LAST YEARS IN CALIFORNIA—RETURN TO THE EAST

April twenty-ninth, eighteen hundred and fifty-four.

Several weeks have elapsed since closing my last journal to the present date of this entry, and longer still this interval might have been but for sickness, which keeps me from my daily task and compels me to pass the hours of ennui and solitude by such means as circumstances afford. Among these means, reading is my favorite occupation if the subject of it is attractive and pleasing and one main reason that my diary is not more regularly kept is because it is easier to read the productions of others' minds than to make efforts for a similar purpose ourselves. The efforts I am going to make are not to be compared to the writing of fictitious works, nor still less scientific essays but are simply to note down the most important occurrences of my career—a few abrupt ideas of my own and other men and some remarks upon the political and moral affairs of the world.

Well then, to begin. I am at present as already stated, compelled by sickness to stop in the house for an uncertain period of time which, however, I ardently hope may not fetter me like the criminal to his cell longer than nature may possibly require to heal the diseased part of my body. This is a sore ankle, caused by the rubbing of the seams of a boot, which, as undoubtedly a muscle or nerve was hurt, affects the whole system and gives me a good deal of pain. These things will, however, always happen and always by our own fault or carelessness—at least this is my case. Having this conviction one must try to take it as patiently as possible.

Although rain in April is rather a rarity, still, we had several showers within the last week or so and a very wet night and forenoon to-day. This is a great benefit to the country, both to the vegetable and auriferous world. The former it animates while the water channels which it swells assist the miner in procuring the latter—ore. I have been tolerable successful for the last three months, averaging about five dollars per day with prospects of continuing so as long as may be water for our supply. The troubled state of our company has temporarily subsided. Which fact is more to be ascribed to the just mentioned success than to an alleviation of the antagonistic elements prevailing among us. This however is not looked for by myself, nor does it matter any in this case what the cause is, as long as the effect is good.

Monday morning, May first, eighteen fifty-four. The merry blooming month of May has arrived and nature, shaking off the drowsiness of Winter appears in all its beauty and splendor. A carpet of verdure variegated by the innumerable hues and shades of myriads of flowers, shrubs and trees, spreads over the crust of reanimated Mother Earth—which scenery, combined with the beautiful sky of a California heaven, grants a sublime sight to the beholder and admirer of the garden of nature. In gazing upon these fields, hills and dales, all in their bloom and vernal beauty; upon the pure sky that overspreads and adds to their grandeur—the mind gradually loses itself in meditation and deep thought. Minor objects lose their hold upon us and higher, nobler sentiments take their place. In such sacred moments the empire of the mind reigns and we truly live. The grand and wonderful effect of a great unknown first cause meets us at every side—and while admiring the former we wonder at the magnitude and goodness of the latter. We try to penetrate the darkness which veils that unknown from our sight and behold the prima facie—till now only known by its reflections. Besides this desire to find and look upon the omnipotent, other thoughts and images rise before our mind's eye. While looking at some green and blooming spot, moments of the past or rather, recollections associated with those gone-by hours, those blooming fields, crowd in. We think of the innocent joys of those playfellows that loved us, of a kind Mother that received us when we, flushed and exhausted arrived home to refresh and rest ourselves, who would lay her hand upon our forehead to dry the perspiration and brush aside our hair to restore our infant beauty, and, with those benign eyes looking upon us, would with her lips which always were so fond of kissing—express her fears that we would over-heat ourselves and take sick. I would begin to cry and promise to be more careful in the future. Yes, these are recollections which will cheer the darkest and increase the fullness of the happiest moments of our life.

May nineteenth, eighteen fifty-four. I am well once more, enjoying the blessedness derived from such a state. I have just returned after a day's work and having an hour to spare from this to dark I thought to dedicate the same to scrawl down a few lines in these memoirs.

Although this is early May—the middle of Spring, we have already the warmer days of August and the ground which had hardly got a good soaking during Winter is dry now as ever it gets in our Northern States. So with the vegetables. The flora and fauna of the country, which have already seen their infancy—although now everything is verdant and budding—in but a short month more will pass away and the green will change to yellow, the bud to the ripened fruit and all nature put on the attire of mellow Fall, and be finally resuscitated by deluges of rain which pour down in Winter in this country. If ever by some natural change this country shall be blessed by seasonable rains through the Summer, it will undoubtedly exert a most beneficial influence upon the soil of the land and make agricultural business more permanent and profitable and vastly benefit the mining community and make living itself more pleasant and comfortable on the shores of the Pacific. There is a certain fact which manifests itself in new settled countries—namely, that the amount of rain which falls every year increases in proportion to the cultivation and irrigation of the soil. At Salt Lake, and so here, when settlers first arrived rain was hardly known to fall but has increased in amount every year since that period. This is a fact experience has taught us to hold true although its cause is hardly known.

The merry month of May has passed away; June holds reign over prairie, hills and dales. The weather in general is just warm enough to make it pleasant to work—which in itself is pain enough without having it doubled by exposure to a scorching sun. A pleasant breeze being wafted up from the smooth waters of the Pacific moderates the climate to a genial warmth which only for want of sufficient rain would be as beautiful as any person could wish for. But from a want of this infinitely useful element at the proper season of the year, the soil, otherwise fertile produces but little vegetation. July generally sees this dying off for want of moisture. Still there are many fertile spots in the valleys watered by mountain streams which intersect the country—heading in the snow clad mountains and pouring their icy waters like veins into the heart of the country to give vigor and health to the country in their proximity. A traveler therefore can see in one day's journey and less both the budding and refreshing Spring and the yellow Autumn, the former in the valleys, the latter in the higher parts of the land. It is on highlands that these lines are written—with a valley spread at the foot of it, which extends to the Coast Range of mountains whose outlines I can plainly trace on the horizon and this minute its highest peaks stand out in bold relief, illuminated by the setting sun close upon their brow. Ten minutes more—they will hide it from view where, in the pacific waters of the broad Ocean it will seek a resting place after its daily journey through the heavens, to rise with new splendor and magnificence in the morning. To many thousands who gaze upon the rising and setting of the sun its movement from East to West is still a great mystery.

September twelfth, eighteen fifty-four. Over three months have passed since I made my last entry in this journal and not only have I changed my residence but my profession. I have exchanged the miner for the confinements of the Store Room to which I intend to adhere in the future.

July and August passed in indolence and mental indifference. It is but a few days back that I left off mining and find myself now comfortably seated in my store writing these notes. This place—French Hill—is within one-half mile of Camp Secco which was destroyed by fire about three weeks ago, which however by the enterprise of its inhabitants is rapidly building up and this time is an improved place. The place of present residence is rapidly springing up into a little village as yet nameless from its recent date and gives fair promise towards a prosperous business. That this may be the case is my earnest wish, as I hope to realize if no unforeseen mishaps befall me—enough to leave California for a better home far to the East.

February, eighteen fifty-five. Four months have passed away since I made the last notes but although the above dates indicate the Winter season when in the Eastern States snow and frost are plenty, we still enjoy as beautiful warm and dry weather as one can wish for—no snow, nor cold chilly days but pleasant weather in their place. As miners mainly depend upon the rain to wash their dirt, hove up throughout a period of nine months, a failure of it in Winter when it is anxiously looked for is a great disappointment to the miners all over the country. When mining is stopped, everything else is dull and depressed. We may have some rain yet for California presents such a strange instance of change that it is hard to tell when it will come. It is this morning cloudy and has every indication of rain. Three or four weeks of even moderate rain would furnish a great deal of water—the great commodity for the miner.

There appears to be at present a general depression in business all over the country, money tight and provisions dear and labor scarce. Heavy failures happen almost daily in the Atlantic Cities. Houses which enjoyed the greatest public confidence and patronage are suspending payment, not being able to pay their liabilities by a fearful amount. Even Page and Bacon, one of the best and wealthiest banking houses in the Union, has suspended payment which, however, is more ascribed to the detention of gold shipments from California than to deficiency of funds. The main cause for all this embarrassment in the money market appears to lie in the heavy export of gold to England in exchange for English manufactures and in the extravagance of our bankers, brokers and merchant princes in the last ten years. Nothing but a stoppage in the import of foreign manufacture and a more industrious sort of living will save this country from bankruptcy. Even here, the great source of wealth for the last six years, the pressure is felt. Gold diggings are getting scarcer all the time and as living is almost as dear as in forty-nine and fifty when it was easier to make an ounce than it is at the present day to make a dollar—it is easy to imagine how oppressive the hard times must be. The business I am engaged in at the present yields but a very small profit for everything in the mercantile line is high in the market and as miners reap but a very scant harvest for their labor one has to sell just as low as admissible. Profits therefore are but small. Still, making a little is better than making nothing at all and as long as this can be done I intend to stop here.

March second. Again I pick up the pen to make a few notes in this diary to keep the links in the chain of events which happen in this dull life of mine. While writing these lines the cool breezes wafted from the broad Pacific stir the warm air which was throughout the day oppressive and in the hours of twilight grant comfort and ease to the inhabitants of hot climates. The weather now is already as hot as it ever gets in the middle of the Summer at home. Yes—I believe that the mercury is higher now than it ever gets there. This being only March, when they at home have still snow storms and frost, we have beautiful Spring and nature is already attired in her sprightly dress of green variegated with flowers of all hues and shapes. Trees assume their verdant garments and alongside of streamlets adorn the garden of nature. Oh! nature, grand and beautiful art thou! Beautiful in every scene that meets our eye—the streamlet which meanders through pleasant valleys by picturesque hills ornamented by vines, with the contented peasant gathering the grapes. Mountains with their highest peaks covered with everlasting snows meet our looks in the far off horizon and crown with sublimity the rural beauties of the hills and vales at their foot. Man himself feels stronger and of higher spirits in the Spring of the year, the purity of the air and the balmy smell which emanates from flowers, shrubs and trees exhilarate the soul and body of every animated organic being. In time all this changes to yellow as their life runs out and their vitality, their sweet smell are dried up by the tropical heat of the South to rest and gather life and nutriment anew from Mother Earth.

Man, too, undergoes this change that everything in nature is subjected to. His life compares favourably with the changes in the vegetable world. First, tender and weak he gains care and attention, strength of body and mind. In the Springtime of life, his beauty is of the noblest kind and life is constant happiness. As time rolls on his body and mind mature, he becomes wiser and abler and in this estate of manhood acts and operates for himself and fellowmen. This is the most useful part of man's career and as he grows older he loses the vigour he formerly possessed and at the end—in the Winter of his life droops down, grows weaker and weaker until finally his career is run and he has to join Mother Earth again to serve some new purpose in the organization of nature.

There is one great invention which will ever illumine the time between the Dark Ages and the present epoch. An invention which is as remarkable for its intensity of light as the Middle Ages for their impenetrable darkness and consequent superstition. This is the invention of printing by John Gutenberg of Metz in Germany in fourteen hundred and forty. By one sublime thought which struck the mind of a single man or more properly, by the divine inspiration of a single human being, benefits as great and incalculable were bestowed upon mankind as universal space itself is infinite and beyond human calculation. Before that time all learning was limited to one class—the Clergy of all countries, who had it in their power to devote time which was at their own disposal to literary pursuits, in which they had great assistance in the manuscripts of former ages, therefore enjoyed already although to a limited extent the blessings which the art of printing afterwards bestowed more universally upon the mass of mankind.

We all know now that as much as man is superior and master of all other animals, so is the intelligent and well informed, master of the ignorant and superstitious. The priests therefore of former ages—since they possessed knowledge above the rest of mankind were to a great extent the masters and in consequence ruled with a stronger rod than ever any monarch ruled his subject since printing and consequent knowledge became more diffused among the masses of mankind. When books, in consequence of their cheapness became plentier and the masses became possessed of the same—light began to penetrate the utter darkness which formerly reigned supreme in the mind of man and in a comparatively short period of time since the death of this inventor, the human family has made a more rapid and greater progress in science and useful knowledge than was made in all time before that great event.

March twenty-eighth, eighteen hundred and fifty-eight. Left this day Camp Secco—where I had been stopping for three years doing business, such as groceries and miners' implements. My success has been pretty good—might however have been better. Still I don't complain. Although I have not made as much as many a one has done in the same length of time, still I am satisfied.

The time while there passed dully enough with me, arising from the want of desirable company and the non-existence of any places of amusement. I had lots of time to myself and had I been so disposed, had I possessed different mental stamina, force, energy and perseverance, I might easily have acquired a store of useful knowledge. But it is of no use a-croaking now. The time has fled and in place of enjoying at present a cultivated mind I hardly realize ideas enough to make me sensible that I am an intelligent, animated being. And it always will be so with me. I think nature is more to blame for it than I myself. Had I been endowed with Genius great, with even the present balance of mind I think I should have made a great man. I tried once, years ago, to obtain a lofty position in science, labored hard and long and what was the result? A machine capable of a certain amount of labor laid out for it. Nothing else. I had no thought nor ideas of my own of the least practical use. I had better then be satisfied. Although I might possess a great deal more, still I don't think that it would materially benefit my happiness here.

April twentieth, eighteen hundred and fifty-eight. This day at ten o'clock, I left the wharf of San Francisco on the steamboat Golden Age for the Atlantic States—for my home in old Virginia and my friends.

I came to this country on the twentieth day of August eighteen hundred and fifty-two— making the time that I have been here, five years and eight months to a day. My success here, if not what it might have been, still yielded me a small capital—enough to start me in business most anywhere and consequently by proper management, diligence and industry, I shall be enabled to get along in this world comfortably. Had I mentally as well improved as I did my pecuniary circumstances, I should be well enough satisfied. This, however, is not the case and for this reason and this reason alone am I sorry that I ever came to California. Had I remained at home, associated as I was with men of intelligence and in a pursuit where mental effort was required I would now unquestionably be a smarter if not equally as rich a man. My mind, although naturally sterile, by proper care and pains would have been cultivated; my taste beautified; my feelings and sentiments ennobled. In short, I believe that I would have been a wiser, better, and in consequence a happier man than I am now. Still, courage, "faint heart," the future may even yet bestow on you content and happiness.

I am tracing these lines in the steerage on board the steamer, looking through a port hole onto the wide dark blue ocean of the Pacific, which is laid before my eyes in every direction to the far off horizon. How monotonous it seems to me. There are no hills nor mountains in the background of the vast rolling Pacific before me. No trees, bushes, plants of any kind; nor is there an animated being to be seen—unless once in a while a shark or whale will show themselves to our greedy eyes which long for something else than boundless waters.

There is something fearful in the fact that there is nothing between destruction and the ocean tossed mariner but some frail planks which half a dozen accidents may dislodge and send him to the deep bottom of the pitiless sea. Such is man in his wild career in pursuit of wealth and power that he will entrust his life, his all, to a frail bark which the winds may toss on rocks and breakers from which there is no salvation. These things are painfully clear to me now that there is no escape from them and though I am not absolutely afraid, still I know that there are many chances which may destroy us. Who knows—many a stout vessel with passengers ever as sanguine of a safe voyage left a safe haven never to reach the place of their destination. This may be our—yes, my—fate. Still I will hope for the best. Hope that our voyage across the treacherous ocean may be a safe one and carry us to a safe Port at Panama. We have thus far enjoyed fine weather, a calm sea, and I have enjoyed thus far tolerable good health.

Distance from San Francisco to Panama, three thousand, two hundred and sixty-two miles.

Saturday, April twenty-fifth. The coast was out of sight since the second morning and reappeared this morning, running for miles almost level then suddenly turning abruptly into craggy headlands, standing out grotesque in the background of the otherwise monotonous ocean. And this is certainly a great relief after gazing day after day upon the same far extending, swaying, rippling ocean, with nothing for the eye after exhausting the utmost power of vision to rest on, but a hazy horizon touching the blue expanse of waters.

The weather has been, up to this, clear and pleasant, perhaps a little cold at first but now really very charming. The sea has been tolerably quiet and smooth so we have had but little sickness on board—less than I expected to see. How old I am getting though. While writing this, my feet pain me which has been the case for the last four months. Also my teeth which are mostly decayed and even my energies are dormant. I, who once set myself the great task of studying a profession—now can hardly even concentrate enough thought to note down a few sensible ideas. Yes, I am surely grown old very fast in the last three years. I can feel both in mind and body. The latter is invariably inclined to indolence. The former to downright dormancy. Oh, could I regain the play of my imagination, the buoyancy of thought which I once possessed; could I possess myself of ambition, pride, to stimulate me, all yet might be right and it is to have the former forced upon me by circumstances more or less that I reseek the scenes of my former home, hoping that in the wild and exciting race there for wealth and position I too may be roused enough to take a share.

April twenty-sixth. We passed Cape St. Lucas on the night of the twenty-fourth and ran yesterday across the mouth of the Gulf of California which I believe is here one hundred and sixty miles wide. While doing so we lost sight of the coast which, however, reappeared this morning at daylight. The coast here presents a succession of ridges rising higher back towards the land—the whole, however, broken up into abrupt peaks rising from four to five hundred feet above the sea level. Occasionally a high cliff stands boldly out into the sea—its foot washed by the eternal breakers. The whole of them are covered with a short low shrubbery which is now colored in a reddish dress being in blossom at present.

After running down the coast about fifty miles, we doubled a headland and turned into a short bay at the East side of which is the village of Mansenilla inhabited by Mexicans who under supervision of Government officers carry on silver mining here. The appearance of everything here, the woods, houses and men would indicate that we are in a warmer climate, if the weather did not. The people themselves wear clothing, as may be judged by its scantiness, to hide their nakedness rather than for protection against the climate. Their color is slightly coppery, almost as much so as our California Indians. Their houses too are more built as a shelter from the tropical sun than against the rigours of a cold country, they being the roughest, simplest kind of huts built out of timber and brush. We lay here about an hour during which time we sent two passengers ashore in one of our boats, while a number of natives in dugouts swarmed around the vessel, called out, I presume, more on account of the novelty of our presence than any other notion.

We are now on our onward voyage, standing out to sea while the coast range of mountains is still at our left. Yesterday being Sunday and having several soul savers on board we had of course preaching—and enough of it—as much as three times. I think were we all put through the same task every day for the next three months it would either make us the most orthodox Christians or else disgusted with Christianity. The whole of them, the sermons, amounted to the same old rigmarole,—believe and be saved—disbelieve and you are doomed to hell and everlasting punishment.

We arrived at Acapulco this day, the twenty-eighth of April. This is a Spanish town, situated on one of the best harbors on the Pacific Coast. It forms a perfect elbow in shape and is therefore perfectly water locked and on that account offers safe mooring to vessels. How strange the contrast between a Spanish and an American town—the latter enjoying all the health and vigor and activity of youth, progress. In the former it is an eternal stand still, no activity of any kind, no display of the least spirit or energy is to be met with here. Action, perpetual action, is the characteristic of the American. The want of all life, of the least healthy action so necessary to the existence of a people is to be found in Mexico. They, the people, are lazy, indolent by nature. All they ever strive for is to acquire enough of the simplest necessaries of life and they are satisfied if not happy. Toil is unknown to them and leisure is their status quo. They show this fact in everything—in the way they dress, wearing nothing but just enough to cover their nakedness. Their homes are builded of mud, covered with old fashioned tiles or with straw, and present more the appearance of fortified places than of dwellings. They (the houses) most all have piazzas where the greater portion of the inhabitants pass—in smoking and talking and sleeping—their days, yes, the greater portion of their life. The streets are made of sandstone slabs or else hewn in the same as it lies. As there is never hardly any rain here, and the town being built on solid sandstone foundations, they are of course perfectly clean which, as already intimated, is owing more to the nature of the site than to the cleanliness and industry of the people.

The town is situated on the North West side of the Bay and consists of several streets filled up by mud houses as already stated. North from the town, about one-half mile distant, lies the fort on a slight elevation sloping on the East toward the sea. The site is a very favourable one as it can command the harbor with its guns, having enough of the latter to sink any vessel which may try to force its entrance in time of war. The fort itself is builded in the shape of a square, with several embattlements. Its walls rise about thirty feet from the bottom of the trench which is of a depth of about ten feet and surrounds the whole. The entrance is afforded by a drawbridge through a door fronting the town. The soldiers are but a sorry set and I doubt, very little calculated to do war time service. I judge their bravery by the general character of the Mexican people—which I know in the main to be cowardly. I presume the soldiers—which are by the by, the most ragged set I have ever seen, having neither uniform nor even shoes, marching and countermarching like a lot of beggars on the street with no military rearing whatever—will be the same. If I am allowed to judge Mexico by this town of Acapulco—which has all the advantage of a most favoured situation as seaport and in consequence is well fitted for commerce, it is certainly a most neglected country and with the resources it possesses both in mineral and agricultural wealth it cannot be doubted but what it would soon in the hands of our people be one of the richest as well as loveliest countries in the world. This, however, seems to be its ultimate fate. Years may intervene but it must most surely eventually give way to the rapid strides of an onward moving civilization. When that day will come—that Mexico shall add another star to our illustrious country—is not for me to say. I hope, however, for the sake of the Mexican people themselves and for the sake of the numerous resources the country offers that it may soon come.

We left Acapulco Bay about five o'clock this afternoon and stood out to sea. We are now within three days of Panama, in fact nearer, but it will take three days to make it.

This is the first day of May. Lovely May has come around once more and Spring with its fine bracing breezes has set in. We are even now within ten degrees of the Equator, enjoying the benefit of it in the Trades which blow from the South East. The next morning after we left Acapulco, I believe, we found ourselves in the Gulf of Tehuantepeck which was tolerable rough. I was taken sea-sick, that most terrible of all sicknesses. After three days' suffering, I have gotten better. Still, even now I feel the sensation of it in my throat. Still, I think that I have seen the worst of it. If so, I shall not lament it, as I think it will secure me good health for a while.

Although in the tropics, we have enjoyed till now cool and extremely pleasant weather with beautiful star and moonlight nights and the bright expanse of ocean round us, with our vessel like a thing of life moving along upon its bosom, and in the dark, at twilight before the moon is up, what splendid sight is revealed to the traveller of the sea. I mean the bright brilliant sparks and flashes which emit from the spraying sheets which our cutwater sends off at both sides of our vessel—caused by friction upon the phosphorescent matter contained in the water of the ocean.

May second. This morning the land, consisting of detached ranges of mountains, again came in sight, and now, five o'clock P.M. we are abreast of an island to the left. This isle is very heavily timbered; the whole of it is a mountain of about one hundred and fifty feet high with a small point of level country at the Eastern end of it.

May third. We came up to another island this morning, thickly covered with timber and vegetation of tropical growth. We kept now in sight of land all the time, numbers of islands being to our left and towards evening the Bay of Panama came in sight. This Bay is of large dimensions and very secure, being well sheltered by islands and the main coast. We passed Tobanga Island where the W. S. M. Company has a station where they repair and clean their vessels when at Panama. We entered the Bay and dropped anchor twenty minutes past seven o'clock A.M. The next morning at four we took the ferry boat for the wharfs, arrived there, took the cars across the Isthmus of Darien to Aspinwall on the Gulf of Mexico. All the section of country we crossed over on the cars offered a most beautiful sight. It is more or less mountainous and covered with one emerald sheet of thick and almost impenetrable highly perfumed tropical vegetation. I could not discover any trees nor plants of the moderate zones—all being the products of the tropics. This country, but for the extreme heat and the malaria it must necessarily create from its numerous swamps, would be almost a Paradise to live in. If Americans should ever possess it and be able to live there, they in truth will make it indeed what it seems intended for by nature—one of the loveliest spots the world knows. Aspinwall is a new place and traces its origin to the discovery of the gold mines in California and the subsequent travel across the Isthmus. It is principally inhabited by natives of Central America, some French and some Americans. The latter, however, being the only influential portion of the community. They have made it and named it what it is this day. They own the railroad and a large depot three hundred by one hundred feet, fire proof, and a very commodious dock for the handling of the mail steamers and offices to carry on their business.

We left the docks of Aspinwall about four o'clock. The trip across the Isthmus occupied about five hours, so that we got to Aspinwall about twelve and had from then till four at the latter place.

May fifth. The Star of the West, the boat I am now on, is not near as large nor as good a boat as the steamer on the other side. Still, if she only brings us safe to New York I shall be satisfied well enough. I perceive by the latest New York news that yellow fever broke out on the U. S. S. frigate Susquehanna and at the Central American Port of St. James. If I dread anything, I dread that and I hope to God it will not appear on board of this bark. If it should be doomed to that, God only knows what its effect might be. I must hope for the best. We are only about a week's sail from New York. Still, how uncertain is our arrival there considering the numerous accidents which we are apt to encounter, which may finish our existence before we once more set our feet on blessed Mother Earth.

Distance across the Isthmus from Panama to Aspinwall on Navy Bay (Colon) forty-five miles. Distance to New York one thousand one hundred miles.

Another bright day has risen over the water and a slight breeze stiffens our sails, carrying us homewards. I am still in bad health, my stomach being completely deranged and in consequence can't enjoy the trip as well as I otherwise might were I in good health.

The steamboat New Grenada which started one hour before us from Aspinwall has been more or less in sight since we left that Port and now is about ten miles astern of us. Last evening about five o'clock P.M. we passed the island of Providence to our right. This Island like all the rest I have seen on this trip is mountainous and thickly timbered. As there were fires on the coast I presume it must be inhabited and there are undoubtedly spots on it under cultivation. All the country in these lower latitudes is very fertile, producing luxurious growths of most all the tropical fruits.

Providence is about two hundred and forty miles North East of North from Aspinwall. This being the course we have steered since we left there. Now we are steering due North.

May ninth. In the evening of the seventh we came in sight of the lighthouse of Saint Antoine—the S. W. Cape of Cuba. This night and the next day, the eighth, we cruised along side of Cuba for some three hundred miles. We came opposite to Havana about five o'clock on the eighth. Havana is builded close to the shore, seemingly resting upon the water. The ground back of it is higher and portions of the town are builded there. The main city, however, is at the water's edge. Morro Castle, the fort at the Harbor, is at the North East part of the City. We sailed within about five miles of the City. The above were all the points I could scan at this distance. Having struck the Gulf Stream, the sea became rougher and I, in consequence, sick again and feel miserable while scribbling this. I have the more reason to wish myself safe on shore at New York, having ascertained to-day the fact of the unseaworthiness of our boat. The Florida reefs—keys—came in sight this forenoon and are still in sight. They are low lands, or rather are elevated reefs, thinly timbered and dreaded, on account of the reefs and rocks in the neighborhood, by the mariner.

We arrived on the night of Wednesday, May twelfth, in sight of the Long Island and Sandy Hook Lights and after having taken on a Pilot we entered Sandy Hook and passing into New York Harbor arrived at the city about five o'clock in the morning of the thirteenth of May.

Here then I am in New York—the Empire City of America—the greatest commercial port in the American Continent and the World. Its tonnage is larger than that of any other Port city I believe in the World. While it is connected by the Ocean with all Foreign Countries, it is likewise so with all the important cities of the United States by railroads and steamboat conveyance.

I remained at New York till the twenty-first instant. During my stay here I visited the different theaters. The Laura Keene on Broadway was the handsomest I had ever seen in America, and what was still better, the acting was equally good and, as the building, the best I had ever the pleasure to see in this country. The Crystal Palace I saw from the outside only. The whole is built of iron. Its model is chaste and displays a good deal of art and beauty. The Palace is surrounded by an iron railing and between it and the building intervenes a beautiful green sward. East from the Palace is the reservoir of the great Croton water works which supply the whole of New York with water which is brought some twenty-five or thirty miles to this grand reservoir, built of solid masonry and occupying a large area of ground. From here the water is distributed over the whole city for drinking, culinary and manufacturing purposes. Another place of great celebrity, Barnum's Museum, of American wide fame, was also visited by me. Here are stored in rich profusion treasures of the animal world both of land and sea. Also a good gathering of antiquities of almost all portions of the world, and several statues of fame and renown. Among them are the wax models of the Emperor of Russia, Joseph of Austria, Napoleon III and Queen Victoria of England, and last but not least Kossuth and Napoleon Bonaparte and the notorious Mrs. Cunningham in whose eyes passion and crime but great beauty is also written. Among the persons of higher renown is Mary the Mother of Jesus. Animals of all kinds and species are amassed here in great variety too numerous to mention. They are mostly stuffed except numerous fresh and salt water fishes which are kept alive here enjoying their native element in large tanks. The large boa constrictor and another large snake are also kept living here by means of artificial heat supplied them. Among the antiques are coins of centuries long since passed. American state documents of the last century, flags and arms of the Revolutionary and Indian wars. Among the latter a number of tomahawks, spears, battleaxes, etc. Curiosities from China and Japan are also here in this great multum in parvo. Also a large metallurgical collection with minerals of all kinds. A Panorama with representation of many beautiful scenes from Italy, France and Austria is found here. The pictures of the celebrated Generals and Statesmen of American History as those of celebrated men and women of the present day adorn its walls. The exposition in this Museum is so grand and my survey of its treasures was so short and superficial that I am not able to relate and specify them any plainer or with greater accuracy. I was, however, well pleased the few hours I remained there and considered that time spent to exceeding great purpose.

New York has many beautiful buildings and the Fifth Avenue is a street of palaces and in my opinion compares favourably with any street of any city in the World. Here reside the richest people in the city. None but nabobs being able to exist in the air of this moneyed American aristocracy. If the insides of these dwellings enjoy corresponding happiness with all these luxurious surroundings is not for the people to know. Still, as nothing in this world is all blessedness and sunshine, one may well suppose that too, in these grand dwellings wretchedness and heartburnings may be met. The great enterprise of New York at present upon which succeeding ages will bestow all gratitude is the building of a grand Park where the thousands of this city—the rich, the poor, the highly born and lowly may pass moments of pleasure and rest from the noise and turmoil of the city and acquire strength and cheerfulness for the hard tasks of every day life.

I left New York City on the twenty-first instant for Philadelphia—the Quaker City—where I arrived at four o'clock P.M. This, which I always supposed to be the handsomest city in America, I am sorry that I am compelled to state, disappointed all my bright anticipation of its beauties. It is true, being considerably exhausted by much traveling and having my thirst for sight-seeing considerably abated at New York, I was not exactly in a condition to receive grand and stunning impressions. Had I arrived here first, fresh from the mountains of California instead of New York, Philadelphia might have impressed me with feelings of admiration and satiated my desire to view architectural and artistic beauties to its full. As it is—New York had the precedence in my visit and with the remembrance of its grandeur fresh upon my mind, I am obliged to admit that the City of Penn fell short in its treasures of beauty of what I hoped and wished to find. Here, however, as is universally the case, are exceptions to be met. Only had I hoped the inverted to be the case—namely that beauties might be the rule and common appearance the exception. I refer to the Institution which will for a far off future immortalize the name it bears—I mean Girard College. This is as far as I have knowledge, the handsomest and grace-fullest edifice in America. At the time of day I went to visit it, I could not get admittance and my view of it was in consequence indistinct from the walls and distance that intervened. Still, I saw enough fully to sustain the above opinion. The edifice is large in size, surrounded by a portico ornamented by Corinthian Columns of the chastest workmanship. The material which composes its grand walls is I believe, fine marble. This, the main edifice, has two additional buildings on each side—two for the male and two for the female pupils. Beautiful grounds, planted with handsome trees and flower beds intersected by gravel walks surround the buildings. The whole again is enclosed by a big wall to keep the outer world from intruding and marring the quiet and beauty within. Girard, the founder, once poor but rich in thought, energy, and perseverance, accumulated by well applied industry and diligence a princely fortune of which he the greater portion, $800,000, bestowed upon the orphans of Philadelphia in the most generous and useful way in this, the greatest American Orphan College. He, in his will forbade the introduction of any religion for educational purposes and also, the entrance of any of its apostles within the walls. And who will blame him for this sweeping and, by many condemned as sinful, prescription? It was not the want of faith of the man in an all ruling Deity. No, but quite otherwise, his high regard for the same, which guided him in this action. Knowing as we all know of the great variety of religious communities, all differing with one another, yes, in many cases condemning one another, he thought well and justly so to keep the infant mind free of the different feuds and enmities of the different sects. His purpose was to give them an enlightened education, to acquaint their mind with facts, with events and their causes and effects—so that when ripened and matured into men and women free from all prejudices, they might themselves be enabled by pure and cultivated thought to form a just and enlightened opinion of their own about religion and its principles and aim and purpose. Is it not better so to have the mind of the to-man-grown boy and the mind of the girl who has reached womanhood unfettered by stubborn prejudices, perhaps with hatred against its fellow creatures, than to have it in its infancy so directed as to make it almost impossible to allow them different views and opinions from those early implanted upon the infant mind? I approve the motive and can appreciate the intelligence and foresight of the mind of its originator. Honor and blessing be to him—Girard—one of the great benefactors of the poor.

From here I continued my journey by the P. C. R. R. via Harrisburg over the Alleghenys to Pittsburg, and from there took the steamer to Wheeling the home of my brother Frederic and his family. I parted from them, New Year eighteen fifty-one and as I, in the Spring of the same year, left for California from which I have only now returned, I had not seen them since. My arrival seemed to give them great pleasure and all subsequent appearances seemed to warrant the genuineness of their display of affectionate feelings. I trust this may really be the case. That sincerity and not an un-nobler motive was at the bottom of the lavished kindness. I know the value of a true, sincere, noble affection and love so that I am always prone to suspect its genuineness when too freely and plentifully offered. I still trust it may have been real in this case. Brother Henry who resides at Sunfish, Munro Co., Ohio, I also visited for five or six days and passed the time right cheerfully whilst there. Henry is an honest soul, true and sincere, incapable of deception. Both brothers wished me to remain with them and join them in business. Their wishes, however, I saw best to decline. I am certain that by separation we can harbor more and better affection between us. Then the place and its environs did not suit my taste for a life long Home. Yesterday, Tuesday, the eighth of June, I bade them again farewell and took on the steamer Courier, my departure for Cincinnati to go from there further West in search of a home. Ho, for the West! Kind God, may ye will that I meet my anticipations and wishes. All I wish is a pleasant, yes a beautiful and healthy nook to live in, with a kind and loving wife to cheer me in the battle of life and loving children to surround and ease when once I journey the down hill of life towards ???—the grave—dissolution—the end of man? In short, I want Love in a Cottage.

I arrived at Cincinnati on the morning of the tenth instant and took up lodgings at the Spencer House, one of the best and of course, dearest hotels in the city. This place surpassed my expectations which I had formed in regard to its industry, activity and wealth. Since my last visit here in eighteen fifty-two, the town has been greatly embellished by many beautiful buildings, both private and public. Among the latter those which deserve mention are the Custom House, and Post Office, the Court House and many beautiful churches, amongst which the Catholic Cathedral is the handsomest. Besides this, many new hotels—all of them fine houses, as also many imposing business houses have been erected of late years. The streets, at least in the main part of the town which I only ambulated, are laid out at right angles. Among those which run from the river, forming a right angle with the same, I noticed Broadway, Main, Sycamore, Walnut. These are intersected by the streets running parallel with the river numbered One, Two, Three, Four, etc. In short Cincinnati, with a population of 200,000 and still increasing, has all the appearance of a thriving, wealthy, industrial and commercial city, and fills the position of such in the United States. It is especially famous for the millions of hogs killed and packed here annually. From here, in the shape of shoulders, bacon and ham they are sent all over the United States and a large portion shipped via New Orleans to England. Opposite to Cincinnati, is New Port, Kentucky—also a thriving town. I stopped here over night and left the eleventh at twelve o'clock on the steamer Jacob Stratton, the first and only low pressure boat I ever saw on the Ohio, for Louisville, Kentucky. During last night it set in again raining and continued so all day—so that I had but little desire of being outside the cabin and consequently observed but little of the scenery along the river to Louisville. There are a number of thriving towns along the river—the principal of which is Madison, Indiana. The Big Miami river divides Ohio from Indiana. We lay over night at Louisville. The next morning I and my recently made acquaintance Mr. Charles N. Scram, went over the greater part of the city. Louisville belongs to Kentucky, situated on the Ohio river at the head of the celebrated falls of the Ohio. The latter are, except at high water, an obstruction to navigation to overcome which the two-mile long canal was built at enormous cost and boats go through it around the falls and strike again the Ohio below. Louisville counts a population of sixty thousand inhabitants and is of both commercial and industrial importance. It has several fine public buildings and the richness and beauty and chastity of its many private buildings bespeak at once the wealth and taste of its occupants. Its streets are wide and it rejoices with Cincinnati in Avenues of trees now covered with the richest of foliage.

We delayed here till noon of the twelfth, when we again took the steamer Moses McLellan for St. Louis, Missouri. The rain still continued to fall and the Ohio river, as all the rivers throughout the country, continues to rise. They promise to cause by their overflow an incalculable amount of damage to the crops in the bottoms through which they now roll their courses with the wildest of turbulence. Last night, or rather, this morning, the rain has abated and thank God the sun once more radiates its genial beams. May it continue and its blessed warmth may yet reclaim many otherwise lost acres of grain.

It is now Sunday, twelve o'clock and we have arrived three hundred and three miles from Louisville, having still three hundred and sixteen miles to St. Louis. We shall probably get there tomorrow night. Thanks to my cursed mind, I have this last two days again been oppressed with the blues, what it will ever end in I don't know, possibly in suicide. Why was I ever made or why was I not endowed with a mind to make life desireful, pleasing and cheerful instead of the one I possess, which is incapable to create a world for itself and too dull and selfish to enjoy that of others? However, there is no help except—what can't be cured must be endured.

Cairo, at the junction of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers, we reached Sunday evening. The flood has desolated much of this lower country, destroying crops and homes and in fact all kinds of property it encountered in its sweeping course. Here it broke through the levee which had been builded at a cost of twelve millions of dollars and overran the whole town except a portion on the highest part of the Ohio levee. The damage is immense and general. All being sufferers by it, it is chance now whether it will ever be rebuilded. Its locality is such that it must always be at the mercy of the high floods which occur in these upper rivers periodically. They may fail some years, but will only when they do come be so much more terrible in their destruction. We doubled the point and with a strong current against us, ran up stream. All the bottom along the river was covered with water, water, presenting one bright broad sheet of water variegated with forests of trees, in many places the roofs of homes being apparent only and many being entirely under water.

We reached St. Louis Tuesday morning, the fifteenth instant. St. Louis is a stirring place, made so by its favourable location on the Mississippi river. This river connects it with the State of Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota and Kansas, and with all the country on the lower Mississippi—principally New Orleans. This place will in a short time rival any inland town in the Union and eventually become the next largest city to New York. I stopped here almost two days, left it on the seventeenth of June for the Northern part of Missouri and Kansas. The trip up the Missouri is very tedious, the scenery being all the same all the way. Bluffs of little beauty and bottom lands covered with cottonwood. The river is very crooked and very rapid in its course. On both these accounts we made slow headway up narrow chutes, around innumerable bends, past ever so many towns and villages.

Sunday evening we got to Kansas City, Missouri. I laid over here the next day Monday, in order to see the place and find out something about its resources and prospects. While here I visited Wyandot on the North side of Kansas River, the same side as Kansas City on the Missouri. This is a very new free state settlement and although but of recent origin has many fine houses, stores and hotels. Possessing a very good site for a city with a good landing, it will be in time, when the resources of Kansas are developed, a thriving place. Kansas City is built on a bluff rising from the river bank and expensive grading was necessary to secure an area for houses. From here streets are made by excavating through the bluffs to the best part of the city which lies back of the bluffs. This addition is quite new but springing up now very fast and will become in time a large city.

I left Kansas City on Monday afternoon for Leavenworth and St. Joseph and reached the latter place on the twenty-fourth instant. I had been here in eighteen fifty-two, on my way to California. I remembered well enough its site but the town has changed very much since that time, having at least four times increased in its size and population. It is laid out in rectangular streets having on Second street an open place for the market house. There are already many fine buildings here and many more going up. Property has greatly enhanced in value on account of its unrivalled location. I stayed here several days making enquiry and gaining information as to the resources of the place and its adaptability to my business. The prospects held out to me were fair enough and I partly decided if I could not find a place suiting still better to return here and establish myself in business.

I left this town for Leavenworth, seventy miles South of St. Joseph on the Missouri River. This is in Kansas and although only three years old has already attained a size and enjoys a large and growing commerce which rivals many a town of ten times its age. It is at present the key port to Kansas Territory. Most of the business for the Territory is transacted here. Its location on the Missouri River secures it the connection with St. Louis and through it by the Grand Central Web of Railroads with all parts of the United States. The site for the town is good and back some distance from the river and right above the business part of the town, up the River, beautiful.

This town holds out the same inducements to me to start business here as St. Joseph. It does now and I think always will lead St. Joseph in commercial importance and the fact of being in a free State will probably turn the scale in its favor in my decision between the two places. Leavenworth City at present is yet only three years old and grown as sudden as it has, everyone putting up buildings only studying to make the least outlay practicable for present purposes, the sanitary arrangements have of consequence been neglected and this I am satisfied in my mind will be the cause of severe sickness during this and the still coming scorching heat of Summer. This fact will probably keep me off till Fall, when colder winds will purify the air from putrid exhalations.

I started on a short trip inland, to see somewhat more of the Territory than its outskirts, on the last day of June. This is certainly a lovely country to survey, bound to attract the admiration of any one in whose heart the least drop of human kindness is not forever dried up. A living sea is the truest picture I can give of its appearance, the whole is a vast expanse of land, undulating, shifting, like the eternal throwings of the Ocean. Here and there streams meandering along through some of its shallow curves, fringed with trees, add to the sublimity of the scene. But for me to portray this part of nature's face is a useless task. I can feel the grandeurs of it easier than to describe them.

After passing through the reservation of the Delaware, we crossed the Kansas River and arrived at Lawrence, the first town this side of Leavenworth. I arrived just in time to hear of the acquittal of Jim Lame for the murder of Jennings. After a stay of an hour during which I promenaded once or twice through the only street which makes the present town, I took the stage for Topeka, twenty-five miles distance. I had the pleasure of enjoying a right good thorough jolting, making the trip one of punishment instead of pleasure. After a long and tedious ride of nine hours, passing through Tecompton and Tecomseh, we arrived at two o'clock in the morning of the first of July in Topeka. I came here principally to buy hides, but could not find any here. This, like all the places here is quiet and at present very dull, being in fact at the lowest stage of commercial stagnation. I shall take the stage tomorrow at two A.M. for Leavenworth City.