High and noble stands the Rocky, looking downward, where jeweled brows hang, where silvery waves make music on the deep, or the sea maid shakes her streaming locks. As early as 1513 the brave Balboa hurled his exploring eyes over the watery waste and in the name of Spain declared the discovery of the mighty ocean. But, alas! the valorous Spaniard received only scoff and scorn for his adventure and hardship, and at last the cold world saw fit to lead him to the judgment block for the unknown depth beyond.

A later date, in 1592, Juan de Fuca, a Greek pilot, in the service of Spain, discovered the beautiful strait which bears his name, the gateway to the picturesque Puget Sound. In 1789 Captain Kendrick, an American explorer, was reconnoitering along the Pacific coast, entered the Strait of Fuca, steered his boat into the Strait of Georgia and Queen Charlotte Sound, and depicted the characteristic features of the land-locked waters. In 1804 the United States government sent the Lewis and Clark expedition across the Rocky to ascertain more minutely as to the climate and the feasibility for settlement.

When the country was explored, and a sprinkling of pioneers had spread themselves in the most favorable localities, tidings of the complication between our government and Great Britain reached them. War clouds were hanging in the air prognostic of determining the ownership of their terra firma. An amicable settlement, however, was brought about and the present boundary between Washington and British Columbia was fixed.

A petition was sent to Congress praying for closer relationship in the Union, and in 1853 the Territory of Oregon was organized. The flux of immigration fast settled the attractive sylva on the Sound and the rolling prairies east of the Cascades. The Territory being too large, and the country north of Columbia was sliced off and made to struggle for itself. The promoters of the scheme were vigilant and got things to move their own way, and after all, they didn't do anything worse than to give this vigorating child of Uncle Sam the ever-cherished appellation Washington.

MY WASHINGTON.

The scenery of Washington is grand and inviting. The Cascade runs through the bosom of the state, cutting her in twain, and throws his rugged spurs into Oregon and California. The majestic Rainier rears through the clouds to a height of 14,444 feet, wearing a hood of perpetual snow, which changes to a verdant fringe as it runs downward, clothing his feet with evergreen. Mount Adams has pushed his head upward 12,902 feet, and Baker has reached an elevation of 10,814, while St. Helen stopped 9750 feet above sea level.

To the westward is a less conspicuous attraction, the Coast Range, which skirts the ocean and varies in height from 3000 to 4000 feet. Between these mountain ranges sweeps a fertile basin, carpeted with an unparalleled forest, fir, cedar, spruce and hemlock rise skyward to a skeptical giddiness. Some stretch their forms 300 feet into the air. Logs are piled upon one another, sleeping like angry mammoths at the feet of gigantic trees. The more tender offsprings shoot up between these lazy monsters, and some take delight to grow on their decaying frames.

The fjords of Norway are sublime, and Puget Sound is equally so. What can be more soul-stirring and soul-inspiring than a merry sheet of water rippling for hundreds of miles into a land of verdure, making sweet music day and night? What can be more angelic and soothing to the soul than the songs of the waves? Where can you find more poesy than in the pearl-set crests rolling like melted gold upon gilded pebbles? A clittering, clattering steal through the air, even in the calm of night dulcet strains come to cheer the ear. A soft whisper seems to spring from every flower. The forest is alive with melodies, hills and mountains echo back the harps of the deep.

Rivers and falls are no less sublime than the Sound, and compare in grandeur with the famous streams and cataracts of Switzerland and Scandinavia. The Columbia ranks with the most picturesque rivers in the world, being of great value to commerce, fleets of steamers ride on its bosom day and night with merchandise from foreign climes, and grain, fruit and other produce raised west of the Rocky. Snoqualmie, Snohomish, Skagit and others are also navigable and invite the attention of wonder-seekers.

Snoqualmie fall is one of nature's masterpieces, and bespeaks grandeur and sublimity. The water shoots into the air, tumbles down a royal precipice, whirls, foams and splashes, fills heaven with thunder and the soul with awe and admiration. The Tumwater fall is likewise grand and awe-inspiring, stunning in music and bewitching in scenery.

Storms seldom visit the Pacific, and thunder rarely finds a rich medium in the balmy clouds. But, terror! when a storm is propagated on yonder deep, and sets the ocean boiling and shivering up shallow bays, and springs into the forest like an unchained demon, then the whole heaven shakes and trembles. Firs and cedars tumble like dead giants, knocking each other to the ground in the fashion of heartless heathens. Blasts upon blasts swell through the air and roll along the mountain ridges not dissimilar to Jove's chariot.

Ay, you speak of awe and fright when a prairie fire gets sway on the Central Plain, but when the guest of good and evil gains access to the Washington forest in the month of August or September a hell is witnessed similar to that painted by ranting trumpeters. Flames rise skyward and with the aid of winds set the trees flaring and howling as in the clutches of a thousand devils.

The fertility of the Pacific forest is something incredulous, the quantity and quality of lumber produced are astounding to all not familiar with this country. Even a conservative estimate would make many curious speculators drunk with figures.

In the State of Washington forests spread over thirteen million acres of land. West of the Cascades is a stretch of ten million, clothing hills and dells from Canada to Columbia river with valuable fir, cedar, spruce, pine, hemlock and tamarack, while on the east side three million acres of forest land are scattered along the rivers and mountain slopes.

Saw mills and shingle factories are being kept busy the year round. More than one billion feet of lumber are turned out annually and shipped to all parts of the globe. The shingle industry is something phenomenal. Factories are whistling and piping everywhere throughout the cedar districts, and thousands of men find lucrative employments.

Mining is an important pursuit, rugged brows smile with independent richness. Moss-bearded ledges of the precious metal run into the heart of the Cascades. The Index districts teem with mineral wealth, and Lake Chelan shines with doubtless yields. Iron ore rests in the bosom of the Sound country from the green feet of old Rainier to the dashing waves of the Pacific. As you cross the divide for Eastern Washington, you find paying veins running in different directions. Coal is a natural consequence, which in no manner puzzles the minds of geologists. From days of yore luxuriant vegetation has robed plains and valleys to impenetrable density. The death of rich forests has built beds of astonishing thickness, and the formation of coal has resulted to a marked degree.

Agriculture and horticulture invite attention. The rolling prairies between the Rocky and the Cascades are especially adapted for the raising of cereals. Wheat yields from 50 to 75 bushels per acre, oats from 100 to 125, rye from 60 to 80. Irrigation has been practiced with wonderful success around Wenatchee. The feasibility of applying nature itself is remarkable. Here and there meander silvery streams of clear water, which are made to spread over fertile tracts of land at any time, and to any part wanted. No longing for showers to quench and sweeten the thirsty soil bothers the farmer in this section. Irrigation is so easily practiced, and the crops thus raised are so enormous, may it be grain or fruit, that the eastern agriculturist cannot conceive our natural advantages. Why linger on the hungry prairies of the east, freezing your lives out, when opportunities like these are extended to you? Here you can get a pleasant home, for a small trifle, where the air is mild and soothing, where the soil is rich and easily cultivated.

The Sound country is equally productive. Ay, inexhaustible. The Washington fruit is known the world over for quality and quantity. Magnificent orchards adorn every farm, and the smaller ranches, too, enjoy the presence of wealthy apple, pear and plum trees.

When you throw your eye upon Puget Sound, and behold the fleet of fish barges, rolling upon it's briny breast, a reminiscence of the coast of Norway steals into your soul. Cohorts of men, mostly Scandinavians, resort to the waves for subsistence. Herring and salmon throng the water in rich abundance. Shoals of the latter race along the shores, fighting their way up streams to spawn. Some become savory prey for bears, cougars and wolves, others die a respectable death, or return to their natural abode—the ocean. The halibut plays master among the smaller species, and grows fat at their diminution. He cares nothing for streams or shallow bays, but gambols friskily amidst the salty billows.

All the gold and silver in the bowels of the earth, and all the glittering nuggets shining on her bosom did not ruffle the serenity, or affect the wonted vagrancy of the Indians. To them the forest was a nuisance and the saw mill a scarecrow. The singing brook was worthless and the rolling river valueless, save as mothers of trout. They had no love for higher aspiration, no instinct for advancement, no aim to better their condition, no foresight to provide against the pitiless influence of cold or heat, no sagacity, no frugality, no thought of tomorrow, no pile of subsistence for a rainy day or helpless age, troubled their minds. Life was to them a ceaseless dream of nothingness. Superstition was their god and pride, reason a casual stranger which rooted not in their souls.

What has changed this sad drudgery of the Indians to a social commonwealth? What has spurned the fiend of superstition to a shameful death? What has invited reason and common sense to dwell peacefully in our hearts? What has lifted the world from the thorny plane of priesthood? What has wrested from the priestly hand the scepter of government? Our forefathers knew it and provided for its development. The pioneers of Washington had tested it, and prescribed it for the coming generations. The log schoolhouse rose to their sweet recollection of childhood days, then a frame building, then a brick edifice. High schools were established, a state university was erected, normal schools were founded, an agricultural college and school of science was built.