The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1875-08-27
EDITORIAL CORRESPONDENCE.

we lett you at ne creek MeKablkant
which we crossed upon lovely white
bridge, and bowlcd up the avenue to the
Sea-Side House, where Mr.. Dexter and
his amiable wife received the tired,
worn aud dusty pilgrims with the air of
those well accustomed to the art of en-
tertaining many guests.
From the great rush of travel II would
seem that. written descriptions of this
resort would hardly be necessary for
Oregonians; and yet, whoever excused
a lady editor for omitting jottings of her
IjourneyiDgs
First in order comes the before men,
toned creek, clear, crooked stream of
sweet mountain water, full of trout and
Iimpid as crystal. Upon its border grow
a perfect tangle of deeiduous trees and
bushes, while the feathery ferns creep
down to the waters edge and nestle in
the cool shadows like sentient things.
One day, accompanied by our liege,
Messrs. Stott and Nelson, Mrs. Hirsch,
and Miss Clementina Mayer, we went IA
boating up the stream. 1t is simply
impossible to describe that excursion.
The limpid water reflected the shadows
and eoloring of the tangled wood with
enchanting viyidness.. Great ruins of
what once were spruce trees of vigorous
growth and vernal loveliness, held aloft
their skeleton arms to mock the ravages
of girdling-ax and fire-fiend, and as our
| liohf AtrVNoI ell loke,
the rippling echo seemed to answer
back the mute appeal of the great dead
mOnarchs who cried out, "Behold US r'
And the tangled growth looked up and
sighed, and the feathery ferns looked
down into the water and wept. Upon
fallen tree. root, near the middle of the
stream, a fern-island grows, its luxuri-
ant foliage covering every vestige of its
ragged foundation. But stay the van
dal has been there. Some thoughtless
mortal has torn the beautiful outer gar
ments, and we behold, in places, the
black deformity of the old tree root,
and exclaIm aloud in Indignation.
With what infinite pains does mother
Nature seek to cover up the sad un-
sightliness of her fallen unfortunates.
: How slowly and yet how constantly she
works; and yet how ruthlessly will
some unsentimental human tear and
rend the beautiful garments she has
ceaselessly toiled to fashion. We be-
lieve that vegetation is far more con-
scious than thousands of human beings.
Did you never see tiny flower stalk oil
a great signing tree bleeding at every
pore because of ruthless wounds, dear
reader?
Yonder, near the margin of the creek,
: is bachelors home, and upon the banks
u notice, warning us not to trespass. 4
, little farther up the stream we find that
this Ishmaelite has felled tree across
the water to impede our further progress
with the boat. The leaves of the fallen
tree are dropping and dying helplessly,
and we retrace our ripping way, de-
voutly thankful that our eyes have not
beheld the soured specimen of what
once was manhood, who takes up his
abode alone in the forest and snarls and
snaps at his approaching kindred.
But let us go back to the hotel. A
large modern country villa it looks,
with its broad veranda, many win
dows, green blinds, commanding OBJ
servatory, ample parlor and dining
roomi tasteful grounds, and thrOngs OF
visitors. Look in one direction and the
grounds seem vast chicken-ranch; in
another, and you behold pet animals of
almost every description. Across the
the lawn is Mr.. Holladay's country
villa, now lone and silent, as Is also its
companion cottage, belonging to the
Countess Pourtales, whom Death has
taken. A cheerful fountain plays before
you, and a tower stands hard by, con-
tanning the first ship bell that ever
doubled Cape Horn, which tolls in obe-
dance to the manipulations of some
; busy ehildreni who startle you with the
thought of fire. YoHder are the man.
moth remains of some antedeluvian sea
monster, and further on, with only a
step between the sublime and ridiculous,
a cage of disgusting bears! Adown a
road, built of shells from the inexhaust-
ible supply of an ancient festival-haunt
of the Indians of many tribes, with the
grounds around you dotted with ever
greens that seem literally rising from
beds of cobble-stones, you go till you
emerge from the grove and stand face to
face with the busy ocean. Here you
forget all else but your own emotions.
Involuntarily you climb to seat upon
the top of the uplifted roots of great,
naked, surf-bleached tree, and looking
down upon the breakers, exelaim:
81 love to set me on some steep
That overhangs the billowy deep
Il And hear the waters roar.
love to see the great waves fly,
And hurI themselves against the sky,
Then burst upon the Shore"
But our liege is more practical than
poetieRl, sn> he reminds us of a possible
sore throat, and we descend from our
perch and walk briskly along the beach
to keep from catching cold.
Tillamook Head stands sharply out in
the distance, bathing its crown of trees
in the salt sea spray of the ages, and
seeming to us to lend the music of a SOL