Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar онлайн

259 страница из 895

The great poetical genius of America—​Edgar Allan Poe—​gasped out a life the world could ill spare in the agonies of a drunken debauch. Robert Greene, worn out with debauchery and completely shattered with diseases which were a consequence of his ill-guided indulgences, was carried off, it is said, by a surfeit of red herrings. There is no sadder book in literature than his dying homily, “A groat’s worth of wit bought with a million of repentance.” Poor Lee, the author of the “Rival Queens,” died like a dog. He had, it has been said, carousing with a party of friends, none of whom had the grace to see him home.

In the morning he was found dead in the streets, which were covered with snow.

A dray had passed over his body, whether before death or after is not certain.

Hundreds, nay thousands, of other instances could be cited of the fatal effects of intemperance.

But the evil is not confined to a class. It is widespread, and saps and undermines the moral principle of the working classes of this country to an extent which is almost incalculable.