My readers may be sure that such enterprising travelers as Miss Anthony and myself visited all the wonders, saw the geysers, big trees, the Yosemite Valley, and the immense mountain ranges, piled one above another, until they seemed to make a giant pathway from earth to heaven.  We drove down the mountain sides with Fox, the celebrated whip; sixteen people in an open carriage drawn by six horses, down, down, down, as fast as we could go.  I expected to be dashed to pieces, but we safely descended in one hour, heights we had taken three to climb.  Fox held a steady rein, and seemed as calm as if we were trotting on a level, though any accident, such as a hot axle, a stumbling horse, or a break in the harness would have sent us down the mountain side, two thousand feet, to inevitable destruction.  He had many amusing anecdotes to tell of Horace Greeley’s trip to the Geysers.  The distinguished journalist was wholly unprepared for the race down the mountains and begged Fox to hold up.  Sitting in front he made several efforts to seize the lines.  But Fox assured him that was the only possible way they could descend in safety, as the horses could guide the stage, but they could not hold it.

At Stockton we met a party of friends just returning from the Yosemite, who gave us much valuable information for the journey.  Among other things, I was advised to write to Mr. Hutchins, the chief authority there, to have a good, strong horse in readiness to take me down the steep and narrow path into the valley.  We took the same driver and carriage which our friends had found trustworthy, and started early in the morning.  The dust and heat made the day’s journey very wearisome, but the prospect of seeing the wonderful valley made all hardships of little consequence.  Quite a large party were waiting to mount their donkeys and mules when we arrived.  One of the attendants, a man about as thin as a stair rod, asked me if I was the lady who had ordered a strong horse; I being the stoutest of the party, he readily arrived at that conclusion, so my steed was promptly produced.  But I knew enough of horses and riding to see at a glance that he was a failure, with his low withers and high haunches, for descending steep mountains.  In addition to his forward pitch, his back was immensely broad.  Miss Anthony and I decided to ride astride and had suits made for that purpose; but alas! my steed was so broad that I could not reach the stirrups, and the moment we began to descend, I felt as if I were going over his head.  So I fell behind, and, when the party had all gone forward, I dismounted, though my slender guide assured me there was no danger, he “had been up and down a thousand times.”  But, as I had never been at all, his repeated experiences did not inspire me with courage.  I decided to walk.  That, the guide said, was impossible.  “Well,” said I, by way of compromise, “I will walk as far as I can, and when I reach the impossible, I will try that ill-constructed beast.  I cannot see what you men were thinking of when you selected such an animal for this journey.”  And so we went slowly down, arguing the point whether it were better to ride or walk; to trust one’s own legs, or, by chance, be precipitated thousands of feet down the mountain side.