that of despair craving to dead
en- thought, and not a natural owe of evil.
"Don't be afraid to tell me, doctor" he
persisted in his feeble voice. "A drunken
vagabond hasn't much to lose in dying, and
the sooner he's ont of the sight of his fell
low-men the better for them, and it's no
worse for him, l guess. I've got no one
to mourn for me unless, perhaps, my
He checked himself with a heavy sigh and
repeated his question:
How long will live?"
"Not long, l fear, my poor fellow"-Dr.
Vernon's kind heart was full of pity for
this wretched waif of humanity, 81 can
not say exactly. A few days, or perhaps
but a few hours. If you have anything
you wish done, any communication to
make, better not put it off. You are free
from pain now, but it will probably return
before
Eyes, yes, | understand. No, l have no
friends, and it will be a great relief to my
family to know that l no longer cumber
the earth. At least my father will rejoice.
AS for my poor mother, =" his voice trem-
bled,-'but even for her it will be better.
Her mind will no longer be tortured by
suspense; she will not search the crime
columns of the newspapers dreading to
to see my name in it. But on her account
| nave never borne my own name since |
left my home in Virginia three years ago.
Since you say positively that am to die, |
will give you the address of my mother,
that you may write to her. | am the son
of Judge VAR, of Fairfax county, and
I will be twenty-one to- morrow. We
used to talk and plan all that was to
be done when | attained my major
ity. What a coming of age it will be, that
is to say, il | don't celebrate it in another
world".'
"You are very young" DR.. Vernon said.
"You mean that | am very young to
have fallen so low that even the dread of
the eternity which is before me cannot soft
ell me. You see, my feelings are torpid.
l feel a kind of numbness all over me, mind
and body. It's only when 1 think of
mother that my heart throbs as if there
was life in it. Doctor, you've been very
good to me. I'd like to tell you all about
myself, though perhaps you will shrink
from me when you hear my miserable
story"
Hardly" DIR. Vernon said; but, my
poor fellow, suppose you let me send a
clergyman to you. You need more COM
fort than / can give You, and if were you
| wouldn't excite myself by dwelling upon
painful memories. Let the past 20 by.
I know the best and most pious of men,
and his fervent prayers will do you more
good at this hour than anything else. I
wish to Heaven l could be like him. Shall
l go for him?'
mo! not the sick man cried. Il want
no priest. 1t is too late now for him to do
me any good. If he had hunted me up in
my vicious haunts and tried to save me
then, perhaps it might have been. It's too
late. now, too late. ] want you to write
to my mother as o as it's all over. Don't
tell her, though. how and where | died.
You can bury me decently, doctor, for my
family are wealthy, aud they'll be only too
glad to pay my funeral expenses. | doubt.
though, if they'll move me to the VAR
vault. Even III death, my father will keep
me an outcast. He's right. ought not
to lie there where Willie is
Strong shudderings shook his feeble
"You must not excite yourself" DR..
Vernon said. ''You will shorten your en-
nant of life. Let me telegraph to your
mother. She may possibly get here in
mo, no. | wouldn't nave her come
here-my poor mother. My father would
not allow her to come, so let me spare her
all l can. / know, too, I would be gone
before she got here
He grew so weak that DR.. Vernon used
restOratives for some time before he was
able to speak again. When the faintness
left him, he told his story, not as | have
written it down, connectedly, but with
long pauses, and Interruptions of pain, and
EXPLANATIONS of bodily and mental agony.
The torpor he complained OF, was broken
up by the rush of terrible memories, as for
the first time since he was outlawed from
his home he allowed himself to think of
the past.
''You call alcohol a curse, DOCTOR he
began, ''but tell you it is tie curse of the
world. Everything that is evil and full of
crime grows directly from it. The best
thing that could happen to many a young