BEAR VALLEY, Cal., Aug. 14, 1859.
I LEFT Sacramento on Monday morning last, traveling by stage to Stockton, forty-eight miles nearly due south, crossing the Mokelumne, and keeping first the Sacramento and then the San Joaquin a few miles on our right, and Mount Diablo conspicuous still further west. We traversed a level, fertile plain, sparsely wooded near the rivers--a plain which should be, but is not yet, densely peopled, and very productive. There are some fine orchard gardens near the cities, and might well be many; but a good part of the intermediate country is uninclosed, and the residue mainly devoted to large ranches (or loose and slovenly cattle husbandry), and in less degree to the growing of small grain--wheat and barley. The stubble indicates good crops, but there is not a sufficient area devoted to them. Uncertainty of land-titles--that paramount curse of California--is assigned as the cause of this inadequacy of cultivation, which I trust is not to continue.
Stockton is situated on a bayou of the San Joaquin, at the head of regular steamboat navigation on that river, which makes it the third or fourth city of California, with fifteen thousand inhabitants, and an extensive carrying trade. The better dwellings are in good