Chapter 5

Cordially yours,John Muir.

July 23rd, [1877.]

I made only a short dash into the dear old Highlands above Yosemite, but all was so full of everything I love, every day seemed a measureless period. I never enjoyed the Tuolumne cataracts so much. Coming out of the sun land, the gray salt deserts of Utah, these wild ice waters sang themselves into my soul more enthusiastically than ever, and the forests’ breath was sweeter, and Cassiope fairer than in all my first fresh contacts. But I’m not going to tell here. I only write now to say that next Saturday I will sail to Los Angeles and spend a few weeks in getting some general views of the adjacent region, then work northward and begin a careful study of the redwoods. I will at least have time this season for the lower portion of the belt; that is, for all south of here. If you have any messages, you have time to write me. I sail at 10a.m., or if not you may direct to Los Angeles.

I hope to see Congar, and also the spot you have selected for home. I wish you could be there in your grown fruitful groves, all rooted and grounded in the fine garden nook that I know you will make. It must be a great consolation in the midst of the fires you are compassed with to look forward to a tranquil seclusion in the South of which you are so fond.

John says he may not move to Berkeley, and if not I may be here this winter, though I still feel some tendency towards another winter in some mountain ice. It is long indeed since I had anything like a quiet talk with you. You have been going like an avalanche for many a year, and I sometimes fear you will not be able to settle into rest even in the orange groves.

I’m glad to know that the Doctor is so well. You must be pained by the shameful attacks made upon your tried friend La Grange. Farewell.

Ever cordially yours,John Muir.

Los Angeles, Cal., August 12th, 1877.Pico House.

Los Angeles, Cal., August 12th, 1877.

Pico House.

I’ve seen your sunny Pasadena and the patch called yours. Everything about here pleases me, and I felt sorely tempted to take Dr. Congar’s advice and invest in an orange-patch myself. I feel sure you will be happy here with the Doctor and Allie among so rich a luxuriance of sunny vegetation. How you will dig and dibble in that mellow loam! I cannot think of you standing erect for a single moment, unless it be in looking away out into the dreamy west. I made a fine shaggy little five days’ excursion back in the heart of the San Gabriel Mountains, and then a week of real pleasure with Congar, resurrecting the past about Madison. He has a fine little farm, fine little family, and fine cosy home.

I felt at home with Congar and at once took possession of his premises and all that in them is. We drove down through the settlements eastward and saw the best orange groves and vineyards, but the mountains I as usual met alone. Although so gray and silent and unpromising they are full of wild gardens and ferneries, and lilyries,—some specimens ten feet high with twenty lilies big enough for bonnets. The main results I will tell you some other time, should you ever have an hour’s leisure. I go north to-day, by rail to Newhall, thence by stage to Soledad, and on to Monterey, where I will take to the woods and feel my way in free study to San Francisco. May reach the city about the middle of next month.

Heard through your factor here that Miss Powell is worse and that you would not be down soon. Ireceivedyour letter and postal, also the letters you thought I had lost, via one from Salt Lake for which I sent and one from Yosemite which Black forwarded.

With love to all I am ever

Yours cordially,J. M.

1419 Taylor St., San Francisco,September 3d, [1877.]

1419 Taylor St., San Francisco,

September 3d, [1877.]

I have just been over at Alameda with poor dear old Gibbons. You have seen him, and I need give no particulars. “The only thing I’m afraid of, John,” he said, looking up with his old child face, “is that I shall never be able to climb the Oakland hills again.” But he is so healthy and so well cared for we will be strong and hope that he will.

He spoke for an hour with characteristic unselfishness on the injustice done Dr. Kellogg in failing to recognize his long-continued devotion to science, at the botanical love-feast held here the other night. He threatens to write up the whole discreditable affair, and is very anxious to obtain from you a copy of that Gray letter to Kellogg which was not delivered.

I had a glorious ramble in the Santa Cruz woods and have found out one very interesting and picturesque fact concerning the growth of this sequoia. I mean to devote many a long week to its study. What the upshot may be, I cannot guess, but you know I am never sent away empty. I made an excursion to the summit of Mt. Hamilton in extraordinary style, accompanied by Allen, Norton, Brawley, and all the lady professors and their friends. A curious contrast to my ordinarystill-hunting. Spent a week at San José; enjoyed my visit with Allen very much. Lectured to the faculty on Methods of Study without undergoing any very great scare.

I believe I wrote you from Los Angeles about my Pasadena week. Have sent a couple of letters to the “Bulletin” from there, not yet published.

I have no inflexible plans as yet for the remaining months of the season, but Yosemite seems to place itself as a most persistent candidate for my winter. I shall soon be in flight to the Sierras or Oregon.

I seem to give up hope of ever seeing you calm again. Don’t grind too hard at those Sacramento mills. Remember me to the Doctor and Allie.

Ever yours cordially,John Muir.

1419 Taylor St.,June 5th, 1878.

I’m sorry I did not see you when last in the city. I went over to Oakland, thence to Alameda to spend a week and finish an “article” with our good old Gibbons; but the house was full; then I went to Dr. Strentzel’s, where I remained a week, working a little, resting a good deal and eating many fine cherries. I enjoyed most thewhitebed in which first I rested after rocking so long in the rushes of the Stockton slough. They all were as kind as ever they could possibly be, and wanted me to stop longer, but I could not find a conscientious excuse for so doing and came away somewhat sore with obligations for stopping so long. Met Mr. and Mrs. Allen there.

Smith has gone this morning to Shasta, taking Helen, and I’m terribly lonesome and homesick and will not try to stand it. Will go to the woods to-morrow. How great are your trials! I wish I could help you. May the Doctor be speedily restored to health.

Cordially yours,John Muir.

920 Valencia St.,April 9th, 1879.

I did not send the pine book to you, because I was using it in rewriting a portion of the California forest article, which will appear in Scribner’s, May or June, and because, before it could have reached you, you were, according to your letter, to be in San Francisco and could then take it with you. It is entitled “Gordon’s Pinetum,” published by Henry G. Bohn, Henrietta St., Covent Garden; Simpkin, Marshall & Co., Stationers, Hall Court; 1875; second edition. It is an “exhaustive” work, very exhausting anyhow, and contains a fine big much of little.

The summit pine of our Sierra isP. albicaulisof Engelmann, and theP. flexilisTorrey, given in this work as a synonym, is a very different tree, growing sparsely on the eastern flank of the Sierra, from Bloody Cañon southward, but very abundant on all the higher basin ranges, and on the Wahsatch and Rocky Mountains.

The orange book is, it seems, another exhaustive work. There is something admirable in the scientific nerve and aplomb manifested in the titles of these swollen volumes. How a tree book can be exhaustive when every species is ever on the wing from one form to another with infinite variety, it is not easy to see.

I haven’t the least idea who Mr. Rexford is, but, if connected with the “Bulletin,” I can probably get the title of his citrus book through Mr. Williams. Will probably see him next Sunday.

The Sunday convention manager offered me a hundred dollars for two lectures on the Yosemite rocks in June. I have not yet agreed to do so, though I probably shall, as I am not going into Colorado this summer.

Excepting a day at San José with Allen, I have hardly been out of my room for weeks, pegging away with my quill and accomplishing little. My last efforts were on the preservation of the Sierra forests, and the wild and trampled conditions of our flora from a bee’s point of view.

I want to spend the greater portion of the season up the Coast, observing ice, and may possibly find my way home in the fall to see my mother.

I wonder if you will really go quietly away South when your office term expires, and rest in the afternoon of your life among your kin and orange leaves, or, unable to get full absolution from official woman’s rights’ unrest, you will fight and squirm till sundown. I’ve seen nothing of you all these fighting years.

I suppose nothing less than anExhaustiveminiature of all the leafy creatures of the globe will satisfy your Pasadena aspirations. You know how little real sympathy I can give in such play-garden schemes. Still, if so inappreciative and unavailable a man as I may be of use at all, let me know.

Ever cordially yours,John Muir.

San Francisco,June 19th, 1879.

Good-bye. I am going home, going to my summer in the snow and ice and forests of the north coast. Will sail to-morrow at noon on the Dakota for Victoria and Olympia. Will then push inland and along land. May visit Alaska.

I hope you and the Doctor may not suffer yourselves to be drawn away into the stream of politics again. You will be far happier on your land.

I was at the valley. How beautiful it was! fresh and full of cool crystal streams and blooms. Was not scared in my lectures after the first one.

With kind regards to the Doctor and the boys. Farewell.

John Muir.

THE END

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