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roundings to develop such a character. The freedom of the African is assured, and it now remains the highest duty of the statesman to assure the freedom of the citizen.

"Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war"; and the man who by persistent direction of peaceful agencies converts a nation of politicians to his views, is as much entitled to the triumphal arch as is the mere soldier who, by the unreasoning power of brute force, completes a victory with the sword and points to the hecatomb of the slain as his passport to power. saddest thing about Charles Sumner's life to me is that he survived himself-that he lived to see other men occupying the proud position, and wielding the power he had created, with no higher motive promoting them than the self-aggrandizement to be found in wealth.

The

He is gone from among us. His chair in the Senate to which all eyes were turned when any great question agitated the grave body will never be filled by a public servant more pure in his motives, more elevated and courageous in his action, or truer to his convictions. Let us keep his virtues in remembrance. May his monument be of spotless marble, for it cannot be purer or whiter than his life.

W. Lair Hill

THE HOME BUILDING.

A voyage of adventure brought not back the golden fleece, and the argonauts no longer poured over the Sierras into California, nor overflowed her northern nuls to seek fugitive fortune in Oregon. The home builders, too-blessings on them everywhere and forever! - whose caravans, freighted with the precious burden of wife and children and household goods, the lares and penates of a gentler than a Trojan race, had whitened the desert with a constantly increasing stream direct to Oregon.

UNIV. OF CALIFORNIA

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Homer Davenport

When a great genius is just rising to view, the astonished world says, "Who would have expected it?" So it was said of Homer Davenport who rose out of Silverton to glitter among the artists of the world. Busy men and women who had mingled with his modest ancestry for decades could scarcely realize that there had been generations of unassuming greatness-a veritable wealth of mind-that time and circumstances and God had wrought into an extraordinary man. They were glad— so glad they could hardly believe it-yet they were wont to think of him as a sort of intellectual accident emanating from nothingness and springing suddenly into the front ranks of modern artists. But genius comes not in this manner. "Who is this Nast?" was the question whispered throughout the world. "Whence came he?" rung down the electric lines of the continents. "How came he by this God-given power?" was the question of the hour. And the answer was, "He hails from an Oregon hamlet and he is the evolution of a talented family and favorable environments." His mind is the offspring of an ancestry that has given the world great men and women in almost every department of human endeavor; and his intellectual faculties early reveled in the scenery of Oregon, and fed upon the nourishment of the ages. Then you cast your eye upward to behold the onward march of Genius, and you find him there-a great man who puts life and magic into every touch of his wonderful brush. This is Homer Davenport, the greatest cartoonist of America.

But let the father, T. W. Davenport, tell the story. "Homer C. Davenport was born on his father's farm, located in the Waldo Hills, some five miles south of Silverton, Marion county, the date of his birth being March 8, 1867. His mother's maiden name was Miss Flora Geer, daughter of Ralph C. Geer. She was married to

the writer of this article November 17, 1854, and died November 20, 1870.

"His extraordinary love for animals, and especially of birds, was exhibited when he was only a few months

old. Unlike other babies, toys afforded him but little amusement. Shaking rattle boxes and blowing whistles only fretted him, and his wearied looks and moans seemed to say that he was already tired of existence.

"Carrying him around into the various rooms and

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showing pictures soon became irksome, and in quest of something to relieve the monotony of indoor life, his paternal grandmother found a continuous solace for his fretful moods in the chickens. But it was worth the time of a philosopher to observe the child drink in every motion of the fowls, and witness the thrill of joy that went through his being when the cock crew or flapped his wings.

"Such a picture is worth reproducing. Old grandmother in her easy chair on the veranda; baby sitting upon the floor by her side; the little hands tossing wheat at intervals to the clucking hen and her brood, the latter venturing into baby's lap and picking grain therefrom, despite the warnings of the shy old cock and anxious mother. This lesson with all its conceivable variations learned, ceased to be entertaining, and a broader field was needed. So grandma or her substitute carried baby to the barnyard, and there, sitting under the wagon shed, acquaintance was made with the other domestic animals, which afforded him daily diversion. At first their forms and quiet attitudes were of sufficient interest, but as these

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