The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1917-03-29

tIdnccs On ulHertnt leVeiS. Inc nrSt
story formed the kitchen and Steven.
sons studio, or at least the place
where he wrote, while the upper stor-
les were sleeping chambers.
81 used to visit Stevenson there in
that kitchen and we would take glass
of whiskey together or split bottle of
wine. He talked with broad Scotch
accent. He didn't seem to take any
great fancy to the Californians. Let
me have the Samoan Islands, he
would say, that's the place where a
fellow can do as he pleases without
regard for any conventions. They say
I'm sick. up here for consumption.
Bah, mans not going to have any
consumption as long as he has any of
this, and he would pat fondly bottle
OF whiskey. He was very fond of
onions, and Mrs. Stevenson, Fanny, as
he always called her, as we talked
would often be called on to produce
some of these favorite vegetables.
II have seen Stevenson engaged in
his writing there in his kitchen study.
His long fingers cramped over the pen
would fairly fly over the sheet of paper
and each sheet, as fast as he had fin
ished it would be cast upon the floor.
Fanny was kept busy picking up and
putting together his manuscripts.
When we would talk Stevenson would
always keep pad before him, and
sometimes in the midst of some out.
burst of speech he would abruptly stop
and jot down some pleasing thought.
The author seemed very fond Of a
daughter, who was then in a Catholic
convent, Notre Dame, believe it was,
at San Jose, and often would tell me
how he longed to see her.
II wonder what Stevenson would
think of California today. have Just
been reading of the purity campaign in
San Francisco. The City of the Golden
Gate has indeed changed almost beyond
comprehension since those days of the
COS. They tell me that California is
going dry when another election comes
along. / am made to recall the words
of Stevenson in Silverado quatters,
where he said: Some of us, kind old
pagans, watch with dread the shadows
falling on the age. His fear, as ex-
pressed there, however, was not one
Of prohibition. That contingency was
then undreamed of perhaps. Instead
it was protest against dilution of the
wines given by nature. The entire par
agraph of this protest in a chapter
entitled, 'Napa Wines, was: 4 was
interested in California wine? Indeed,
! am interested in all wine, and haye
been all my life, from the raisin wine
that schoolboy fellow kept secreted
in his play-box up to my last discov-
cry, those notable Valtellines that
once shone upon the board of Caesar.
Some of us, kind old Pagans,
watch with dread the shadows falling
on the age; how the unconquerable
woim invades the sunny terraces OF
France, and Bordeaux is no more, and
the Rhine is mere Arabia Petraea.
Chateau Neuf is dead, and have
never tasted it. Hermitage-a her.
mitage indeed from all life's sorrows
lies expiring by the river. And in
place of these imperial liquors, beauti-
full to every sense, gem-hued, flower
scented dream compellers-behold upon
the quays at Cette the chemicals ar.
rayed; behold the analyst at Mar.
seilles, raising hands in observation.
'These words may have been more
prophetic than we believe. The greed
Of the seller of liquors, his array of
chemicals, the distilling of poisons. He
sinned away his day of grace, and in
many parts of the land the prohibit
zionist with his ballot has arisen more
destructive even than the worms or