On the voyage up I said to an Oregonian, “You have a good timber country, I hear?” and his reply seemed to me at the time extravagant.  “Timber?” he said; “timber—­till you can’t sleep.”  When I had spent a day and a half at anchor abreast of Astoria, the words appeared less exaggerated.  Wherever you look you see only timber; tall firs, straight as an arrow, big as the California redwoods, and dense as a Southern canebrake.  On your right is Oregon—­its hill-sides a forest so dense that jungle would be as fit a word for it as timber; on the left is Washington Territory, and its hill-sides are as densely covered as those of the nearer shore.  This interminable, apparently impenetrable, thicket of firs exercised upon my mind, I confess, a gloomy, depressing influence.  The fresh lovely green of the evergreen foliage, the wonderful arrowy straightness of the trees, their picturesque attitude where they cover headlands and reach down to the very water’s edge, all did not make up to me for their dreary continuity of shade.

Astoria, however, means to grow.  It has already a large hotel, which the timber has crowded down against the tide-washed flats; a saw-mill, which is sawing away for dear life, because if it stopped the forest would doubtless push it into the river, on whose brink it has courageously effected a lodgment; some tan-yards, shops, and “groceries;” and if you should wish to invest in real estate here, you can do so with the help of a “guide,” which is distributed on the steamer, and tells you of numerous bargains in corner lots, etc.; for here, as in that part of the West which lies much farther east, people live apparently only to speculate in real estate.

An occasional flash of broad humor enlivens some of the land circulars and advertisements.  I found one on the hotel table headed “Homes,” with the following sample: 

    221 ACRES,

Four miles east of Silverton; frame house and a log house (can live in either); log barn; 20 acres in cultivation; 60 acres timber land; balance pasture land; well watered.  We will sell this place for $1575.  Will throw in a cook stove and all the household furniture, consisting of a frying-pan handle and a broomstick; also a cow and a yearling calf; also one bay heifer; also 8400 lbs. of hay, minus what the above-named stock have consumed during the winter; also 64 bushels of oats, subject to the above-mentioned diminution.  If sold, we shall have left on our hands one of the driest and ugliest-looking old bachelors this side of the grave, which we will cheerfully throw in if at all acceptable to the purchaser.  Old maids and rich widows are requested to give their particular attention to this special offer.  Don’t pass by on the other side.

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HOME, SWEET HOME!

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like Home!

We still have a few more “Sweet Homes” for sale, consisting
of, etc., etc., etc.