58 
LETTERS FROM CALIFORNIA.-NO. 1. 
LETTERS FROM CALIFORNIA.—NO. 1. 
My former hurried letters, written on my pack j 
saddle, by the light of the camp fires, or while 
taking a brief siesta after a hasty meal in the mid¬ 
dle of the day, have been dispatched from time to 
time as I could find opportunity. I trust they 
have been received, as they have given a bird’s eye 
view of the agricultural capabilities of the country 
through which we have passed, since leaving Mis¬ 
souri for this far-western region. The messengers 
employed were such wayfarers as chance threw in 
my way—trappers, itinerant merchants, alias ped¬ 
lars, and occasionally, a returning emigrant; and 
I must confess to my frequent misgivings as to the 
safety of my missives, though I can’t but hope 
some of them have arrived to afford the readers 
of the Agriculturist a slight inkling of the future 
prospects of this far-off region.(a) 
Much of the country I have wandered over, 
in my journey hither, will probably forever 
remain incapable of cultivation; and plains, 
precipitous mountains, deserts of sand, and occa¬ 
sional forests, groves, and openings, with some 
grass-producing valleys and prairies between, make 
up no inconsiderable share of my whole course to 
this point, since leaving the frontier settlements of 
the once—now, alas ! no longer, extreme western 
states of the Union. I know not how to account 
for the feeling of occasional sadness which comes 
over me, in the reflection that this is now a part of 
my country ! So far away from all my early asso - 
ciations—so new, so strange, and inconceivable 
-—it seems like a new stepmother, or near re¬ 
lative, just added by recent alliance, that a diffident 
lad knows little of, and even that little is not pre¬ 
possessing—rather repulsive than otherwise, to an 
over-sensitive, retiring youth. Yet, why should I 
regret 1 Louisiana, Florida, Texas, were once, and 
but a few years since, the territories of France and 
Spain. Ultra foreigners in language, birth, race, 
habits, manners, and religion ! but now naturalized, 
fraternized—incorporated with that all-pervading 
solvent and amalgam, the universal Yankee na¬ 
tion. Strange names of straits, rivers, countries, 
and what not, that only a few years ago, looked 
like the cabalistic words that grace Alladin’s magic 
lamp, and the fairy tales of eastern romance, are 
now as familiar as household words, and make up 
a part of our every-day newspaper reports. Thus 
push we the bark of enterprise, adventure, conquest, 
and commerce along, till we are fairly installed on 
the mountain heights that overlook the broad Pa¬ 
cific. Here am I, a confirmed emigrant, one of the 
foremost of that pioneer, pilgrim band, that start¬ 
ing from the north Atlantic shore, pursue the set¬ 
ting sun in his course, and are destined to follow 
him over the islands of the Pacific and Indian 
oceans, China, India, Persia, Arabia, Asia Minor, 
Turkey, and the intermediate places, to the spot 
where they set out. This looks to me as the des¬ 
tiny of the Saxon, or Anglo-American race. If they 
fail in carrying it out, it will be from their losing a 
part of that roving, restless (and, were it not for 
the alliteration, I would say), resistlessly-reforming 
principle, that has hitherto impelled them to come 
in contact with everything, and renovate everything 
they touched. So operative will be these national 
characteristics, that California will soon be Califor- 
| nia no longer. The hordes of emigrants and ad- 
j venturers, now or soon to be on their way here, 
will speedily convert this wild, cattle-breeding, lasso¬ 
throwing, idle, bigoted, bull-baiting race, into an 
industrious, shrewd, trafficking, Protestant set of 
thorough-going Yankees. But I am going to give 
you a description of the agricultural aspect of the 
country, not an enthusiastic anticipation of what 
Yankeedom is here eventually to be. 
California Alta (Upper California), extends from 
Oregon on the north, lat. 42°, to Old, or Lower 
California on the south, and from the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains on the east, to the Pacific. Of this extensive 
tract, between 600 and 700 miles square, and con¬ 
taining nearly half a million square miles, only a 
comparatively small part is suited to cultivation. 
This extends along the plains and valleys within 
150 or 200 miles of the sea coast, and even this 
limited region is interspersed with numerous ranges 
of mountains, incapable of cultivation, extensive 
low, marshy lands, and many plains that will 
scarcely repay the trouble and cost of tilling. Yet, 
who shall assign a limit to the future population 
of California ? There are still innumerable valleys 
and fertile plains, suited to every species of vege¬ 
tation that grows without the tropics. Corn, wheat, 
the grasses, melons, and especially the vine and 
olive, grow here in great luxuriance, besides peas, 
beans, lentils, and whatever can minister to the 
sustenance of man. 
The valley of San Joaquin, where I now am, is 
one of the most magnificent in California. It is 
nearly 500 miles long by 50 wide, through the whole 
length of which this river flows. It receives also 
numerous other streams, all, however, originating 
among the mountains bordering it upon the east. 
Many of them, as well as most others flowing into 
the Pacific, north of 35°, are filled with the most 
delicious salmon for a part of the year. The ac¬ 
counts I read when a boy, of the prodigious quan¬ 
tities of this prince of the finny tribe, in the wa¬ 
ters of the Oregon territory, amazed me; yet, the 
abundance and quality, perhaps, scarcely surpassed 
those resorting to the New-England rivers in the 
early settlements of the country, when the munici¬ 
pal authorities of Rhode Island forbid the masters 
to force salmon upon their apprentices, beyond a 
certain number of meals in each week. 
The agricultural capacities of this valley are fully 
equal to those east o(the Rocky Mountains. The 
soil is good, much of it being clay, and running 
from this, through every variety of loam, to a di¬ 
luvial sand. There is a considerable portion of 
this country, so far as I have seen, consisting of 
oak openings , similar to those I once saw in riding 
through the then new territory of Michigan, a dozen 
years ago. The soil through these is not of the rich¬ 
est quality; but much of that, where the orchards 
of evergreen oaks abound, is of great fertility and 
enduringness. The effects of these beautiful groves 
of perennial oak are almost enchanting. English 
parks, or rather their natural trees and foliage, will 
not compare with them. They grow generally 
isolated, but not unfrequently in clusters, more or 
less intermingled with other native trees, and thus 
produce the most pleasing effects. 
The country is wretchedly cultivated, as you 
may well suppose. Here and there a straggling 
