THE SNOW 45 



garish glitter in the air. The gale drives wildly 

 overhead with a fierce, tempestuous roar, but its 

 violence is not felt, for you are looking through a 

 sheltered opening in the woods as through a win 

 dow. There, in the immediate foreground of your 

 picture, rises a majestic forest of Silver Fir bloom 

 ing in eternal freshness, the foliage yellow-green, 

 and the snow beneath the trees strewn with their 

 beautiful plumes, plucked off by the wind. Beyond, 

 and extending over all the middle ground, are 

 somber swaths of pine, interrupted by huge swell 

 ing ridges and domes; and just beyond the dark 

 forest you see the monarchs of the High Sierra 

 waving their magnificent banners. They are twenty 

 miles away, but you would not wish them nearer, 

 for every feature is distinct, and the whole glorious 

 show is seen in its right proportions. After this 

 general view, mark how sharply the dark snowless 

 ribs and buttresses and summits of the peaks are 

 defined, excepting the portions veiled by the ban 

 ners, and how delicately their sides are streaked 

 with snow, where it has come to rest in narrow 

 flutings and gorges. Mark, too, how grandly the 

 banners wave as the wind is deflected against their 

 sides, and how trimly each is attached to the very 

 summit of its peak, like a streamer at a masthead ; 

 how smooth and silky they are in texture, and how 

 finely their fading fringes are penciled on the azure 

 sky. See how dense and opaque they are at the 

 point of attachment, and how filmy and translucent 

 toward the end, so that the peaks back of them are 

 seen dimly, as though you were looking through 

 ground glass. Yet again observe how some of the 



