"Gone, sir!" said I. "Where, and when did he go?"
"Well, all I can say about him, is that he went off to his grave about a week ago," he replied.
"Do you mean to say that Frederick Charlston is dead?" said I.
"Why, yes, sir," said he, "the fellow's as flat as a board now."
"What was the cause of his death?" I inquired.
"Drinking more whiskey than he was able to hold, so he sprang a leak and sank, cargo and all," he replied, jokingly, with a humorous grin, endeavouring to be witty at the expense of his victim.
This unexpected intelligence struck me so forcibly that for several seconds I stood motionless and bewildered. I then walked away with a sorrowful heart indeed. I could scarcely give credence to the announcement until it was confirmed by the upholsterer whom I called upon, and who related the following circumstances connected with the death of poor unfortunate Frederick Charlston.
"Two weeks ago last Thursday night," said he, "a couple of fast youths who were carousing merrily at the hotel, persuaded Frederick to take a sip with them. But one taste was sufficient to rouse up the evil spirit again within his bosom. He drank deeply that night and for two days continued his carousal; but was at length turned out upon the street by the innkeeper for disturbing the necessitated quietness of the Saturday night. He found his way to the woodshed, where he laid himself down and fell asleep. In about two hours he awoke shivering with cold; and was ultimately admitted into the hotel. Next morning he was in a feverish state, and confined to bed. Towards evening his condition became more alarming, and a messenger was sent for me. I hurried thither, and procured a doctor immediately. Had it been prudent to do so, I would have removed him at once to my own house; however, I did all for him that I possibly could do! My wife and I in turn sat by his bedside and watched over him with tender care. But all was in vain. His fever continued to increase and he became delirious. At times he would startle up wildly from his couch, shouting frantically as if in the agonies of horror, frequently calling and in pitiable and heart-rending tones upon his mother to forgive him: and to come and help him out of the horrible pit into which he had fallen, &c. &c. But the scene during those moments was too appalling to admit of further description. Finally he became calm, and sank into a peaceful slumber from which he never awoke on earth. On the morning of the fifth day of his illness, November 30th, he breathed his last, and his spirit passed away forever into the regions of eternity.
"Poor Frederick, he is gone. My heart is saddened by his death!" continued he, apparently much affected. "With all his faults he had a noble soul. Poor fellow! he is gone now. I gave him a decent burial. I wrote to his father informing him of his son's death; but modified the circumstances connected therewith; however, it will be sad intelligence indeed."