THE SNOW 43 



snow-laden summits were swept by a wild " norther." 

 I happened at the time to be wintering in Yosernite 

 Valley, that sublime Sierra temple where every day 

 one may see the grandest sights. Yet even here 

 the wild gala-day of the north wind seemed sur 

 passingly glorious. I was awakened in the morn 

 ing by the rocking of my cabin and the beating of 

 pine-burs on the roof. Detached torrents and ava 

 lanches from the main wind-flood overhead were 

 rushing wildly down the narrow side canons, and 

 over the precipitous walls, with loud resounding 

 roar, rousing the pines to enthusiastic action, and 

 making the whole valley vibrate as though it were 

 an instrument being played. 



But afar on the lofty exposed peaks of the range 

 standing so high in the sky, the storm was express 

 ing itself in still grander characters, which I was 

 soon to see in all their glory. I had long been 

 anxious to study some points in the structure of the 

 ice-cone that is formed every winter at the foot of 

 the upper Yosemite fall, but the blinding spray by 

 which it is invested had hitherto prevented me from 

 making a sufficiently near approach. This morning 

 the entire body of the fall was torn into gauzy 

 shreds, and blown horizontally along the face of the 

 cliff, leaving the cone dry; and while making my 

 way to the top of an overlooking ledge to seize so 

 favorable an opportunity to examine the interior of 

 the cone, the peaks of the Merced group came in 

 sight over the shoulder of the South Dome, each 

 waving a resplendent banner against the blue sky, 

 as regular in form, and as firm in texture, as if 

 woven of fine silk. So rare and splendid a phenom- 



