Poodle-dog restaurant where I managed to assemble about eighty of our club members a merry lot in fine array. The long flowery
table flanked by the mountaineers looked something like a Sierra Canyon and so the merry witty feasters called it the 'Muir
Gorge' At a quarter past eight o'clock we marched to the meeting with a fine triumphant alpenglow on every face overwhelmed
the poor Hetchy dammers. Next morning the Call reported that Muir the naturalist had packed the meeting, though I had only
packed seventy seven stomachs. I'm pegging away trying to write hoping that like Marian you have got rid of your cold I
am ever fondly faithfully yours John Muir