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having been originally built of wood, it has been liable to conflagrations, which have more than once nearly destroyed it. Floods have also swept over the valley, and carried away large portions of the town; but, having been rebuilt on piles ten feet above the original level, it is now believed to be secure against injury from this

cause.

Sacramento is the terminus of the Western Pacific Railway, from which the Central Pacific extends east toward the Rocky Mountains. The railway work-shops of the Company are located here, and occupy a large extent of ground. They are said to be very complete and commodious.

Many of the passengers by the train, whom we had brought on from San Francisco or picked up along the road, descended here, and I was very glad to observe that among them were the Chinamen, who relieved us from their farther most disagreeable odor. After a short stoppage and rearrangement of the train, we were off again, toiling up the slopes of the Sierra Nevada—the Switzerland of California.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ACROSS THE SIERRA NEVADA.

Rapid Ascent.-The Trestle-bridges.-Mountain Prospects." Placers." -Sunset.-Cape Horn.-Alta.-The Sierras by Night.-Contrast of Temperatures.-The Snow-sheds.-The Summit.-Reno.-Breakfast at Humboldt.-The Sage Brush.-Battle Mount.-Shoshonie Indians. -Ten-mile Cañon.-Elko Station.-Great American Desert.-Arrival at Ogden.

WE had now begun the ascent of the difficult mountain country that separates the eastern from the western. states of the Union, and through which the Central Pacific Railway has been recently constructed and completed-one of the greatest railway works of our time. As we advance the scenery changes rapidly. Instead of the flat and comparatively monotonous country we have for some time been passing through, we now cross deep gullies, climb up steep ascents, and traverse lovely valleys. Sometimes we seem to be inclosed in mountains with an impenetrable barrier before us; but, rushing into a tunnel, we shortly emerge on the other side, to find ourselves steaming along the edge of a precipice.

What struck me very much was the apparent slimness of the trestle-bridges over which we were carried across the gullies, in the bottom of which mountain torrents were dashing some fifty or a hundred feet below us. My first experience of such a crossing was quite startling. I was standing on the platform of the last car,

looking back at the fast vanishing scene-a winding valley shut in by pine-clad mountains which we had for some time been ascending—when, glancing down on the track, instead of solid earth, I saw the ground, through the open timbers of the trestle-bridge, at least sixty feet below me! The timber road was only the width of the single iron track, so that any one looking out of the side carriage-windows would see sixty feet down into space. The beams on which the trestle-bridge is supported are, in some cases, rested on stone, but oftener they are not. It is not easy to describe the sensation first felt on rattling over one of these trembling viaducts, with a lovely view down some mountain gorge, and then, perhaps, suddenly plunging into a dark cutting on the other side of the trestle. But use is every thing, and before long I got quite accustomed to the sensation of looking down through the open wood-work of the line on to broken ground and mountain torrents rushing a hundred feet or more below me.

We left Sacramento at 2 P.M., and evening was coming on as we got into the mountains. Still, long before sunset we saw many traces of large "placers," where whole sides of the hills had been dug out and washed away in the search for gold, the water being brought over the hill-tops by various ingenious methods. Sometimes, too, we came upon signs of active mining, in the water-courses led across valleys at levels above us, consisting of wooden troughs supported on trestles similar to those we are so frequently crossing. In one place I saw a party of men busily at work along the mountain side, preparatory to letting the water in upon the auriferous ground they were exploring.

I stood for more than two hours on the platform at the rear of the train, never tired of watching the wonderful scenery that continually receded from my gaze-sometimes the track suddenly disappearing as we rounded a curve, and then, looking ahead, I would find that an entirely new prospect was opening into view.

Never shall I forget the lovely scene that evening when the golden sun was setting far away on the Pacific coast. The great red orb sank slowly behind a low hill at the end of the valley which stretched away on our right far beneath us. The pine-trees shone red in the departing sunlight for a short time; then the warm, dusky glimmer gradually faded away on the horizon, and all was over. The scene now looked more dreary, the mountains more rugged, and every thing more desolate than before.

Up we rushed, still ascending the mountain slopes, winding in and out, higher and higher, the mountains becoming more rugged and wild, and the country more broken and barren looking. Crossing slowly another trestle-bridge seventy-five feet high, at the upper part of a valley, we rounded a sharp curve, and found ourselves on a lofty mountain side along which the road is cut, with a deep glen lying 2500 feet below us wrapped in the shades of evening. It seems to be quite night down there, and the trees are so shrouded in gloom that I can scarcely discern them in the bottom of that awful chasm. I can only clearly see defined against the sky above me the rugged masses of overhanging rock, black-looking and terrible.

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I find, on inquiry, that this part of the road is called Cape Horn." The bluffs at this point are so precipi

tous, that when the railroad was made, the workmen had to be lowered down the face of the rock by ropes, and held on by men above, until they were enabled to blast for themselves a foothold on the side of the precipice. We have now ascended to a height of nearly 3200 feet above the level of the sea, and, as may be inferred, the night air grows sharp and cold. As little more can be seen for the present, I am under the necessity of taking shelter in the car.

At half past six we stopped for tea at Alta, 207 miles from San Francisco, at an elevation of 3600 feet above the sea. Here I had a good meal for a dollar-the first since leaving 'Frisco. Had I known of the short stoppages and the distant refreshing-places along the route, I would certainly have provided myself with a wellstored luncheon-basket before setting out; but it is now too late.

After a stoppage of twenty minutes, the big bell tolled, and we seated ourselves in the cars again, and away we went as before, still toiling up hill. We are really climbing now. I can hear it by the strong snorts of the engine, and see it by the steepness of the track. I long to be able to see around me, for we are passing some of the grandest scenery of the line. The stars are now shining brightly overhead, and give light enough to show the patches of snow lying along the mountain side as we proceed. The snow becomes more continuous as we mount the ascent, until only the black rocks and pinetrees stand out in relief against their white background.

I was contrasting the sharp cold of this mountain region with the bright summer weather I had left behind me in Australia only a few weeks ago, and the much

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