Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1845-1854, 1848-10-11

, the roar of the waters, save an occasiona
screech of some nocturnal creature prowlina
for its prey.
Ever and ever poured on the tntirine
flood, till one wondered it did not pour itsel
out; and the heart grew oppressed at the
vast images crowding into it, swelling and
pressing as did the tumultuous waves over
their impeachment of granite-water, still
wafer, till the nerves ached from weariness
at the perpetual flow, and the mind ques.
toned if the sound itself were not silence
SO lonely was the spell-questioned if il
were stopped, if the heart would net cease tc
beat, aud life become annihilate.
r Suddenly the girl stopped -witisher~ bant
pointing to the fall. A black mass gleamee
amid the fean=--oneewild, fearful yell "a
rose, even above the roar of waters, and
then the waves flowed on as before.
"Tell me, what is this?" cried John Bon
yton, seizing the hand of Bridget, and stay.
ing her flight with strong grasp.
"Acashe did not know | could plunge
under the falls-she did not know the
strength of little Hope, when she heard the
name of John Bonyto ton.'' She then went
on to tell how she escaped the cave how
she had kiudled signal fire belou the
falls, in advance of that to be kindled above
and how she had dared, alone, the terrors
of the forest, and the black night, that she
might once more look upon the face of her
lover. when she had finished, she threw
her arms tenderly around his neck, she
pressed her lips to his, and then, with a
gentleness unwonted to her nature, would
have disengaged herself from his arms"
"Why do you leave me Hope where
will you go?" asked the Sycamore.
| She looked up with face SO pale, so
hopeless, so mournfully tender, as was most
affecting to behold.
"I will go under the falls, snd there sleep
oh! SO long will | sleep, John Bonyton p
He folded her like little child to lis bos-
ON. ~fou must not leave me, Hope-do
you not love me?"
She answered only by low wall that
was more affecting than words, and when
the Sycamore pressed her again to his heart,
she answered, calling him John Bonyton,
as she used to call him in the days Of her
childhood
"Little Hope is terror to herself John
Bonyton Her heart is all love all lost in
yours; but she is child, child Just as she
was years ago; but you, you are not the
same-more beautiful greater, poor little
Hope grows fearful before you;" and again
her voice was lost in tears.
The sun now began to ting the sky with
his rudy hue; the birds filed the woods
with an outgush of melody; the rainbow,
as ever, spanned the abyss of waters, while
below, drifting in edies, were fragments of
canoes, and still more ghastly fragments,
telling of the nights destruction. The STRAIT
agem of the girl was entirely successful
deluded by the false beacon, the unhappy
savages had drifted on with the tide, uncon-
scious of danger, till the one terrible plunge
of death came at one and the same mo-
ment.
Upon headland overlooking the falls,
stood the group of the cavern, stirred with
feelings to which words give no utterance,
and which find expression in some deadly
act. Ascash descended stealthily along the
bank, watching intently the group upon the
opposite shore, in the midst of which foated
the white, abundant locks of Bridget Vines,
visable at a great distance. She now stood
beside the Sycamore, saying.
"Forget poor little Hope, John Bony ton,
or only remember that her life was one
long, long thought of thee"
She started-gave one wild look of love
and grief at the Saeamore-and then dar-
ted down the bank, marking her path with
streams of blood, and disappeared under
the falls. The aim Of the savage had done
its work.
"Acashe is rcvenged, John Bonyton,
cried loud voice-and dozen arrows
stopped it in its ntterance. Fierce was the
pursuit, and desperate the flight of the few
surviving foes. The "Sagamore of Saco"
never rested day nor night till he and his
followers had cut off the last of the Terrain
tines, and avenged the blood of the unhap-
py maiden. Then for years did he linger
about the falls, in the vain hopes of seeing
once more her wild, spectral beauty but
she appeared no more in the flesh; though
TO this, men not romantic or visionary, de-
clare they have seen figure, slight and
beautiful, clad in robe OF skin, with moe
casined feet, and long white hair, nearly
reaching to the ground, lowering sorrowful-
ly around the falls; and this strange figure
they believe to be the wrath of the lost
r;dont Vines