The Republican journal., 1903-07-30
The Legend of Mt. PerCivaI
BY C, E. MATTHEW'S.

CooonSo Wy Vic SHOAO VI WIZ oAuO g
nobscot bay, and took the well worn
path across lots worn by the feet Of
the many pilgrims who had gone before,
which path if followed faithfully would
lead one to the foot of Mount Percival.
1t was early morning, the air was crisp
and bracing, and the perfume from the
heavily laden trees bearing upon their
sturdy limbs red astracan and golden
summer sweets, waited to my senses by
a gentle breeze. was sweet and pleasing
l soon reached higher ground, and paus-
ed to gaze my fill upon a scene rarely
surpassed, though one may journey in
many lands. Before and below me lay
that fair rival of the bay of Naples,
'blue Penobscot bay Over across,
and in front, was Brigadier Island,
guarding the entrance to the noble
river, made famous by the gallant
Knox, when, in years long gone, he,
with his sturdy patriots proclaimed to
Britons lusty tars "no thoroughfare.
A little to the right was ''Turtle-head,
and amid the swaying tree tops l caught
a glimpse of the former home of dear
old DR.. A. S. Davis, gentlest and most
courteous of men, now resting" on
the mystic, waveless shores of all eter-
nifty.
AS strolled along, climbing the old
stage road, when near the top | saw by
the roadside an aged man, sitting on a
moss grown log, leaning upon his staff.
| gave him ''good-day," and was answer
ed by a nod, akindly smile, and glance
from out pair of eyes that brought
the thought to me that in the strength
and luster of their earlier days mayhap
sad havoc they had played with loving
hearts. l paused, and in a kindly voice
he babe me tarry, making place for me
beside him on the messy seat. And
there we sat and talked of many things,
both new, and old; and as we talked
acquaintance grew, and then he told to
me tale he heard his mother tell, as
told to her by an Indian woman when
she was young:
JEAN ARMAND, AND HIS WIFE MARIE.
Long, long ago, when the great, dark
forest stretched its primeval way down
the Penobscot, and still down, till it
touched the outmost shores that tile
great Atlantic kissed, came Jean Az
mond, trapping, and trading with the
red men, friendly with all and liked by
all. Many times he came, and often,
and then upon the mountain side he
felled the giant pines and built cabin.
When all was done, he went away, but
not for long Soon he returned, and with
him came little woman, blue of eye,
with sunny, golden hair, his wife,
Marie; brought in his canoe down the
noble river from his native Canada
Though one would think it drear and
lonely on the sometimes gloomy noun
tain side, not so with Jeans sunny
haired Marie When he was away, she
kept the house, visited by friendly In
dams frequently, and watched over by
all who tarried near. Time passed
quickly, and when her great, strong
| Jean came home, tired with his tramp
ing in the woods, it was a happy time,
indeed.
SO time sped on, and Joy and comfort
reigned within the lonely cabin home;
and then the clouded way appeared and
where once dwelt joy and peace was
doubt, then dreary, anxious days; for
poor Marie was i'll and Jean was fear
full, and we'll so, for in the night there
came to him little child, but not to
live. It's little spark of life went out,
and with it fled the spirit of beautiful
Marie; and So at one fell swoop, poor
Jean was left to mourn the loss of all
he had in life-a wretched, lonely soul.
And so at night he sadly took his way
to the mountain top, and there dug a
grave and in it laid both mother and
child. Then, PROSTATE on the spot that
hid his all from sight, Jean threw him
self and sobbed, very child; and when
an hour had passed, he rose and raised
his streaming face aloft and called the
twinkling stars to keep a watch on
those he had loved so well. Then down
the mountain side he took his way and
after that was seen no more
| But some have said that many times,
when stars were shining overhead, a
stranger passed that way, and having
reached the mount aims cone, was seen
to kneel in silent prayer and kiss at last
the rustic stones that covered Jeans
lost wife and child. Now, upon the
summit of the lonely Mount, a rock
pile rears it's cone-like form, a monu-
ment, it is said, upon the lonely noun
tain grave And often, when noun
tain top and vale are kissed by the soft
and lovely moonlight, the summer
girl sitting with one of sturdier mold
upon the mountain side, dreams Of the
time when poor Jean Armand and his
darling wife sat upon the self-same
spot, and loved, and hoped for joys that
never came.
My aged friend, his tale well told,