"But where do you want to go ?" asked the man to whom I had applied for this important information.
"To any place that is wild," I said.

This reply startled him.

He seemed to fear I might be crazy and therefore the sooner I was out of town the better, so he directed me to the Oakland ferry.
So on the first of April, 1868, I set out afoot for Yosemite.

It was the bloom-time of the year over the lowlands and coast ranges the landscapes of the Santa Clara Valley were fairly drenched with sunshine, all the air was quivering with the songs of the meadow-larks, and the hills were so covered with flowers that they seemed to be painted.

Slow indeed was my progress through these glorious gardens, the first of the California flora I had seen.