Twenty Hill Hollow 
make you a new creature indeed. Or, choked 
in the sediments of society, so tired of the 
world, here will your hard doubts disappear, 
your carnal incrustations melt off, and your 
soul breathe deep and free in God’s shoreless 
atmosphere of beauty and love. 
Never shall I forget my baptism in this font. 
It happened in January, a resurrection day for 
many a plant and for me. I suddenly found 
myself on one of its hills ; the Hollow overflowed 
with light, as a fountain, and only small, sun- 
less nooks were kept for mosseries and ferneries. 
Hollow Creek spangled and mazed like a river. 
The ground steamed with fragrance. Light, 
of unspeakable richness, was brooding the 
flowers. Truly, said I, is California the Golden 
State — in metallic gold, in sun gold, and in 
plant gold. The sunshine for a whole summer 
seemed condensed into the chambers of that 
one glowing day. Every trace of dimness had 
been washed from the sky; the mountains were 
dusted and wiped clean with clouds — Pacheco 
Peak and Mount Diablo, and the waved blue 
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