Remains Then, The Memory Of The Delicious, Faint, Cool, Morning Breeze,
Gently Stirring The Pine Needles; The Aromatic Odor Of
Forest
undergrowth; the murmur of the stream hurrying down the mountain gorge
to mingle its pure waters with those of
The muddy Sacramento, far away
in the great valley below; the deep awe-inspiring canons of the
American, Stanislaus and Mokelumne Rivers; and back of all, the azure
summits of the Sierra Nevada.
Remains also, the memory of the kindly-disposed, courteous and
open-hearted inhabitants of the old mining towns. But more forcibly than
all else combined - for it seems to epitomize the whole - the glamour of
the towns themselves appeals with an irresistible fascination, that no
poor words of mine can adequately express.
Appendix
Views of the Bret Harte Country
Here ends A Tramp Through the Bret Harte Country by Thomas Dykes
Beasley. Published by Paul Elder and Company and printed for them at
their Tomoye Press in the city of San Francisco, under the direction of
John Swart, in the year Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen
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