In the Sierra 



in the afternoon, when, as I was busily 

 employed thinking only of the glorious Yo- 

 semite landscape, trying to draw every tree 

 and every line and feature of the rocks, I 

 was suddenly, and without warning, pos- 

 sessed with the notion that my friend, Pro- 

 fessor J. D. Butler, of the State University 

 of Wisconsin, was below me in the valley, 

 and I jumped up full of the idea of meet- 

 ing him, with almost as much startling ex- 

 citement as if he had suddenly touched me 

 to make me look up. Leaving my work 

 without the slightest deliberation, I ran 

 down the western slope of the Dome and 

 along the brink of the valley wall, looking 

 for a way to the bottom, until I came to a 

 side canon, which, judging by its apparently 

 continuous growth of trees and bushes, I 

 thought might afford a practical way into 

 the valley, and immediately began to make 

 the descent, late as it was, as if drawn irre- 

 sistibly. But after a little, common sense 

 stopped me and explained that it would be 



[ 239 ] 



