A GEOLOGIST S WINTER WALK 



of the gorge, and was compelled to hasten down 

 here for water before dark. I shall sleep soundly on 

 this sand; half of it is mica. Here, wonderful to 

 behold, are a few green stems of prickly rubus, and 

 a tiny grass. They are here to meet us. Ay, even 

 here in this darksome gorge, &quot;frightened and tor 

 mented&quot; with raging torrents and choking ava 

 lanches of snow. Can it be? As if rubus and the 

 grass leaf were not enough of God s tender prattle 

 words of love, which we so much need in these 

 mighty temples of power, yonder in the &quot;benmost 

 bore&quot; are two blessed adiantums. Listen to them! 

 How wholly infused with God is this one big word 

 of love that we call the world! Good-night. Do 

 you see the fire-glow on my ice-smoothed slab, and 

 on my two ferns and the rubus and grass panicles? 

 And do you hear how sweet a sleep-song the fall 

 and cascades are singing? 



The water-ground chips and knots that I 

 found fastened between the rocks kept my 

 fire alive all through the night. Next morning 

 I rose nerved and ready for another day of 

 sketching and noting, and any form of climbing. 

 I escaped from the gorge about noon, after 

 accomplishing some of the most delicate feats 

 of mountaineering I ever attempted; and here 

 the canon is all broadly open again the floor 

 luxuriantly forested with pine, and spruce, 

 and silver fir, and brown-trunked librocedrus. 

 The walls rise in Yosemite forms, and Tenaya 

 Creek comes down seven hundred feet in a 



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