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.
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