• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Table of Contents
 Introduction
 II
 III
 IV
 V
 VI
 VII
 VIII
 IX
 X
 XI
 XII
 Advertising
 Spine






Group Title: Uncle Frank's home stories
Title: The miller of our village
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002245/00001
 Material Information
Title: The miller of our village and some of his tolls
Series Title: Uncle Frank's home stories
Physical Description: 174, <13> p., <1> leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Woodworth, Francis C ( Francis Channing ), 1812-1859
Scribner, Charles, 1821-1871 ( Publisher )
Benedict, Charles W ( Printer )
Howland, William ( Engraver )
Lossing & Barritt ( Engraver )
Publisher: Charles Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Manufacturer: C.W. Benedict, Stereotyper and Printer
Publication Date: 1852, c1851
Copyright Date: 1851
 Subjects
Subject: Country life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Uncle Frank.
General Note: Added title page, engraved by Howland.
General Note: One illustration engraved by Lossing & Barritt.
General Note: Baldwin Library copy lacks illustrations on p. 25 & 36.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002245
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002240014
oclc - 08852404
notis - ALJ0553
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
    Frontispiece
        Front page 3
    Half Title
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
    Copyright
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
    Introduction
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 188
        Page 189
    II
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    III
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 55
        Page 56
    IV
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
    V
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
    VI
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
    VII
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
    VIII
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    IX
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    X
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
    XI
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
    XII
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
    Advertising
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    Spine
        Page 190
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THE


MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

AND


SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


Iit S ll3strt inns.


BY UNCLE FRANK,
AUTHOR OF THE WILLOW LANE STORIES, ZTCO.





NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER, 145 NASSAU STREET.
1852.






















Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District ot New York.


C. W. BENEDICT,
STEREOTYPER AND PRINTER,
201 William st., N. Y.






















C ONT E N T S


INTRODUCTION, .

WHAT I MEAN BY TOLLS,

MY FIRST HORSEBACK RIDE,

A QUEER GETTING OVERBOARD,

ON CIDER-DRINKING, *

SOMETHING ABOUT THE HYPO,

A TALK ABOUT LIGHT-HOUSES,

ON TAKING IT EASY,"

FISH AND FISHERMEN,


PAGQ

* 9 7

29

34

.. 57

66

0 76

S 85

.. 118

.. 139








CONTENTS.


UNCLE JAKE'S NOTIONS ABOUT FISHING,

"TAKE CARE," a

ON BITING FILES, .


PAG
. 145

157

S164


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


THE OLD MILLER AND HIS FRIENDS,

VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE, .

PRYING INTO THE LETTER, .

MY FIRST HORSEBACK RIDE, .

PLAYING TRUANT, .

EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE, .

A PARLEY WITH WICKED BOYS,

FISHING IN THE MILL-POND, .


Frontispiece

0 1

S 25

36

S 53

88

S 111

S 138


vi











THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE.


CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

WHEN a person writes a book, and
treats his readers to a chapter which he
calls an Introduction, I suppose it is
either the book or himself that he aims
to introduce. But Uncle Frank does
not care to introduce his book, as he is
pretty sure it will introduce itself, if it
only gets a chance; and as to his own






8 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

introduction, he fancies that most of his
readers are a little acquainted with him
already, and he is sure that they will
know him, at any rate, before they have
turned over many of the leaves of his
book.
Such being the case, my introduction
will not be cut exactly according to the
common pattern; and I should not won-
der if it were slightly out of fashion. I
am going to introduce to you neither the
book nor myself, but the quaint, and
jovial, and agreeable old man, whose
familiar conversations furnish so large a
share of the threads out of which these
tales and sketches are woven.






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


In other words, I mean to give you a
glance at the history and some of the
traits of character of Jacob Grimes, the
miller of our village, whom, if you
please, you may consider the hero of
these pages.
Just take a peep at the old man. I
have had his portrait taken on purpose to
give you a chance to look at him. His
face is a pretty good picture of the soul
he had; or, in other words, it was a
tolerably good window through which to
look at the disposition and character of
the man. He was frank, honest, open-
hearted, generous. He was, besides,
always in good humor, and never so well


9






10 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

pleased as when he had a dozen children
about him, sitting on his knees, and
hanging about his chair.
True, he was rough-as rough as a
nutmeg grater, some thought. But as
the roughest and hardest shells and
husks often cover the finest nuts and
fruits, so under a rough and almost harsh
and forbidding outside, you often find
the purest and noblest, the sweetest and
best characters the world ever saw; and
Mr. Grimes was none the worse, at
heart, for Jis want of outward polish.
He was born in the northern part of
England, so near the borders of Scot-
land, that, as I have heard him say, and






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


as I should judge from some of his ways,
especially his mode of pronouncing some
words, he had almost as much Scotch
as English about him.
He came over to this country when he
was some twenty-five years of age. He
was strongly attached to the old country,
and left it only because this western
world seemed to promise a better reward
for his labor.
His father was a miller. He was
"pretty well off," as the phrase is. But
he had quite a large family of
and as they became of age, te portion
of this world's goods that fell to the lot
of each, was not, as may be supposed,


11





12 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

uncomfortably large-not enough to spoil
them, by any means.
Jacob followed the trade of his father,
and was brought up in the mill. His
education, so far as the schools were con-
cerned, was nothing to boast of. But he
managed to pick up a good many of the
kernels of knowledge, here and there.
His eyes and ears, it would seem, were
always open, as he jogged along in the
world. That is the great thing, after
all. No matter how good the schools
are, where they undertake to educate
boys, nor how mighty learned the
schoolmasters are, the boys and girls
will be dunces, if they set out to be, in






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


spite of all the schools and schoolmasters
on the globe; and on the other hand,
the chap who takes a notion to know
something, and to be something, and to
do something, in the world, will suc-
ceed-that is, if he sticks to that notion,
and makes the most and the best of what
advantages God has given him.
It was one of the rules of this man,
when I knew him, (and he must have
had the same rule when he was a boy,)
never to lose a chance of learning some-
thing. He did not care where he pick-
ed up his knowledge. So that he got it,
and got it honestly, that was enough.
He would stop just as soon to talk to a


13





14 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,


poor ragged beggar, if he thought the
man could teach him anything worth
knowing, as he would to have a chat
with a judge or any other dignitary.
Mainly, as I suppose, in consequence of
this habit of his, he had gained a vast
amount of personal information. There
was hardly a person in our village, who
could stand his ground in argument with
him.
Uncle Jake-for everybody called him
Uncle Jake, and though I did not mean
to use this familiar title in my sketch of
him, it is so natural to do so, that I can
hardly help it-had a good many oddi-
ties. Sometimes I thought he tried to'






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


be odd, just for the sake of the oddity.
But perhaps not. Some people are odd
by nature, I suppose; and no matter
what happens to them, or what sort of
education they have, they will always
show odd streaks about them.
Uncle Jake was never in the fashion.
His clothes, even those he wore on Sun-
day and on freemen's meeting-days, were
strangely unfashionable. As for his hat,
I remember once hearing the schoolmas-
ter learnedly say that "it was a relic of
the dark ages." It resembled a brass
kettle, with a narrow rim to it.
I have told you he was fond of chil-
dren. This, indeed, was one of the most


16





16 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

prominent traits of his character. How
his eyes would brighten up, when he
could get a group of boys and girls about
him. I have known him, many a time,
in the summer season, when he was on
his way, either from his house to the
mill, or from the mill to his house, I
have often known him actually besieged
by a troop of urchins, who would clamor,
perhaps, until he stopped and told them
some story.
Of all the story-tellers that our village
could ever boast of, Uncle Jake was the
most popular certainly among the little
folks, and there were those who reso-
lutely and obstinately maintained that





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


he dressed up some of his stories a little
for the occasion. It cannot be denied
that many of them seemed to be such
capital ones, and to have a moral at the
end of them, fitting so nicely, that some-
times we could hardly conceive of their
being woven out of pure and unmixed
facts.
"Uncle Jake, is that a true story ?"
I have heard that question asked more
than once by some little boy, as he stood,
with his mouth open, listening to the
thrilling narratives of the old miller; and
when the question was answered in the
affirmative-for it invariably was so an-
swered-the O which went round the


17"





18 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

audience was dwelt upon as the bass
singers in our choir, when they got hold
of such a tune as Wells, used to dwell
upon the last notes in a strain, swelling
right over the double bar.
The question may possibly occur to
you, as to the relationship that existed
between Uncle Jake and that good old
man who "used to wear the blue surtout
all buttoned down before," and who had
a hen almost as noted as himself. I
frankly confess that I have never been
able to get hold of any satisfactory in-
formation on that point. Uncle Jake
did not pretend to trace any relation
himself to that remarkable character.





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


SAnd history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is dumb on this."

But of one thing I am sure-that if
Uncle Jake had turned out to have been
a descendant of the identical old Grimes
of antiquity, the fame of the former
could hardly have been increased among
the little folks in our neighborhood. We
thought him one of the most wonderful
men of any age. How his head could
contain such a multitude of stories,
seemed little short of a miracle to us.
And then he knew everything, too-so
it appeared to our young minds. It was
far enough from being true, to be sure.
2


19





20 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,


We had not got hold of the key to the
old man's popularity with us. He did
not charm us as he did, because he knew
so much, but rather because he knew
how to tell his young friends what he
knew, and because he was so willing to
tell it to them, and withal, was so good-
natured and humorous in telling it.
Mr. Grimes came over to this country
soon after the close of our revolutionary
struggle. He was a bachelor then, and
a bachelor he remained till he ended his
days. Nobody, I think, certainly no-
body on this side of the ocean, ever cer-
tainly knew the reason why he did not
get married. People laughed at him





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


and let off, first and last, a great many
capital jokes at him, on account of his
remaining single so long. That is the
commonest thing in the world, you know.
Old bachelors and old maids are often--
far too often-set up as targets at which
all sorts of folks are expected to shoot all
sorts of jests.
Uncle Jake, as I said, was frequently
laughed at because he continued a
bachelor. But he let the people laugh,
and went on his own way. Once or
twice-so the story goes-when he was
in a mood rather more serious than
usual, and when an intimate friend hap-
pened to allude to his single life as some-


21





22 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

thing extremely wonderful, considering
his fondness for society, he sighed, and
said that there was a reason why he never
married, and that the reason was a sad
one. So much as this, but nothing more
definite, relating to the mystery, had
formed itself into something like a vague
legend, in our neighborhood, at the time
of which I am writing.
But Betsey Doughty, the deaf old
housekeeper of the miller, has been
heard to say that she "knew a thing or
two about it;" that Uncle Jake had a
picture of a young lady in his bed-room;
that he looked at it a good deal; that it
was no doubt an English lady; that the





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


lady had. a very sweet countenance; that
she was just as sure as she could be that
this lady was once engaged to be mar-
ried to Uncle Jake, and that she died
when she was young."
Betsey had another tale, too, con-
nected with this mysterious subject. I
give it for what it is worth, which, I im-
agine, is all it would fetch, even were I
to ask a high price for it. John-this is
the housekeeper's story, not mine-John
Jones, a man who worked in Uncle
Jake's mill, and did chores about the
house, one day went into the "best
room" after something, when he saw a
letter lying on the table. It had just


28





24 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

come from the post office, it appeared,
and the seal was not broken. John ex-
amined the post-mark. What a vast
amount of curiosity, in one form and an-
other, there is afloat among mankind, as
well as womankind. John took a care-
ful look of the post-mark. The letter
proved to have been mailed in Eng-
land.
"Aha !" thought the man, thirsting
for knowledge, and especially for the
kind of knowledge the letter was likely
to contain; "I must dive into this
secret;" and just as Betsey was passing
the door of the best room, which stood
open, she caught a glance at John pry-





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


ing into the letter, to get a peep at its
contents.
The saucy, impertinent fellow! He
deserved to be turned out of the house;
and I am not sure but he would have
been dealt with after this fashion, if Un-
cle Jake had found out what he had
been doing. The housekeeper, how-
ever-which is not much to her credit,
I should think-according to her own
story, encouraged John to go on with his
peeping, and from that day until his
death, the old miller was ignorant of the
mean and cowardly way in which John
had acted in the matter of the English
letter.


27





28 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

Well, the amount of what was dis-
covered by the spy was simply this: that
there was some unhappy incident con-
nected with Mr. Grimes' history. The
English correspondent alluded to the
"old wound," and hoped that it had
been "healed up."
But I have detained you long enough
with this general sketch of the droll
old miller. I want you should be-
come better acquainted with him, how-
ever; and I think you will find out a
good deal more of his character, and,
perhaps, get an insight into other par-
ticulars connected with his history, while
you are reading the following pages.





- (


I ----






















































































































-x t












CHAPTER II.

WHAT I MEAN BY TOLLS.

WHEN a farmer brings a bag of corn,
or rye, or wheat, or oats, to the grist-
mill, to be ground, he does not pay the
miller in money, for grinding his grist.
The miller takes his pay out of the bag
of grain. That is the rule, or at any
rate, that was the rule in our village,
when I was a boy; and I think that, if
any one should take the trouble to inves-





30 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

tigate the subject, it would be found to be
pretty much the same in all that part of
the country, now-a-days. The portion
of grain which thus falls to the miller's
share, from each of the grists ground at
his mill, is called his toll.
Now, as it is hardly necessary to tell
you, stores of grain and stores of know-
ledge are a good deal alike, in some re-
spects. The stores of wheat, and rye,
and corn, nourish the body; and the
stores of knowledge nourish the mind.
Well, while our good friend, the miller,
was taking his tolls from the grain which
the farmers brought to him to grind, he
was, also, as you have already learned,





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS. 31

taking tolls of another sort. He was
storing his mind with valuable things.
He was learning a little here, and a
little there, and laying it all up in some
snug place, where he could use it when
he wanted it.
As I think I have said before, he al-.
ways went with his eyes and ears wide
open, and never let an opportunity slip,
either while he lived in England, or after
his emigration to this country, of adding
to his tolls of knowledge.
He had an excellent memory. Very
few grains of information that came into
his mind, were ever allowed to get lost.
Nor were they covered up with all sorts












CHAPTER III.

MY FIRST HORSEBACK RIDE.

IT always amused me exceedingly to
hear the old man tell anecdotes about
what happened to him when he was a
boy in the old country. The account
he gave of his first ride on horseback, is
still fresh in my memory.
I do believe-so he said-that the
time when I was first lifted upon the
back of my father's old horse, whom we
































































m MY FIRST HORSEBACK RIDE. 80


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THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE. 37


called Arab, was the proudest hour of
my whole life. I'm sure Napoleon
couldn't have felt prouder after one of
his grandest battles; and I know he
didn't feel so proud after the Waterloo
affair. I was quite young, at the time-
a mere child, almost. But I felt as if I
was a man, a man from head to foot.
There is more than one reason why I
should remember that first ride so well.
Something turned up-or perhaps I
could with more propriety say some-
thing turned down-on that occasion,
which joggled my brain so that I could
not help remembering all about the ride.
A pretty. deep impression was made





88 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

upon me. In other words, I fell from
my horse, and my little head was sadly
bruised by the fall. Shall I tell you how
it was ?
My father, after lifting me upon the
saddle, held me on, while my sister
Kate, a little older than myself, led the
horse, taking hold of the bridle near the
bit. Well, we travelled some rods in
this way. 0, how I enjoyed the sport.
As I said before, I felt disposed to look
upon myself as one of the men, and a
pretty important man at that.
When my father gave me the reins, I
was in a perfect ecstacy of delight. But
happy as I was, I did not feel quite sat.





4 0ND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


isfied that I was treated so much like a
child. I burned to manage the horse all
alone, and I had not the slightest doubt
but I was abundantly able to do that
thing. What a shallow-pated little fel-
low I must have been! Pride must have
turned topsy-turvy the few brains I had,
it would seem.
I did one of the silliest things, before
I got through with that ride, which any
frolicking little boy could dream of. I
jerked the reins suddenly from the hands
of my sister, and yelled out "get up !"
so lustily, that old Arab-rather contrary
to his usual custom, for he was a grave
and sober horse, snorted-and started off
3





40 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,


upon a gallop before my father could
catch hold of the rein. I did not ride
far, I assure you, before I lost my bal-
ance, and fell headlong into the road.
Here was "a pretty kettle of fish," as
my grandfather used to say, when he
found himself or saw anybody else up to
the arm-pits in trouble. My head was
cut very badly, and I had to pay dearly
enough, as you may imagine, for that
piece of mischief.
I have been knocked about in the
world a good deal, first and last; and
once in a while a grain or two of sense
has been knocked into my head. But I
don't think of any blow I ever got in my





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


life, which made a more lasting or a bet-
ter impression upon me. It is said that
"a burnt child dreads the fire." It is
true; and so is the notion which that
proverb is designed to teach. The les-
sons that are burnt and beaten into the
mind of childhood or youth are likely to
stay there. Not that I approve of the
burning or the beating; but when such
accidents happen to a poor fellow, if he
gets off with his life, they do him a world
of good.
But you will want to know, per-
haps, what the lesson was which got
beaten so deeply into my mind, when
I happened to fall from the back of old


41







42 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

Arab. Why don't yousee what it was ?
It was this:
That little folks are not fit to manage
the reins.
Everybody can see that I was not fit
to guide old Arab. That is as plain as
the nose on your face. I thought I could
do it. I had confidence enough. A
lion could not have been bolder than I
was, when I jerked away the reins from
my dear sister's hand. But I was no
more fit to ride alone on horseback than
an infant. I saw that, after my fall;
though if I had been told so before I fell,
I should have found the remark very
hard to believe.






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


Children, never take the reins into
your own hands. Never try to do it
It is foolish; it .is dangerous; it is
wicked.
"Why, Uncle Frank," says one, "I
never thought of doing such a thing. I
haven't had a chance, yet. I never was
on horseback in my life, and I don't ex-
pect to be very soon."
You don't get hold of my meaning ex-
actly. When I speak of the reins now,
I don't mean the reins which we use to
govern the horse. I mean the reins
which we use to govern you.
Ah, that's another thing."
Yes, but it is a thing which concerns


48






44 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

you all. I tell you, little girl, you never
did a more foolish thing since you was
born, than you did the other day, when
you twitched the reins away from your
mother, and tried to get along without
her government.
Why, I didn't do it, as I recollect."
Well, so much the better, if you
didn't. It was some other girl, though,
if it was not you. Children are too apt
to want to have their own way. They
cannot bear to be governed. They are
restless under the bit. They need curb-
ing in. But it is hard to make them
think so. They don't know how much
they need restraining. They want to






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


set up for themselves. How common a
thing it is to see a child act as if he
was impatient to get the reins into his
own hands. "After all," he thinks, "if
I only got a chance to manage the reins,
what a time I would have of it!" Yes,
what a time he would have of it, sure
enough. Very likely he would run a
race a good deal like the one I had on
the back of old Arab.
When I see a boy going into bad com-
pany, after his parents have warned him,
again and again, of the danger of such
company, I want to say a few words in
his ear. I want to tell him the story
about that horseback ride. Take care,


46






46 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

sir," I would say, if I got a chance,
"take care. You can't be trusted with
the reins. You will get into trouble, the
moment you undertake to control your-
self, without the aid of those,-who have
older and wiser heads than the one
which you have got on your shoulders."
When I hear a girl complaining that
she cannot do this thing or that thing,
because her mother thinks it is not best
for her to do it, I say to myself, "what
a pity that girl is so anxious to get the
reins into her own hands. The silly
creature! does she want to get run
away with ? Does she want to get her
little head thumped against the hard






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


ground, or a stone wall? If she don't,
then she had better yield to the wish of
her mother, and not fret in this way be-
cause she feels the bit a little."
When I hear of a girl who grumbles
because she is not allowed to read cer-
tain books which she takes a fancy to--
some foolish, miserable novel, for in-
stance, which she says is all the rage"
-and when I have reason to believe
that, in spite of the objections of those
who have a right to control her, she
manages to get and read such a book,
without the knowledge of her parents,
I tremble for her. I tremble, not for
fear that a horse will run away with her;


47





48 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

but that she will run away with herself.
I tell you, young people are not gene-
rally the best judges of what sort of books
they ought to read, and what they ought
not to read; and they had better not
take the reins into their own hands, in
this matter. I have known more than
one youth ruined for this life, and I fear
for the life to come, by getting his head
and his heart crammed with such stuff as
too often finds its way into works of fic-
tion intended for the young. I don't
condemn every book which has any
fiction in it. Far from it. But a great
many books which go by the name of
novels have poison in them. You can't






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


have anything to do with them, without
getting hurt by them. I would as lief
you should swallow arsenic as to read
such things. I would, I assure you.
Why, is it not as dangerous to take
poison into the mind as to take it into
the body ? Is it not worse to allow it
to enter the heart than to receive it into
the stomach ? Now what I am pleading
for is that parents know how to select
books for their children better than the
children do, and that their judgment
ought to be relied upon. What if a cer-
tain book is "all the rage?" What if
it should seem that almost everybody is
reading it? What if your companions


49






50 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

have read it, and are pleased with it,
and see nothing wrong in it ? No mat-
ter for all that. Take the advice of
your father or your mother. They may
be wrong, it is true. But then they may
be right, too; and it is probable they
are right. The poison is often so com-
pletely mixed up with other things-good
things, perhaps-in these books, that it
is very difficult to perceive that it is
there at all. But it is just as hurtful as
if it was given to you in a separate dose,
and as if it was called by its right name.
It is more likely to hurt you, is it not ?
for, if it was not covered up, and called
by a wrong name, and made to appear






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


harmless, it would hardly hurt you at all.
If it had a label on it, with the word
poison printed in large letters, you would
be pretty sure not to touch the book, and
then it could certainly not injure you.
But where the poison is concealed, you
cannot tell how much danger there is,
and so you can hardly help being harmed
by the paltry stuff.
I have sometimes seen a lad (for I
have seen lots of strange things in my
day) I have sometimes seen a lad, who,
though he had got pretty safely along on
the highway of life, quite through the
pleasant valley of childhood, into a coun-
try abounding with rocks, called the


61






52 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE.

Teens, began to feel that he was a man
to all intents and purposes, and might as
well take the reins then, as to wait a
year or two longer. But I have gener-
ally made up my mind that such a lad
ought not to jerk the reins out of the
hands of his parents, and I have told him
so. He is the last one to have the reins,
who thinks he knows how to use them
better than his seniors. I remember
once having a long talk with a chap who
was just getting into the teens. "My
dear fellow, don't run off with the reins
in this style," said I. "Why, the bit
chafes my mouth, sir," said he. But I
told him that it would be a hundred times






THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE. 55.

better for him to have a sore mouth than
to break his neck. And he thought so,
too, I guess, a little while after that. In-
stead of going to school, one fine day in
the fall of the year, he took it into his
head to start off into Witch Woods, with
a basket on his arm, after chestnuts. He
thought he had learning enough, I pre-
sume. Well, he was fortunate in the
matter of the chestnuts. But I-must tell
you what he had to pay for a basketful
of them. Before night, he fell in with
one of the worst boys in the neighbor-
hood, who robbed him of more than half
of his chestnuts. And that was not the
worst of the affair. When he got home,






66 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE.

he learned that his father had found out
what he had done, the consequence of
which was that he got one of the worst
whippings he had ever smarted under in
his life. Nor was this all. The next
day, almost as soon as the school begun,
he took another whipping from the
schoolmaster, who had received a note,
Informing him how matters stood, from
the boy's father.













CHAPTER IV.

A QUEER GETTING OVERBOARD.

I NEVER think of Uncle Jake, without
recalling to my mind a most laughable
adventure in which I was concerned,
and which took place on the occasion of
one of my pilgrimages to Uncle Jake's
cider mill; for he was something of a
farmer as well as a miller, and had a
cider mill for grinding apples as well a9
the mill for grinding grain. As was the
4






58 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

custom in those days, the old man offered
up the greater portion of the apples on
his farm at the shrine of the cider mill.
It was rare sport, for my brother and
I, in the fall of the year, after the cider-
making had commenced, to go over to
Uncle Jake's, and help ourselves to the
delicious beverage.
The tub which was set under the
cider press, as most boys who have been
in the country in the season of making
cider, know very well, is usually one
half of a hogshead, sawed in two cross-
wise. The tub at Uncle Jake's mill was
made in this way. Well, there were two
methods of getting at the cider. One





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


was to drink it from a wooden dipper,
which was always kept in the tub, ready
for dipping the cider into the large tun-
nel which.communicated with the bung
hole of the barrel. Another method, and
the one which was usually regarded as
preferable, was to take a rye straw, as
large around and as long as could con-
veniently be found, to insert one end of
it into the tub, and to suck the cider
leisurely through the tube.
One day, my brother and I, each
armed with a long straw, were regaling
ourselves with sweet cider at Uncle
Jake's mill. The tub was not much
more than half full at the time; and of


59






60 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

course we had to bend over the tub, at
rather an uncomfortable angle, to reach
the cider. There were, I recollect, an
unusually large number of hornets, bees,
and yellow wasps, floating, in a half
drowning state, on the surface of the
cider.
I am coming now to the tragic part of
my story. But I don't expect you to cry
much over it, as there is rather too much
of the comic mixed up in the story, for a
very large deluge of tears. I leaned
over the tub a little too far, and-down
I went, head first, into the cider tub!
Oh, what a floundering there was in that
red sea! I can't recollect much of my





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


experience while there. But there is a
distinct impression upon my mind that I
thought I should inevitably be drowned
in the cider, and stung to death by the
wasps and hornets, into the bargain.
It so happened that there was no one
but my brother at the mill, when I fell
overboard. He, however, called lustily
for help. Some of Uncle Jake's men
were at work digging potatoes, not far
off; and when they heard the little fel-
low crying at the very top of his voice,
"A man in the cider tub! a man in
the cider tub !" they ran to my assist-
ance. It was well that they got there
as quickly as they did. If they had de


61





62 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

played many minutes, I am not sure but
I should have made a rather inglorious
exit from the world. As it was, how-
ever, there was anything but glory con-
nected with the disaster. I think that I
must have presented a most provokingly
ludicrous spectacle, when I was lifted out
of the tub, and carried over to Uncle
Jake's house, all dripping with sweet
cider. At all events, everybody that
saw me laughed. Uncle Jake even,
who generally had a very cool and quiet
way of enjoying a joke, laughed on this
occasion, until he grew red in the face.
"Frank," said he, "you was in liquor,
that time, wasn't you ? Ha! ha! ha !"





AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


But that was not the worst of it. I
did honestly think, considering the vast
amount of breath that was spent in laugh-
ing over me on the day of the accident,
that people would certainly spare their
lungs any farther trouble on my behalf.
But alas! I was wofully mistaken. It
was the standard joke of the neighbor-
hood, for a long time. The boys at
school did not get fairly over their gig-
gling about the ducking, until somewhere
near thanksgiving time, I believe; and
even after that, it was not uncommon to
see people look at each other and laugh,
when they saw me in the street, which
look and laugh I learned to translate in


63





64 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

these words, "( Yonder goes the boy that
tumbled into the cider tub."
As for Mr. Solomon Stark, the school-
master, he made a conundrum on the
occasion-he was great at conundrums-
which went all over the neighborhood,
and was received as a very nice little
morsel of wit. I never saw any wit in
it, though. It was made at my own ex-
pense, to be sure; and possibly, though
f had no suspicion of it at the time, that
tended slightly to blunt my perception
of the sharpness of the point of the
conundrum. It was something like this:
"Why was Frank, when he took that
famous bath, like a man riding in the





AND SOME OF HS TOLLS. 65

stage ?" How mightily Mr. Stark loved
to give the answer to this conundrum,
after the people had given it up, which
was, Because he was an insider (in
cider.)












CHAPTER V.

ON CIDER-DRINKING.

SPEAKING of cider mills, reminds me
of cider-drinking. We had, first and
last, some rather rare specimens of the
cider-drinking art, in our village. They
really seemed to follow the trade, as a
sort of every day business. As to the
farmers in general, in my day, though
they all used this beverage moderately,
only a small proportion of them allowed





THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE. 67

themselves to get tipsy on it. True, in
this day, now that the tide of public
opinion sets so strongly against liquors
of all kinds that tend to make a person
drunk, if a man should use as much cider
in his family as any one of our neighbors,
in my native village, he would be called
intemperate. But the annual consump-
tion of a dozen barrels of cider in a
family was not considered out of the way
for good, sober people.
The greatest cider-drinker that our
town produced-according to Uncle
Jake, to whom I am indebted for what
follows on this subject-was one William
Forise. The Christian name of this






68 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE.

singular genius was of course contracted
to Bill. His family name, too, where
he was well known, was corrupted. It
was almost always called Foureyes. He
was remarkable for his cunning. It was
one of the most difficult things imagina-
ble to outwit Bill Foureyes. If he swap-
ped horses, he was sure to take .in the
man he traded with, no matter how
shabby the beast was which he got by the
bargain. If he made a dicker with one
of his neighbors for a cow, or a couple
of yearling steers, or half a dozen spring
pigs, he always contrived to get as near
the line of downright knavery as he
could without actually stepping over it.






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


He was keen as a razor, and sometimes
managed to shave a little below the skin.
It was on this account, as well, perhaps,
as on account of his keeping such a sharp
look-out for the boys, when his peaches
and watermelons were ripe, that he was
nicknamed Foureyes.
This man, as I said before, was a no-
torious cider-drinker. He was rather
too close to indulge in potations of his
favorite liquor as freely as he felt dis-
posed, when he had to drink at his own
expense. But when he was changing
works with some of his neighbors, and
the cider cost him nothing, he drank an
enormous quantity of it. Mother Budd,


69






70 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

one of the queerest women that ever
lived, once set a trap to catch Mr. Fo-
rise. He and his man were helping her
husband harvest, that day. The two
farmers, it would seem, were "changing
works." Mother Budd filled the two
great jugs with cider, and the men took
them out into the corn field. She per-
suaded her husband to manage so that
Mr. Forise alone should drink out of one
jug, while the rest of the men, being let
into the secret, should restrict themselves
to the contents of the other jug. The
plan succeeded to a charm, and the
exact quantity of the liquor drank by
Bill Foureyes that day was ascertained






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


to be a few spoonfuls over five quarts and
a pint.
Squire Noble had some capital cider
one year. It was made of grafted fruit,
I believe. Everybody in the neighbor-
hood was praising the squire's cider, that
was made of grafted fruit. It was the
town talk. Mr. Forise happening over
to the squire's house one day, of an
errand, the squire invited him into his
cellar to see the long row of cider barrels
which had excited so much remark all
over the parish, and for which he ex-
pected such a high price.
Bill gave the squire two or three
rather broad hints, to the effect that it


71






72 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

would not be displeasing to him to taste
of the cider, in order to satisfy himself as
to whether it really deserved all the
praise that had been bestowed upon it.
But the squire, who loved a joke as well
as anybody, pretended not to take the
hints, and finally dismissed his visitor,
saying that if he had brought down a
mug with him, he should have liked to
show him the quality of the cider..
Ah, if that's all," said Mr. Four-
eyes, "I can get along well enough.
We won't cry over that. 'Where there's
a will, there's a way,' you know. Why,
I always carry a mug with me, Mr.
Noble."






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


And giving the squire one of the most
knowing and mischievous winks in the
world, which said, as plainly as his lips
could have uttered the words, "You
can't catch a weasel asleep," he pulled
off one of his huge boots, drew it nearly
full of cider, and drank it off, as if his
mouth was the bung-hole of a cider
cask. "Well," said he, after he had
got through, "this is good cider, that's
a fact."
That cider story is still one of the
legends among the farmers in the neigh-
borhood, and it is still relished almost as
keenly as the hero of it relished his cideno
Aye, and I know of some people who


78






74 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

would go farther now to see the identi-
cal cellar where Bill Foureyes performed
that famous feat, than they would to get
a peep at the garret where Bill Shaks.
peare wrote "Hamlet" and the Moor
of Venice."
Poor Foureyes! he came to a tragic
end, while still scarcely past the noon of
manhood. Returning home from North-
ville, one dark night, when he was a lit,
tle more than half drunk, his old mare,
being left, probably, to navigate accord-
ing to her own discretion, and being a
little blind in one eye, by some means
or other got into the ditch on the side
of the road, as she was coming down






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS. 75

Breakneck Hill, by which means the
wagon was upset, and Mr. Forise so
badly hurt that he lived only a few days
afterward. He had been drinking some-
thing stronger than cider that time, I
suspect.














CHAPTER VI.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE HYPO.

I SUPPOSE there is a great deal more
of the malady called hypochondria, or
low spirits, now-a-days, than there was
when I was a boy. But there was a
plenty of it then. We used to call it the
hypo, in our neighborhood. Uncle Jake,
though he had had a touch of it himself,
when a young man, maintained pretty
stoutly that there was not much need of






THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE. 77

suffering a great deal from it. We had
a sort of lyceum, or debating society, I
remember, one winter, and a good many
of the people wrote pieces to be read at
the meetings of the society. I never
heard of Uncle Jake's writing more than
one piece, and that was a short chapter
on the hypo. As there was some good
sound practical common sense in it, I
will include it in my selection of the old
miller's tolls.
I don't know that it is necessary to de-
scribe the hypo, or to mention any of its
symptoms. If it was necessary to do so,
I would say that a man with the hypo
has got hold of a string of woes as long







78 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

as from my mill to the Gulf of Mexico, if
not longer. A part of these woes are
real; a far greater portion are imaginary.
Some of the symptoms of hypo the pa-
tient can help-some he cannot help.
I met a man with the hypo the other
day. He was very unhappy himself, and
he made a great many others unhappy.
I was almost as much afraid of his dis-
ease as I should be of the small pox.
"Dear me !" said he, how low-spirited
I am!" and then followed a catalogue of
his woes. Now these woes, it so hap-
pened, were all imaginary-every one
of them. They were all in his brain.
They had no existence anywhere else.






AND So0l OF Ei TOLLS L 7


His brain was diseased, and so was his
nervous system; and thus he was misera-
ble, or fancied himself so, and that is the
same thing almost.
Hypo is a disease, as really as the ague
and fever, though it is a very different
disease, and needs very different treat-
ment. I am not much of a doctor. I
don't know a great deal about calomel,
or Dover's powders, or magnesia, except
that I have swallowed them somewhat
too frequently. But I shall venture a bit
of advice to the patient afflicted with
low spirits, or hypo. You may call my
advice quackery, or what you like. I
have great faith in it, nevertheless. To


TO







80 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

say the truth, I know something about
this disease myself, and my wisdom, if I
have any, on this subject, I have picked
up less from books than from observation.
So, Mr. Hypo, and Miss Hypo, and the
whole family, for that matter, you will
please listen, while I look wise, and play
the doctor.
Don't take medicine. This is strange
advice for a doctor, I know. But if you
want to die, take medicine-otherwise
take none. You may go to some famous
springs, for aught I care; but if you are
cured there, the water won't do it, you
may depend upon that. Nevertheless,
something else may-so you may go to






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


the springs, if you like. Don't bring
home any of the water, though. Con-
tent yourself with taking half a dozen
tumblers full, more or less, right out of
the spring, before the sun is up. Take
a jolting on horseback. Never mind,
madam, if the saddle is a little rusty, or
the old mare is not curried down very
nicely. Ride out, nevertheless. If you
can't ride, then go on foot.
Perhaps there is some work for you to
do. Better yet, if you do it cheerfully.
If not, play. But do something. Don't
sit still. Health will not come to you-
you must go to that.
Don't allow yourself to be much alone.


81







82 THE MILLER OP OUR VILLAGE,

A little solitude is well enough--it is ne-
cessary, no doubt of that-but a great
deal of it is worse than a dose of arsenic
or poison elder. It is unnatural, and
must be bad. Mingle with the world.
You don't like the world, you say. I
am sorry to hear it. Go and see your
fellow-men, and fellow-women, and fel-
low-children. If any are sick, take care
of them'. If they are sad, comfort them.
If they are poor and in want, relieve
them. Go and visit them. It will do
you good.
What books do you read? Some
things you ought not to, I'll warrant.
You are blotting with your tears the






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


pages of some lackadaisical, melancholy
author or other, whenever you get a
chance. You have been poring over
the "Sorrows of Werter," lately. Isn't
it so ? Well, quit that. It is the worst
thing you can do. Don't you know that
when a child has done crying sometimes,
if you speak to it in a sorrowful tone,
and in words of pity-if you show a deal
of sympathy, and appear as if your were
as sad as the child-you will set the child
to crying again ? It is just so with books,
as full of melancholy as they can well
hold.
Do you ever write poetry? Ay, I
mistrusted as much. You may write a


88






84 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

little; but don't go beyond a ream or
two in a year, for pity's sake. You will
kill yourself, if you do, to say nothing
about your bosom friend, who will have
to hear it read by the square yard. So
do not go beyond a couple of reams.
Let me see. That will be about a quire
a week. You must limit yourself to
that. And then, if you can possibly
contrive to cheat your bosom friend out
of a rehearsal once in a while, it will be
all the better for yourself. He will for-
give you-my word for it.













CHAPTER VII.

A TALK ABOUT LIGHT-HOUSES.

UNCLE JAKE once entertained a knot
of boys and girls by some rambling
thoughts on light-houses. I wish I
could give them to you exactly as he
uttered them. But I cannot do that.
None of us wrote short-hand in those
Sports; so that Uncle Jake's familiar re-
marks were seldom or never chronicled
for the press. Indeed, they never made






8E THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE.

any figure on paper, that I know of; and
I must depend, for the most part, on my
memory alone in these sketches.
You can't think, (this is the substance
of what the old miller said,) how much
a light-house is worth, sometimes. Many
a sea captain, when he is coming near
the shore, in very foggy weather, if the
wind blows hard, would give all he is
worth, if he could only see the faintest
ray of light from the light-house which
he knows cannot be far off.
Light-houses are built de the shore, or
on some rock in the water. They are
built to show those who have the charge
of vessels where the harbor is, and so that
















































m THE EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE.


88



























4'










*1'






.. 'Is.





* .tt. ..

* K






TH )ILLER OF OUR VILLAGE*.

they can tell what course to steer, to
avoid the rocks and shallow water. A
great many vessels have been saved by
the shining of a lamp in a light-house,
which would have been dashed to pieces
on the rocks, if it had not been for that
lamp.
Did you ever hear of the Eddystone
light-house, boys and girls? It is on the
coast of England, and is built on some
rocks in the sea. I have seen it many a
time, and once I went out to it in a little
boat, when the water was calm, and went
up to the top of it. I said when the
water was calm. It was calmer than
usual, I suppose. But it was quite as






90 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

rough as I wanted to see it. The waves
dashed against the rocks on which the
light-house is built, with such fury that
the water flew to the very top of the
light-house where I was standing, and
that was as high as the steeple of our
meeting-house.
Before this light-house was built, there
used to be a great many shipwrecks on
the Eddystone rocks. They are very
dangerous, indeed. When the tide is
high, they are completely covered with
water, so that it was difficult to tell ex-
actly where the rocks are.
In pleasant weather, it is a fine sight
to go out into the British Channel in a






AND SOME OF HIN TOLLS.


vessel, and to watch the waves as they
dash against the base of the Eddystone
light-house, and send the spray moun-
tain-high into the air. What a dreary
place it must be for people to live in.
But men have to stay there day and
night, and some of them must be awake,
too, trimming the lamps, all through the
night, and listening to the thundering of
the wild waves.
The first light-house that was ever
built on these rocks was swept away in a
dreadful storm. It was first lighted, I
think, in the year 1696. It stood six or
seven years, and then it needed some re-
pairs. The gentleman who built it ac-
6


91






92 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

cordingly visited it, with-some workmen,
intending to stay there some days. But
a terrible storm came on. Many ships
were wrecked on the English coast. The
Eddystone light-house could not bear up
against the violence of the waves. It
fell. Every person in it perished. Not
a vestige was afterward seen or heard of
one of those unfortunate men.
The next light-house which was erect-
ed on these rocks stood forty-seven years,
when it was destroyed by fire. In the
dead of night, when the keeper who was
on the watch went to snuff the lamps, he
found the light-room full of smoke; and
when he opened the door of the balcony,






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


a flame burst from the inside, and the
whole of the upper part of the building
was soon in a blaze. The man who dis-
covered the fire instantly ran to wake his
companions. Poor fellows! they all
came very near being burned to death;
but all escaped except one, who was
killed by the melted lead that fell into
his mouth while he was looking up
toward the ceiling of the room where
the lamps were burning.
There are a great many light-houses
in different parts of the world, some of
which are almost as remarkable, and many
quite as useful, as the one on the Eddy-
stone rocks. You see plainly enough,


93






94 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

what they are all built for. There is
danger in the vicinity where they stand.
There is danger that the ship, coming in
from a voyage, instead of sailing safely
into the harbor, should be wrecked on a
beach of sand or on a reef of rocks.
Now, did it ever pop into your minds,
young friends, that there are lots of reefs,
and sand-beaches, and very dangerous
ones, too, besides those on the coasts of
the ocean, and along the shores of the
rivers and lakes that you find laid down
in your map? Well, there are such,
and they are provided with light-houses,
too; and what is more, you may have
something to do with more or less of






AND sONIE 01 HI TOLLS.


them, all of you, before you get through
the world.
I must make what I am saying a little
plainer. I am very anxious that you
should understand me; for unless I am
greatly out of my reckoning, these
thoughts about light-houses will be worth
something to you one of these days, if
you get them snugly stowed away in
some safe chamber of your brain. As
you go along through life, you will be
sure, first and last, to encounter multi-
tudes of dangers; and among them all,
there will be some, no doubt, which you
cannot escape, and could not escape, if
you were ever so wide awake, and ever


M






96 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

so well prepared for them beforehand.
But there are others, which you can
escape, if you know you will have to
meet them, and if you take good care of
yourself when they come across your
path, or when you come across theirs.
There are light-houses to guide you, as
you go along; and when you see the
twinkling of the lamps in them, though
you may be a good way off from the dan-
gerous rocks or sand-beach, you can see
how to steer clear of the danger.
Let me point out to you some of the
dangerous spots, and show you where the
light-houses are.
One of the most dangerous rocks that






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


I know of is called the Drinkhard rock.
You may think, that, however it may
pester other folks, it will never give you
any trouble. Perhaps not. I hope it
never will. But there is danger. I tell
you what it is, there is no safety for any-
body, if he allows himself to drink at all.
I've made up my mind to that. I was
slow in coming to that notion. But I
have got to it, and nobody can ever get
me away from it.
If you could have seen half of what I
could tell you about the curse of drinking
rum, and brandy, and gin, and wine, you
would think as I do about the whole of
these evil spirts. Why, I could tell you


97






96 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

tales by the hour, of men, aye, and wo.
men, too, who once travelled side by
side with me in the journey of life, but
who got off from the right course, and
have finally been dashed to pieces on
this terrible rock. They didn't drink
much, to begin with. Oh, no. TLey
were temperate, very temperate, and
they were always going to be temperate,
they thought they had not the slightest
fear, that they should ever get wrecked
on that rock. That was the last one
they dreamed of being afraid of. And
when they got near it, and heard the
angry breakers dash against it, and paw
the spray rise up into the clouds around






AND SOME OF HIS TOLLS.


them, they did not see their danger.
The drunkard never sees any danger.
He seems to be blind.
The people I am telling you of ought
to have seen the light-house that stands
near that rock. They ought to have
seen it a long time before they got so
near the dangerous spot, and to have
taken warning from the shining of that
lamp, and to have got away from the
danger as quick as they could. The
drunkard himself is about as good a light-
house, one would suppose, as anybody
could need, with his wits about him. Go
to the tavern and look at him. His face
is as red, almost, as a boiled lobster. It


90






100 THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,

glows, sometimes, as if it was a coal of
fire. I have wondered, many a time, if
the poor fellow's face and hair would not
actually blaze up, just as pieces of char-
coal do, if you should only set the black-
smith's bellows to blowing on his face.
There is another bad rock, or rather a
long reef of rocks, called the Gambling
reef. It has a capital light-house near
it, though. There is no good reason why
anybody should get wrecked on it. But
dear me! the whole coast, for miles
and miles around this rock, is covered
with wrecks. I know of men, who
formed the habit of gambling when they
were mere boys. At first, perhaps, they




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