We came to Milwaukie, where we were to pass a fortnight or more.

This place is most beautifully situated.  A little river, with romantic banks, passes up through the town.  The bank of the lake is here a bold bluff, eighty feet in height.  From its summit is enjoyed a noble outlook on the lake.  A little narrow path winds along the edge of the lake below.  I liked this walk much,—­above me this high wall of rich earth, garlanded on its crest with trees, the long ripples of the lake coming up to my feet.  Here, standing in the shadow, I could appreciate better its magnificent changes of color, which are the chief beauties of the lake-waters; but these are indescribable.

It was fine to ascend into the lighthouse, above this bluff, and thence watch the thunder-clouds which so frequently rose over the lake, or the great boats coming in.  Approaching the Milwaukie pier, they made a bend, and seemed to do obeisance in the heavy style of some dowager duchess entering a circle she wishes to treat with especial respect.

These boats come in and out every day, and still afford a cause for general excitement.  The people swarm, down to greet them, to receive and send away their packages and letters.  To me they seemed such mighty messengers, to give, by their noble motion, such an idea of the power and fulness of life, that they were worthy to carry despatches from king to king.  It must be very pleasant for those who have an active share in carrying on the affairs of this great and growing world to see them approach, and pleasant to such as have dearly loved friends at the next station.  To those who have neither business nor friends, it sometimes gives a desolating sense of insignificance.

The town promises to be, some time, a fine one, as it is so well situated; and they have good building material,—­a yellow brick, very pleasing to the eye.  It seems to grow before you, and has indeed but just emerged from the thickets of oak and wild-roses.  A few steps will take you into the thickets, and certainly I never saw so many wild-roses, or of so beautiful a red.  Of such a color were the first red ones the world ever saw, when, says the legend, Venus flying to the assistance of Adonis, the rose-bushes kept catching her to make her stay, and the drops of blood the thorns drew from her feet, as she tore herself a way, fell on the white roses, and turned them this beautiful red.

One day, walking along the river’s bank in search of a waterfall to be seen from one ravine, we heard tones from a band of music, and saw a gay troop shooting at a mark, on the opposite bank.  Between every shot the band played; the effect was very pretty.

On this walk we found two of the oldest and most gnarled hemlocks that ever afforded study for a painter.  They were the only ones we saw; they seemed the veterans of a former race.

At Milwaukie, as at Chicago, are many pleasant people, drawn together from all parts of the world.  A resident here would find great piquancy in the associations,—­those he met having such dissimilar histories and topics.  And several persons I saw, evidently transplanted from the most refined circles to be met in this country.  There are lures enough in the West for people of all kinds;—­the enthusiast and the cunning man; the naturalist, and the lover who needs to be rich for the sake of her he loves.