Past the Cascade Mountains, we came suddenly out into a new region, and a totally different climate. From Umatilla to the Mountains we had the same clear atmosphere and perfect sky, that we had found everywhere from the Plains to the Columbia, substantially. The country naturally was the same barren and sterile region as at Salt Lake, abounding only in sage-brush and grease-wood; and, indeed, the whole internal basin of the continent, from the Rocky Mountains to the Sierra Nevadas, and from British America down to Mexico, appeared to be of this same general character--from want of regular rains in summer. Over most of this vast region, there had been no rains for weeks, or indeed months; and for days together as we journeyed along, we had never seen a cloud or mist even, to mar the absolute ultramarine of those perfect skies. But now, in descending the Columbia, as we approached the Mountains, we descried the clouds on their western slope ever trying to float over, but never apparently succeeding, their white discs gleaming in the sun; and when we drew nearer, we beheld a fleecy mist drifting up the Columbia, and streaming eastward like a pennon. Nearer still, we encountered a stiff breeze sweeping through the cañon, as through a funnel; and when we got well down into the jaws of the gorge, it needed all our steam, as well as the strong westward current to carry us forward. Sometimes, it was said, the Columbia just here becomes so rough, because of this conflicting wind and current, as to cause real sea-sickness on the boats, and occasionally indeed they have to cast anchor, unable to descend. Farther down, this mist thickened into rain, and when we got fairly through and out of the Mountains, (it raining most of the way), we debouched into the Coast Region, where it was still raining steadily, as it had been for many days, and continued to for weeks together afterwards. As soon as we struck the rain, trees and herbage at once made their appearance, clothing the mountains and bottoms everywhere; lichens and mosses again decorated all the rocks; and when we got well out of the Mountains, behold such forests of fir, pine, cedar, oak, etc., as never appear East. In half a day, you may thus pass from a comparatively rainless to a thoroughly rainy region; and in winter from a severely cold, to a comparatively moderate climate. The contrast is very striking, and you soon feel it keenly in every sense. Your eyes glaze, your skin becomes moist, and if there is a weak spot about your lungs, you will find it out very quickly. The proximity of the Pacific, of course, explains it all--the warm, humid winds from which sweep up against the Cascade Range, but find in their lofty crest an insurmountable barrier. If light enough to ascend, their wealth of moisture is condensed as rain or snow along the mountain sides or summit, by the cold of the upper regions, as with your hand you squeeze a sponge;