June 30, 1859. Early in the morning and before breakfast, Camerer,—a German friend,—and I, were on our way. As we went down the beautiful Valley, we often stopped to gaze at the stupendous scenes we were about to leave; and never before had they looked so grand, and glorious. Lingering, loitering, talking, and discussing the several points of interest, time passed rapidly, and the sunbeams soon began to gild the summits of the mountains, the lofty rock of Tutocanula catching his first rays. A hundred birds strained their little throats and poured out their sweetest strains of melody, as if to bid us farewell, and cheer us on our way.
As the scenes with which we had been so long familiar, now passed again in review before us; the Yosemite, the Sentinel, the Cathedral Rocks, Tutocanula, the Bridal Veil; each claimed for the hundredth, and last time, our attention and admiration. "O," exclaimed my German friend, when the necessity of hastening our journey occurred to us, "O, it is very hard to get out of this Valley."
We at length arrived at the end of the plain, and began to ascend the mountain. Half way up the height we came to a spot from which we had so fine a view, that we resolved to stop and sketch it. This was a general view of the Valley, and its surrounding walls, and of course, it was my last sketch. Having accomplished this task, we hastened forward, scarcely looking around us, until we reached an elevation whence we were about to take our last look. But we had loitered too long by the way, and had little time to spare. Stopping, therefore, but for a minute, and filled with emotions such as Adam and Eve may be supposed to have felt when,
"They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way,"
we cast one sad look at the scene behind us, and bade a sorrowful and final adieu to the wonderful Yosemite Valley.