type cases. In the later period, both the poetry and the printing were often bad. In the earlier period, the reviewer, while panning the matter, often praised the printing. Valentine Brown, who set his own type for four of his books, held to an admirable simplicity, and E. M. Waite of Salem and George H. Himes of Portland sent out some beautiful volumes from their pioneer shops.
The minor poets made their living at some practical occupation and wrote verse on the side. Their efforts must have met with some sympathy in their various communities or they would not have felt encouraged to stand the cost of getting out books to be read by their neighbors. It was said that Robert R. Parrish of Independence was better known as a poet than as a harness maker, though he made much excellent harness for Polk County teams. Apparantly a maker of rhymes and a purveyor of sentiment could thereby increase his status and consequence among his fellows. And it is a happy, happy country for literature and for poetry where a condition like that prevails.
The most arid soil for talent is where the weeds are derision; it is still poor and unproductive land where the native growth is indifference; there begins to be fertility with acceptance; it becomes a garden loam with recognition and respect. In Oregon, even in wilderness days, a trapper could compose a poem to Mt. Hood and be thought none the less of by his rough companions; Ewing Young could carry his two-volume Shakespeare up and down thousands of miles of beaver country all during the long years of his wanderings; Sam. L. Simpson could drink and still
