88 THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFOKNIA 



the heights, sings richer strains, and becomes more 

 human and lovable at every step. Now you may 

 by its side find the rose and homely yarrow, and 

 small meadows full of bees and clover. At the 

 head of a low-browed rock, luxuriant dogwood 

 bushes and willows arch over from bank to bank, 

 embowering the stream with their leafy branches ; 

 and drooping plumes, kept in motion by the cur 

 rent, fringe the brow of the cascade in front. From 

 this leafy covert the stream leaps out into the light 

 in a fluted curve thick sown with sparkling crystals, 

 and falls into a pool filled with brown boulders, out 

 of which it creeps gray with foam-bells and disap 

 pears in a tangle of verdure like that from which 

 it came. 



Hence, to the foot of the canon, the metamorphic 

 slates give place to granite, whose nobler sculpture 

 calls forth expressions of corresponding beauty 

 from the stream in passing over it, bright trills of 

 rapids, booming notes of falls, solemn hushes of 

 smooth-gliding sheets, all chanting and blending in 

 glorious harmony. When, at length, its impetu 

 ous alpine life is done, it slips through a meadow 

 with scarce an audible whisper, and falls asleep in 

 Moraine Lake. 



This water-bed is one of the finest I ever saw. 

 Evergreens wave soothingly about it, and the 

 breath of flowers floats over it like incense. Here 

 our blessed stream rests from its rocky wanderings, 

 all its mountaineering done, no more foaming 

 rock-leaping, no more wild, exulting song. It falls 

 into a smooth, glassy sleep, stirred only by the 

 night- wind, which, coming down the canon, makes 



