I have written from such various places the last month, I fear my letters have been rather irregular in reaching you. I have written to somebody at your house every week. I have heard also most irregularly from you, but I have had several letters from yourself, and your father and mother, for all of which I am very thankful. They have been very good to get. I am longing now to be quietly settled at the old place. Not that this trip is not delightful. Everything has gone perfectly, and much of the best is yet to come. We are spending a few days at this beautiful place, and tomorrow go back to San Francisco, stopping on the way to see the Floods at their famous palatial place at Menlo Park. I have already had five days at San Francisco, which were very interesting.
Thursday I go alone by steamer to Portland, Oregon, and shall rejoin the party ten days later at Salt Lake. The sea, on which we spend forty-eight hours, is a terror to most of the people, but I expect to enjoy it very much, and shall be glad to get sight of Puget’s Sound and Vancouver’s Island. The June days there will be delightful. Oh, if you could only be with me. My next great delight is being with you all at Andover. My best love to everybody.