No. 8.
Notmuch better than the shed in which he lives by day, is the shelter in which he now spends the night. Somewhat screened by the garden fence, his bed, supported at one end on a pile of bricks, at the other on his only remaining stool, is still covered by his curtains, and his opium lamp is sufficiently sheltered to keep alight. Most of his clothes have gone to the pawnshop; ere long his curtains will follow them. His wife and child, the picture of misery, can only look with hopeless sorrow on the living and half-naked skeleton of the once portly and well-dressed gentleman. Wealth and property have gone, clothes and respectability have gone, home and health have gone, and what remains? Ah, what indeed! There is a ruined soul in that poor, heartless, wrecked body, almost beyond the possibility of salvation.
Notmuch better than the shed in which he lives by day, is the shelter in which he now spends the night. Somewhat screened by the garden fence, his bed, supported at one end on a pile of bricks, at the other on his only remaining stool, is still covered by his curtains, and his opium lamp is sufficiently sheltered to keep alight. Most of his clothes have gone to the pawnshop; ere long his curtains will follow them. His wife and child, the picture of misery, can only look with hopeless sorrow on the living and half-naked skeleton of the once portly and well-dressed gentleman. Wealth and property have gone, clothes and respectability have gone, home and health have gone, and what remains? Ah, what indeed! There is a ruined soul in that poor, heartless, wrecked body, almost beyond the possibility of salvation.