is fairly well proportioned. Though it
is eleven thousand feet high, it is too far off to make much show under
ordinary conditions in so extensive a landscape. Through a great part of
the summer it is invisible on account of smoke poured into the sky from
burning woods, logging camps, mills, etc., and in winter for weeks at
a time, or even months, it is in the clouds. Only in spring and early
summer and in what there may chance to be of bright weather in winter is
it or any of its companions at all clear or telling. From the Cascades
on the Columbia it may be seen at a distance of twenty miles or
thereabouts, or from other points up and down the river, and with the
magnificent foreground it is very impressive. It gives the supreme
touch of grandeur to all the main Columbia views, rising at every turn,
solitary, majestic, awe-inspiring, the ruling spirit of the landscape.
But, like mountains everywhere, it varies greatly in impressiveness
and apparent height at different times and seasons, not alone from
differences as to the dimness or transparency of the air. Clear, or
arrayed in clouds, it changes both in size and general expression. Now
it looms up to an immense height and seems to draw near in tremendous
grandeur and beauty, holding the eyes of every beholder in devout and
awful interest. Next year or next day, or even in the same day, you
return to the same point of view, perhaps to find that the glory has
departed, as if the mountain had died and the poor dull, shrunken mass
of rocks and ice had lost all power to charm.

Never shall I forget my first glorious view of Mount Hood one calm
evening in July, though I had seen it many times before this. I was
then sauntering with a friend across the new Willamette bridge between
Portland and East Portland for the sake of the river views, which are
here very fine in the tranquil summer weather. The scene on the water
was a lively one. Boats of every description were gliding, glinting,
drifting about at work or play, and we leaned over the rail from time
to time, contemplating the gay throng. Several lines of ferry boats were
making regular trips at intervals of a few minutes, and river steamers
were coming and going from the wharves, laden with all sorts of
merchandise, raising long diverging swells that make all the light
pleasure craft bow and nod in hearty salutation as they passed. The
crowd was being constantly increased by new arrivals from both shores,
sailboats,