The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1874-09-10
A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
BY T. BAILEY ALDRICH.

ONE morning, as / was passing through
Boston Commons, which lies between my
home ard my office, met gentleman
lounging along the mall. | am generally
preOccupied when walking, and often
tread my way through crowded streets
without distinctly observing any one.
But this mans face forced itself upon me
and a singular face it was. His eyes
were faded. and his hair, which he wore
long. was flecked with gray. His hair and
eyes, il may say so, were sixty years old,
the rest of him not thirty. The youth
fulness of his figure, the elasticity of his
gait. and the venerable appearance of his
head were incOngruities that threw more
than one pair of curious eyes toward him.
He had excited in me the painful suspic-
ion that he had either got somebody else's
head or somebody else's body. He was
evidently an American, at least so far as
the upper part of him was concerned-the
New England cut of c0untenance is un-
mistakable-evidently man who had seen
something of the world, but strangely
young and old.
Before reaching the Park street gate,
had taken up the thread of my thought
(Which he had uncOnsciously broken: vet
throughout the day this old-yOung man.
with his wrinkled browand Silvered locks,
glided in like phantom between me and
my duties.
The next morning again encountered
him on the mall. He was resting laZily
on the green rails. watching two little
Sloops in distress, which two ragged ship
owners had consigned TO the mimic perils
of the pond. The vessels Law becalmed in
the middle of the ocean. displaying a tanta-
liZing lack Of sympathy with the frantic
helplessness of the owners on shore. As
the gentleman observed their dilemma a
light came into his faded eyes, then died
out, leaving them drearier than before. |
wondered if he too, in his time. had stnt
out ships that drifted and driftcd and new
er came to port; and if these poor toys
Were to him types of his own losses.
- That MN has a story, and should
like to know it." | said aloud. halting in
one of those winding paths which branch
off from the pastoral quietness of the pond,
and end in the rush and tumult of Ire
mont street.
"Would you? - exclaimed a voice at my
side. | turned and faced Mr.. IL. a
neighbor of mine. who laughed heartily
at finding me talking to myself. "Well," F."
he added. retiectingly, II can tell you this
mans story, and if you will match the
narrative with anything as curious, L shall
be glad TO hear it"
''You know him. then?'
''YeS and no. That is to say, do not
know him personally; but l know sim
gular passage in his life. | happened tC
be in Paris when he was buried"
Buried ~
"Well. strictly speaking, not buried
but something quite like it," continued
NV friend H. "We'll sit on this
bench, and I'll tell you of an affair thai
made some noise in Paris a couple O
wears ago. The gentleman himself. stand
ing yOnder, will serve as a sort of fronts
piece to the romance-a full-page illustra
tion. as it We're"
The following pages contain the story
which Mr.. H related to me. While he
was telling it gentle wind arose; the
miniature sloops drifted feebly about the
ocean; the wretched owners flew from
point to point, as the deceptive breeze
promised to wait the barkS to each shore
the early robins trilled now and then from
the newly-fringed elms; and the old
Young man leaned on the rail in the sun
shine, little dreaming that two gossip:
were discussing his affairs within twenty
yards of him.
Three people were sitting in a chamber
whose one large window overlooked tn,
Place Vendome. NJ. Dorine, with his
back half turned on the other two Occu
pants of the apartment, was reading the
Journal deS DebatS in an alcOve, pausing
from time to time to wipe his glasses, anC
taking scrupulOus pains not TO glance TO
wards the lounge at his right, on whicl
were seated Mile. DOrine and young
American gentleman, whose handsOm
face frankly told his position in the fam
ily. There was not a happier man in Pa
Tis that afternoon, than Philip Went
worth. Life had become so delicious &,
him that he shrunk from locking beyond
to-day. What could the future add t
his full heart? What might it not taxi
away? The deepest joy has something
of melancholy in it-a preSentiment,
fiecting sadness. feeling without name
Wentworth was conscious of this subtll
shadow that night, when he rose from TIL
lounge and thoughtfully held Julia's hanC
to his lip for a moment before parting
A careless observer would not hav
thought him, as he was, the happiest mai
in Paris.
NJ. Dorine laid down his paper, and cam
forward. " If the house." he said, " i
such as NJ. CherbOnneau describes it, | ad
wise YOU to close with him at once.
would accompany yOL-Philip. but tn
truth is am too sad at losing this littl
bird to assist YOU in selecting a cage for her
Remember, the last train for town leave
at ,. Be sure not to miss il: for we hav
seats for SardOu's new comedy tO-moI
row night. By tomorrow" he added
laughingly, little Julia here will be a
old lady-it is such an age from now unit
then"
The next morning the train bore Phili
to one of the loveliest spots within thirt
miles of Paris. An hours walk throug
green lanes brought him to NJ. CherbOr
ueau's estate. In kind of dream IN
Young man wandered from room to room
inspecting the conservatory, the stables
the lawns, the strip of woodland throug
which merry brook sang to itself cor
tinuallv; and. after dinner with NJ. Che
honneau, completed the purchase, an
turned his steps toward the station just
time TO catch the express train.
As Paris stretched out before him with !
lights twinkling in the early dusk, and i
spares and domeS melting into the evenln
air, il seemed to him as if years had elapst
since be LETT the city. On reaching Par
he drove TO the hotel, where he foun
several letters living on the table. b
did not trouble himself even TO glance
their superScriptions as he threw aside h
travelling surtout for a more appropria
wardrobe.
Ii. in his impotence 20 return TO NIL
Dorine, the cars had appeared to walk, Il
tiacre which he had secured at the static
seemed to creep. AT last it turned int
the Place Vendome, and drew up befol
M. Dorine's hotel. The door opened /
Philips foot touched the first step. III
servant silently took his hat and cloal
with special difference, Philip thought
but was he not now one of the familys
m. DOrine," said the servant, siowl-
sis unable to see Mensieur at presen
He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to Il
salon."