In the Sierra 



purple panicles brushing against one's feet are 







not felt. This is a typical glacier meadow, 

 occupying the basin of a vanished lake, very 

 definitely bounded by walls of the arrowy 

 two-leaved pines drawn up in handsome or- 

 derly array like soldiers on parade. There are 

 many other meadows of the same kind here- 

 abouts imbedded in the woods. The main big 

 meadows along the river are the same in gen- 

 eral and extend with but little interruption for 

 ten or twelve miles, but none I have seen are so 

 finely finished and perfect as this one. It is 

 richer in flowering plants than the prairies of 

 Wisconsin and Illinois were when in all their 

 wild glory. The showy flowers are mostly 

 three species of gentian, a purple and yellow 

 orthocarpus, a golden-rod or two, a small blue 

 pentstemon almost like a gentian, potentilla, 

 ivesia, pedicularis, white violet, kalmia, and 

 bryanthus. There are no coarse weedy plants. 

 Through this flowery lawn flows a stream si- 

 lently gliding, swirling, slipping as if careful 

 not to make the slightest noise. It is only 



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