It was now the 7th day of March 1850, and this date, as well as the 4th day of November 1849 will always remain an important one in memory.

On the last named day we left the trail to take the unfortunate cut-off, and for four long months we had wandered and struggled in terrible hardship.

Every point of that terrible journey is indelibly fixed upon my memory and though seventy-three years of age on April 6th 1893 I can locate every camp, and if strong enough could follow that weary trail from Death Valley to Los Angeles with unerring accuracy.

The brushy canon we have just described is now occupied by the Southern Pacific Railroad, and the steep and narrow ridge pierced by a tunnel, through which the trains pass.

The beautiful meadow we so much admired has now upon its border a railroad station, Newhall, and at the proper season some portion of it is covered with thousands of trays of golden apricots, grown in the luxuriant orchards just beyond the hills toward the coast, and here drying in the bright summer sun.