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62 It should be remarked of this astonishing man - that he is an advocate of steam doctoring. Pagan know why so much of the Spanish moss is found on the oaks - because Suison Bay once extended up as far as Sacramento City. The winds then sucked up through these mountains - and loaded the trees. He knows also the whys and wherefores - and causes of these gold deposites. Can trace the alterations of the face of the country through the past thousands of years - has invented the best quicksilver rocker in California in short nothing in science or the mechanic arts is too deep or too wonderful for him. He is his own physician - no man shall finger him. He reduces all diseases to acids and alkalies - causing his medicines thereby chemically to resolve disease. He is akin to friend Hasking in medical views - who as near as i can divine makes mans body - a laboratory. The lungs being a furnace - the stomach a retort. This reminds me of a scene in Sacramento. I became acquainted with a hydropathist. He had been indisposed ever since his arrival in the country - yet was clinging with constancy - to his favorite theory - was agony to be better every morrow. He had strolled down to the Homopathic Hospital - which was full of patients - and found the Doctor himself in an agua chill. The Homopathist was shaking and shivering at a great rate - unable to cure himself and in dispair. The Hydropathis commenced conversation with him - and lo! the end was the Homopathist - brought the Hydropathist to help him out of his trouble. Tom quacks trying to cure one another. It was a curtain scene. Each possessing unfailing healing arts and yet neither dare trust their own systems when personally in danger. After shaving and washing Señor and myself issued forth for a stroll. We went over to the grave yard. There were 18 graves. Two rows of mounds - with simple rough stones to mark the spot of the occupant. Sixteen had been burried since we left this place ten weeks ago. The hill overlooked the river and the island - whose gold allured them form their distant homes. Poor men! They sleep their last sleep - they have done their last deeds - no sound shall ever wake them again. I seek for gold - hope soon to acquire enough to satisfy - and then shall leave these hills - this river - these objects of mining interest to return to my home - the land of my infancy - and loves and friends. But these shall never leave this hill top -