Boats of every description were gliding, glinting,
drifting about at work or play, and we leaned over the rail from time
to time, contemplating the gay throng.
Several lines of ferry boats
were making regular trips at intervals of a few minutes, and river
steamers were coming and going from the wharves, laden with all sorts
of merchandise, raising long diverging swells that make all the light
pleasure craft bow and nod in hearty salutation as they passed. The
crowd was being constantly increased by new arrivals from both shores,
sailboats, rowboats, racing shells, rafts, were loaded with gayly
dressed people, and here and there some adventurous man or boy might
be seen as a merry sailor on a single plank or spar, apparently as
deep in enjoyment as were any on the water. It seemed as if all the
town were coming to the river, renouncing the cares and toils of the
day, determined to take the evening breeze into their pulses, and be
cool and tranquil ere going to bed.
Absorbed in the happy scene, given up to dreamy, random observation of
what lay immediately before me, I was not conscious of anything
occurring on the outer rim of the landscape. Forest, mountain, and
sky were forgotten, when my companion suddenly directed my attention
to the eastward, shouting, "Oh, look! look!" in so loud and excited a
tone of voice that passers-by, saunterers like ourselves, were
startled and looked over the bridge as if expecting to see some boat
upset. Looking across the forest, over which the mellow light of the
sunset was streaming, I soon discovered the source of my friend's
excitement. There stood Mount Hood in all the glory of the alpenglow,
looming immensely high, beaming with intelligence, and so impressive
that one was overawed as if suddenly brought before some superior
being newly arrived from the sky.
The atmosphere was somewhat hazy, but the mountain seemed neither near
nor far. Its glaciers flashed in the divine light. The rugged,
storm-worn ridges between them and the snowfields of the summit, these
perhaps might have been traced as far as they were in sight, and the
blending zones of color about the base. But so profound was the
general impression, partial analysis did not come into play. The
whole mountain appeared as one glorious manifestation of divine power,
enthusiastic and benevolent, glowing like a countenance with ineffable
repose and beauty, before which we could only gaze in devout and lowly
admiration.
The far-famed Oregon forests cover all the western section of the
State, the mountains as well as the lowlands, with the exception of a
few gravelly spots and open spaces in the central portions of the
great cultivated valleys. Beginning on the coast, where their outer
ranks are drenched and buffeted by wind-driven scud from the sea, they
press on in close, majestic ranks over the coast mountains, across the
broad central valleys, and over the Cascade Range, broken and halted
only by the few great peaks that rise like islands above the sea of
evergreens.
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