i6 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



Only it will not be the wilderness then, or the 

 solitary place; it will not be prairie or forest. 

 The fir tree will never follow the rose, nor the 

 buffalo-grass the great gasoline tractor. I have 

 seen the last of the unploughed prairies, the last 

 of the virgin forests. It was only a few weeks 

 ago that I passed through the mountain forest, 

 and to-day, as I am writing, those age-old trees 

 are falling as the summer grass falls across the 

 blade of the mower. 



This, I know, must needs be. All of this was 

 implied, delegated, in the command, "Be fruit- 

 ful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and 

 subdue it." No, not all of this needs to be; nor 

 ought to be. 



" * O River,' said Mary, 



* Why will you not stay. 

 And tell me the things 

 That you see on your way ? 



' *' ' Oh! why must you hurry. 



The day is so long; 

 Pray, rest a short time 

 And sing me a song. ' 



€f ( My child,' said the River, 



* If I stay with you. 

 Why, what will the grasses 

 And sweet flowers do ? 



