the horse they at once were of the opinion that I had been killed, and my father took the road to Raleigh immediately, thinking to find my dead body on the way.  Fearing that they would discover the horse and be frightened about me, I started home, and had not gone far when I met my father.  As soon as he saw me walking in the road, he burst into tears.  I did not dare look as he rode up to me, but continued walking, and he rode slowly past me.  I could hear his sobs, but was too much overcome with shame to speak.  I walked on toward home as fast as I could, and my heart-broken but happy father followed slowly in my rear.  When I got within sight of the house my sister saw me and ran to meet me, crying:  “Oh, we thought you were killed this time—­I was sure you were killed.  It is so dreadful to think of!” etc.  She was crying and laughing in a breath.  My feelings were such as words can not describe.  I wanted the earth to open and swallow me up.  I suffered a thousand deaths.  This is only one of a hundred similar debauches, each more deplorable and humiliating in its consequences than the last.

At times, as the waters of the awful sea called the Past dash over me, I almost die of strangulation.  I pant and gasp for breath, and shudder and tremble in my terror.  My spree on this occasion was not yet over; my appetite was burning and raging, and notwithstanding my almost miraculous escape from a drunken death, I watched my opportunity, like a man bent on self-destruction, and again mounted the same horse and started for Raleigh.  But my father had preceded me, and given orders at the saloon and elsewhere that I should not be allowed more liquor.  I was determined to satisfy my appetite, and with this purpose subjugating every other, I went on to Lewisville, where I remained for more than a week, drinking day and night.  Finally one of my brothers, hearing of my whereabouts, came after me and took me home.  I was so completely exhausted the moment that the liquor began to die out that I had to go to bed, and there I remained for some time.  After such debauches the physical suffering is intense and great; but it is little in comparison with the tortures of the mind.  After such a spree as the one just mentioned, it has generally been out of my power to sleep for a week or longer after getting sober.  I have tossed for hours and nights upon a bed of remorse, and had hell with all its flames burning in my heart and brain.  Often have I prayed for death, and as often, when I thought the final hour had come, have I shrunk back from the mysterious shadow in which flesh has no more motion.  Often have I felt that I would lose my reason forever, but after a period of madness, nature would be merciful and restore me my lost senses.  Often have I pressed my hands tightly over my mouth, fearing that I would scream, and as often would a low groan sound in my blistered throat, the pent up echo of a long maniacal wail.  Often have I contemplated suicide, but as often has