scene one of awful grandeur never to be forgotten.

"So absorbed were we all in the preternatural war of the fiercely contending elements that we forgot our guns, our game and ourselves.

* * * * *

"The burnt district, after darkness set in, was wild and weird in the extreme. The dry bark to the very tops of the tall trees was on fire and constantly falling off in large flakes, and the air was filled ever and anon with dense showers of golden stars, while the trees in the environs seemed to move about through the fitful shadows like grim brobdignags clad in sheeny armor."

Having witnessed many similar conflagrations I am able to say that the subject could scarcely be better treated.

Through the courtesy of the author, Dr. H. A. Smith, I have been permitted to insert the following poem, which has no doubt caused many a grim chuckle and scowl of sympathy, too, from the old pioneers of the Northwest:

"THE MORTGAGE.

"The man who holds a mortgage on my farm And sells me out to gratify his greed, Is shielded by our shyster laws from harm, And ever laud for the dastard deed! Though morally the man is really worse Than if he knocked me down and took my purse; The last would mean, at most, a moment's strife, The first would mean the struggle of a life, And homeless children wailing in the cold, A prey to want and miseries manifold; Then if I loot him of his mangy pup The guardians of the law will lock me up, And jaundiced justice fly into a rage While pampered Piety askance my rags will scan, And Shylock shout, 'Behold a dangerous man!' But notwithstanding want to Heaven cries, And villains masquerade in virtue's guise, And Liberty is moribund or dead-- Except for men who corporations head-- One little consolation still remains, The human race will one day rend its chains."

In transcribing Indian myths and religious beliefs, Dr. Smith displays much ability. After having had considerable acquaintance with the native races, he concludes that "Many persons are honestly of the opinion that Indians have no ideas above catching and eating salmon, but if they will lay aside prejudice and converse freely with the more intelligent natives, they will soon find that they reason just as well on all subjects that attract their attention as we do, and being free from pre-conceived opinions, they go directly to the heart of theories and reason both inductively and deductively with surprising clearness and force."

Dr. Smith exhibits in his writings a broadly charitable mind which sees even in the worst, still some lingering or smothered good.

Dr. Smith is one of a family of patriots; his great-grandfather, Copelton Smith, who came from Germany to America in 1760 and settled in or near Philadelphia, Pa., fought for liberty in the war of the Revolution under General Washington. His father, Nicholas Smith, a native of Pennsylvania, fought for the Stars and Stripes in 1812. Two brothers fought for Old Glory in the war of the Rebellion, and he himself was one of the volunteers who fought for their firesides in the State, then Territory of Washington.

"A family of fighters," as he says, "famous for their peaceful proclivities when let alone."

The varied experiences of life in the Northwest have developed in him a sane and sweet philosophy, perhaps nowhere better set forth in his writings than in his poem "Pacific's Pioneers," read at a reunion of the founders of the state a few years ago, and with which I close this brief and inadequate sketch:

"PACIFIC'S PIONEERS.

"A greeting to Pacific's Pioneers, Whose peaceful lives are drawing to a close, Whose patient toil, for lo these many years, Has made the forest blossom as the rose.

"And bright-browed women, bonny, brave and true, And laughing lasses, sound of heart and head, Who home and kindred bade a last adieu To follow love where fortune led.

"I do not dedicate these lines alone To men who live to bless the world today, But I include the nameless and unknown The pioneers who perished by the way.

"Not for the recreant do my numbers ring, The men who spent their lives in sport and spree, Nor for the barnacles that always cling To every craft that cruises Freedom's sea.

"But nearly all were noble, brave and kind, And little cared for fame or fashion's gyves; And though they left their Sunday suits behind They practiced pure religion all their lives.

"Their love of peace no people could excel, Their dash in war the poet's pen awaits; Their sterling loyalty made possible Pacific's golden galaxy of states.

"They had no time to bother much about Contending creeds that vex the nation's Hub, But then they left their leather latches out To every wandering Arab short of grub.

"Cut off from all courts, man's earthly shield from harm, They looked for help to Him whose court's above, And learned to lean on labor's honest arm, And live the higher law, the law of love.

"Not one but ought to wear a crown of gold, If crowns were made for men who do their best Amid privations cast and manifold That unborn generations may be blest.

"Among these rugged pioneers the rule Was equal rights, and all took special pride In 'tending Mother Nature's matchless school, And on her lessons lovingly relied.

"And this is doubtless why they are in touch With Nature's noblemen neath other skies; And though of books they may not know as much Their wisdom lasts, as Nature never lies.

"And trusting God and His unerring plan As only altruistic natures could Their faith extended to their fellow man, The image of the Author of all good.

"Since Nature here has done her best to please By making everything in beauty's mold, Loads down with balm of flowers every breeze, And runs her rivers over reefs of gold,

"It seems but natural that men who yearn For native skies, and visit scenes of yore, Are seldom satisfied till they return To roam the Gardens of the Gods once more!

"And since they fell in love with nature here How fitting they should wish to fall asleep Where sparkling mountain spires soar and spear The stainless azure of the upper deep.

"And yet we're saddened when the papers say Another pioneer has passed away! And memory recalls when first, forsooth, We saw him in the glorious flush of youth.

"How plain the simple truth when seen appears, No wonder that faded leaves we fall! This is the winter of the pioneers That blows a wreath of wrinkles to us all!

"A few more mounds for faltering feet to seek, When, somewhere in this lovely sunset-land Like some weird, wintry, weather-beaten peak Some rare old Roman all alone will stand.

"But not for long, for ere the rosy dawn Of many golden days has come and gone, Our pine-embowered bells will shout to every shore 'Pacific's Pioneers are now no more!'

"But lovely still the glorious stars will glow And glitter in God's upper deep like pearls And mountains too will wear their robes of snow Just as they did when we were boys and girls.

"Ah well, it may be best, and is, no doubt, As death is quite as natural as birth And since no storms can blow the sweet stars out, Why should one wish to always stay on earth?

"Especially as God can never change, And man's the object of His constant care And though beyond the Pleiades we range His boundless love and mercy must be there."