The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1876-05-26
EDITORIAL CORRESPONDENCE.

the brilliant glow of the morning sun
shine and pause from the contemplation
of the scenes of gladness around us, all
hallowed as they are by the merry hum
of laughter and conversation that wells
up from the happy hearts of our loved
and cherished ones, we resume our jOt-
tings of yet unchronicled journeyings,
relying wholly upon a memory dimmed
by recent illness for details which
should have been penned while yet
fresh, and full of the vigor which the
inspiration of the moment never fails to
create. But tits useless to moralize or
apologize. What is past is past, "what
is writ is writ" and much of what has
not been chronicled has followed the
old thief Procrastination down the
sleeps of Time, to be recalled to memory
nevermore.
On the steamer "North Pacific" GO
ing over from Seattle to Port Townsend,
we met Rev. DR.. Dillon, of the Pacific
Christian AdUocate, who was taking a
run over to Victoria for his health.
Conversation with him and few other
friends concerning theology, nature,
politics, literature, etc., etc, beguiled
much of the time from dawn to 8 A. NJ,
which would otherwise have been left as
a trackless waste upon our imagination.
The morning was too raw and cold for
outdoor observations, though we did
once in while brave the chilly aJmOs-
phere while gazing for moment at the
Olympic range, and from that into the
green waters of the Whulge, as the
good steamer lashed them into spray.
This, and a glance at the blue-green
forests that everywhere abounded would
great coal-stove in the steamers cabin,
shivering like an ague fit possessed us.
Port Townsend is a quiet, romantic
and dreamy place, like Natchez on, and
Natchez under the hill, being separated
in its interests by a precipitous bluff,
which it is an average days journey to
climb and descend. The place was
once the seat of very thriving trade,
but it's terminus bubble burst when
New Tacoma rose to the surface, and
now, like Steilacoom, Port Townsend is
decidedly quiet. Here is Port OF
Entry, where Hon. Henry Webster and
our genial friend, Col. L. H. Briggs
and his estimabIe lady, may be
found at headquarters under the hill,
while the residence of the former gen.
tleman is on the hill; and at both places
we enjoyed feast of reason and flow OF
soul which can never be forgotten. II
you want to have good cheer and see
happy families, go among Woman
Suffragists. If you want to seek a spot
from which you can get desirable
view of everything in nature that is
grand, romantic, and lovely, go to the
residence of the Collector of Customs at
Port Townsend, and, standing upon the
eminence where his home is, you will
see such a diversity of mountains, val
leys, forests, rocks, and plains, with the
great ocean bounding at their feet,
as will compel you to exclaim as did
! Byron when he beheld Lisboa:
" Oh, Christ it is a goodly sight to see
What heaven hath done for this delicious
land
! What fruits of fragrance blush on every
tree
What goodly prospects o'er the hills ex
pand :"
But, unlike the times and country oi
which Byron sung, all this is wild and
new; and, but for the greed of the land
shark, would be as free as the electric
air that bathes alike the brow of Mount
Baker and the base of Olympus in a
nectar, fit for the inhalation of the
Goddess of Liberty.
" All, me what hands can pencil guide, OF
pen
To follow half on which the eye dilates,
Through views more dazzling unto mortal
! ken
Than those whereof such things the bard
relates,
Who, to the awe-struck world unlocked
Elysium's gates >"
AS we wonder and gaze, our imagina.
ton all dazed by the "mixed and
mighty scene," we look in vain fol
topping converts, carved crosses, rude
shrines, and other evidences of Oriental
superstition of which Byron sang SC
feelingly, and we gather the inspiration
of the rare, electric air, and indite an
apostrOphe to mental freedom which
respect for the illustrieus poet above
quoted, Ito say nothing of our own
modesty), prevents us from transcribing
here, and thereby risking the danger oI
making ourself ridiculous by con.
trast.
Port Townsend-on-the-hill contains q
fine array of dwellings with well-kept
yards and flourishing fruit trees. The
same town under-the-hill is occupied
by stores, saloons, hotels, and so forth
where the men engaged in trade, sigh
over hopes departed, and dream of bet.
ter times. This was the first place yet
encountered where we failed to get large
audiences; yet, it seemed to be nobody.
fault, and we charge the whole to in.
ertia on general principles. The citi
zens subscribed literally to the Journal
of Peace, and our four days sojourr