In the Sierra 



in pleasant places. The flowery glade in 

 which I saw him so well, framed like a 

 picture, is one of the best of all I have yet 

 discovered, a conservatory of Nature's pre- 

 cious plant people. Tall lilies were swing- 

 ing their bells over that bear's back, with 

 geraniums, larkspurs, columbines, and daisies 

 brushing against his sides. A place for 

 angels, one would say, instead of bears. 



In the great canons Bruin reigns su- 

 preme. Happy fellow, whom no famine 

 can reach while one of his thousand kinds 

 of food is spared him. His bread is sure at 

 all seasons, ranged on the mountain shelves 

 like stores in a pantry. From one to the 

 other, up or down he climbs, tasting and 

 enjoying each in turn in different climates, 

 as if he had journeyed thousands of miles 

 to other countries north or south to enjoy 

 their varied productions. I should like to 

 know my hairy brothers better, - though 

 after this particular Yosemite bear, my very 

 neighbor, had sauntered out of sight this 



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