Yours cordially,
J. M.
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 ordinary _still-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 the _white_ bed 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 is _P. albicaulis_ of Engelmann, and the _P.
flexilis_ Torrey, 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 an _Exhaustive_ miniature 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.