On our return back to Frisco we went up a branch of the Central Pacific, and ran out on the stage to the big trees upon the Sierra Nevada slopes. We had stood in the forests in Ohio, and looked up at the great oaks and called them mammoths; but great glory! here was a whole forest in a single tree. The trunks are from ten to fifteen feet in diameter, with summits reared so high that they appear to sweep the sky as they are swayed to and fro by the upper currents; and away up among the spreading boughs nestle and scream the great eagles, looking like sparrows. The stage-route runs clear through the forest, and right by the largest trees, which rear their heads to the enormous height of three and four hundred feet, and right through the hollow trunk of the king of the forest, which fell in a storm some years ago. Some idea can be formed of the immensity of this tree when I tell you that the driver keeps his seat and a four-horse stage-coach runs lengthwise through its body with perfect ease. People are living in some of the trees, and have doors and windows cut out; and some very fair-looking two-story houses are made with these natural walls. Many of the trees have been felled, and it is found that all the largest are but shells. One was cut down, divided into sections, and taken to the Centennial. The most interesting part of our journey was the curling route among these towering Pacific monuments; and all tourists to the West, wishing to see the curiosities of the world, should not fail to ride out among the wonders upon the Sierra Nevada slopes. We now returned to Frisco and prepared to return to Ohio. We sailed across the bay, and, taking a last long look over the tossing sea, we bid the waves good-by, and then rattled along over the iron trail of the Union Pacific, reaching home safe and sound, when the snow-flakes were flying in the wintry air of 1879. How unnatural all things appeared! Where are the great hills which used to almost barrier the public way? Why, the roads are almost smooth as a floor. Where are the big fields that it used to take days to plow, and the great forests through which we used to hunt? All appear but garden-spots, and fit for the spade instead of the plow; and the woods are too small for a home for even the squirrel or wood-chuck. All efforts to see the old homestead as in years gone by are vain. The towering peaks of the Rockies, and the steep, stony slopes of the Green Horns can not be banished from my mind, and the great world of level prairie is too fresh in my memory.