CHAPTER XXV.
TALES OF THE TIMES.
How indestructively the Good grows, and propagates itself, even among the weedy entanglements of Evil.
— Sartor ResaHus.
Of tales of the times I have enough at hand to fill volumes. I can only give brief specimens. Nowhere in the world's business did fortune ever turn her wheel more tauntingly; dealing right and left sudden and unfamiliar changes, her ways being outside of ordinary experiences, so that the shrewdest heads were little better than those supporting ass-ears for interpreting the future. A hundred instances might be cited; in fact every man of those days was the hero of an unwritten romance. Bootblack and banker alike might give each his remarkable history, only the former would perhaps far exceed the latter in incident and vivid interest. What a thousand and one tales they would have made, could some seer have read and repeated them, the life's doings and changes of all those varied characters in the gulches and in the towns; clerks, cooks, merchants, mechanics, gamblers, preachers, doctors, and the rest 1
With the great emigration to Oregon in 1846 came Simeon Pettigrove, distantly related, I cannot now exactly say how, to that Pettigrove who once owned the ground that Portland stands on, and who should have been one of the richest and most influential men of that rich and hospitable city, instead of cii inking glasses during his latter days with Van Bokkelen and. Swan in the hotel at Port Townsend.
