In the Sierra 



pouring from rock mountains. Never in all 

 my travels have I found anything more 

 truly novel and interesting than these mid- 

 day mountains of the sky, their fine tones 

 of color, majestic visible growth, and ever- 

 changing scenery and general effects, though 

 mostly as well let alone as far as description 

 goes. I oftentimes think of Shelley's cloud 

 poem, " I sift the snow on the mountains 

 below.' 1 



July 26. Ramble to the summit of 

 Mt. Hoffman, eleven thousand feet high, 

 the highest point in life's journey my feet 

 have yet touched. And what glorious land- 

 scapes are about me, new plants, new ani- 

 mals, new crystals, and multitudes of new 

 mountains far higher than Hoffman, tower- 

 ing in glorious array along the axis of the 

 range, serene, majestic, snow-laden, sun- 

 drenched, vast domes and ridges shining 

 below them, forests, lakes, and meadows in 

 the hollows, the pure blue bell-flower sky 

 brooding them all, a glory day of admis- 



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