Glasgow Courier. — 1862-04-03 (Glasgow, Strathclyde, Scotland)

MELANCHOLY DEATH OF A FALKIRK EDITOR.  A fortnight ago, a man was found in a straw stack, near Stobhill Brick Works, near Morpeth, where, according to his statement (and which was corroborated by a diary he had kept for a few weeks previous, in which entries appear to have been regularly made up to the time of his entering the stack), he had been concealed without food or drink for a fortnight. He was then removed by the police to the Workhouse Hospital, where, in consequence of the swollen condition of his feet, his Wellington boots required to be cut off; owing to privation and the long-continued pressure of his boots, acting on a system debilitated previously by habitual intemperance, and notwithstanding the cautious administration of food and warmth, mortification of both feet set in, to which he succumbed on Tuesday night, at eleven o'clock, at the age of 36 years. The last few weeks of his existence are full of painful interest; he was living at Falkirk, in which place he was at once editor and proprietor of a penny weekly newspaper, the Falkirk Liberal, in the columns of which he wrote a "leader" of passing events weekly, under the somewhat singular cognomen of "The Cocic of the Steeple," some of them bearing evidence of considerable talent. He was also a poet of no mean order. Finding the speculation of his newspaper not turning out a profitable one, he relinquished it and wended his way to Edinburgh, in the hope of finding employment: here he had indulged in potations long and deep, and in his cups had stumbled into one of the numerous dens of infamy which abound in the High Street, where he was not long in finding himself minus three pounds, almost his whole stock of money. Remorse now seized him, and he resolved on the terrible alternative of committing suicide. At a druggist's shop in George Street he purchased a large quantity of laudanum, which he shortly afterwards swallowed, committing a not uncommon mistake, by self-murderers, who wish to make assurance doubly sure—namely, swallowing too large a dose, which caused him to vomit the whole of it. His life was consequently spared for a brief period longer, and he started on foot southward, Newcastle being his intended destination. He had made daily entries in his journal, which was composed of scraps of newspaper contributions from his own pen, and in which was the entry relating to his taking laudanum. On reaching Morpeth, it was late in the evening, when he spent his last penny on a roll, and mistaking the road leading past the railway station for the Newcastle road, fatigue overpowered him, and he crept into the stack and covered himself over with straw, with the intention of sleeping or starving to death, as is evinced by the last entry in his diary. His name was Alexander Birnie, a Scotchman, of middle height, apparently thirty-six years of age, his face adorned with a flowing beard and moustache; his religious persuasion was of the Baptist denomination, and he was visited daily by the Rev. Di Anderson, and was attended by the surgeon to the hospital, Dr Jobling, and Messrs Gibson and Creighton, surgeons. The following extracts from his diary will tell what afterwards transpired better than any words of our own:—  "Thursday, February 13. —I have now lain under some straw, by a haystack, near Morpeth, last night and all day; God knows if ever I will be able to proceed any further. I would like to have got to Cheater le Street, to be buried there, that my poor wife, when she looked on my grave, might forgive and weep. " Saturday,ls.—One week my punishment has lasted. I still lie here, but very weak and much pained in the bowels.  "Sabbath, 16.—Another day without food or drink; cold. When will the trial be over?  "Monday. 17.-0 God, grant me patience. "Tuesday, 18. —Alone, without a soul to see or speak to, a bit of bread, or a drop of drink for six days and nights; how long can it be "Wednesday, 19. —This cannot hold out long. Help, Cf Lord.  "Friday, 21.—The ninth day without food; got • drink of water last night. "Sabbath, 23.—Eleven days; my legs are useless. 0 God, wlien will it end? "Monday, 24. —Oh, I am weary; one part of my body appears to be dead. I cannot go for a drink now. 24th February. —Seventeen days' suffering ; during that time had twice a piece of bread, twelve days without a morsel.  "Tuesday, 25.—Death comes on; I wait. I meet him without fear. Jesus is all. Oh, He has flayed me, yet so as by fire, these thirteen days. 0 bless him for them; to Him I commit my soul, my memory, my family, my all. Amen."  The deceased was well-known in this neighbourhood during his connection with the Chester Liberal. —Newcastle Journal.