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This is a "gem of purest ray serene." The stories mainly centering around life in the Indian village of Cathlamet and in the pioneer settlements in its vicinity "may be," says their author, "in themselves of little worth, and yet may help future generations of our children to better understand the life and atmosphere of a peculiar time, to better appreciate the crimson and the gold, and mayhap a little of the gray of the morning hour of the white man's day on the Pacific Coast."

They are told with exquisite charm, and of this book it can with confidence be said, what so far can be claimed for but few, that it is a permanent part of Oregon literature. One feels intuitively that the conceptions obtained from it of Indian life and character and of pioneer conditions and experience will not some day need revision. In substance, it is all pure gold, and in form it is polished so that it shines.

Experiences of a pioneer family crossing the plains told in verse have the attraction of novelty. The author penetrates to the inner life and deeper motives of the pioneer movement. A stately dignity characterizes the narrative throughout. The author succeeds at least well enough with the form of poetry to suggest that the Oregon migrations will yet afford the theme for some our grandest poetic productions. There is the highest degree of effectiveness in her art when picturing critical situations in the progress of migration. The following ideas and incidents are typical of what Mrs. Hamilton's memory recalls and her pen now portrays: The considerations from which came the resolve of an Iowa farmer to undertake the journey to Oregon; the scene when the ties of home and neighborhood are broken; the first actual camping experience; the strange exhibitions of human nature on the plains where there was no organized authority; the extrication of a small band of pioneers from a trap into which they had been led by Indians; lost for weeks among the lakes of south central Oregon when winter was at hand and the snow-covered mountains were yet to be crossed, though ox-teams were weak, supplies exhausted and father and mother almost helpless through illness; the scene in the snow at the crest of the Cascade mountains where a train of wagons was stalled in a canyon and compelled to