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40 said to be the skin of a faithful steed which carried General Fremont across the plains in 1843. It has been related, though we saw no evidence of it, that he has a hose attached to a pipe from a spring above the house in such a manner that he can cause the water to fall in a shower on the roof when he wants to write. If this be true, it must be intended as a compliment to Oregon where it rains so much, and where the poet's boyhood days were spent. There seems to be nothing in him like other men except his care for flowers and his love for his mother. But the poet—it is he of whom we now speak—once his lips move, and the little room with its quaint furniture, bare floor, walls and ceiling, disappear; and we stand with bared brows beneath the broad canopy above, while our ears are filled with the murmuring of gurgling streams whose surface gives back 10 heaven the light of countless stars. Old words take on new meaning; old thoughts stand forth new born, and living waters follow every stroke. We were interested in all he said, but time admonished us to trespass no longer on his resting hours. Reluctantly we said "good bye" and were glad our road wound lingeringly around the hill so the transition was less abrupt from the poet's ideal world to the busy, bustling scenes of every-day city life on the plain below; yet our thoughts were still of the poet on the mountain where he is keeping vigil, his ear filled with the low, sweet music