240 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



mountains Rainier and Shasta are loftier; there 

 are peaks that fill with awe and that strike with 

 terror, while Hood only fills the soul with exulta- 

 tion, with the joy of beauty, of completeness, and 

 perfection. Hood is but little over eleven thou- 

 sand feet high, and easily climbed. Its greatness 

 is not physical, not height nor power ; but form 

 rather, and spirit, and position. It stands sixty 

 miles from Portland, dominating, but not over- 

 whelming, the landscape, earth and all the sky a 

 frame for it. From Council Crest the city seems 

 a mere spectator looking off at the picture of a 

 mountain rising in majestic symmetry, wrapped 

 with a cold and indescribable purity, yet touched 

 with an aspiration that were fervent were it less 

 profound. Mount Hood from Portland is one of 

 the perfect things of the world. 



What will be the influence of this unearthly 

 glory, I wonder, shining down forever upon the 

 city? If there be any virtue, if there be any praise 

 in thinking upon things that are true and pure 

 and lovely, should not the presence of Hood, 

 though acting slowly, act powerfully upon the 

 spirit of the city *? Shall Portland be the mother 

 of one great poet, or of one great painter, or one 



