Ringfield Has, For Many Years, Been The Family Mansion Of George Holmes
Parke, Esquire.
CASTOR VILLE
"In woods or glens I love to roam,
* * * *
Or by the woodland pool to rest."
In the deepest recesses of the Lorette woods, amongst the most shady
meanders of the sinuous Cahire Coubat, some five miles due north from
Castel-Coucy, we know a bank, not precisely where
"The wild thyme grows,"
but where you are sure, in spring and summer, to pluck handfuls of
trilliums, wild violets, ferns of rare beauty, columbines, kalmias,
ladies' slippers, ladies' tresses (we mean of course the floral subjects).
In this beauteous region, sacred to Pan, the Naiades, Dryades, and the
daughters of Mnemosyne, you might possibly, dear reader, were you
privileged with a pass from one of our most respected friends, be allowed
to wander; or perchance in your downward voyage from Lake Charles to the
Lorette Falls, in that vade mecum of a forester's existence - a birch
canoe - you might, we repeat, possibly be allowed to pitch your camp
on one of the mossy headlands of Castor Ville, and enjoy your luncheon, in
this sylvan spot, that is, always presuming you were deemed competent to
fully appreciate nature's wildest charms, and rejoice, like a true lover,
in her coyest and most furtive glances.
Castor Ville, a forest wild, where many generations of beavers, otters,
caribou, boars, foxes and hares once roamed, loved and died, covers an
area of more than one hundred acres. Through it glides the placid course
of the St. Charles - overhung by hoary fir trees - from the parent lake to
the pretty Indian Lorette Falls, a distance of about eight miles of fairy
scenery, which every man of taste, visiting Lake St. Charles, ought to
enjoy at least once in his life.
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