some fine specimens of minerals, made the evenings pleasant. I started on the 1st of November by coach to Folsom, and there found the railroad, which in two hours conducts to Sacramento: the negro coachmen driving hacks and wagons to the station, the whistling of the steam, and the hurry of the train, struck me by the contrast with the calm travel of the desert.
At Sacramento, the newer name for New Helvetia—a capital mass of shops and stores, groggeries and hotels—I cashed a draught, settled old scores with Kennedy, who almost carried me off by force to his location, shook hands with Thomas, and transferred myself from the Golden Eagle on board the steamer Queen City. Eight hours down the Sacramento River, past Benicia—the birthplace of the Boy—in the dark to the head-waters of the glorious bay, placed me at the "El Dorada of the West," where a tolerable opera, a superior supper, and the society of friends made the arrival exceptionably comfortable.
I spent ten pleasant days at San Francisco. There remained some traveler's work to be done: the giant trees, the Yosemite or Yohamite Falls—the highest cataracts yet known in the world—and the Almaden cinnabar mines, with British Columbia, Vancouver's Island, and Los Angelos temptingly near. But, in sooth, I was aweary of the way; for eight months I had lived on board steamers and railroad cars, coaches and mules; my eyes were full of sight-seeing, my pockets empty, and my brain stuffed with all manner of useful knowledge. It was far more grateful to flaner about the stirring streets, to admire the charming fates, to enjoy the delicious climate, and to pay quiet visits like a "ladies' man," than to front wind and rain, muddy roads, arrieros, and rough teamsters, fit only for Rembrandt, and the solitude of out-stations. The presidential election was also in progress, and I wished to see with my eyes the working of a system which has been facetiously called "universal suffering and vote by bullet." Mr. Consul Booker placed my name on the lists of the Union Club, which was a superior institution to that of Leamington; Colonel Hooker, of Oregon, and Mr. Tooney, showed me life in San Francisco; Mr. Gregory Yale, whom I had met at Carson City, introduced me to a quiet picture of old Spanish happiness, fast fading from California; Mr. Donald Davidson, an old East Indian, talked East Indian with me; and Lieutenants Macpherson and Brewer accompanied me over the forts and batteries which are intended to make of San Francisco a New-World Cronstadt. Mr. Polonius sensibly refused to cash for me a draught not authorized by my circular letter from the Union Bank. Mr. Booker took a less prudential and mercantile view of the question, and kindly helped me through with the necessaire—£100. My return for all this kindness was, I regret to say, a temperate but firm refusal to lecture upon the subject of Meccah and El Medinah, Central Africa, Indian cotton, American politics, or every thing in general. I nevertheless bade
