Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1878-09-20

bow. Rocks, trees, houses seemed
racing past on either side. No need to
strain at the oars now! all that could
be done with them was to keep the
boats bow perfectly straight, so as to
offer as little space as possible to the
rush of current which seemed well
able to carry away an entire city.
Suddenly there came a dizzy plunge
"a shock that threw both men from
their places then all around was
one boiling whirl of foam, and the boat
was flung TO and fro, and dashed up
and down, amid an uproar that seemed
to rend the very sky. For one feverish
moment life and death seemed to hang
by hair; and then the two daringme
found themselves floating on the little
border-line of calm water that separated
the first fall from the worse peril of the
second.
Hurrahln shouted Montague, glee-
fully, "who can say it can't be done
nowp Keep her head straight, Sed, my
boy, and we'll come out all right yet"
The triumphant cheer was answered
by cry of dismay from the shore, and
the two oarsmen, looking up, beheld
Marion Wentworth rushing distractedly
toward the edge of the high bank that
overhung the second fall, followed by
Montague's English servant. At the
sound of his betrothed's S voice, Montague
turned his face toward her, and waved
his hand cheerily; and seldom has any
painter conceived such picture as the
one which that moment branded for
ever on the memory of those who saw
~ 1,1 l. l~9 ,it u
flecked with living green by the shrubs
that clung to their craggy sides; the vast
hill of leaping foam, half way down
which the boat lowered like leaf the
rainbow arch that spanned the black,
howling gulf beneath; the glory of the
sunrise stealing softly into the pure,
peaceful sky, in strange contrast with
the rock-rending uproar below; the
stalwart figures of the two gallant lads,
straining every nerve to achieve their
perilous task; the handsome, reckless
face of the "last of the Montagues,n
with gay smile on its short curved lip,
and an ominous glitter in its large dark
eyes.
Good morning, my pet" cried he
gaily; "you're just in time for the end
of the play"
These were the last words that Wis
count Montague ever spoke. That
momentary negligence allowed the
boats head to deviate slightly from the
direct line, and in an instant the
whirl of the current threw its exposed
side full against the tremendous rush
of the cataract. One frantic struggle
to regain the lost ground, and then boat
and men vanished forever into the mists
of the roaring abyss below.
From that fatal hour, life was over
for the "Flower of Kent" All that
remained of the once bright and beauti
full girl was pale, silent, joyless phan-
tom-a body as it were, without soul.
Neither the tender care of her heart
broken mother, nor the skill of the
most accomplished physicians, nor even
the sight of her dead lovers ruined
home (the burning of which, on the
very day of its masters death, fulfilled,
by sheer coincidence, the dismal pre-
diction) availed aught to break that
deadly lethargy which endured for the
brief remainder of her life, checkered
only by the spasms of convulsive agony
invariably produced by the one sound
which her ear still had power to recog-
nize-the sound of rushing waters. =
CdSSelPS Magazine.