Transcription:
3 singing as they go in shadow light, onward upon their lovely changing pathways to the sea hills rise over hills, mountains
over mount- ains, heaving, waving, swelling, in most glorious overpowering unreadable majesty - when at last stricken faint
like a crushed insect, you hope to escape from all the terrible grandeur of these mountain powers, other fountains, other
illegible break forth before you, for there, in clear view, over heaps rows of foothills is laid a grand, smooth out spread
plain, watered by a river, another range of peaky, snow capped mount- ains a hundred miles in the distance - that plain is
the valley of the San Joaquin, those mts' are the great Sierra Nevadas, The valley of San Joaquin is the flowriest piece of
world I ever walked - one vast, level, even flowerbed- a sheet of flowers - a smooth sea, ruffled a little in the middle by
the tree fringing of the river, there there of smaller cross streams from the mountains, Florida is indeed a land of flowers,
but for every flower creature that dwells in its most delightsome places, more than a hundred is living here, Here, Here is
Florida. Here they are not sprinkled apart with grass between as in our prairies, but grasses are sprinkled in the flowers,
not as in Cuba, flowers piled upon flowers heaped, gathered into deep glowing masses, but side by side, flower to flower,
petal to petal, touching but not entwined, branches weaving past past each other, but free separate one smooth garment, mosses
next the ground grasses above, petaled flowers between - Before studying the flowers of this valley their sky, all of the
furniture, sounds, and adornments of their home, one can scarce believe that their vast assembles are permanent, but rather
that actuated