The Drink Fiend.

Gisborne Standard and Cook County Gazette, Volume III, Issue 436, 1 April 1890, Page 4

The Drink Fiend.

A DRUNKARD’S LAST LETTERPERDITION WELCOMED.

At the inquest on the Sandy Bay Shootirg case, which concluded at Hobart on a recent Friday, the following letter written by the man Thompson, who had mortally shot his wife, was put in as evidence:—“ From dead Tom, Tom’s last writing. Farewell. Big pistol; all over. Tom. Saturday afternoon, 22 — 2—90. My dear wife,—l kava decided to leave you all, Kate. Notin the way you will at first suppose on reading this, bu , alas I I am going to plunge myself into eternal predition, and richly I deserve it, whichjwill be explained further on. Life to me has no charms. I have become a cor. firmed drunkard, from which fear there is no rescue unless it be the gaol or asylum, uh <h I not endure. So far, dear Kate, ‘I have, with all my faults,’ kept the wolf from | the door, but it does indeed grieve me, dear ! Kate, to think that when I married you I was,. in fa r circumstances, and to the best of r.y means kept you as a man should who lov.d his wife, which I really did you. But a «i Kate, I was doing too well, became reckSe. e, ruined my health and year happimgi— th’ latter, God help me. was a most terribta sin, one which the Almighty could not Forgive me, Kate, if you can. Know the.t when your tearful eyes are reading this, that I am suffering the miseries of hell, now and tor ever more. Do you know, dear wife, th t during the many fits of delirium I have bad of late, that in many instances you and the children were always with me. I have always appeared a culprit in your eyes, for you would

never do anything but upbraid me for the past, and would not allow the children to apeak to me, although I could see and hear tbe dear ones close to me. ’For those Kate, Ido not blame you, as I look* j up[ n ! them as presentiments from Qod aa l 0 yOUf i SS? w ,r f ne ‘ ta ' u, :^ em i ne! '*°° d : The public or -appy, and well doing. ■ out of the wav • lt,endß seemed K *? d IWM and I feel . * nd n ‘ ada P r °V'” on {ot . 7°“' Kate v jre they will. Better without me, nvir' * feel thlfct Ter y shortly I will only fo

i mad then, no help to you, so better .try out my resolve. First I thought of hanging myself from tbe stairs, and get into the rope ready, then I thought of drowning, but feared being rescued, so now I have finally resolved to shoot myself through tbe heart; I will sit up late drinking plenty of brandy to gain nerve, then go into the little room upstairs, undo my clothes, and fire. I would do it in the parlour, but I don’t want to spoil the few things you have. There will be no pain, Kate, as death will be sudden. Should, how. ever, tbe first shot fail to kill or deprive me of my senses, then I shall put a ball through my heart.” Here followed on the side, “ Not for the public." “ I beg of you to let me be hurled as a pauper. No expense. You will want tbe few shillings I have left you. Counsel will never ask for his. If I could get up town to-day all would be over to night, but must wait till Monday, when I will add to tbir, Sunday.—Still in the same frame of mind. Good God, am I mad? I fear my brain is

somewhat affected. I am always remorse, never feel a happy moment, and those horrible dreams I have had in the hospital. Hospital and police, too much of both. What I have suffered there none can imagine. Always killed in a most tortuous manner, and yon. Harriet, and Gruber neing the knife on me. I used to appeal to you for a little mercy ; you, who looked co well and charming, just as you did when we were married, only laughed at me, whilst again plunging tbe knife to my heart Mid, serve you right—glad to get rid of yon —happy now, which I have not been for four years, God bless you, Kate; if I have anything to forgive, I forgive you. It is all over, Kate ; I have waited for tbee until 11 o’clock- no sign—l therefore drink more whisky—then blow out my brains—to eave all I can for you. Ido the terrible deed in tbe email room upstairs so as tbe blood won’t hurt your carpets. God biers you, and good-bye. May God help you and the dear little oner, Someone will surely look after them. I die with a large sin on my shoulders, but I won’t reveal—better n6t. Hell is my home, so be it. Farewell Kate. lam a sufferer, and now at 1 p.m. shoot myself. --— won’t come, hcyoanistwlf. Jobs.