A WINDMILL stood upon the hill，proud to look at， and it was proud too．

"I am not proud at all，"it said，" but I am very much enlightened without and within．I have sun and moon for my outward use，and for inward use too；and into the bar-gain I have stearine candles，train oil lamps，and tallowcandles；I may well say that I'm enlightened．I am a thinking being，and so well constructed that it's quite de-lightful．I have a good set of millstones in my chest， and I have four wings that are placed outside my head，just be- neath my hat；the birds have only two wings，and are obliged to carry them on their backs． I am a Dutchman by birth，that may be seen by my figure-'a flying Dutch- man'．They are considered supernatural beings，I know， and yet I am quite natural．I have a gallery round my chest，and house-room beneath it；that's where my thoughts dwell． My strongest thought，who rules and reigns，is called by the others"the man in the mill"．He knows what he wants，and is lord over the meal and the bran；but he has his companion too，and she is called "Mother"．She is the very heart of me．She dose not run about stupidly and awkwardly，for she knows what she wants，she knows what she can do，she's as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm；she knows how to begin a thing carefully，and to have her own way．She is my soft temper，and the father is my bard one：they are two，and yet one；they each call the other"My half"．These two have some little boys，young thoughts，that can grow．The little ones keep everything stirring．When， lately，in my wisdom，I let the father and the boys exmine the millstonesand the wheels in my chest，to see what was going onthere-for something in me was out of order，and it'swell to examine oneself-the little ones made a tremen-dous noise，which is not a becoming thing when one stands on a hill as I do；there one must remember thatone stands in a strong light-that of public opinion．

Well，as I was saying，the young ones made a terri-ble noise．The youngest jumped up into my hat，and shouted there so that it tickled me．The little thoughtsmay grow；I know that very well；and out in the worldthoughts come too，and not only of my kind，for as far asI can see I cannot discern anything like myself；but thewingless houses，whose throats make no noise，have thoughts too，and these come to my thoughts，and makelove to them，as it is called．It's wonderful enough-yes，there are many wonderful things．

Something has come over me，or into me，-some- thing has changed in the mill-work：it seems as if theone-half，the father，had altered，and had received abetter tempr and a more affectionate helpmate-so young and good，and yet the same，only more gentle andgood through the coruse of time．What was bitter haspassed away，and the whole is much more comfortable．

"The days go on，and the days come nearer andnearer to clearness and to joy；and then a day will comewhen it will be over with me；but not over altogether．Imust be pulled do that I may be built up again；I shallcease，but yet shall live on．To becorme quite a differentbeing，and yet remain the same！That's difficult for meto understand，however enlightened Imay be with sun，moon，stearine，train oil，and tallow．My old wood-workand my old brick-work will rise again from the dust！

"I will hope that I may keep my old thoughts，thefather in the mill，and the mother，great ones and littleones-the family；for I call them all，great and little，thecompany of thoughts，because I must，and cannot refrainfrom it．

"And I must also remain'myself'，with my throatin my chest，my wings on my head，the gallery round mybody；else I should not know myself，nor could the othersknow me，and say，'There's the mill on the hill，proudto look at， and yet not proud at all．'"

That is what the mill said．Indeed，it said much more，but that is the most imporatant part．

And the days came，and the days went，and yesterday was the last day．

Then the mill caught fire．The flames rose up high，and beat out and in，and bit at the beams and planks，and ate them up．The mill fell，and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes．The smoke drove across the scene of the conflagration，and the wind carried it away．

Whatever had been alive in the mill remained，and lost nothing by that event；it actually gained by it．

The miller's family-one soul，many thoughts，and yet only one-built a new，a splendid mill，which an-swered its purpose．It was quite like the old one，and peo-ple said，"Why，yonder is the mill on the hill， proud to look at！"But this mill was better arranged，more up to date than the last，so that progress might be made．The old beams had became worm-eaten and spongy-they lay in dust and ashes．The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had believed it would do：they had taken the words literally，and all things are not to be taken literally．

风车

山上有一个风车。它的样子很骄傲，它自己也真的感到很骄傲。

“我一点也不骄傲！”它说，“不过我的里里外外都很明亮。太阳和月亮照在我的外面，也照着我的里面。我还有混合蜡烛、鲸油烛和牛油烛。我敢说我是明亮的。我是一个有思想的人；我的构造很好，一看就叫人感到愉快。我的怀里有一块很好的磨石；我有四个翅膀——它们生在我的头上，恰恰在我的帽子底下。雀子只有两个翅膀，而且只生在背上。

“我生出来就是一个荷�............