The Birmingham age-herald., 1905-12-01
HARD LUCK STORY.
Tale of a Bowery Habitue Who Is
 Down.

From the New York World.
 To Robert Antisdel a 5-cent glass of cheap whisky-a glass that fills half pint bottle three quarters full--ls every thing that he desires in life-forgetful- ness.
 In Ward e at the Metropolitan hospital on Blackwells Island lies William Dur ham, dying of consumption. Antisdel sat on Wednesday night in the far corner of a Bowery dive, reading a letter from this man-his lifelong friend. Hard luck" he echoed; you don't
 know what 1t means. 1 am man accur- sed. In my heart l feel l am q man who has brought his mothers heart stricken to the grave. l have bestrayed my friends l am an outcast from home. and now my best friend is dying and l cant help him.
 My story is a short one son. l was born in Georgia. When l was thirteen I ran away from home and drifted to the race tracks. 1 travelled all over the coun- try in the ten years after that writing home occasionally, and sometimes receiv- ing letters from home from my mother. ] was a bad egg. l was always in a fight or 0 brawl sometimes l was in the hos pital sometimes in jail. l went home one day-the day of my mothers funeral. My sisters wept over me and begged me to stay home, and by filling the gap left by the death of my mother atone for the past years. I was glad to be welcomed back and would have been there now but for the words of my father He refused to me until we started for the grave, when he beckoned me to his carriage. l sat down beside him in silence. He gave he other greeting, no word of welcome, no hand clasp; only silence. His face was adamant.
 ." Son he said. casting his yes upon my face; for ten years your mother has not seen you. She has written Tn vain. You have heard her appeals, but no spark of love or affection has ever moved you to come home. I wish you to go to the grave of your mother and gaze upon 1t as she is lowered into the ground. l wish you to go from that grave to the furthest cor ner of the earth. Never let me see you again. If you have d spark of manhood in you never let your sisters gaze again upon the face of one unworthy to be their brother. Go. and I will pray God that night and day you will remember-you have killed your mother
 'I left the carriage without a word im- mediately after my father ceased speak ing. and trudged out of sight across the fields. When all had left the cemetery 1 sought out the grave and flung myself upon it. That night l heard her voice speaking to me: Robert! At last you have I l forgive you l kissed the grave, the grave where remorse came to live in my soul. and went away.
 Was not that enough? It was not enough for one accursed. 1 was not a drinking man. I never had been. Those ten years had not seemed so long to me, but the words of my father had been burned into my heart. In Atlanta I lived two years. and was married. My wifes pa- rents opposed our marriage and ostracized us. We had a hard struggle. and 1 finally left her to go to Louisville, where I had friends. She was to follow me as soon as l was sure of a position. She fell i'll, kept 1t from me until the last moment. hay ing kept a little money to support her while I was away. At last she wrote me the truth--sck and starving. 1 knew she would not appeal to her family. My friends and employers advanced me $l0O which I immediately sent, but again the demon of evil crossed my path. In my haste, my anxiety and worry, l addressed the let ter Mrs. Robert Antisley, No. For syth street, city instead of addressing it Atlanta, Ga
 Tn few days the letter came back to