A NIGHT ON SHASTA S SUMMIT 



feet in a few hours. Some crystals landed with 

 their rays almost perfect, but most of them 

 were worn and broken by striking against one 

 another, or by rolling on the ground. The 

 touch of these snow-flowers in calm weather is 

 infinitely gentle glinting, swaying, settling 

 silently in the dry mountain air, or massed in 

 flakes soft and downy. To lie out alone in the 

 mountains of a still night and be touched by 

 the first of these small silent messengers from 

 the sky is a memorable experience, and the 

 fineness of that touch none will forget. But 

 the storm-blast laden with crisp, sharp snow 

 seems to crush and bruise and stupefy with its 

 multitude of stings, and compels the bravest 

 to turn and flee. 



The snow fell without abatement until an 

 hour or two after what seemed to be the natu 

 ral darkness of the night. Up to the tune the 

 storm first broke on the summit its develop 

 ment was remarkably gentle. There was a 

 deliberate growth of clouds, a weaving of 

 translucent tissue above, then the roar of the 

 wind and the thunder, and the darkening flight 

 of snow. Its subsidence was not less sudden. 

 The clouds broke and vanished, not a crystal 

 was left in the sky, and the stars shone out with 

 pure and tranquil radiance. 



During the storm we lay on our backs so as 



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