My First Summer 



their petals every day, and the firs and pines 

 are more fragrant than ever. Their seeds are 

 nearly ripe, and will soon be flying in the 

 merriest flocks that ever spread a wing. 



On the way back to our Tuolumne camp, 

 I enjoyed the scenery if possible more than 

 when it first came to view. Every feature 

 already seems familiar as if I had lived here 

 always. I never weary gazing at the won- 

 derful Cathedral. It has more individual 

 character than any other rock or mountain 

 I ever saw, excepting perhaps the Yosemite 

 South Dome. The forests, too, seem kindly 

 familiar, and the lakes and meadows and 

 glad singing streams. I should like to dwell 

 with them forever. Here with bread and 

 water I should be content. Even if not 

 allowed to roam and climb, tethered to a 

 stake or tree in some meadow or grove, even 

 then I should be content forever. Bathed in 

 such beauty, watching the expressions ever 

 varying on the faces of the mountains, watch- 

 ing the stars, which here have a glory that 



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