John Clarence Birdseye

From the Diary of Ellen Birdseye Wheaton

Sunday Eve. Jany 26th, 1851.

Often as I sit musing by the quiet fire, do my eyes seek the map which hangs upon the wall before me,- -and as they rove over each familiar coast, they like many another adventurer of the times, suddenly dart away, down the long reach of coast, along the eastern side of South America, and around the boisterous neighborhood of the Horn, up the other side into smoother seas and milder climes towards the world- famed El-Dorado, of the west. But perchance, (if too impatient for this long voyage) they fix themselves upon the shore of the "Isthmus," and making a sudden leap, at once they are at Panama. But here we cannot stop! for if there were nothing else to prevent, we are seeking a friend, yes a dear brother, * who has gone before us to this golden shore, and we may not tarry by the way. Here we go, up on the bosom of the broad Pacific, and ere long without any of the usual mischances of travelers, we pass the Golden Gate, and land upon one of the new & beautiful docks of this wonderful city, long ago christened by the dull and lazy Spaniard, San Francisco, but now the ever active and calculating Yankee nation, is pouring into it, it has met with a wondrous change, it has had breathed into it, the breath of a new life, and see how it stretches its young giant limbs over all these swelling hills, and thro' these winding vales.--Just beginning to feel its new-born strength, and trying rather awkwardly perhaps, at first, to act upon the example of its newly adopted parent--Surely this old, conservative title, although more euphonious certainly, is not now half so appropriate to the young rising city, as would be the characteristic one of San. Jonathan, and doubtless the change will soon, be made, for the yankee is not diffident of his own merits,--and what he considers worth knowing it is not his fault, if the world knows it not also.

But where is the brother, of whom we are in search? Ah! we hear of him, up among the mountains, & we are off to find him. Down by steamboat to Sacramento then by mule over the plains and among the hills till we come to the range of Sierra Nevada. Here may we hope to find him of whom we are in search, tho perhaps with a little trouble, for this little town called Nevada City, tho of recent growth, already numbers thousands of inhabitants. But we find him, and right joyful is the meeting, and unexpected too, as joyful. Oh how many questions there are to answer, how many adventures to relate, how many tales of home & friends to listen too [sic]. Ah when for us, "shall such a blissful meeting be?"--I shudder to think, Never, Oh! Never.

Note : *. John Clarence Birdseye.