Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1875-04-10

The white swan spreads his snowy san;
And round his breast the ripples break,
AS down he bears before the gale"
In the dying light of summers
day, the trim, swift packet Lafayette
glided the traquil river. Aloneon the
deck sat woman. Partly concealed
from curious glances, she sat there
drinking in the wild, weird river
scenes, as only those do who have been
deprived of natures unrivaled views.
To her the grasses, and ferns, bending
over the waters brow to receive their
cooling kiss, was a scene exquisite, as
we'll as the beautifully tinted western
sky, where the hawless sapphire OF
two hours before, had melted into
molten gold, tints of crimson, and viO-
let. The long-legged Heron whirled
past to dart upon some innocent trout
i'm a moment unaware. She leaned
dreamily forward with her chin rest
ing upon her hands, gazing, and think
ing. The slight form is draped in
deep mourning. Not a color about
her to relieve the marble paleness of
the face. A restless unquiet light
beams in the expressive gray eyes, and
the vermillioned lips are parted with
eagerness. Does not the reader recOg-
Mise in this picture Willis Waters?
Yes, tbs she nearing the spot that must
henceforth be to her home, since the
dear old seminary is here no longer
But why this unquiet air, this eager
expectancy, if she is returning home? ?
Does not the touching old ballad tell
us that there is a charm there, that,
seek through the world, is ne'er met
with again Not so it seems with Willis
In nearing her destination. True, it
was to be home to her in enc sense of
the word in another she is entirely
excluded from its broad meaning.
Retrospection, take it as we will, is
sad. If we return to scenes ofperfect
pleasure, and unrivaled bliss, we natu-
rally sigh to think they will come no
more, Again, five go back to seasons
of turmoil, and grief, the past sweeps
over our hearts. But if the reader
will bear with me, l will 60 back
with hasty footprints retrospecting.
In the village of Bellefeld long years
ago there lived miller, rough, and
untutored, but strictly honorable. He
had labored and economical until he
had amassed little fortune, which in
the unaccustomed eyes of the ignorant
Bellefielders seemed the wealth of a
Rothchild." Jerome Ferrill, the
miller, was of great Importance in the
village, and his words, aud laws were
generally received as those of the
"Medes and Persians. lie lived little
way out from the village on the bank of a
rushing stream where his mill, day af-
ter day, and year after year, turned on
increasingly. Jerome Ferrills was q
happy family. His wife, bustling,
energetic woman, had always queened
over the household courtwith prompt.
ness and skill. He had but one child
daughter, Kate Ferrill, whom ht
vowed should be judges bride. She
grew up maiden, bright, and coquet
ish, was the envy of the village girls
"maid of the mill" She was to hel
parents the pride. the hope, and the
stay ofdecliningyears. The miller S now
was afavorite resort, especially for the
youths of the place, whom she with hel
smiles and coquettish glanees led cap
tive. She would one moment encour.
arge them by smile from her rich blue
eye, and the next by pout of the cora
lips she would shatter their air castles
into ruins.
She toyed with their love as heed
lessly as she would have twined rost
leaf around the pink-tipped finger
But there was one in that coterie be
fore whom Kate Terrill's coquetr,
dwindled into earnestuess, Yes, on
whom net evsn in the mazy dance
could by a glance of his dark eye
cause the tell-tale flush to mount he
cheek and her heart to flutter as [
Gagged bird. She had known Harr
Clifford from earliest childhood. H
was the son of the village pastor an
a frequent visitor at the millers.-
She had frolieked with him in tn