The Portland daily press., 1889-08-30

worn countenance and his majestic bearing
he stands the centre of band of dusky
chiefs, who stern features relax their
sternness in Difference to their loved and
respected leader,
We see him bowling reverently In his
chapel where two or three priests officiated
or, anon, bending at tina altar in his own
house.
Now he is majestically pacing the ramparts
OF the fort which he erected on the southeast
coast OF the peninsula and whose outlines
Is still visible. He surrounded it with
pallsade, and had retinue of about thirty
persons besides the Indians.
again ne is In his own home, warm and
cordial; perhaps in his library, instructing
MS only son in Greek and Latin, in which he
was we'll versed.
Let us pass over few years, until these
children have grown into manhood and
w0manhood. There is no record of the two
daughters, save that they were married to
FRENCH gentlemen of wealth. But of the
son there is one incident, which, perhaps,
He has now reached the prime of manhood,
noble and majestic in bearing like his father,
amp inheriting all his manly qualities. He
was brave in was, and daring In bold adven-
ture. at one time saving Winona, an Indian
girl, from watery grave. From that
moment. Of course, the maiden's thoughts
and hopes centred in him. Still she bore in
silence her grief in knowing that her love
was not returned.
But the Barons estates in France de-
manded attention, and Castin. the younger,
is about to sail for Europe, where he intends
to spend his life in the enjoyment of the
princely fortune awaiting him.
On the evening of his departure, crowds of
Indians are upon the shore and rocky cliffs
to bid him God speed, among them Winona,
her fragile form erect and beautiful, her
dark hair, streaming In the wind, and her
proud, passionate eyes gazing seaward. AS
his hand presses hers at the last, lingering
farwell, there is an underlined feeling of sad
Winona is suffering? The CHEEKY voices of
her friends sound TO her like mockirgs.
She stands, never needing the tumult and
stir around her, but brave in her passionate
grief, strong in her terrible composure, she
gazes ever on the wild, relentless sea.
Soon the sails are set, and the vessel
proudly sweeps the ocean. WinOna stands
upon the rock, since known as Win0na rock,
and watches the vessel till it becomes lost to
view; then, in the depths of despair, She
hurls herself from the cliff. down, into the
fearful chasm below. And now, so many
years after, as we stand upon the precipice,
and remember the breathings of tradition,
we think sadly Of her, who, in deepest gloom,
departed "to the PORTALS of the sunset"
"Still stands the forest primeyal ;.but under tn
shade OF its branches
Dwells another race, with other customs and
language"
While now we roam these historic grounds
we love to live over in memory the traditions
Of the native people of our dearly loved
home.
'And the fisher In his skiff,
And the hunter on the moss,
Hear their call from cape and cliff,
See their hands the birch leaves tess"
Soon we. like them, shall be gone, and our
names will only be known through the
breathings of tradition. Ere long we shall
meet them.
SIN the Islands of the blessed,
In the kingdom of Ponemah,
In the land of the hereafter"