Frances Fuller Victor

“ Today nothing more moving is in sight than a few straggling clam-diggers, and even they are spiritless, for the fresh-water floods of last winter have destroyed the young mollusks near the Columbia.
The sea to me is not an object of love. It is an emblem of remorseless strength used without love or pity. It is cruel, cold, often beautiful, but never to be thought of with a tender longing. So we turn away from the beach and plunge into a forest pathway overhung by shrubby cliffs on one side and a wealth of arborescent beauty on the other. ”

“ Of the pole-star reflected in eyes' rain:
⁠"Ah yes," my heart says, "it is surely so;"
⁠And, like a bound bird, flutters hard to go.
⁠Sad eyes, that, blurred with tears,
Gaze into darkness, gaze no more in vain
⁠Whence no loved face appears,
And no voice comes to lull the heart's fond pain!
⁠Sad heart! restrain thy throbs,
For beauty, like a presence out of heaven,
⁠Rests over all, and robs
Sorrow of pain, and makes earth seem forgiven:—
⁠Twilight the fair eve ushers in with grace,
⁠And rose clouds melt for stars to take their place. ”

“ A ride through the Walla Walla Valley, along the line of the stage-road, shows us the most cultivated portions, and a great deal of delightful country that is in its natural state. The face of the country is undulating—covered with grass and flowers. Fat, sleek-hided cattle feed in herds on a hundred hills. As we jog easily along over smooth roads, we enjoy the clear, bracing air, the cloudless sky, the glimpses of cultivation in wayside nooks, the flowers, the birds—the whole breezy, peaceful, harmonious landscape.
The only game which we notice is of the bird kind—prairie-hens and curlews. ”

“ It is a much handsomer tree than the dogwood of the Atlantic States, making, when in full flower and in favored situations, as fine a display of broad, silvery-white blossoms as the magnolia of the Southern States. As an ornamental tree it cannot be surpassed, having a fresh charm each season, from the white blossoms of spring to the pink leaves of late summer and the scarlet berries of autumn. Its ordinary height is thirty or forty feet, but in moist ravines and thick woods it stretches up towards the light until it is seventy feet high. ”

“ On such a July day as I am hinting at, our party had idled away the morning, splashing our way indolently through the blue waters of Nittinat Sound, the mountains towering behind us, the open sea not far off; but all around us a shore so emerald green and touched with bits of color, so gracefully, picturesquely wild, that not, in all its unrestraint, was there an atom of savagery to be subdued in the interest of pure beauty. ”

“ Everybody understood one thing in the mountains—that he must keep his life by his own courage and valor, or at the least by his own prudence. Unseen dangers always lay in wait for him. The arrow or tomahawk of the Indian, the blow of the grizzly bear, the mis-step on the dizzy or slippery height, the rush of boiling and foaming floods, freezing cold, famine—these were the most common forms of peril, yet did not embrace even then all the forms in which Death sought his victims in the wilderness. ”

“ And exhaling frees to the amosphere
⁠The molecule of sun it has stayed in its flight,
So you lived in your beautiful body, Sweet,
⁠And shone through its white and dainty mould;
So you passed away from world's toil and heat
⁠To the glory that gathered you in its fold.
And I? Will my soul when it is free
⁠Discover the print of your spirit feet,
And follow and find? ”

“ What a naked, spiritless coast scene! To the south of my position (at Long Beach,) the green headland of the Cape stands with its feet in the sea. Some large rocks and bowlders are scattered for a little distance above that, and then, nothing! Not a shell, or wading bird, not even a rope of kelp on the sands, or a bit of colored seaweed to catch the eye; only the ever-restless, but at this season unimpassioned, sea. Even the wind has ceased to buffet us, and only the free motion of our clean-limbed roadster makes a breeze to quicken the blood in our cheeks. ”

“ Earthquake and flood have brought thee: thou art here,
At once the master that men love and fear—
Whom they have sought by many strange devices,
In ancient river-beds; in interstices
Of hardest quartz; upon the wave-wet strand,
Where curls the tawny sand
By mountain torrents hurried to the main,
And thence hurled back again:—
Yes, suffered, dared, and patiently
Offered up everything, O gold, to thee!—
Home, wife and children, native soil, and all
That once they deemed life's sweetest, at thy call;
Fled over burning plains; in deserts fainted ”

“ The sun rises in the east, shines all day upon a vast expanse of sage-brush and grass, and, as it sets in the west, casts its dull rays into a thousand ravines that neither man nor beast can cross. The magnet always points north; but whether one can go either north or south can be decided only by personal effort. An insignificant turn to the wrong side of a little knoll or buffalo-wallow ofttimes imperceptibly leads the voyager into ravine after ravine, over bluff after bluff, until at last he stands on the edge of a yawning canyon, hundreds of feet in depth and with perpendicular walls. ”

“ Railroads are great civilizers ; but they also need to be civilized in some directions.
The ride from Drain to Scottsburg furnishes all the delights to be gathered from a magnificent forest, alpine heights, awful declivities, glimpses of a rapid river dashing itself over rocky obstructions, the balsamic odors of the woods, pure stimulating air, social converse, an hour for your dinner, and a friendly inn at your journey’s end. We are promised that all this, or much of it, is to be changed in a year or two by a railroad from Drain to the ocean, by a new route, and with new towns along it. ”

“ We resolve to return to the pine woods to camp, and with to-morrow's dawn to climb once more to the summit, to behold "morning on the mountains." The spectacle compensates for the extra toil. When we arrive, there is a veil of mist hanging between the valley and the mountain-top. We know that they in the valley see nothing of the summits; while we of the summits can discern nothing below this floating sea of vapor. How beautiful! It is as if out of a sea of golden-tinted mist are springing islands of dark-green—some of them crowned with glittering snow—and overhead a cloudless heaven. ”

“ As when some carcass, hidden in sequestered nook, draws from every near and distant point myriads of discordant vultures, so drew these little flakes of gold the voracious sons of men. The strongest human appetite was aroused — the sum of appetites — this yellow dirt embodying the means for gratifying love, hate, lust, and domination. This little scratch upon the earth to make a backwoods mill-race touched the cerebral nerve that quickened humanity, and sent a thrill throughout the system. ”

“ Death itself could not frighten him; for what was the Columbia in a storm to the dangers he had passed through in years of hunting and trapping in the Rocky Mountains? He had seemed to bear a charmed life then; he would believe that the charm had not deserted him.
But, O, how his old arms ached! and the storm freshening every minute, with two miles further to row, in the teeth of it. The tide was with him now; but the wind was against the tide, and made an ugly sea. If he only could reach the mouth of the creek before dark. If he could? Why, he must. ”

“ The Blackfeet immediately betook themselves to a swamp formed by an old beaver dam, and thickly overgrown with cotton-wood and willow, matted together with tough vines. On the edge of this dismal covert the warriors skulked, and shot with their guns and arrows, while in its very midst the women employed themselves in digging a trench and throwing up a breastwork of logs, and whatever came to hand. Such a defence as the thicket afforded was one not easy to attack; its unseen but certain dangers being sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. ”

“ At Ocean Park there is a grove of gnarled spruce-trees through which streets have been cleared from the railroad to the beach, making beautiful vistas through which one may catch glimpses of the sparkling sea. The trees which brave the heavy northwest wind of summer, and the terrible strength of the winter's southwest storms, lean inland, and have a stunted appearance very different from the straight, tall timber of the river bottoms and mountains. ”

“ Sweet, kiss my eyelids close, and let me lie,
On this old-fashioned sofa, in the dim
And purple twilight, shut out from the sky,
Which is too garish for my softer whim.
And while I, looking inward on my thought,
Tell thee what phantoms thicken in its air.
Twine thou thy gentle fingers, slumber-fraught,
With the loose shreds of my disheveled hair:
I shall see inly better if thou keep
My outer senses in a charmed sleep.
Sweet friend!—I love that pleasant name of friend—
We walk not ever singly, through the world ”

“ Perched on the covered balcony of a west-end house, one may pass the whole day in idle enjoyment of the scene before him, which, as a river view, is unsurpassed anywhere in the world. To be at its best, however, the day should be in July, after the rainy season is past, and when the summer flood of the Columbia has gone out over the bar, leaving the blue beauty of this majestic stream unclouded by dissolving mud-banks, and undisfigured by drift. ”

“ Thorns and pebbles bruise him, heat and cold annoy him;
Sting of insect maddens, snarl of beast affrights him;
Shade of forest saddens, breath of flowers delights him.
O thou great, mysterious mother of all mystery!
At thy lips imperious man entreats his history.—
Whence he came—and whither is his spirit fleeing:
Ere it wandered hither had it other being:
Will its subtile essence, passing through death's portal,
Put on nobler presence in a life immortal?
Or is man but matter, that a touch ungentle,
Back again may shatter to forms elemental? ”

“ Men madly do and dare,
In alternations of high hope and deep abysses
Of recklessnesses.
Painfully, and by violence,
Even as heaven is taken, thou wert dragged whence
Nature had hidden thee—whose face is worn
With anxious furrows, and her bosom torn
In the hard strife—and ever yet there lingers
Upon these hills work for the effacing fingers
Of time, the healer, who makes all things seem
A half forgotten dream;
Who smooths deep furrows and lone graves together,
By touch of wind and weather. ”

“ Time passed slowly in Sublette's lodge, while waiting for his wound to heal. Day passed after day, so entirely like each other that the monotony alone seemed sufficient to invite death to an easy conquest. But the mountain-man's blood, like the Indians, is strong and pure, and his flesh heals readily, therefore, since death would not have him, the wounded man was forced to accept of life in just this monotonous form. To him Joe Meek was everything,—hands, feet, physician, guard, caterer, hunter, cook, companion, friend. ”

“ A country that has the Rocky Mountains for its eastern wall, the Pacific Sea for its western barrier; whose interior mountains are teeming with treasure; whose soil is seldom hardened by frost; down whose coasts sail no icebergs; whose wharves front those of China and Japan, and whose people are full of the intellectuality of the nineteenth century, will not pause nor hesitate on the road to wealth, learning, literature, or art. Already Oregon has furnished the world a poet, whose mountain minstrelsy echoes from foreign shores. ”

“ From the deck of the steamer waiting for us at the end of the railroad portage, a beautiful picture is spread out on every side. The river seems a lake dotted with islands, with low shores, surrounded by mountain walls. Almost the first thing which strikes the eye is an immensely high and bold, perpendicular cliff of red rock, pointed at top with the regularity of a pyramid, and looking as if freshly split off from some other half which has totally disappeared. ”

“ Under the pines sat a young man and maiden,
"Love," said he; "life is sweet, think'st thou not so?"
Sweet were her eyes, full of pictures of Aidenn,—
"Life?" said she; "love is sweet; no more I know."
Into the wide world the maid and her lover
Wandered by pathways that sundered them far;
From pine-groves to palm-groves, he flitted a rover,
She tended his roses, and watched for his star. ”

“ The long, wearying, dusty stage-ride to San Francisco, passed like a disagreeable dream; neither incident of heat by day, nor cold by night, or influence of grand or lovely scenes, seemed to touch her consciousness. James Harris, in his best clothes and best manners—the latter having a certain gentle dignity about them that was born of the occasion—sat beside her, and ministered assiduously to those personal wants which she had forgotten in the absorption of her painful thoughts. ”

“ On we go, pausing a moment by a cool and shaded spring, following roads little traversed by visitors to the beach, over marshes bridged or crossed by sandy highways, through thickets of spruce, hemlock, alder, eider, willow, crab-apple, wild rose, and spirea, emerging now and then on little plains, grass-covered and sheltered round by dense groves of spruce, where the air is sunny, yet soft and cool. ”

“ It is a complete copy of the north-western shore of the cape, a hundred times more perfect and beautiful than a painter could make it, with the features of a score of rods concentrated into a picture of a dozen inches in diameter, with the real life, and motion, and atmosphere of Nature in it. While you gaze enchanted, the surf creeps up the sandy beach, the sea-birds circle about the rocks, the giant firs move gently in the breeze, shadows flit over the sea, a cloud moves in the sky ”

“ The night is wild, and the road is long,
⁠The scudding clouds fly fast,
The swift wind sings a dreary song
⁠And the trees creak in the blast;
The moon is down in the tossing sea,
⁠The stars shed not a ray,
The lightning flashes frightfully,
⁠But I must on my way. ”

“ While some dread presence, all the darkness filling,
Crept round my heart, its healthy pulses chilling;
Making the night, so awful unto me,
More fearful with that word Eternity.
So that my spirit, trembling and afraid,
Bowed down itself before its God, and prayed
For His strong arm of terror to be stayed;
⁠And sighed Eternity
From its white lips, as the dark sea, subsiding,
Sank into broken murmurs ”

“ While we gaze, there is seen against the horizon the black smoke of a steamer. On she comes over the bar, breathing asthmatically and beating the waters with her great wheels in a steady rhythm, until at last the boom of her gun gives notice to the custom-house officials of her arrival, and all the town hastens to the wharf to learn of her cargo and her passengers, and to question what sort of a voyage she has had. ”

“ To be suspended over water on a bridge, a long one, was always to us more fascinating than boating. To be at rest over the ever-restless water, and gaze upon its cheerfulness, and dream! In Olympia, we can do this, when the tide is in. When it is out, we can interest ourselves in watching the millions of squirming things the receding flood leaves in the oozy mud. Standing on the long bridge, too, we can gaze upon the distant Olympian Range—the most aerial mountain view in America. ”

“ Its shores are indented every here and there with the loveliest of bays and sounds, forming the most exquisite little harbors to be found anywhere in the world. The climate of the Island, especially its summer climate, is delightful. Such bright, bracing airs as come from the sea on one side, and from the snow-capped mountains of the mainland on the other, are seldom met with on either hemisphere. Given a July day, a pleasant companion or two in a crank little boat, whose oars we use to make silvery interludes in our talk, and I should not envy your sailor on the Bosphorus. ”

“ But man, unavailing, pleads to thee for reasons.
Why the great dumb mountains, why the ocean hoary—
Even the babbling fountains, older are than story,
And his life's duration 's but a few short marches
Of the constellations through the heavenly arches!
Even the oaks of Mamre, and the palms of Kedar,
(Praising thee with psalmry) and the stately cedar,
Through the cycling ages, stinted not are growing,—
While the holiest sages have not time for knowing.
Mother whom we cherish, savage while so tender,
Do the lilies perish mourning their lost splendor? ”

“ Passing through a country where the soil is a reddish clay, clothed with groves of oak, manzanita, laurel, and pine, we come at last to the Rogue River, the most beautiful of mountain-born streams. Quite near the river, on the stage-road, the traveler finds a neat hotel, with garden attached, looking so home-like, in conjunction with its beautiful surroundings, that the temptation to stop over for a day, and enjoy the peace and pleasantness of the place, is almost irresistible—to us, quite so. ”

“ Were these ages golden while the world was younger,
When the giants olden knew not toil nor hunger?
When no pain nor malice marred joy's full completeness,
And life's honeyed chalice rapt the soul with sweetness?
When the restless river of time loved to linger;
Ere flesh felt the quiver of death's dissolving finger;
When man's intuition led without deflection,
To a sure fruition, and a full perfection.
Individual man is ever new created:
What his being's plan is, loosely predicated
On the circumstances of his sole condition,
Colored by the fancies borrowed from tradition. ”

“ On the clearing away of the mists of early morning we find the air on the Sound very bright and bracing. A slight breeze just ripples the blue waters of this Mediterranean sea; the summer sky is delicately mottled with flecks of foam-white clouds; seals sport below; birds flit from shore to shore above; a golden silence, only broken by the paddle-wheels of our steamer, wraps all together in a dreamy unreality very charming to the tourist. Occasionally a white sail, gleaming in mid-distance, adds an interest to the scene ”

“ They can but forgive me my errors at worst,
⁠And speak of my praises alone as they weep.
"Whom the gods love die young," they will say;
⁠Though they should think it, they will not say so:
"Whom the world pierces with thorns pass away,
⁠Grieving, yet asking and longing to go!"
No, when they see how divine my repose is,
They'll forget that my-life-path is not over roses;
And they'll whisper together, with hands full of flowers,
⁠How always I loved them to wear on my breast;
And strewing them over my bosom in showers,
⁠With hands shaken by sobs, leave me softly to rest. ”