120 THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFORNIA 



Instead of being encompassed by a narrow ring of 

 trees like Orange Lake, these lie embosomed in 

 dense moraine woods, so dense that in seeking them 

 you may pass them by again and again, although 

 you may know nearly where they lie concealed. 



Lake Starr King, lying to the north of the cone 

 of that name, above the Little Yosemite Valley, is 

 a fine specimen of this variety. The ouzels pass it 

 by, and so do the ducks; they could hardly get into 

 it if they would, without plumping straight down 

 inside the circling trees. 



Yet these isolated gems, lying like fallen fruit 

 detached from the branches, are not altogether with 

 out inhabitants and joyous, animating visitors. Of 

 course fishes cannot get into them, and this is gen 

 erally true of nearly every glacier lake in the range, 

 but they are all well stocked with happy frogs. 

 How did the frogs get into them in the first place 1 

 Perhaps their sticky spawn was carried in on the 

 feet of ducks or other birds, else their progenitors 

 must have made some exciting excursions through 

 the woods and up the sides of the canons. Down in 

 the still, pure depths of these hidden lakelets you 

 may also find the larvae of innumerable insects and 

 a great variety of beetles, while the air above them 

 is thick with humming wings, through the midst of 

 which fly-catchers are constantly darting. And in 

 autumn, when the huckleberries are ripe, bands of 

 robins and grosbeaks come to feast, forming alto 

 gether delightful little byworlds for the naturalist. 



Pushing our way upward toward the axis of the 

 range, we find lakes in greater and greater abun 

 dance, and more youthful in aspect. At an eleva- 



