Daily Ohio statesman. [volume] (Columbus, Ohio) 1855-1870, 1867-06-29
efFfom the Atlantic Monthiy.i IA
81 A. STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.

One morning last Aprit, as 4 was passin;
throRGh Boston Conlmon which lies pleas
antfy between my residence and my office
Imet atgentieman loungfng along Til
Malls lam generally preoccupied whel
walking, and often tilreard my way througl
crowded streets without distinctly observ
ing single SOUL But this mans fac
forced itself supon me, and a very singula
face it was. His eyesawere faded, and hi
hair, which he worefong, wasfiecked will
gray. His. hair and eyes,if 1 may say so
were seventy years old, the rest of him no
thirty. The youthfulness of his figure, th,
elasticity of his gait, and the venerable ap
pearaneee eof his head, were incongfuitie
that drew more than one pair ofreuriou,
eyes towards him. He was evidently al
American,-the New England cut OF count
enance is unmistakabie, evidently a mar
who had seen something of the world; sbut
strangely old and young. sli sad s-z1F
Before reaching the Park Street gate,
had taken up the thread of thought which
he.had uriconsciously broken; yet through.
unwrinkled brow and silvered locks, glided
in like a phantom between me and my
duties. % soa3 - s1ass fHd - tgoes s7a i.iQl
The next, morning i again, encountered
kimson- The Malll He was resting Slazily
on the green. rails watching two little
owners had consigned to the mimic perfls
Of the Pond. The vessels lay becalmed in
the middle of the ocean, displaying tant-
alizing lack of sympathy with the frantic
helplesshess of the owners on shore. AS
the gentleman observed their dilemms, a
light came into his faded eyes, then died
out, leaving them drearier than before. i
wondered if he, too, in his time, had sent
out ships that drifeed and drif5ed and never
came to Eort; and if these poor toys were
to him types of his own losses p itnssss 2
81 would like to know that mans story,
Isaid, half aloud, halting in one of those
winding paths which branch off from the
quietnessl of the Pond, and end in the rush
and tumult of fremont street. szl
Would you?" replied avoice at my side.
I turned and. faced Mr.. Il, a neighbor
of mine. who laughed heartily at finding
me, talking to myself. s.Well," he added,
redectingly. 81 can tell you this mans
story; and If you will match the narrative
with anything as curious,I shall be glad to
hear it.n IT a5Fab-7e1sH
"You know him then ?o 9rns
sYes and no.. i happened to be in Paris
when he was buried.' 20 " a aHA w
btBuriedr ~ tid 7i ~ eLts35 HAAN9l
'aWeil, strictly speaking. not buried; but
somethingsquite like it. If you've spare
half-hour," continued my interloeutor,
''we'll sit on this bench, and will tell you
ALL know of an affair that made some noise
inParis couple of years ago. The gem
Cleman himself standing yonder, r,wiH serve
asra. sort7of frontispiece to the romance,-a
fHll-page illustration. as it were." gitai som =
The following pages contain the story
that Mr. H related to me. While he
was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the
miniature sloops driited feebly about the
ocean; the .wretched owners flew! from
point to point, as the deceptive breeze
promised to watt the barks to either shore !;
the early robins trilled now and then from
the newly fringed elms; and the old young
ad nj he in cnnchinQ
wearily, little dreaming that two gossips
were discussing his affairs within twenty
yards of him. :. -. .s.-.....si
Three people were sitting in chamber
whose one large window overlooked the
Place Vendome. M. Dorine, with his back
pants of the apartment, was read
ing the Monitesr, pausing from
time to time to wipe his glasses, and taking
scrupuious pains not to glance towards the
lounge at his right on which were seated
Mademoiselle DOrine and young Ameri-
can gentleman, whose handsome face rath-
er frankly told his position in the family.
There was not a happier man in Paris that
afternoon than Philip Wentworth. Lie
had become so delicious to him that he
shrunk from looking beyond to-day. What
could the future add to his full heart !?
what might. it not take away ]? In certain
natures the deepest joy has always some-
a feeting sadness, a feeling without a
name.Ts Wentworth was conscious of this
subtitle shadow, that night, when he rose
from the lounge, and thoughtfully held
JHliels hand to his lip for asrnoment before
parting. A careless observer would not
have thought him, as he was, the happiest
man in Paris iio,ie5ls "a 5vsd 5ssds itll stg
M.Dorine laid down his paper and came
forward. If the house" he said, sis such
as NJ Martin. describes it, advise you to
close with him aJ once. | would accom-
pany you, Philip, bnt the truth is, ! am too
sad at losing this little bird to assist you IN
selecting a cage for her. Remember, the
last train for town leaves at five. Be sure
not TO miss it; tor we have seats for M Sar-I
dou's new comedy to-morrow night by
to- morrow night" he added laughingly,
..little Julie here will be an old lady,-'t is
such an age from now until them"
The next morning the train bore Philip
to one of the loveliest spots within thirty
miles of Paris An hours walk through
green lanes brought him to NJ. Martins
estate. Ina kind of dream theyoung man
wandered from room TO room, Inspected
theconsefvatory, the stables. the lawns, the
strip of woodland through which merry
broek; sang TO itself continually, and, after
dining with NJ. Martin, completed the pur-d
chase, audturned his steps towards the sta
tion, just in time to catch the express
train.s IL sfessfo.e'. - -s-ars.g 90 ststaf -
As Paris, stretched ont before him,
with it's million lights twinkling in the
early Dusk and its sharp spires here and
there pricking the sky, it seemed to Philip
as If years had elapsed since he left the
city. On reaching Paris he drove to his
hotel, where he found several letters lying
on the table. He did not trouble hinlselfl
even to glance at their superscriptions as he
threw aside his travelling ,surteut for a.
more appropriate dress. 70 =
L. in bis impatience to see Mademoiseile1
DOrine, the cars had appeared to walk, the
fiacre which he had secured at the station
appeared to creep. At last it turned into
the Place Vendonle,a and drew up before
NJ. Dorine's residence. The door opened as
Philips foot toouchd the first STEP The
servant silently took his cloak and hat,
with a special deferences Philip thought;
but was he not now one of the family ?. n
IN. Dorine,p said the servant slowly,
sis unable to see Monsieur at present.
He e.wishes Monsieur to be shown up to the
sdlofa.o 4-- - =. I'D
us Mademoiselle-''s 20 y'fe 2'
''Yes, Monsieur"
'sAlone PSI -7i- --
sAlone, Monsieur" repeated the man,
looking curiously at Philip, who could
scarcely repress an exclamation of pleas.
ure. t- --sss -.-l-
It was the first time that such priyi-
lege had been accorded him. His inter-
views with Julie had always taken place in
the presence of NJ. DoriDe, or some mem
ber of the household. A we'll bred Paris
ian girl has but formal acquaintance with
her lover.
Philip did not linger on the staircase;
his heart sang in his bosom as he flew up
the steps, two at time. Ah! this wine of
air which one drinks at twenty, and sell
dom afterl He has fastened through the
softly lighted hall, in which he detected
the faint scent of her favorite flowers, and
steaithily opened the door of the salon.
The room was darkened. Underneath