THE GLACIER LAKES 113 



but scarce at all cut into as yet by the outflowing 

 stream, though it has flowed on unceasingly since 

 the lake came into existence. 



As soon as the stream is fairly over the lake-lip 

 it breaks into cascades, never for a moment halting, 

 and scarce abating one jot of its glad energy, until it 

 reaches the next filled-up basin, a mile below. Then 

 swirling and curving drowsily through meadow and 

 grove, it breaks forth anew into gray rapids and 

 falls, leaping and gliding in glorious exuberance of 

 wild bound and dance down into another and yet 

 another filled-up lake basin. Then, after a long rest 

 in the levels of Little Yosemite, it makes its 

 grandest display in the famous Nevada Fall. Out 

 of the clouds of spray at the foot of the fall the bat 

 tered, roaring river gropes its way, makes another 

 mile of cascades and rapids, rests a moment in 

 Emerald Pool, then plunges over the grand cliff of 

 the Vernal Fall, and goes thundering and chafing 

 down a boulder-choked gorge of tremendous depth 

 and wildness into the tranquil reaches of the old 

 Yosemite lake basin. 



The color-beauty about Shadow Lake during 

 the Indian summer is much richer than one could 

 hope to find in so young and so glacial a wilderness. 

 Almost every leaf is tinted then, and the golden- 

 rods are in bloom; but most of the color is given 

 by the ripe grasses, willows, and aspens. At the 

 foot of the lake you stand in a trembling aspen 

 grove, every leaf painted like a butterfly, and away 

 to right and left round the shores sweeps a curv 

 ing ribbon of meadow, red and brown dotted with 

 pale yellow, shading off here and there into hazy 



