Two Years in Oregon

-?Farmhouses: the log-cabin, the box-house, the frame-house-?Dinner at the farm-?Slay and eat-?A rash chicken-?Bread

ands. Just a mile from Corvallis, on a gently rounded knoll, we look eastward acro

ir, that fringes the farther side of the Willamette. Against the dark line of timber the spires of the churches and the cupola of

sun rises in the heavens, these same lower ranges grow distinct in their broken outlines. The air is so clear that you see plainly the colors of the bare red rocks, and the heavy da

t summer fires burned for at least fifty miles in length at close intervals of distance, and the dark gray pall overlay the mou

, the outlines of the Coast Range constantly remind us of our own Dartmoor; and the illusion is strengthened by the dark-red soil where the plow has invaded the hills, yearly stealing nearer to their crowns. Mary's Peak itself is bare at th

sy red. From the valley I could not see the lower Cascades, but these snowy pyramids towered high into the sky. One little fleecy cloud here and there overhead caught the tinge, but the whole air on the eastern side

is that the roads are so bad in winter that the farmers must live on the farms, instead of in the English-village fashion. So it is that you may travel by railroad up and down this valley for two hundred miles b

arge family and its corresponding habitation; but the

ds: log-cabin, box-

ith its great smoldering back-log and wide chimney, invites you to sit down before it and rest. By the side of the fireplace, from two deers' horns fastened to the wall, hangs the owner's rifle-generally an old brown veteran-with bullet-pouch and powder-horn. Over the high mantel-shelf stands the ticking clock, suggesting "S

ooting youngsters. The barn, log-built also, stands near by, with two or three colts, or yearling cattle, grouped around. The spring of cold, clear water runs f

ewed pile of firewood strew the ground between wood-pile and house. Here and there, even in the home-field, and nearly always in the more distant land,

his "box" or more expensive "frame" house. In each case the material is "lumber." By this is signif

upright, and the cracks covered with st

e boards run lengthwise, and there is a co

urtains drape the windows; a bureau is generally present, and chromos, or very rough engravings, hang on the walls. The political tendencies of the owner betray themselves. General Grant, with tight-buttoned coat and close-cut beard, or President Linco

then answers, "I guess so," with a hospitable smile. The next question is as to your horse, which one of the children leads into the barn, and then fills out a goodly measure of oats, and crams the rack with hay from the pile filling the middle of the barn. While your hostess adds a little to the family meal, you turn over the newspapers in the sitting-room, generally finding a "Detroit Free Press," or a "Toledo Blade," or a New York "World" or "Tribune," or a

e, generally, the master of the house and you, the visitor, and perhaps a grown-up son, or a

oes, and a tureen of white, thick sauce. A glass dish of stewed apples, or apple-sauce, and one of preserved pears or peaches, and a smaller dish of blackberry or plum jam, complete the meal, with the constant coffe

ce or two of bacon, is an important item. Apples, and the best of th

e saucer of green, sharp, vinegary gherkins, which the Oregonians seem not to know how to do without,

ame quickly out and addressed me: "Have you got your revolver?" I stared for a moment, thinking of tramps, and bears, and I know not what. "I never carry one on horseback," I answered. "Oh," said she, "I would have had yo

rward, he found a smoking chicken on the board. I suppose he eyed it askance, for the farmer observed: "That's one of your chickens I killed by

Englishmen's farms, to find the proprietor standing, coat off and sleeves turned up, before a huge, round tin of white slush? When he saw me come in, he lifted out his hands and rubbed off the white dripping mess, saying: "I'll be hanged if I'll try any longer; since eleven o'clock have I been after this beastly bread! Can you make it? Is this stuff too thin or too thick, or what?" It is true that he makes fine bread now; but if you could but know the stages of slackness, heaviness, soddenness, flintiness, that he and his friends

the calves get all the milk, but just a little for the meals. You ra

tory, and cheese even from the East, though there can not be a finer dairy country than this, if they would but look a little ahead and provide

overish the country; and therefore it is that, in the interests of Oregon, I am so anxious that many farmers should come here who are familiar with mixed farming, and will

ty cents a pound. Beans, peas, carrots, parsnips grow as I have never seen them elsewhere. Swedish turnips have succeeded well in this valley, and nearer the coast the white turnips I have seen nearly as big as your head, and good all through. I saw a large heap of potatoes the other day that averaged six in

st year. We have the humble-bee (or, at any rate, a big fellow just like the English humble-bee-for I never hand

d it; their system of life is organized with a view to it. A thousand bushels of wheat in the warehouse is as good as money in the bank, and is in reality a

ow it; and men will grow nothing else unti