The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1906-09-20

spoke fitting and inspiring words Of
welcome to all from beyond the Dale
and his words were seconded in kind by
Rev. E. A. Dinslow, the pastor of the
church, Charles is a candidate this
autumn for, State honors. We believe
his constituents will elect him and find
in him a clear headed and conscientious
lawmaker.
There were musical parts named Oh
the program as duet and quartette, but
they both worked out the big end OF
the horn on James Warren Skinner
music box, the photograph aforesaid;
and again | remark how great and
proud he looked presiding over its me-
lodious destinies. Did you see the face
of the great shepherd king of Egypt,
Rameses III, when they unswathed the
mummy of three thousand years sleep?
Well it was like that. The felicities of
the Dale meetings consist in striking
features.
There was a select reading on the
program, but it didn't materialize in
the meeting. Then in place thereof
limericks were recited, and stories were
told relative to men resembling ami
mails with conspicuously long ears
animals that my small boy, when first
he saw them, said looked like horses
with cows tails.
Then the Presidents historical, sci
entific, reminiscent address was mixed
up and served on wood. He joyed in
the fact that peace had come in the
Orient since the last Dale meeting,
principally, no doubt, because he then
predicted it would shortly come be-
tween the little victor and big van
quished, after the most titanic struggle
known in the history of wars. He re-
joiced that the upheavals in Russia, re-
ported so much in the daily news, mean
the sure advance of that unhappy ma
ton from despotism to civil liberty.
He turned to hopeful conditions for
higher types of civil veal, and the
splendid material prosperity enjoyed i'll
our own fair land, marred only since
last the Dale had its meeting, by the APP
palling cataclysm in nature that sWal-
lowed up the beautiful city of the Gold
en- Gate. He renewed his expression
of love of the Dale. The presidents
great weakness, assuming that he has
Weaknesses, is that he loves ''to spout. y
In proof of this | cite citizen of the
Dale in Camden two years ago, who
asked a lady if she was going to the
golden wedding of Mr.. and Mrs. John
@. Adams at South Montville. She
said, eyes" and he said, 81 am not,
for | don't want to hear Frank Phillips
spout" Then he asked, ''Do you know
him." "Oh yes" she replied, Il have
lived with him the past twenty five
years." Some think the said citizen
has had ringing in his ears of late.
The sixteenth canto of the knights
of Boguesdale by the President was
the last exercise on the program. The
prologue gives picture of the South
Ridge wilderness of a hundred years
ago, and of the pioneer life Of the first
settlers there, Prescott and True.
"These were the men whose lives have
filed
The Dale with deeds song cannot height
Theirs were the homes and hearths whose
light
The Wealth of Croesus could not brighten.
Out of the throb of Natures heart
They rose as rise thirst-quenching foun-
tainS;
Outlined against the Dale's new day,
They lowered as tower the encircling
mountains"
The cantO was a continuation of that
of the last year on the Dale Hermit
Bogue in vain search for his lost Ar
cadian wife and child, who were sep
arated from him in the deportation.
The principal scene in canto 16 is in an
Hospice at Bay of Islands, Newfound-
land, where surrounded by priests,
monks and sisters on night of most
terrible tempests, Mary March, an
old Indian women, tells to Hermit
Bogue how her tribe of Boethic In
dams became lost to her. She was
stolen by the English settlers when
she was young girl, that she might be
taught English and so became an i'll
terpreter for them, but when she had
learned the tongue of the pale face and
went out with him to find her people, in
their love of peace and horror of war
they had fled the island forever, and no
trace of them has since been found.
"About the stone hearth where the fire
Burned with the anger OF the wind,
We're seated sisters, priests and monks,
Devoted to all who had sinned,
Or known a sorrow Of the mind,
And in their midst sat Mary March,
And she was old and she was blind;
A fair young Indian in the days
When the Boethics held the Isle,
Now bowed beneath hundred years,
With face that had forgot to smile,
AS brown and withered as the leaves
That tluttered round Ste Mary's tower
And mingled with the frozen sleet,
That thickened to the midnight hour.
Her brow was like the mountains brow,
On which the centuries had stormed;
Her hands were thin, like eagles claws
Her fingers that the fire warmed"
When she expressed her conception
OF the emotions that actuated her
parents when her loss became to them
a reality, her words ran thus;
"When first my parents knew my loss,
What lamentation woke the wild,
And tragedy of grief disclosed
The heart of natures dusky child.
l have not heard, but well believe,
For gauging it by woes mine own
When the strange football in the woods
Beat out direful monotone,
And l was borne to paleface haunts,
Faces and forms l fain would shun,
1t rose like tempests lightning plumed,
That with black pinions veil the sun.
1t smote as smites the bitter sea
Gray rocks, that fringe far Notre Dame,
When rage has forced the rampant winds
To beat the surf white with alarm"
"But when they led me forth to meet
Those whose resentment they'd appease,
Gone were Boethics, not trace
Haunted the woods, nor tlecked the seas.
After long years of solitude
| left the harbor of st. John,
And gladly took a Christians vows
At Saint Piarra and AJinualOn -