The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1872-06-28
Miscellaneous.
A MlLL-DEVli.
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE

| threw myself down in The cool, deep
tinted grass Of . sequesterod gorge.
Overhead the branches of gigantic
| oak tree, vciled by dancing leaves,
rustlcd and murmured sOothingly; and
down the prccipitous slope in front
| lcaped and foemcd tumultuous brook,
whose voice mingled harmoniously
with the whisperings ofthe oak could
Utmost believe, as l closed my eyes,
hatsomo one was talking in low, mclo.
dious tones.
The brook, after hurrying through a
deep, narrow cleft in the ridge Of the
opposing slope, came with full force
| down upon huge Water-wheel. The
wheel was evidently an antique; many
years had passed since it had worked
the busy mill, of which a disjointed
heap of foundation stones alone remain.
ed. It.was tangled over with creeping
vines and brambles, and adorned with
moist ferns and green moss the rank
grass bent over the tail.race as peer
| ing after some concealed mystery. Ma
| ture seemed to have made this instru-
ment Of mans necessities into unique
plaything for herself. Or perhaps, l
muscd, this is the wheel of Fortune,
who, wearying of it, has left it here in
The care of Nature, amidst the sodgo
and spray of the water fall, and has gone
on her way without it. So we are.
to have no ups and downs in life here
after-all one smooth, level plain, un-
checked by darkness and uncheered by
light. All, no! come back, fair goddess;
for thy tickleneSS is the life blood of
our truth Como back once more to this
shady, sunny gorge, and wrest thy
wheel from the clinging grasp of vines
and brambles, the arms with which
reluctant Nature strives to hold it back
bring it out once again upon the dusty
road, and turn it as you go, lest the slug
gish hearts of men should cease to beat,
and they forget to draw the very breath
of life, and their souls, torpid and I'M
inspired, grovel upon the earth, nor
ever strive to climb above themselves!
How much ofjoy and grief, Of life and
death, have clustered round the turning
of that wheel, even as the ferns and
vines cluster around it now! Methinks
oven yet l feel the influence upon me.
"Perhaps there may be more truth
than poetry in your remarks" observ-
ed my companion, though 1 was not
conscious ofhaving spoken aloud. "The
tragedies of our daily lives" he con-
tinued, in tone which, while singu-
larly soft and musical, told Of one who
had seen, sinned, and suffered until
hope was buried in ashes, "often appear
in some way to instil their spirit, as it
were, into things we call inanimate.
You haye shuddcred at the thumb
screws and iron Virgin of medieval
times, or been horror stricken at the
sight of the guillotine and gallows;
but was it not the actual, palpable SUBJ
stance of the things themselves, rather
than any recollection of scenes in which
they have borne part, that really Of
fected you? You have felt the working
ofa weird and ghastly power, referable
only to the seemingly inanimate object,
but springing from the essence of hatred,
revenge, and despair, that ever
filled the air about it, and which, sink
ing into its solid substance, gradually
became concentrated into devilish in
telligence, endowed with capability to
infect you with its own fearful nature,
| and, if you removed not yourself from
its sway, ultimately to accomplish your
| destruction-moral, if not also physi-
CAL"
"But are We conscious Ofthis influence
unless we are aware beforehand that,
and wherefore, it exists? l asked.
"Your own reflections in regard 10
yonder old mill-wheel should throw
light upon that question:" responded
| the voice of my companion. "Look at
ii while again, and mark If 1t does
not answer YOU"
Thus urged, l fixed my eyes steadily
upon the wheel and let them rest there.
Gradually, as / gazed, an indeiinablo
| sensation of dread seemed to be steal
ing over me. No longer merely half
decayod picturesque ruin, it grew in.
stinct with grisly terror, all the moro
impressive from the contrast afforded
by the cheerful ilecks of sunlight and
the green and glancing leaves. Now
the plash of the clear water sounded
like the stealthy drip of blood, and
strange shadows seemed to illt and fade
before my eyes. The warm June breeze
came laden with a chill, unhallowed
essence that stirred the roots ofmy hair
with creeping horror. l Ipressed my
hands over my eyes and shuddored,
"Ahn exclaimed the voice again,
with a laugh half sad, half scornful,
"do you, then, feel ii already?"
"What is it ?" / asked, speaking with
difficulty, and with asense.of oppression