Letters to a Friend 



form and weep and pray that the Lord would 

 some day give me strength to see it better. 



After a delightful sail among the scenery of 

 the sea I arrived in San Francisco in April and 

 struck out at once into the country. I followed 

 the Diablo foothills along the San Jose Valley 

 to Gilroy, thence over the Diablo Mountains 

 to valley of San Joaquin by the Pacific pass, 

 thence down the valley opposite the mouth of 

 the Merced River, thence across the San Joa 

 quin, and up into the Sierra Nevada to the 

 mammoth trees of Mariposa and the glorious 

 Yosemite, thence down the Merced to this 

 place. 



The goodness of the weather as I journeyed 

 towards Pacheco was beyond all praise and de 

 scription, fragrant and mellow and bright. The 

 air was perfectly delicious, sweet enough for 

 the breath of angels; every draught of it gave 

 a separate and distinct piece of pleasure. I do 

 not believe that Adam and Eve ever tasted 

 better in their balmiest nook. 



The last of the Coast Range foothills were 

 [38] 



