Sept. 30th. Left Salmon Falls on Wednesday last for San Francisco. My object in taking this journey was to get my letters from home. On my arrival in the country I had received letters, but it is now five months since my last were dated. My anxiety to hear from my family had become very great. A friend offered me the use of a vicious mule for the journey to Sacramento. No bridle could be borrowed, and, besides, I was to be mounted upon a pack-saddle without stirrups. Imagine me, then, as thus starting off, my hair and beard of truly patriarchal length, all unshorn and unshaven. Such superfluities as coat, vest, collar, cravat, &c., were only remembered with the other comforts once enjoyed. My red flannel garments gave me a rather warlike appearance. Thus habited and mounted, a rope’s end was tied around my mule’s neck, which passed in a running noose over his nose, while I checked his movements by the other end, which I held in my hand. He did his best several times to run with me and to throw me, and my companions enjoyed their sport at my expense. The mule had a most ludicrous way of throwing up his head and braying as he was about starting to run. From this circumstance I named him “Roaring Lion.” They were compelled to acknowledge that in these trials of strength I had the “upper hand.” At Sacramento I inquired for a bag of clothing which I supposed had been stored in the place, and, after a long search, it was pointed out to me hanging in a tree-top in the town. The friend with whom I left it in charge to store had put his own clothing in it, and, to avoid paying the exorbitant price charged for storage, had deposited it where found. On reaching San Francisco, after a tedious voyage of five days, I hastened at once to the office of Livingston & Co. to get my letters. When I inquired for them, I was told there were a number for me, but, on looking for them, it was found that they had been forwarded, only the day before, to the mines. My disappointment was great. All the other privations and trials to which I had been subject were truly light compared with this. But, like them all, it had this good effect: it led me to set a higher and more true estimate upon the blessings of our native land. How priceless, when thus deprived of them, become our homes--better than fine gold! On turning away from the office, oppressed with anxiety and disappointment, I was walking slowly up the street, when the lively notes of a piano struck my ear. I stopped to listen. It was a favorite home song--“We have lived and loved together.” My feelings were moved with emotions of inexpressible tenderness and sorrow.