The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1874-09-10

it was no longer possible for him TO meas
ure those hours which crawl like snails by
the wretched, and fly like the swallows
over the happy.
He picked up the candle, and seated
] himself on the stone steps. He was a
sangune man, but as lac weighed the
chances of escape, the prospect appalled,
/ him. OF course ne would be missed. His
! disappearance under the circumstances
would surely alarm his friends they
would instigate a search for him; but who
would think of searching for him in the
Cemetery of MOntmartre? The Prefect of
/ Police could set a hundred intelligences
at work TO find him the Seine might be
/ dragged: : les nsiserabLes turned over at
/ the morgues a minute description of him
would be placed in every detectives hand :;
and he-in NJ. Dorine's family tomb.
Yet, on the other hand, it was here he
was last seen from this point keen de-
tective would naturally work up the case.
Then might not the undertaken return for
the candlestick, probably not left by de-
sign Or. again, might not NJ. DOrine
send fresh wreaths of flowers, TO take the
rlace of those which now diffused the
gent, aromatic odor throughout the
chamber All! what unlikely chances,
But, if none of these things did happen,
how long could he keep life in himself?
With his pOcket-knite Wentworth cut
the half-burned candle into four equal
parts.
Tonight" he meditated, II will eat
the first of these pieces; tomorrow, the
second tomorrow evening, the third;
the next day, the fourth; and then-In
wait ~
He had taken ne breakfast that morn
ing. unless a cup of coffee can be called
a breakfast. He was ravenOusly hungry
now. But he postponed the meal as long
as practicable. 1t must have been near
midnight, according to his calculation,
when he determined to try the first Of
his four singular repasts. The bit OF
white wax was tasteless; but it served its
purpose.
His appetite for the first time appeased,
he found new discomfort. The humidi-
ty of the walls. and the wind that crept
through the unseen ventilatOr, chilled
him to the bone. To keep walking was
his only resource. A kind OF drowsiness,
too. occasionally came over him. 1t took
all his will to fight it of. To sleep, he felt,
was to die and he had made up his mind
to live.
The strangest fancies fitted through his
head as he groped up and down the stone
! floor of the dungeon, feeling his way
along the wall to avoid the sepulchers.
Voices that had long been silent spoke
words that had long been forgotten faces
| that he had known in childhood grew pal
pable against the dark. His whole life in
detail was unrolled before him like panO-
rama the changes of year, with its bur
dens of love and death. its sweets and Bit
terness, were epitOmiZed in a single
second. The desire to sleep had lett him,
but the keen hunger came again.
1t must be near morning now, he
mused; perhaps the sun is just gliding
the pinnacles and dOmes of the city; or,
NAV be, dull, drilling rain is beating on
| Paris. sObbing on this mound above me.
| Paris it seems like a dream. Did ever
walk in its gay bOulevards, in the golden
! air? o., the delight, and pain, and passion
/ of that sweet human life!
/ Philip became conscious that the
gloom, the silence and the cold were
| gradually cOnquering him. The fever
ish activity of his brain brought on a
reaction. He grew lethargic; he sank
down on the steps, and thought of moth
ing. His hand fell by chance on one of
the pieces of candle; he grasped it and
| devoured it mechanically. This revived
| him. How strange" he thought. THAT
| | am not thirsty. Is it possible that the
| dampness of the walls. which | must in
| hale with every breath, has supplied the
need of water? Not a drop has passed my
! lips for two days, and still | experience
no thirst. The drOwsiness, thank heaven,
| has gone. think | never was wide awake
until this hour. 1t would be an anOdyne
! like poison that could weigh down my
eyelids. No doubt that the dread of sleep
has something to do with this"
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 Julia, aud make no further
struggle for his life.
Only one piece of candle remained. He
had eaten the third portion, not to satisfy
hunger. but from a precautionary mo-
tive. He had taken it as man takes
some disagreeable drug, upon the result
of which hangs safety. The time was rap
idly approaching when even this poor sub
Stitute for nourishment would be eX-
hausted. He delayed that moment. He
gave himself long fast this time. The
half-inch of candle which he held in his
! band was a sacred thing to him. 1t was
| his last defense against death.
Atlength, with such sinking at heart
as he had not known before. he raised it to
his lips. Then he paused; thenhe hurled
the fragment across the tomb; then the
oaken door was flung open, and Philip,
with daZzled eyes, saw NJ. Dorine's form
sharply defined against the dark blue sky.
When they led him out half blinded,
into the broad daylight, NJ. Dorine no
ticed that Philips hair, which a short
time since was as black as crows wing.
had actually turned gray in places. The
mans eyes, too, had failed; the darkness
dimmed their luster.
And how long was he really confined
in that tomb?" Iasked, as Mr.. H con-
cluded his story.
'Just one hour and twenty-five min
utes :" replied Mr.. H, smiling bland
ly. O. - .. ..-..- ...
As he spoke the Lilliputian slOops, with
their sails all blown out like white roses,
came floating bravely into port; Philip
! Wentworth lounged by us, wearily, in
the pleasant April sunshine.
Mr.. H--'s narrative haunted me. Here
was man who had undergone strange
ordeal. Here was man whose sufferings
were unique. His was no threadbare eX
perience. Eighty-five minutes had seem
ed Ike two days to him. If he had real
ly been immured two days in the tomb
the story would have lost its tragic ele
ment.
After this it was but natural should re
gard Mr.. Wentworth with deep curiosity
As met him from day to day passing
through the Common with that same in
Prospective air, there was something in hi
loneliness which touched me. | wonder
.,l hot / hot in a
meditative face some such sad history a
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