Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1888-04-26
AN OPTICAL ILLUSION.
The Apparition in the Barn on the
Marsh.

1t had not always stood on the
marsh. When ! was little boy of
seven, it occupied the rear of our neigh
boris yard, not stones throw from
the rectory gate, on one of the windy,
sunshiny spurs of South Mountain. A
perpetual eyesore to the rector, but
can not help thinking, as view itnow
in the concentrated light of memory,
that it did artistic service in the way
of foil to the loneliness of the rectory
garden. This garden was the rector s
delight, but to my restless seven years
it was sort of gay-colored and ever
Q threatening bugbear.
Wedding, and especially such thor
ough, radical wedding as alone would
satisfy the rector's conscience, was my
detestation; and, moreover, just at the
time of being called upon to weed,
tn ere was sure to be something else OF
engrossing Importance which my nim-
Bile little wits had set themselves upon
doing. But never found courage to
betray my lack of sympathy in all its
iciness. The sight of the iector's EN-
thusiasm filed me ever with sense OF
guilt, and used to weed quite dill
gently, at times
] One morning the rector had lured
me out early, before breakfast, while
the sun yet hung low above the shining
marshes. We were working cheerful.
ly together at the carrot-beds. The
smell of the moist earth and of the
dewy young carrot-plants, bruised by
my hasty fingers, comes wildly upon
my senses even now.
Suddenly | heard the rector cry
"Bother!" in tone which spoke vol
umes. l saw he had broken his hoe
short off at the handle. | stopped
work with alacrity, and gazed witt
commiserating interest, while begar
wiping my muddy little fingers on my
knickerbocke in bright anticipation
of some new departure which should
put pause to the wedding.
Ill u luOuucub vi bNO buc NtASt
wrinkles smoothed themselves out O
the rector's brow, and he turned to m,
with the proposal that we should g,
over to our neighbours and repair tn,
damage.
One end of the barn, as we knew
was used for a workshop. We crossed
the road, let down the bars, put tt
flight a flock Of pigeons that were feed
ing among the scattered straw, an(
threw open the big barn doors. There
just inside, hung the dead body of ou
neighbor, his face distorted and pur
pie. And. while stood sobbing witt
horror, the rector cut him down witt
the draw-knife which he had come t,
borrow.
Soon after this tragedy, the BARI
was moved down to the marsh, to b.
used for storing hay and farm nipple
ments. And by the time the scene ha,
faded from my mind, the rector CAV,
up the dear delights of his garden, an,
took us off to distant city parish
Not until had reached eighteen, an,
the dignity of college cap and gown
did I revisit the salty breezes of Sout
Mountain.
Then l came to see friends who wer
living in the old rectory. About tw
miles away, by the main road, dwell
certain other friends, with whom l wa
given to spending most of my even
ings, and who possessed some strang
charm which would never permit m
to say goodnight at any thing like
seasonable hour.
The distance, as l said. TO thes
friends was about two miles, if yo
followed the main road; but there wa
short cut, road across the marsl
used chiefly by the hay-makers an
the fishermen. not pleasant to trav'
in wet weather. but good enough fC
me at all times in the frame of mind |
which found myself. This road o
either hand was bordered by hig
rail-fence, along which rose, here an
there, the bleak spire of a ghostly an
perishiug Lombardy poplar. This
the tree of all least suited to thos
wind-beaten regions. but none oths
will the country people plant Clio:
mn to the road. at one point curved
massive sweep of red dyke, and turtle
10 the right stretched the miles o
miles of naked marsh. TIL they lo'
themselves in the lonely, shiftin
waters of the Basin
About twenty PAGES back from q
L.. IL. I...,r.a .,r,nninnr 4.