The next morning a letter arrived from San Francisco, written by a lady, who earnestly commended her only daughter to our prayers. This young person was converted at the age of 15, but two years afterwards became a prey to the delusions of Spiritualism, to which she clung tenaciously for nine years. At San Francisco, however, she heard Mr. Müller preach several times, and was so impressed by one sermon in particular, that her poor mother fully hoped she would be restored to soundness in the faith. She wrote--"You are the first person who has found the way to her heart for these nine years. She crossed the Bay last Sunday morning to hear you, and says she would not have lost that sermon for 100 dollars. Oh! _how much_ I wish you could see her! but, as you cannot, what I want is, that you will make her case a special subject of prayer. She is dearer to me than my own life, and I would be willing to die a thousand deaths to save her. Oh! help by your prayers.--Mrs. ----." Early on the morning of May 22nd, we went by rail to Stockton, 70 miles from San José, where, at 3 in the afternoon, Mr. Müller addressed 22 pastors, and about 130 other Christian workers for an hour and ten minutes, and, during our short stay, held two other meetings. At Stockton the heat became oppressive, and walking out of doors in the middle of the day was given up. There, too, at night we had terrible conflict with the mosquitos; but though we killed them by the score, could do very little in the way of exterminating the foe, so that our visit to Stockton was marked by a regular mosquito war. Our rest at night was so disturbed, that we were scarcely fit for travelling; but, having been repeatedly advised by several Christian friends, on no account to leave California without visiting the celebrated Yosemite Valley, in that State; and as my husband desired to have a little break for a few days, after so much constant preaching; on May 24th, at 8 a.m. we left by train for Milton, 30 miles from Stockton. There, a large, old-fashioned conveyance, combining coach and omnibus together, was waiting for the passengers, into which we, and several others stepped; and--drawn by four horses--were driven off towards the Sierra Nevada mountains. For some miles our road lay across an open plain, without houses, where the scanty vegetation was nearly burned up by the sun's scorching rays, and what little wind there was resembled a sirocco; but, after a drive of fourteen miles, we arrived at Copperopolis--so called from the quantity of copper ore found there. At one o'clock, after changing horses, we left Copperopolis--reached Chinese Camp, eighteen miles further, at 4; and, after getting into a smaller conveyance, at 6 o'clock continued our journey, with only one gentleman passenger besides ourselves. Though often told that travelling by Californian stage-waggon would prove an adventure _never_ to be forgotten, scarcely were we prepared for the unpleasant jolting that now awaited us.