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82 the earth for many miles around, that a bridge of rock which spanned the river at this place was torn from its mountain abutments, and cast in fragments into the river. So closely does legend sometimes border on scientific fact!

While we are making this grave reflection upon the scientific truth of legends, some one presents us with a story, in rhyme, which he assures us is the true, original Indian legend of the formation of those other notable points on the river—the Dalles, Horse-tail Falls, Crow's Roost, as also the Falls of the Wallamet and Mount Hood. Making all due allowance for poetic license in some of the details, the story and the manner of its telling are worthy of notice; and we give it as a pleasing chapter of the early, romantic history of this romantic country.

Should you ask me where I caught it— Caught this flame and inspiration— Should you ask me where I got it— Got this old and true tradition— I would answer, I would tell you: Where the virgins of the forest Sit with quills thrust through their noses, Eating calmly cricket hashes; Where the tar-head maid reposes; Where the proud Columbia dashes, Hearing nothing but his dashing. Hias skookum Kamiakin, Of the vale of Klikatata— Which I know each nook and track in As well as Johnny knew his Daddy— Was the chief of all the Siwash, And the great high-cockalorem— As his fathers were before him—