Daily Ohio statesman. [volume] (Columbus, Ohio) 1855-1870, 1867-06-29

way along the wall to avoid the sepul-
chres. Voices that had long been si-
lent spoke words that had long been
forgotten !; faees'he had known in child
hood grew palpable against the dark. His
whole life in detail was unrolled before
him like panorama; the changes OF. a
year, with its burden of love and death, its
sweets andits bitternesses, were epitomized
in single second. The desire to sleep
had lett him. But the keen hunger came
again. .'.o - -.
1t must be near morning now, he musei !:
perhaps the sun is gliding the pinnacles
and dones of the city or, may be, dull,
drizziing rain is beating on Paris. sobbing g
on these mounds above me. Parisl it
seems like dream. Did ever walk in its
gay streets in the golden air o the delight
and pain and passion of that sweet human
hfeli iHaihsf tFe5R al Er.sa}al q .4IE
| Philip became conscious that the gloom,
the silence and the cold were gradually
conquering him. The feverish activ-
ity of his brain brought on re-
action. He grew lethargic, he sunk
down on the steps and thought of noth-
ing. His hand fell by chance on one
of the pieces of candle; he grasped it and
devonred it mechanically. This revived
him. allow strange, he thought, that
am not thirsty. 1t it possible that the
dampness of the walls, which Imust inhale
with every breath. has supplied the need
of water? Not drop has passed my lips
for two days, and still l experieHee4ne-
thirst. That drowsiness, thank Heaven, has
gone. think 1 was never wide awake un-
til this hour. 1t would be an anodyne like
poison that could weigh down my eyelids.
No doubt the dread of sleep has something
to do with this" ,-.,,r .rf.a-.---a q. ,.s5.
The minutes were like hours. Now he
walked as briskly as he dared up and down
the tomb; now he rested against the door.
More than once he was tempted to throw
himself upon the stone coffin that held
Julie, and make no further struggle for his
lite.
Only one piece of candle remained.
He had eaten the third portion, not to
satisfy hunger, but from a precautionary
motive. He had taken it as man
takes some disagreeable drug upon the
result of which hangs safety. The time was
rapidly approaching when even this poor
substitute for nourishment would be eX-
hausted. He delayed that moment. He
gave himself long fast this time. The
halfineh of candle which he held in his
hand was sacred thing to him. 1t was
his last defence against death.
AT length, with such a sinking at heart
as he had not known before, he raised it
to his lips. Tnen he paused, then he hurled
the fragment across the tomb, then the oak
en- door was flung open, and Philip, with
dazzled eyes, saw NJ. Dorine's form sharply
When they led him out. half blinded, in
to the broad daylight, M. Dorine noticed
that Philips hair, which short time since
was as black as crows wing, had actually
turnd gray in places. The mans eyes, too,
had faded; the darkness had spoiled their
lustre. ...
And how long was he really confined in
the tomb ?" 1 asked, as Mr.. H-conclud
ed the story.
Just one hour and ts0enty minutes !" re-
piled Mr.. H, smiling blandly.
As bespoke, the little sloops, with their
sails all blown out like white roses. came
floating bravely into port, and Phillip
Wentworth lounged by us, wearily, in the
pleasant April sunshine.
MIR. H--'s narrative made a deep i'm
preston on me. Here was a man who had
undergone a strange ordeal. Here was
man whose suferings were unique. His
was no threadbare experience. Eighty
minutes had seemed like two days to him
If he had really been immured two days in
the tomb, the story, from my point OF view,
would have lost its tragic element.
After this it was but natural l should re-
gard Mr.. Wentworth with deepened inter
est. As met him from day to day, pass
ing through the Common with that same
distracted air, there was something il his
loneliness which touched me-. wondered
that Ihad not before read in his pale med
lJdJlV0 lace some SUCH Sdu HlSIOTy as MI.
H. had conf1ded to me. formed the
resolution of speaking to him, though with
what purpose was not very clear to my
mind. One May morning we met at the
intersection of two paths. He courteously
halted to allow me the precedence.
4" Mr.. Wentworth" began, Ct"
He interrupted me. & .1
sMy name, SIR" he said in an of-hand
manner. "is JONES'" ---
Jo-Jo-Jones !" I gasped.
"Not 10 JONES'" he returned coldly,
" Frederick" .-..-...-s
Mr.. Jones, or whatever his name is, will
never know, unless he reads these pages,
why a man accosted him one morning as
" Mr.. Wentworth" and then abruptly |
rushed down the nearest path, and disap
peared in the crowd.
The fact is, / had been duped by Mr..
H.. Mr.. H occasionally contributes
a story to the magazines. He had actually
tried the effect of one of his romances on
me!
My hero, as subsequently learned, is no
hero at all, but a commonplace young man |
who has some connection with the build |
ing of that pretty granite bridge which
will shortly span the crooked little lake in
the Public Garden.
When think of the cool ingenuity and
readiness with which Mr.. H built up
his airy fabric on my credulity, l am half
inclined to laugh; though feel not slight
ly irritated at having been the unresisting
victim OF his Black Art.