lay his own broad acres, and no man had ever been turned from his door. The letters written through all the years of this man's life in Oregon are marvels of style and composition, and greatly treasured by their fortunate owners. Especially so are those of his later years, when riper experience and a keener insight into men and events lent greater force to his pen, so that a man of great culture and polish once said: "They sound as if written from a baronial castle, whereas they come from a log cabin."
On the western slope of the Willamette there was another where all books and papers were most carefully preserved, so that the third generation of descendants is now able to read a file of the Oregon Spectator, published in 1846 and 1847. The paper was placed over a string stretched across the cabin, until they were all carefully laid by. An English gentleman, accompanied by a guide and traveling in pursuit of game and pleasure, once craved food and shelter at the cabin door. He was cheerfully bidden to enter and partake of the unvarying fare of boiled wheat and possibly beef, and the earthen floor and a buffalo robe served as a bed. The gentleman met his host and hostess in Washington afterward, and when the latter spoke of the meager entertainment in Oregon, he said: "Ha, but you gave me the best you had; the Prince of Wales could do no better." A roomy, comfortable house replaced the log cabin, and its door, too, stood ajar, and all were welcomed to the kind and simple hospitality. Young officers from West Point, on first frontier duty, passing to remote mountain garrisons and out again for brief glimpses of civilization, had cordial greeting. Some of these died like brave soldiers on the battle-fields of the civil war. Others attained rank and distinction in the service, and two at least won the highest honors ever conferred by an appreciative country.
