The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1879-03-27

" BE blessed; my Caughter, SAID the
old man, in gentle voice; "you alone
Of the whole countryside have opened
your door to me-" And entering the
cottage he sat down to meat, not without
having cast a searching and plying
/ glance at the humble surroundings.
Noticing the cradle OF little Jehsn, the
old man went TO it, took the child in hi:
arms, and laying bis hand on its hard
and swollen stomach, pronounced briei
PRAYER. There woman" he said
giving her the little one, on whose cheek
the rose Of health had suddenly bloomed,
"your child is cured. This work is toe
hard for you; hereafter let the water
which runs before your door do the work
for you. 1t will enrich you and they SC
long as you and they remain as l have
found you, pious, compassionate, succ1r-
ing the poor and trusting in God"
At that moment the nean howell shone
with celestial light. The old man wss
transformed and became young; golden
helmet glittered on his head his breasts
plate glowed ike fame; he mounted q
white horse that an angel, clad in white,
held at the door; On his shoulders he
wore the same fragment OF q cloak the
needy wayfsrer had wrapped himself in.
Clotilds, pressing her two children to
her breast, fell upon her knees, for she
recognized the great Saint Martini who
often appeared in Normandy, where still
dwelt descendants of his family.
Saint Martin stretched his hand to-
ward the stTeam-toward the hut; his
horse sprsng forward, and the vision
vanished in luminous ray.
Next morning, when Clotilda and the
children awakened they could not be-
lieve their eyes. The little rill had be.
come broad creek and the shed great
stone building. A dam stretched across
the stream, whose pent-up waters drove
huge wheel that filed the air with its
harmonious tic-tac and turned six beau
tiful sets Of millstOnes-stones that gave
a -four so fine and white that never had
there been seen its like in all Normandy.
Besides this, the stream watered and
fattened the land through which it
flowed, the fields it watered yielded triple
crops, and the cattle that pastured there
thTove as none Others did.
The mill of Etretat became famous
throughout the country. There was no
farmer so far of but ne sent his grist to
it, and soon Clotilda's poverty gave place
to wealth, and she and her children died
rich, happy and full of days, after having
done great good upon the earth and
never hsving closed their doors to the
poor.
Long, long afterwards the possessor of
the famous mill, naturally descendant
of CIotilda, was one William Coquin
He was rich, as none of his foTefathers
had been, but he had inherited none of
their good qualities, being hard to his
servants, greedy CT gain, naughty to
wards his interiors and pitiless for the
poor and unfortunate. " II they suffer"
he would cry, it is because they de-
serve to suffer" Unhsppily, all the
countryside followed his sad and crue
example, go prosperous and Independent
had Etretat become.
One evening William Coquin was en-
joying the cool of the day in his arbor,
listening 10 the murmur of the mill
stream and the Joyous whirr of the wheel
that never rested night nor day; on the
table were fine mug of cider, a fair,
white wheaton loaf and delicious little
cream cheese. Looking up, the miller
beheld approach timidly an old fisher
msn, old snd hent-so old and bent that
he seemed well nigh broken in twain.
He was tanned IS brown as leather and
a ragged fragmentofa cloak was wrapped
around his shoulders.
"Master," he said, humbly, NOR
sci Of bread and draught of cider-I
have walked a long distance to-day and
an worn out; my boat has been ship
wrecked and l have lost all but these
rags. lave mercy on me, and | will
prsy Tor you"
"Out Of here! Get out % screamed
the angry miller, falling into a frightful
passion; away, you d G! How dsred
you, miserable vagabondl enter nv
grounds without permission Col Had
you behaved yourself you would not
have had to beg snd sponge on others.
Otto the devil with you'll"
And as the old man still begged bit
of bread the miller called his men to
drive him out.
But they had not laid hands on him,
when tremendous gust of wind smote the
country and laid everything level with
the ground-mill, trees, dwellings, barns
The earth trembled, the skies were black
as ink; the roaring waves ran up ano
swallowed the ruins.
The old fisherman was none other than
the great Saint Martin. The white horse
on which re now appeared cast lurid
light, and the riders cuirass gIowed like
lightning in the pitchy darkness.
William Coquin," said the saint,