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 in the upper country, and the other buildings required by the business of the present owners. This company, formerly the most important factor in the development of the interior, has been succeeded by the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, whose property is leased to the Union Pacific.

Lying along the shores, in little coves, are numerous sailing craft of small size, which carry freight from point to point on the river above. The sun of an unclouded morning gilds their white sails, and sparkles in the dancing rapids. The meadowlark's voice—loud, clear, and sweet—reaches us from the overhanging banks. It is at once a wild and a peaceful scene.

A short distance above Celilo, Des Chutes River empties into the Columbia, through a deep canyon. A remarkable feature of the rivers of East Oregon is the depth of their beds below the surface of the country which borders them. Des Chutes flows through a canyon in places more than a thousand feet deep. Where it enters the Columbia its banks are not so high, because the great river itself has its course through the lowest portions of the elevated plains; and its bed is nowhere at any very great elevation above the sea-level. At The Dalles, two hundred miles from the sea, the level of the river is one hundred and nineteen feet above it; and the Walla Walla Valley, at a distance of three hundred and fifty miles, has an elevation of a few feet over four hundred. Away from the Columbia, the elevation of the plains varies from five hundred to twenty-five hundred feet. Hence the great depth of the canyons of streams flowing on the same level with the great river.

Along this portion of the Columbia the traveller has plenty of time to conjecture the future of so remarkable a country—not being startled by constantly-recurring wonders, as he might have been on the lower portion of the river. There certainly is great majesty and grace expressed in the lofty forms and noble outlines of the overhanging bluffs which border the river for great distances; and that is all. There is neither the smoothness of art, nor the wildness which rocks and trees impart to natural scenes; and the simple beauty of long, curving lines becomes monotonous. If it be summer, there are patches of color on the sere-looking, grassy, heights; rosy clarkia, blue lupine, and golden sunflower. We hear the voices of multitudes