Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1886-04-02
CORRESPONDENTS.
February 20. 1856.


JAS. MAGILL, Esq, Pulaski City, Va.
My dear Jim.-Do you remember that
rickety wrath of architecture-the cold
MILL" that once stood on Main street
by the "Run?" had almost forgotten
it amid the thronging events Of the war;
and not until revisited the scene after
ward, did discover that it had sudden
" disappeared and that not vestige of
it was to be seen, except tracings of it
in the deep washings and smooth sur
faces in the rocky bed of the "Run"
that reminded me Of it. Moralizing
then, said, that if 1 had been killed in
the war, no monument Of mans design
ing would have been as grateful to my
feelings, or as enduring, as that little
stream glttering by my grave. You
remember that "Old MILL" according
to tradition, haG been the nucleus Of the
town, and it's foundation had been laid
where the first tree was felled in the
heart of the forest, when our grand
fathers were children. Besides it was
the prototype of many mills of its class,
still extant on our beautiful water
courses, and which are such picturesque
objects in the landscape. TO those of
us, "native and to the manor born,'
who once lived within sight of its cir
cling shadow, it is lively subject of
conversation. In fact, we personify 1t
constantly, conceiving that the ancient
landmark, with its windows half eclipsed
under clouds of cobwebs, and half peer
ing out into the ripening harvest, was
instinct with provident, patriarchal
spirit, whose sole occupation was to
provide the staff of life for the good
people of the town without regard To
cost. TO myself, the many-sided roof
and the old-fashioned gabled front APP
pear again and again, until the faded
old edifice stands out in merciless reali-
tv before me; and when in flashes of
memory the faces Of old friends reap
pear, the illusion is perfect; live again
in the past-breathing the dust of the
street-parading in bare feet and chip
hat of childhood, or gazing up at the
lofty windows and doors until my head
grows dizzy with sense of falling-or
watching the pigeons, i'll their match
less mimicry Of love-making on the root
-circling above it III their flight, like
transient halo. to return again and as
suddenly vanish. as did the light faE-
tastic pathos with which had invested
them. With what stately steppihgs we
passed into the open portal. Surveying
its dark interior-its KS and double KS
its stencil plates and red paint, until
suddenly abashed at our wanton desc
Grafton of the white floor with our bare
feet we sailed out again upon the side,
walk, or the more congenial dust of the
street-when returning sense of CLEAN
illness suggested to us a visit to the
"Run." Then, rs now, the little stream
had been made to flow in straight lines
and between stone walls, which did it
infinite damage as picturesque object;
but ut some of the street crossings 1t
would expand into little pools, ripping
in the sunlight; thither we would re-
sort, first putting to flight the noisy
geese.
But must leave the subject now for
YOU to continue according to your own
mood and manner of seeing it. l write
as it appears to me through an atmos-
phere of years and distance, when in
the twilight of memory l fancy, some
times, catch the rythm of the revolv-
ing wheels and feel its dashing spray
upon my face as it is borne to me softly
upon the evening breeze.
Very truly,
d. MORGAN MCENDREE.