Year: 1862

A Strange and painful tragedy has Just
been recorded, which should touch some
what siespi.s sis Iitor.sss s@- r.. .-esl,-a.-z


der Birnic, tiie spbject Of this tragedy, ap-
pears to have been one of that class of pro-
vincial editors in whom the possession OF
literary capacity inspires deep pride and
sense of power. We by no means which to
attribute such feelings exclusively to our
provincial brethren. The habit of tracing
swift comments otter of passing hasty iudg-
ment, on human beings and their actions-or
rather on those particular phantasms of our
own minds, which for the moment we as
sumo to represent the men and their actions
inspires something OF this tone in all
critics of passing events and this is, indeed,
their Characteristic danger. But in none is
this sense of empty power mere likely to be
intoxicating and dangerous than in those
who are but half-Fersed in the supreme I'M


certainties 0f literature, who do not see that


even the highest literary estimates of men
and things are vague half-yiews, with much
that is essential to the truth still left in
shadow TO this perhaps self-elevated class
of border-iahd literature Mr.. Birne apparent
ly belonged. He had been editor Of the
Chester-le- Street fiJeral in Durham, and
therei apparently, had so far succeeded as to
aspire after more independent position. He
became editor and proprietor of the Falkirk
Liberal to which he was in the habit Of con-
tributing weekly leader, signed "The Cock
of the Steeple." nom dc plstn.e probably in
tended "a ndieata, the -a,ide III llaata Il sliEs
vey which the editorial mind took of the
town and its neighborhood, as it looked to
every quatter of the compass. Unfortunate
ly he never taught himslef to distrust wide


intellectual surveys; at least in his OWE case,
and his FaLEirk Liberal failed. Leaving his
wife and family still in Chester-le-Street, he


then went to Edinburgh TO seek work, fell
into bad living and bad company, was rob-
bed OF almost all he had, and in the remorse
for the injury he had thus inflicted on his
wife and children; attempted suicide by an
overdose of laudanun1, which, however, he
took in such large quantities as TO make him
sick; and this for the time saved his life.
Still the cock would not come down from his
steeple The editor had proved not only the
ingratitdde Of the public, but on a small
scale that unsoundness in his own surveys
of "men and things" which might well
have taught him to distrust them still more
on larger scale, and yet the pride which is
so often fed by this wonderful power Of l0rit-
ing out our glib, false views, or at best half
views of human affairs, clung to him to the
last. He set out on foot on his return to
Chester-le-Street, apparently with a design
of killing himself By exhaustion, certainly
with a fixed resolve not to avert this fate by


any concession of pride. He had but few
pence in his pocket, and a few of the cher
ished literary contributions of his own
pen. He kepta journal by the way, editing
as it wefe his last hours, and specifying with
care the exact details of his suffering and
we must say that the brief sentences which
he entered during the last few days Of his
are not tainted by any touch of literary af-
fectation, but the simplest utterances Of hui
man anguish. For days, we are told, he
never had his clothes of, never rested on a
bed, and seldom under cover at all tasted
no food bit what his pence would buy, and
drank only water. On the night of the 18th
February he reached Morpeth, spent his last
penny on roll, mistook the road, became
overpowered by suffering and fatigue, and
crept into stack, near Stobhill brick-works


to die. For nine days he lay there without
either food or drink, but on the ninth found
strength to creep out for water, yet would
solicit no help, and crept back again. On
the twelfth day he records that he can nc
longer creep out for water. On the fourteenth
day of (February 25th) he was discovered
and taken to the workhouse hospital where
he died Of modification of both legs tht