THE OREGON NATURALIST. 
113 
green foliage. Beads of moisture upon 
the leaves glistened in the increasing 
light, and came pattering down on the 
walks like rain-drops in a summer show- 
er while birds reveled in the trees and 
shrubs and flitted about the yard. 
Bird melodies drifted in from far and 
near and | wondered if they were ever 
more sweet and cheering. even in spring- 
time. Why were their voices so clear and 
liquid when the apparent gloom of early 
summer had been settling down on bird 
life and hushing them one by one. Had 
the welcome shower of the previous even- 
ing something to do with it, or had some 
happy impulse brought forth this out- 
burst of song? 
The flowers assumed a new and bright- 
er appearance and seemed to manifest 
their attractive nature by a_ beautiful 
display of shining petals and a generous 
exhalation of sweetness. Could anyone 
be content to loiter on such a morning 
when all nature seemed a field of loveli- 
ness? 
A little later | partook of a light break- 
fast, made preparations for a day’s outing, 
and just as the eastern horizon was grow- 
ing radiant with golden sunbeams, and 
cooler shadows were giving place to warm- 
er tints, | caught up my sketch book and 
sallied forth to improve the time, as | 
considered it a rare opportunity. After 
passing up the street, I was soon beyond 
the the limits of our city and out upon 
the highway where I found the birds still 
more jubilant with new voices joining in 
one great concert in praise of the morning 
sun. 
The far distant range of mountains to 
the eastward, which had been growing 
dimmer and dimmer with the gauzy haze 
of summer, until it looked like one great 
cloud bank from north to south, did then 
stand out much clearer against the sky. 
Above the rugged looking slopes, and 
high bold abrupt mountains with their 
sharper ridges, rose the summits of Mt. 
Hood, Jefferson, Three Sisters and other 
noted peaks of the Cascade range, cover- 
ed by mantles of perpetual snow. To the 
westward another cloud like bank on the 
horizon designated the Coast range, be- 
yond which the ocean surged and swelled 
dashing massive waves against the rock, 
mingling its unceasing roar with the cry 
of the numerous sea-fowl which were 
breeding there, while many little brooks 
and streamlets trickled down the mount- 
ain sides, uniting their waters, growing 
wider and wider, as they rushed down the 
gorges and canyons, flowing across the 
fertile acreage and rippied on toward the 
ocean, adding much to the beauty of our 
magnificent valley, where thousands of 
birds rear their young, and many more 
seek a winter home, when that icy chill 
sweeps down from the arctic, driving 
them from northern breeding grounds, or 
their summer abodes in the mountains, to 
more genial climes. 
In full view were the wooded foot-nills 
and grassy plains, seeming the more 
delightful and inviting on account of the 
spring like freshness. Mountains and 
canyons, hills and valleys, rocks and 
streams, villages and farm houses, were 
all clothed in the brightest of morning 
light. The borders of fields and pasture 
iands looked like flower gardens, bright 
with starry blossoms and green with 
humble shrubs. 
I sauntered along the 
road admiring the 
Wonderful and ever 
changing scenery, 
oft2n stopping to watch 
the little birds that 
Were hopping about the 
fences and shrubs, or 
perching upon some 
slender twig, uttering 
afew chirps, or pour- 
ing out those sweet 
