The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1876-09-15
EDITORIAL CORRESPONDENCE.

AO44OhAAA w N~S-N 49,
DEAR READERS OF THE New NORTHWEST:
Some two weeks ago we took leave of
you at Council Bluffs, since which time
we have been too warm, too busy, and
too lazy for epistolary efforts of any de-
scription. The journey from Council
Bluffs to the home of our childhood
took us through an agricultural region
of passing loveliness, abounding In
towns and villages, churches and
schools, and but for the excessive, OPP
pressive, and debilitating heat, we could
have fauci ed ourself in fairy land. But
the fervid heat seemed to melt the very
elements. The brazen sun glared upon
the sleepy cornfields with blistering
brilliance; the grass and clover wilted
in the suItry atmosphere, and your
humble servant, finding it impossible to
keep up the usual nightly meetings,
was compelled to lie in the shade and
fan herself for dear existence.
1t was night when we reached the viii
lage of fremont, which was the first
"town" we ever recollect of seeing in
our earlier years, and which we shall
always remember as the embodiment in
our childish imaginings of everything
majestic. Thirty-fve years ago this
village was very nearly as populous as
now. To-day, us then, it is collection
of a few hundred souls, number of
whom have resided here for forty years,
or more.
Col. A. J. Davis, our cousin, and his
amiable wife, another cousin, from the
other side of the parental house, gave us
a cordial welcome, enhancing the hi
Iarity OF the occasion by the mistake OF
the aforesaid A. ]. D., who, in trying to
identify your correspondent in the semi
darkness, "gueSSed we were his dunt
from Council Bluffs" meaning the dear,
paternal auntie of whom we last wrote
you, whom we are said to greatly re-
semble.
Notwithstanding the oppressive heat
the weather was rainy. Mold gathered
everywhere. Fog rose from roofs ant
walls and walks and trees. Perspira
ton covered everything and everybody
We had forgotten, in quarter century,
residence in the dryer atmosphere of thC
land of Webfoot, that we ever had seer
, such moist climate. Don't laugh
: good Oregonians. We mean it, every
word. The face of the country was re
splendent in living green. Tie tangled
verdure was like the tropics in spring
} time. We enjoyed it, in spite of tn
heat. Then the glad reunion will
/, loved ones of the olden time! All, me
5 We're all growing old.
. On Monday there was evidence of
clearing up. The blue ether of the SIX.
cleaned vividly between the man,
openings in the weeping clouds.
Getting buggy with a stranger for
driver, for we wanted to be alone, W
went over to the home of dear Aun
) Sallie, whom death claimed in the lon
: ago, leaving her motherless brood t
grow up together on these statel
grounds. The old home looked at L
like ghost of departed days. The fs
miliar haunts are peopled now b
j strangers from the far-off Deutch-lanC
y who could not understand our motht
tongue. But the old trees knew US an
o welcomed back the long-gone wandere
" They bowed with mute salutations an
= kissed our lonely brow with their drooI
9 ing foliage with all the caressing tel
derness of yore.
- We bowed our lone head and were breathles
II As under their shadows we stood,
:, While around us the dead and the deathless
i In loving and hallowed mood,
With all mundane mutations impressed us,
. And like phantoms embraced and caressed L
= AS we dreamed in the shade OF the wood.
But this won't do. We haven't tin
at this writing for the luxury of retr
spection or the ingenuity of rhymes.
A half-hour thus spent in angelic sci
:, tude, and we returned with a heaN
= heart to the impatient driver and fl
bitten horse, and turned through Il
wood toward the old homestead. III
distance was short, and we were soon
u sight of the "old elm tree" that has
y generations kept stately guard over
/" The halls of our fathers, the old house
50 home"
y George Landes, Esq, who has lol
owned the farm, aud cared for it {
. along right royalty, met US at the gal
'e his glad wife greeted US at the door, al
we could almost hear the voices of h
d dead and distant as we fingered und
n the great apple trees and listened to t
e, signing of the summer leaves.
4 Oh, the voices that breathe through the breez
=, From out of the dead long ago!
- Our life-blood congeals and half freezes,
- In spite of the suns fervent glow,
" AS the memories, old and magnetic,
=, With our sad mood in love sympathetic,
- Like tangible ghosts come and go.
m But, again, we must shake off t
ne rhyming mood. What is the matt
tb that our thoughts thus seek to jingl
The next day, accompanied by Ma
III Landes, dear schoolmate of ye au
av lang syne, who, during all the acti1