Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/522

17, 1859.] heard to  comment,  “Dear  me! that is  a pity!” her sympathies  being  with  his  wife.

C. was  a farmer  and  grazier: had  good  land, and enough  of  it,  good  stock,  sufficient  capital, in short,  was  free  from  pecuniary  care,  as  far  as the  world  could  see. He was  an  eager  angler, and sufficiently  provided  with  amusement. He took to drinking. His sheep  strayed,  and  were  the pest of  fields  and  gardens  in  the  early  spring before the  grass  grew. He became  ashamed  to meet  the  complaints  of  his  neighbours,  and  to show  his  cankered  face  among  them. He slunk away to  the  meadows  with  his  rod  and  line,  or shut  himself  up  with  his  bottle. He became occasionally wild  with  the  horrors  of  delirium tremens, and  then  permanently  despondent. He was watched  and  nursed  very  carefully: but  one day blood  was  seen  oozing  out  from  under  his chamber-door — he had  cut  his  throat  with  his penknife.

D. was  an  active,  cheerful -tempered  young woman, affectionately  treated  by  her  family. She became variable  in  spirits,  and  was  believed  to dread  desertion  by  her  lover. She went  out  one day, without  any  remark  or  act  which  could excite particular  notice,  and  was  next  seen  dead in the  water — her  umbrella  being  on  the  bank: “Found drowned,”  as  the  compassionate  verdict declared.

E. was  not  without  a vigorous  and  absorbing pursuit. He was,  besides  being  a farmer,  a poultry-fancier. But he  took  to  drinking,  and one day  his  body  was  seen  floating,  under  circumstances which  left  no  doubt  as  to  how  it  came  into the water.

F. was  an  old  gardener,  who  had  enough — by such  work  as  he  could  yet  do,  together  with  his wife’s property — for  comfort  at  home,  if  the  home had been  an  amiable  one. He might  still  have earned fair  pay: but  he  was  lazy  and  pleasure-loving. He was  trying  to  keep  upon  his  feet  in  the road when  he  should  have  been  plying  his  scythe or pruning-knife. After a time,  it  became  understood among  the  neighbours,  when  utensils  were missed from  backyards  and  sheds,  and  when  fruit disappeared from  gardens  in  the  night,  that  the pilferer might  be  pretty  well  guessed  at; and, when the  talk  became  more  open,  he  was  found one day  to  have  gone  away. He had  not  gone many miles. At a town  where  he  went  occasionally on  business — perhaps  to  sell  vanished  bill-hooks, blacking-brushes,  or  rare  strawberries — he was  found  hanging  in  a closet. His most  intimate friend and  drinking  companion  was

G., a postillion,  so  clever  and  full  of  local knowledge that  he  could  make  almost  any  amount of money  during  the  travelling  season  of  the  year. Yet he  could  not  pay  the  rent  he  had  guaranteed for his  daughter,  or  any  other  debt; and  he,  like G., was at  last  ashamed  to  show  his  blotched  face in the  place  where  every  one  had  been  well-disposed towards  him. He drank  all  night  after hearing of  F.’s  suicide,  and  in  the  early  morning went to  the  stables. A little time  after  some  one saw a pair  of  legs  in  an  odd  position,  and  went  to see. G. had  hanged  himself.

H. was  pitied,  and  let  alone  by  the  men  on  the farm on  which  he  lived. He was  considered weak; he  had  never  married; and  his  father  was well to  do; so  he  went  out  as  much  as  he  liked with the  stock,  and  no  more. Whether he  would have been  weak  as  a sober  man,  there  is  no  saying. He was  not  sober; and  a feeble  despondency  took possession of  him. He was  perpetually  saying that he  would  not  be  seen  any  more,  and  bidding people good-bye; so  that  at  last  every  one  called it “his  way,”  and  paid  no  attention  to  it. For once, however,  it  was  said  in  earnest: he  was  not seen any  more  alive,  and  he  had  bid  some  of  them good bye  when  he  went  out  with  some  cattle. He wa3  found  lying  at  length  in  a brook,  too shallow to  have  drowned  him,  if  he  had  not  turned his face  resolutely  under  water.

Is this  enough,  from  one  neighbourhood,  within a few brief  seasons? It is  enough  for  my  purpose, whether this  coroner’s  register  relates  to  the  north, south, east,  or  west  of  England. Of all  these cases, there  is  only  one  which  in  any  degree answers to  the  sentimental  view  of  suicide: that of the  young  woman. The others  all  subjected themselves to  disgusting  and  tormenting  disease of brain,  liver,  and  skin  by  a habit  of  intoxication.

This may  remind  us,  that  the  thirteen  hundred deaths in  a year  are  those  only  in  which  the  verdict of  the  coroner’s  jury  declares  the  case  to  be one  of  suicide. Coroners, physicians,  and  registrars are  of  opinion  that  a large  amount  of  self-murder  passes  unrecognised,  and  is  called  illness or accident. Another noticeable  circumstance  is, that wherever  there  are  suicides  from  drink,  there is a large  mortality  from  the  same  cause,  so wilfully  incurred  that  it  is  virtual  suicide,  though no coroner’s  court  may  sit  over  the  corpse. If the number of  men  and  women  who  died  intemperate — died of  intemperance  persevered  in  in  spite  of all  imaginable  warnings — in  the  locality  of  these suicides, and  while  they  were  going  on,  were added to  the  avowed  self-murders,  the  disgust  of inquirers  would  be  almost  lost  in  horror: so  many innkeepers in  five  years; so  many  shopkeepers, so many  artisans,  so  many  labourers,  till  the churchyard is  so  crowded  that  the  wonder  is where  the  next  series  of  suicides  will  find  room — the verdict  of  insanity  entitling  them  to  a grave in consecrated  ground.

Thus does  a minute  study  of  any  district  discourage every  romantic  association  with  suicide, and point  to  preventible  causes. So do  all  the general facts  of  the  case.

For instance,  nearly  three  men  commit  suicide to one  woman. As there  is  no  such  disproportion in the  subjects  of  what  we  may  call  natural insanity, we  may  attribute  the  majority  of  male suicides to  the  habit  of  men  to  incur  the  artificial insanity caused  by  intemperance. It is  too  true, that many  women  are  intemperate: but  custom and opinion  restrain  the  vice  to  a very  small  proportion of  the  sex; and  it  is  observable,  that  the sort of  women  who  so  drink — the  low  population of our  cellars  and  rookeries,  and  the  outcast  class — are precisely  those  who  commit  nearly  all  the suicides on  the  list.

Another general  fact  is,  that  the  proportion  of suicides  regularly  corresponds  with  the  seasons  of the  year. The greatest  number  is  in  the  early part  of  summer; next,  in  the  opening  of  spring;