ed away. They think that the kodak is "the evil
eye." There was an old squaw here with whom I conversed, who had a
remarkable face on account of its wrinkled condition. She said her
name was Marie Martile, and at first she said she was one hundred
years old, and later that she was one hundred and fifty. At Reno I saw
more Indians with papooses. The thought, however, that this old race
is passing away like the fading leaf before the "pale face," is
saddening. Soon we arrive in the El Dorado State, we are at last on
California soil, and the train with panting engines climbs the dizzy
heights of the Sierras, through beautiful forests, along the slopes
of hills, through tunnels, beneath long snow sheds. These sheds are a
striking feature, and are, with broken intervals, forty miles long.
The scenery is remarkable, entirely different from that of the Rocky
Mountains; and Donner Lake, into whose clear depths we look from lofty
heights, recalls the terrible story of hardship, isolation, suffering
and death, here in the winter of 1846 and 1847, when snow-fall on
snow-fall cut the elder Donners and several members of this party off
from the outside world, and they perished from cold and starvation.
Oh, what a tragic, harrowing history it is!

At Summit Station, the loftiest point of the pass over the Sierras,
in the path of our railway, engines are changed, and while the train
halts passengers amuse themselves by making snowballs. Then we begin
the descent along the slopes of the mountains into the great valleys
of California. Already we have passed from the region of perpetual
snows to a milder clime. We begin to feel the tempered breezes from
the Pacific fanning our cheeks. Yes, we are now in the land of a
semi-tropical vegetation, a land of beauty and fertility, which in
many respects resembles Palestine; and surely it is a Promised Land,
rich in God's good gifts. Blue Canon and Cape Horn and beautiful
landscapes with vineyards and orange groves are passed, and as night
with its sable pall descends upon us, we rest in peace with a feeling
of satisfaction and thankfulness to Him Who has led us safely by the
way thus far. When the train halted at Sacramento, I had a midnight
view of it, and then we sped on to our destination. Some three weeks
later, in company with Rev. Dr. Ashton, I visited the valley west of
Sacramento, Suisun and Benicia, that I might not lose the view which
night had obscured. The Carquinez Straits, with th