Letters to a Friend 



r An Indian comes to the valley once a month 

 upon snowshoes. He brings the mail, and so 

 I shall hope to hear from you. Address to 

 Yosemite, via Big Oak Flat, care of Mr. 

 Hutchings. 



Yosemite, April 5, 1870. 



I wish you were here to-day, for our rocks are 

 again decked with deep snow. Two days ago a 

 big gray cloud collared Barometer Dome. The 

 vast booming column of the upper falls was 

 swayed like a shred of loose mist by broken 

 pieces of storm that struck it suddenly, occa 

 sionally bending it backwards to the very top 

 of the cliff, making it hang sometimes more 

 than a minute like an inverted bow edged with 

 comets. A cloud upon the dome and these ever 

 varying rockings and bendings of the falls are 

 sure storm signs, but yesterday morning's sky 

 was clear, and the sun poured the usual quan 

 tity of the balmiest spring sunshine into the 

 blue ether of our valley gulf, but ere long ragged 

 lumps of cloud began to appear all along the 

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